The Biker Alpha Who Became My Second Chance Mate Chapter 12

It's been four days now since she started following me to the repair store. On our way back, I decided to get my regular shave.

I'm at the counter, paying for my supplies, when I glance over at her. She's standing frozen in the middle of the aisle, staring at something I can't see.

The chips she'd taken from the counter are now on the floor. Her face has gone completely white, and her hands are shaking so badly I'm surprised she's still standing

"Athena?"

She doesn't respond. It's like she's not even there, like her mind has gone somewhere else entirely. Somewhere dark and terrifying.

"Athena!"

Still nothing. I can see her lips moving, whispering something I can't hear, and the terror in her eyes makes my blood run cold.

"Ath!"

Finally, she turns toward me, and the look on her face is one I've never seen before. Pure, primal fear. The kind of fear that comes from being hunted, from knowing that something wants to hurt you and there's nowhere to run.

She tries to smile, tries to pretend everything is normal, but her face is twitching with the effort. Whatever she saw, or thought she saw, has shaken her to her core.

Then I hear it. A woman calling across the store.

"Dixon, come back here this instant!"

A little boy, maybe five years old, comes running past us with his mother chasing after him. Just a normal family doing their shopping. But the name – Dixon, hangs in the air like a curse.

I watch Athena's reaction, the way she spins around looking for threats that aren't there, the way her breathing becomes shallow and rapid. Whoever Dixon is, the mere mention of his name is enough to send her into a full-blown panic attack.

I wanted to say something. Do something. Shake her till she starts spilling why she looks like she has seen a ghost, but instead no say something different.

"Can we leave now?" I ask, keeping my voice gentle but firm.

She nods quickly, not trusting her voice, and follows me out of the store on unsteady legs. I want to wrap her in my arms, want to tell her she's safe, that whatever happened before can't touch her here.

But I can tell she's barely holding herself together, so I just walk slowly, glancing back to make sure she's still with me.

The ride home is torture. I can feel her shaking behind me, her grip so tight it's cutting off circulation in my arms. Every protective instinct I have is screaming at me to stop the bike, to turn around and demand answers. But I force myself to keep driving, to get her somewhere safe where she can fall apart if she needs to.

The moment we reached the house, she practically threw herself off the bike before it had even fully stopped.

"I thought I saw an old friend," she claimed—a blatant lie.

I didn't believe a thing she said; we both knew the truth, but I let her go in anyway.

I should have followed her inside, should have forced her to talk to me, should have done something besides just standing there, watching her flee.

Instead, I ran away, just like I always do.

Instead of facing the hard conversation, instead of being the protector she needs me to be, I get back on my bike, when it was time and ride toward the woods.

It's what I always do when things get too heavy, when the constant ache of guilt and regret doesn't feel quite so suffocating. I run.

I didn't feel like visiting the ring today, I just wanted to ride till I can't no more.

The forest has always been my sanctuary, the one place where I can think clearly, where the memories of that night, don't feel quite so overwhelming.

Tonight, I ride deeper into the woods than usual, pushing the bike hard on the winding trails, trying to outrun the image of Athena's terrified face.

But no matter how fast I go, I can't escape the questions that are eating me alive. Who is Dixon? What did he do to her? And why couldn't I protect her from it?

I've been riding for maybe an hour when I feel it – a sudden, overwhelming pull to head home. It's not just a feeling; it's a compulsion so strong it makes my chest tight.

My wolf is pacing, restless and anxious in a way that sets every nerve on edge.

Then I hear it. Her voice, clear as day inside my head.

"Tristan, please help me."

The desperate terror in that mental plea makes my blood freeze in my veins. She's calling for me through our pack bond, something she hasn't done since she was a child.

The fact that she's reaching out now, when she's been so closed off, so determined to handle everything on her own, tells me that whatever's happening is bad. Really bad.

I don't think. I don't question whether I actually heard her voice or if it was just my imagination. I just gun the engine and race back toward home at speeds that would terrify a sane person.

The bike screams through the night, eating up the miles between me and the girl who needs me.

When I reach the house, I can hear her before I even get the front door open.

"Please, Dixon, please. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'll be good. I'll be obedient. Just please don't hurt me anymore."

The words hit me like a physical blow. Dixon. That name again. But there's no one here except Athena, which means...

A nightmare. She's having a nightmare about someone named Dixon, someone who hurt her badly enough that even in sleep, she's begging for mercy.

I take the stairs three at a time, my heart pounding with a mixture of rage and terror. Her bedroom door is locked, but that doesn't even slow me down. One hard kick and the door flies off its hinges, splintering against the far wall.

She's curled up on her bed in the fetal position, arms wrapped around her head like she's trying to shield herself from blows that aren't coming. At least, not in this room. Not in this reality.

"Please, don't hurt me anymore," she sobs, her voice breaking with each word. "I'm sorry. I promise it won't repeat itself again."

Each word she speaks makes me feel like someone's ripping my heart out with their bare hands. Someone broke her. Someone took my strong, independent, beautiful Athena and broke her so thoroughly that even in her dreams, she's still begging for mercy.

"Ath," I call softly, sitting on the edge of her bed and reaching for her carefully. She doesn't wake up, just keeps pleading with her nightmare tormentor.

"Ath, look at me."

I gather her into my arms, pulling her against my chest, trying to surround her with safety and warmth. She's so thin I can feel her ribs through her shirt, and it takes everything I have not to break down right there beside her.

"Tristan," she whispers, and there's so much pain in that single word.

"Yes. It's me. I'm here. I'm here." My voice cracks despite my efforts to stay calm. I'm terrified I might lose her, that whatever darkness she's fighting might pull her under before I can bring her back.

"Tristan, don't let him hurt me anymore," she continues, still lost in the nightmare.

"Tell him to stop. I promise to be obedient. I promise never to go against him anymore. I won't wear revealing clothes. Won't go to work either. I'll be whatever he wants me to be. Tell him please. He should stop please."

The words are like knives cutting into my soul. Obedient. Revealing clothes. Won't go to work. This Dixon, whoever he is, wasn't just physically abusive.

He was controlling, manipulative, systematically breaking down her sense of self until she believed she deserved whatever he did to her.

"I promise he won't hurt you anymore," I tell her, and I mean every word. "I'll kill him before he does. Just wake up please. Look at me."

Slowly, painfully, her eyes flutter open. They're unfocused at first, still seeing whatever horror was playing out in her dreams. But then she sees me, really sees me, and something breaks open in her face.

"Tris," she whispers.

That name. She hasn't called me that since our parents' funeral, since the day we stood side by side watching them lower the four most important people in our world into the ground. The day I promised her I'd always be there for her, right before I broke that promise in the worst possible way.

"I'm here," I tell her, my voice thick with emotion. "Always will be. Look at me, Ath."

A tear falls from my eye and lands on her cheek, mixing with her own tears. I'm holding her like she's the most precious thing in the world, which she is.

She's family by choice, not blood, but that makes it even stronger somehow. And I failed her. I let her walk away five years ago, and someone hurt her while I was here drowning in guilt and self-pity.

It was just a dream, but I can see in her face that it felt completely real to her. The pain, the terror, the helplessness – it's all still there in her eyes, as vivid and immediate as if it had just happened.

She holds onto me as she cries, finally letting out all the fear and pain she's been carrying alone. And I just hold her, rocking her gently, whispering reassurances and promises I intend to keep. No one will hurt her again. Not while I'm breathing.

As I feel her gradually relax in my arms, her sobs quieting to exhausted hiccups, I make a silent vow. I don't know who Dixon is yet, but I'm going to find out. I'm going to learn everything about what happened to her during those five years she was gone.

And when I do find him – because I will find him – he's going to pay for every tear she's shed, every nightmare he's given her, every moment of fear he's put in her heart.

He's going to pay with his life.