Page 20 of Shared Obsession

The word darling sends a flutter through me—the same dizzy little thrill I felt when Dean smiled at me earlier. It’s confusing, all these feelings tangled up together, but there’s no shame or awkwardness in the room, just warmth and something that feels dangerously close to belonging. I’m not sure what societal rule I’m breaking, standing here with a man who killed for me and another who held me through the night, but I can’t bring myself to care. Maybe this is what it feels like to be safe—messy, complicated, and completely outside the lines. Nothing about my life has ever been normal anyway.

“I slept really well, actually,” I reply softly.

“Listen,” Zayn says, his voice low but urgent, “the police are looking for you, Ayla. Where’s your phone?”

I shake my head. “I shut it off and stashed it inside the rip in the couch when Derek started talking about my father. I had a bad feeling. I left it, hidden in there.”

Zayn nods, visibly relieved. “Good. No way for anyone to track us, then. We’ve gotta keep it that way—no phones, no slip-ups, and pray the police don’t find it.”

Before I can even form a reply, Alex jumps in. “I’ve got a place we can hide out, if you’re up for a drive. I have a cabin just outside Charleston, West Virginia. It’s an eight-hour haul from New York, but that kind of distance is exactly what we need.”

Everything blurs for a second—panic, relief, disbelief, all crashing together in a dizzy rush. Am I really about to go on the run with these men? It should terrify me, but the answer is yes—instinctive, certain. Because for the first time in my life, I feel protected. Not just watched, or possessed, or managed, but genuinely safe. These men—dangerous, complicated, imperfect—are the only shield I’ve ever had against a world that keeps trying to break me. The alternative is worse: returning to a cage, with Derek’s father holding the key… or worse, my own father’s shadow reaching for me again. My princess, his voice echoes in my skull, cold and cruel. I force it away, pushing down old terrors and choosing, for once, to run toward something instead of just away.

“When do we leave?” I ask, my voice steadier than I feel.

“Eat first. We’ll leave right after,” Alex says. I notice he’s not eating, nor are the others—everyone’s on edge, eyes darting to the clock and the windows like the world could break in at any second.

I sit down at the table with Zayn. He flashes me a crooked grin, eyes glinting in a way that’s both reassuring and just a little flirty. “You’re riding with me, gorgeous. Alex and Dean will be on their bikes out front, with a clear road ahead. You good with that?”

His knee bumps mine under the table, and I don’t think it was an accident. My cheeks heat as I meet his gaze—there’s a spark there, a teasing challenge that makes my pulse skip. “Yeah,” I say, managing a small smile. “I’m good with that.”

He leans in a bit, dropping his voice. “Don’t worry, Ayla. I’ll keep you safe. Just stick close.”

Breakfast is a blur—my stomach too tight with nerves and something warmer, anticipation winding through the fear. After Alex brings me my clothes, somehow spotless, I change quickly in the bathroom. When I come out, everyone is waiting: bags packed, engines ready, eyes bright with adrenaline and something almost like hope.

I climb into the Jeep with Zayn, feeling his gaze linger on me, playful and protective all at once. The city falls away behind us, New York shrinking in the rearview. Whatever happens next, I won’t be running alone.

As we drive away, I take a moment to really look at Zayn—really see him for the first time, and immediately there’s a war inside me. He’s easily the tallest of all three, broad-shouldered and lean, with striking blue eyes and messy blond hair that falls just right. There’s a single tattoo peeking out from the collar of his shirt, and a snake coiled around his neck, the ink trailing down beneath his collar and disappearing into his shirt. I can’t help but wonder where it goes, but I force myself to look away, refusing to let myself get pulled under by the easy charm and the dangerous smile.

No, Ayla. Stop acting like a whore. I clench my hands in my lap, fighting the growing ache of attraction with a stubborn, bitter resistance. The silver lip ring on the left side of his mouth glints in the sunlight, and when he cocks a lopsided smile, my heart flutters—annoyingly, embarrassingly. I remind myself of all the reasons I shouldn’t want this, shouldn’t want him, not after everything, but my body betrays me anyway. God, what is wrong with me? He’s undeniably sexy, but I grit my teeth and try not to show him how easily he could unravel me if I let him. Zayn glances over, a sly grin curving on his lips. “You know, I see what Alex is talking about.” He lets the words hang just long enough to make my pulse jump. I follow his gaze to the road ahead, where Dean and Alex ride, all black leather and brooding energy on their bikes.

“What about me?” I ask, raising an eyebrow, trying to play it cool.

Zayn cuts his eyes back to me, the sunlight catching on his lip ring. “You’re interesting,” he says, voice low and playful. “Like, I actually want to know everything about you. But I’ve gotta ask—how does a girl like you end up tangled in a mess like Derek?”

I hesitate, not sure I want to spill everything to Zayn, but something about his open, curious gaze makes me want to trust him—though I keep a layer of myself tucked tightly away, afraid of how much I might give if I let him in. “It started at the club. Derek came in acting all smooth, charming in that way that feels dangerous when you’re desperate for an escape. We hit it off, and honestly, he was perfect in the beginning—funny, attentive, made me feel seen for the first time in forever. He’d bring me flowers, all different kinds, sometimes for no reason at all. He’d take me out, do little things—open doors, pull out my chair, treat me like I was the only girl in the world. He made me feel like a princess, and after years of being someone’s afterthought, I just… I wanted to believe it was real.”

My chest tightens, the ache of memory sharp. “I’d all but given up on Alex by then,” I admit, voice trembling. “I thought he’d ghosted me, that I was just another girl he forgot. Derek seemed safe—like a way out, a chance at something gentle. When he proposed, it was like a dream come true. I thought, for once, I could have something good. But that dream… it didn’t take long before...” My words barely make it out, trailing off, thick with regret and grief. I look away, ashamed at how much I still wish things could have been easy, or at least kind.

“Before he turned into an asshole,” Zayn finishes for me, his voice surprisingly gentle. “You know you didn’t deserve any of that, right?” The question hangs between us, vulnerable and real. I can’t meet his eyes—I drop my gaze to my lap, swallowing hard against the knot of shame twisting in my chest. It’s easier to blame myself, to believe I should’ve known better or seen the red flags sooner. But Zayn’s presence—steady, soft, and unexpectedly kind—makes it a little harder to hide from the truth: I never really had a chance.

Zayn

Ayla and I banter back and forth about everything—her favorite color (teal), her go-to comfort food (spaghetti), and the fact that she’s firmly a cat person. We talk about our childhoods, but it’s mostly me doing the sharing. I tell her about my memories with my parents when I was young. Playing catch with my dad, and going to the movies with my mom. How when I was young we would go to the lake every summer. I vaguely mention how I ended up on Alex’s doorstep—how he’s more brother than friend to me. Whenever the conversation drifts toward her own childhood, though, I can sense she draws a line; her answers become vague, her eyes shuttered. There’s a flash of something lonely and scared, and then she covers it with a joke, a flicker of a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. It’s like there’s a locked door she can’t—or won’t—open, and I don’t push, even though it aches to see her hide herself.

I talk about things that make her light up, but I can see the exhaustion on her face. Before we reach the next stop, she twists in her seat, yanks a baseball cap from her bag, and jams it over her head, tucking every strand of hair up underneath in a messy knot. I watch as she pulls her hoodie up and keeps her head down, shrinking in on herself. The tension in her is palpable—every movement sharp, wary, as if she’s waiting for someone to call her name, for the world to catch up to us.

Now she’s curled against the window, messy bun slipping loose beneath the cap, and even in sleep, she’s beautiful. I hear her mumble something, her body tensing as if caught in a bad dream. Without thinking, I reach out and rest my hand gently on her thigh, my thumb tracing slow, calming circles over the soft skin. Almost immediately, she relaxes, her breathing evened out again. It’s a small thing, but it feels oddly intimate—like I’m guarding her from nightmares, if only for a moment.

Suddenly, I realize I seriously need to piss. I flash my headlights to Dean and Alex so they’ll know to pull off at the next exit. It’s a few more miles, and in that stretch, I let myself be here with Ayla—her presence warm and soft beside me. I want to say something, anything to break the tension, but the air is thick with everything unsaid. Part of me wants to tease her, coax another laugh out of her, but I catch the way she’s clutching the brim of her hat, shoulders hunched. She’s doing everything she can to hide, and it stirs something protective and raw in me.

As I’m pulling off, my hand still resting on her thigh, she stirs awake. Her eyes flick down, noticing my hand, and for a second I expect her to shove it away. Instead, she just stares at my hand, her jaw tight, like she’s weighing whether she wants this—wants me—or if it’s just another risk, another thing to regret. She doesn’t pull away or say a word. Instead, she shifts forward, nudging my hand even higher up her thigh, but there’s a hesitance in the way she moves, a silent warning: don’t go too far. For a split second, I think about pulling back, but there’s a charge in the air that makes me want to push my luck. My fingers slide up, nearly to the hem of her shorts, almost brushing the apex of her thighs, but I stop myself, the tension twisting between us. Goosebumps ripple over her skin as she squeezes her legs together, a shiver of anticipation passing between us. I want to ask her what she’s thinking, if she wants me to kiss her or just hold her, but I bite back the words, afraid to break the spell. The moment is cut short as I slow to a stop and Alex taps on my window. Ayla and I exchange a glance—something unspoken passing between us, all tension and promise, before we break eye contact.

Ayla climbs out of the car, tugging her hat low and keeping her head down, just as Alex swoops in and throws an arm around her shoulders. The move is so casual it might be possessive, might just be Alex being Alex, but the way his eyes flick from Ayla to me and back again feels… loaded. He leans in a little too close, dropping his voice: “Long drive. You good?”

“I’m fine,” Ayla mutters, her tone too bright. “Just need to pee and maybe not get recognized by every security cam in upstate New York.” She tries to laugh, but it comes out thin. Dean and I hang back, but I catch Alex’s gaze tracking Ayla’s every move, something sharp and almost suspicious in his eyes. He doesn’t say anything else, but the air feels tight, like he’s waiting for her to slip up—or for me to do something he’ll call me out on.

Inside, we grab some food. “How’s the drive?” Alex asks, but it’s not casual; he’s watching me, like he’s waiting for me to give away a secret.