Knock Knock Daniel Beaty Novels & Stories

I laugh as I accept it, and then, comfortable, begin to watch the film. About an hour in, a knock comes at the door. I go still when I hear it, cursing myself for – stupidly – letting Daniel’s drama make me forget that, duh, Kent sent all of these clothes for a reason. “I’ll get it,” Daniel says, hopping out of bed before I can even move. As if he was…waiting for it. “Daniel, no –“ I call, trying to grab the edge of his shirt as he moves towards the door. But he’s too fast for me.

He doesn’t like his eyes seen frequently, explains the reason he wears shades at night. Daniel walk forward first. Following the guy secretly, as he passes the corner to the back. He is inside the toilet now and Daniel is hiding beside so he wouldn’t find out someone is following him, then our plan gets ruined. I don’t stay too far from Daniel, I’m just waiting while he makes the move himself. He knows what to do and he would do it well. Some minutes later, I hear a scream and it’s the guy. Daniel grabs him from behind slapping one hand across his mouth to keep him shut. He gives him a knock on the back of his neck. He is knocking him out. Good.

Ugh. When Daniel walks over and tugs his beanie down over his eyes, he whines. foot stomping into the snow as he twists around to find Daniel smirking with a look of disbelief on his face, “you are so transparent its painful to watch. and you’re seriously surprised i knew?” “I'm not transparent about anything.” “right.” Daniel steps closer. Waits until Andre ’s eyes have found them and seriously can’t believe these two.

Then a knock came on the door. We both freeze, pulling away from each other as fast as lightning. Then he walked in. Daniel. And the look on his face… like he’d seen the scariest ghost ever. He just stood there, staring at us, his mouth wide open, but not a word came out. Then I saw his eyes. Welled up with tears, but before I could say anything. He turned and left. “What a drama king.” Richard laughed, shaking his head like it was no big deal.

I cried until my throat hurt and my eyes burned. After what felt like forever, I wiped my face and forced myself to stand. My hands were still shaking when I picked up my phone. I stared at Damien’s contact for a long time. My thumb hovered over the screen. This was dangerous. Reckless. Maybe even stupid. But I needed to see him. I needed something real. I typed the message quickly before I could change my mind. “Can we meet tonight at my home? I need to talk. Eight o’clock.”

Abby swallowed hard, torn between fear and the surge of something dangerously close to hope. In the kitchen, Daniel sat at the table, his phone glowing in the darkness. He had been silent for hours, scrolling through contacts, checking feeds, scanning whatever networks he still had access to from his days on the streets. He wasn’t Edward, with his private security and limitless resources, but Daniel had something else—instinct. He knew when trouble was circling. And tonight, trouble was closer than any of them wanted to admit. The knock came just after midnight. It was soft. Too soft.

No! “You’re uncle,” he breathed, staring at the door, his eyes wide and feral. “No, I was lying!” He snapped his head back to look at me, a question in his eyes, when the knock sounded again, and then the worst voice possible rose, muffled by the door. “Kels? Kels, it’s Daniel. I know it’s been hell, but please... We need to talk.” I tensed as Cain’s lips peeled back from his teeth and a deep, menacing growl began in his throat.

The kind I hadn't bothered to pay attention to when we first met at the party. "Sorry I'm late," he drawled. “D… Dan? What are you doing h— nghhhh.” Brittany shoved the plug further down my butt. “Objects don't talk. They obey” she growled. Daniel Hayes stepped into the room, already unbuckling his belt as his eyes raking over the scene with lazy amusement. His tie was loosened, sleeves rolled up like he'd come straight from some campus event and decided this was a better use of his evening.

I was interrupted by a loud knock on the door. Who was it? Or, was Daniel back? But this quick?

‘GET THE DOOR would you, Clare?’ Daniel screamed. Clare was painting in the studio, he was painting at their bedroom window, finally deigning to take some inspiration from the quaint little houses which spread out below. The doorbell chimed again. Clare and Daniel were engaged in a battle over whose work was less important, who could afford to put down their brush on the off-chance that it wasn’t the Jehovah's Witnesses. Clare lost.