Chapter 7

The flashing red and blue lights from the police cars make everything feel surreal. I stand frozen near the car, hugging myself against the chill that seems to seep into my bones. My gaze keeps drifting to Zachary, who's talking to the officers a few feet away.

The officers seem uncomfortable in his presence, even though Zachary's voice remains calm. One of them hesitates before nodding at something he says, scribbling notes furiously on a pad. The exchange feels more like an order being issued than a report being taken.

A sign is being nailed to the club's front door: CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE. Regardless, the relief I expect doesn't come.

Zachary steps back toward me. "Okay?"

I nod quickly. "I'm good now. Thanks to you."

His eyes narrow at me, and he lets out a frustrated sigh. "Good? You call that good? You insisted on returning alone to a cheap nightclub with a pervert manager. What happens if I didn’t come with you?"

"I'm sorry," I whisper, wrapping my arms around myself tighter. "And thank you. Really."

His eyes search mine, and for a second, I think he's going to soften. But his jaw clenches instead. "Don't be so flattered. I did it for Ella. Don't get any ideas."

The sting of his words settles deep in my chest, but I manage a small nod. "I know that."

He turns away, frowning toward the nightclub. "Damn it. I left my phone inside." He turns back to me, pointing his finger at my face. "Stay in the car. Don't even move."

As he heads toward the building, I hesitate. The smart thing to do would be to stay put, but my instinct says go after him. 

When I catch up to him at the bar, he turns with a growl. "Didn't I tell you to stay in the car?"

"Yes, but you don't know where to look," I say, meeting his glare. "Let me help you."

He opens his mouth, presumably to dispute, but he ends up shaking his head. After a time, he sighs and returns to the bar, grumbling under his breath.

I pass by, scanning the counter for any sign of his phone. When I glance at him, he’s watching me. His gaze is sharp, unreadable, and for a moment, I wonder what he’s thinking. 

Eventually, I find his phone hidden beneath a chair cushion and hold it up. He takes it from me without a word, his fingers brushing mine briefly.

As I watch him dial, movement catches my eye. A group of men steps into the room, and my stomach drops as I recognize them.

"It's them. The ones who went after Ella," I whisper.

Zachary's entire body tenses. His eyes go cold, his posture shifting subtly. It’s not fear; it's anger. "No wonder I came back inside. More scumbags to deal with."

"You've got some nerve," the man says, and his gaze slides to me. "Oh, maybe we'll take her instead. She steals our plaything, after all."

Before I can react, Zachary moves. He shoves me behind him with a firm hand and says, "Run."

This time, I listen to him and take off. Or maybe I'm stubborn like he once said, because I can't help but glance back to see Zachary facing off against the men alone.

The fight happens so fast that I can barely keep up. Zachary’s movements are sharp and calculated. There’s an eerie precision to how he lands each hit, like he’s done this a hundred times before. His calm appearance is replaced by something colder, deadlier.

But there are too many of them, so I grab a chair and swing it at one of the men coming toward me. The crash echoes through the room, but I don’t stop.

Finally, the last man hits the ground as Zachary towers over him. He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and wipes blood from his knuckles like it’s a casual inconvenience. "I’ll make sure you never see daylight again,” he warns and turns to me, adding, “Let’s get out of here.”

I begin to let out a shuddering breath, but then I see a glint of steel as one of the men stumbles to his feet.

"Zachary, look out!" I scream, but the blade is already sinking into his side.

He grunts, staggers, and his hand flies to the wound. Panic surges through me, but I grab the chair again. I swing it with every last bit of strength remaining in me. The man drops, unconscious, but Zachary collapses to his knees.

"Zachary! Oh no. No!"

I kneel beside him, my hands shaking as I try to stop the seepage of blood from his side. My mind is racing, trying to make sense of what’s happening.

He’s still breathing, shallow and uneven. His eyes are half-closed, and I can see the pain in his face as he whispers, "I’m fine. I’ve been through worse, so don’t cry as if I’m going to die. You still have a debt to repay."

This man is crazy. How is he cracking jokes when this is happening? "Yeah, you’re right. So don’t die on me just yet!"

His hand reaches up, trembling, and touches my cheek. The way he looks at me is almost peaceful, but there’s something darker in his eyes. “You seem to care, but I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart. Bad guys like me don’t just die easily.”

“B-Bad guy who?” I blink, confused. Is he hallucinating, or is he serious? 

Suddenly, the doors fly open, and police rush inside. Medics follow to pull me back, crying as I try to protest, my legs wobbling as they pick up Zachary on a stretcher.

The officers seem hesitant as they approach him, as if they know who he is but can’t say it aloud. Zachary doesn’t flinch. Even in pain, he holds their gaze steady, a defiant smirk on his face. "Not now."

His eyes meet mine for one instant before they wheel him away.