Page 18 of Let it Burn
Terror coils in my gut. My breath comes faster, panic clawing at my throat. I need to stay calm. I need to stall him tell him what he wants to hear. My fingers tremble as I slowly raise one hand.
"Jack, please. We can talk. Okay? Just... talk. I’m not going anywhere."
He relaxes slightly, just enough for me to move my foot. If I can just reach my keys, hit the panic button that Zeke gave me...
But then I hear it.
Heavy footsteps. Fast. Purposeful.
And Jack hears it too.
"What the—"
Zeke roars around the corner, a dark blur of rage and muscle. The second he sees me, pinned and pale, with a knife to my throat, his face contorts into something lethal.
"Get your fucking hands off her."
Jack turns, barely lifting the blade, when Zeke tackles him to the ground. I fall to my knees, gasping.
They struggle, fists flying, as Zeke pummels him.
"You touch her again, you’ll wish I’d killed you."
Sirens blare in the distance, growing louder. Someone must’ve called them. Maybe Marla got free. Maybe someone saw. I don't care. Zeke is here.
For a moment, everything stills. Zeke turns to me, eyes searching mine. “Are you hurt?” he asks, voice tight, concern etched in every line of his face.
I open my mouth to answer—
But Jack surges up with a snarl, knife flashing in the flickering security light.
I scream. “Zeke!”
He reacts instantly, shoving me behind him just as the blade slices across his forearm with a sickening hiss. His body jerks, but he doesn't fall. Doesn't even stumble. He grits his teeth, steps into Jack’s space, and takes the hit like it’s nothing, like protecting me is worth the pain.
Blood drips from his hand, but he grabs Jack by the collar and slams him into the wall so hard the brick cracks behind his head. The sound of impact is sickening, but not as sick as the way Jack grins through it all—wild, unhinged, like he’s enjoying this.
“You think she’s yours?” Zeke growls, voice like thunder. “You don’t own her. You never did.”
Jack tries to swipe the knife again, but Zeke grabs his wrist, twisting until there’s a wet crack and the blade clatters to the ground. Jack screams this time. Zeke doesn’t stop. He slams his fist into Jack’s face, once—twice—until I can barely recognize the man who’s haunted my life.
“Don’t kill him, it’s not worth it.” I gasp, grabbing Zeke’s bloody arm, crying so hard I can barely breathe. “You’re bleeding. I need to check your hand.”
That’s when I hear the sirens. Red and blue lights flood the lot as tires screech and doors fly open. Maddox is the first one out, his face hard as stone as he rushes toward us.
“Zeke!” he yells. “Step back! We’ve got him.”
Zeke’s chest heaves as he lets Jack drop to the ground, unconscious and bloody. He stumbles back, and I catch him. My hands are slick with his blood, my own body still shaking.
But when he looks down at me, all I see is softness in his eyes. “You’re safe now,” he murmurs, voice ragged. “He’s never touching you again.”
I nod. “Maddox, he took Marla. She’s in his car.” I say.
“I’ll go check.” He answers
My hands won’t stop shaking, but I force myself to breathe as I guide Zeke inside the clinic. The door clicks shut behind us, muting the chaos outside. It’s quiet here. Too quiet. My pulse is still thundering, but Zeke’s the one bleeding.
“Sit,” I whisper, pulling him toward the small exam room near the front. He doesn’t argue, just watches me with those fierce, worried eyes like I’m the one who got stabbed. His forearm is slick with blood, the cut angry and red.
