Chapter Twenty – The Grab
1941 Words
Emilia’s POV
⸻
The alley felt colder than usual.
Like the air itself had teeth.
I wrapped my cardigan tighter and tucked my chin down, my fingers wrapped around my bag strap so tightly my knuckles ached. It wasn’t that late—just after nine—but the streets were quiet, too quiet, and I hated how loud my footsteps sounded against the damp pavement.
I should’ve taken the long way.
But I was tired.
And shortcuts were survival, sometimes.
Even when they weren’t safe.
⸻
I was halfway down the alley when I heard it.
A scuff. Barely a whisper.
But it was enough.
I froze.
Turned.
Empty.
The kind of empty that feels like a lie.
My stomach dropped.
The instinct I thought I’d outrun came roaring back.
You’re not alone.
⸻
Then I heard it.
The voice that had lived in the back of my mind like a ghost I hadn’t fully exorcised.
“Emilia.”
⸻
I didn’t have to see him to know who it was.
The dread didn’t build—it detonated.
A punch to the chest.
A cold hand around the back of my neck.
Every bruise I thought had faded flared again—memories under my skin, burned in.
⸻
He stepped from the shadows like he belonged there.
Logan.
Wearing that old hoodie. Same jacket. Same eyes.
Still the same. Still pretending he was something he hadn’t been in years.
Still pretending he had the right.
⸻
“What are you doing here?” I asked, my voice cracking like glass.
My body was already reacting—heart thudding, pulse fluttering, limbs coiling like prey.
I wanted to run.
I wanted to scream.
But I didn’t do either.
Because fear doesn’t always move fast.
Sometimes, it traps you in place.
⸻
Logan took a step forward.
I stepped back.
“Just want to talk,” he said.
The same way he used to.
Right before the apologies turned into pressure. The guilt turned into rage. The questions turned into hands.
⸻
“No,” I whispered. “You don’t get to.”
“Yes, I do,” he snapped, that old frustration flaring in his voice. “You think I don’t see what’s going on?”
Another step.
“You’re not answering your phone. You’re not home. You’ve got some guy watching you now?”
⸻
He grabbed my wrist.
Tight.
I gasped.
It was instinct.
A sound of pain and memory and panic all at once.
I tried to pull back, but he squeezed harder.
Not enough to bruise—yet.
Just enough to remind me what it felt like.
To belong to someone who saw you as a possession.
⸻
“You think he cares about you?” Logan spat. “He doesn’t. Guys like that? They collect girls like you. Shiny little toys until they get bored.”
I yanked again.
“Let. Me. Go.”
⸻
He didn’t.
And suddenly, I wasn’t here anymore.
I was back in our apartment. On the floor. Behind the door. Crying silently while the neighbors pretended they didn’t hear.
The girl I used to be—the one who folded in on herself just to survive—rose up like smoke.
⸻
And then—
Everything changed.
⸻
The roar of tires cut through the air like a scream.
A black SUV peeled around the corner and came to a dead stop at the mouth of the alley.
The headlights cut across the pavement.
Logan turned.
I turned.
And my heart—
Stopped.
⸻
He stepped out of the car like a goddamn shadow.
Tall.
Composed.
Lethal.
Luca.
⸻
The sound of the car door closing was louder than Logan’s breathing.
Louder than mine.
Louder than the fear still clawing at my throat.
⸻
“Let her go.”
He didn’t shout.
Didn’t raise his voice.
He didn’t have to.
His presence alone turned the entire alley into a weapon.
And the safety I didn’t know I still believed in—
Rushed into me.
Like breath.
Like blood.
Like him.
⸻
Logan didn’t let go right away.
And for one awful second, I thought he’d try something stupid.
But then Luca stepped forward—
And Logan froze.
Not because he was scared of being hit.
But because he knew.
There were worse things than bruises.
And Luca didn’t make threats.
He made truths.
⸻
When Logan finally dropped my arm, I stumbled back.
The world tilted.
I didn’t fall—because Luca’s hand caught me.
Just a touch.
Fingers at my elbow.
But it steadied everything.
It was like my entire body remembered what safety could feel like.
And his touch was the reminder.
⸻
I looked at him then.
Really looked.
His eyes didn’t leave Logan.
His body was tense, coiled like a blade mid-swing.
But his hand—his hand on my arm—was gentle.
Grounding.
Certain.
And it hit me then—
He always finds me when I need him most.
⸻
He didn’t ask for thanks.
Didn’t demand anything.
He just stood there.
A silent wall between me and every part of my past that still wanted to claim me.
⸻
And I—
I didn’t know what scared me more.
That I was starting to need him.
Or that I already did.
⸻
Because part of me wanted to curl into him.
To let him erase the terror still burning under my skin.
To beg him not to leave.
To confess that the bruises had faded, but the damage hadn’t.
But the other part?
The part that remembered what it was like to be controlled?
To be owned?
That part didn’t know if I could survive wanting someone like Luca.
Someone who didn’t just protect.
He claimed.
⸻
And I could feel it.
In the way he looked at Logan like a thing he’d already buried.
In the way his voice didn’t waver.
In the way his body moved—like the space around me already belonged to him.
⸻
He would destroy anyone who hurt me.
He would end them.
And some quiet, twisted part of me…
Didn’t want him to stop.
⸻
Luca’s POV
⸻
I didn’t touch Logan.
But the desire to end him was a living thing in my blood.
Pulsing.
Humming.
Demanding.
He had no idea how close he was to dying.
Not because he grabbed her.
Not because he spoke her name.
But because he dared to put his hands on what was mine.
⸻
I stepped between them as naturally as breathing.
Like I belonged there.
Because I did.
Her body was trembling, barely held together by the silence between us, and Logan—fool that he was—still didn’t understand what he’d just stepped into.
This wasn’t a man defending a girl.
This was a king defending a queen no one else had realized had been crowned.
Yet.
⸻
“Get in the car,” I said to her, voice low. Firm.
She didn’t question it.
She didn’t argue.
She moved.
Good.
Her obedience wasn’t fear.
It was trust.
Even if she didn’t realize it yet.
⸻
Once she was safe, I turned back.
Faced him.
Watched the bravado in his shoulders start to crack.
Like he finally recognized the weight of the moment.
Like he finally understood that I wasn’t some rival.
I was the end of him.
⸻
He puffed out a breath. Tried to square his stance.
“I don’t know who you think you are,” he started.
I took one step closer.
He didn’t flinch—but his hands curled into fists.
“Let me guess. Money. Suits. A car and a hard-on for saving girls who don’t need saving.”
His laugh was brittle. Forced.
“She chose me. She stayed.”
“She survived you,” I said, my voice like the snap of a cold blade. “There’s a difference.”
⸻
His face flushed.
The anger. The shame. The panic—spinning together behind his eyes.
But I didn’t stop.
Didn’t soften.
Didn’t care.
⸻
“You think this is a game?” I continued, stepping close enough that he could smell my cologne, feel the heat rolling off me like a furnace.
“You think touching her again is something you’ll walk away from?”
He opened his mouth.
I cut him off.
“I don’t make threats, Logan.”
I leaned in.
Watched his pupils narrow.
“I make examples.”
⸻
He took a step back.
Just one.
But it was enough.
His chin tipped up—desperate to hold onto some scrap of ego.
But I saw it.
I saw the crack in his spine.
The way his mouth twisted when he couldn’t find the words to match the fire in mine.
⸻
“You don’t get to speak to her again,” I said. “You don’t look at her. You don’t think about her.”
His eyes flicked toward the car.
Toward her.
My vision went black.
⸻
“She’s not your second chance,” I whispered, stepping in so close that my mouth nearly brushed his ear. “She’s not your mistake to repeat.”
He shivered.
“Say her name again—just once—and I won’t touch you.”
I pulled back, met his gaze.
“But I will let her watch.”
⸻
He froze.
That landed.
The image.
The fear.
The truth.
Because I meant every word.
And he knew it.
⸻
I turned without giving him a final look.
I didn’t need to.
The message had been delivered.
And carved.
⸻
Back at the car, I opened the door.
Slid in.
Emilia was stiff in the passenger seat, her arms crossed, lips pale.
She didn’t speak.
Didn’t look at me.
But I could feel her pulse through the space between us.
Tight.
Frantic.
Alive.
⸻
“Are you hurt?”
A slow shake of her head.
But it didn’t calm me.
Because I saw the faint red print on her wrist.
His hand.
His claim.
I would erase it.
Not just with time.
With fire.
⸻
The drive was quiet.
She kept her gaze out the window.
But I kept mine on her.
Every breath she took was a testament to what I was willing to become.
What I was becoming.
Not a savior.
Not a man.
But a weapon.
⸻
When she finally turned to me and asked, “Why you?”—
I answered honestly.
“Because you’re mine.”
⸻
That wasn’t possession born of control.
That was truth.
Something written in blood long before she knew she was being followed.
She didn’t recoil.
Didn’t argue.
She just looked away slowly.
Like that word had sunk into her bones.
⸻
Back at her building, I opened her door.
Held out my hand.
She took it.
Without hesitation.
Without fear.
She wanted to.
She may not understand it yet.
But she felt it.
⸻
When she asked if I’d said anything else to Logan, I lied.
To protect her.
She deserved peace, not the echo of what I’d promised him.
She didn’t need to know how close I’d come to killing him.
She just needed to know I was watching.
Always.
⸻
She turned and walked into her building.
Didn’t look back.
Didn’t need to.
I’d already followed her home a hundred times in my head.
And tonight wouldn’t be the last.
⸻
Back in the car, I didn’t speak.
Didn’t blink.
Just stared at the alley where Logan had disappeared.
And whispered to the dark:
“He’ll never touch her again.”
- Writer
