Pick us back

Chapter 16

I look at the three of them—the boss’s son, the mechanic, and the leader—and a cold, paralyzing dread settles in my stomach. The kitchen feels smaller, the walls closing in as the weight of their "protection" begins to feel a lot like a new kind of cage.

Everything in me is screaming to run.

My muscles tense, my eyes darting toward the door I just walked through.

For ten years, I’ve been a victim of people who claimed to own me, and looking at the raw, possessive fire in Marcus’s eyes, I realize I’ve just traded one set of masters for another. They didn't just find a girl; they recovered an asset.

"Nova," Julian says, his voice soft but commanding, sensing my flight reflex. He stands up slowly, his height casting a long shadow over the table.

I take a stumbling step back, Marcus’s hands drop from my waist, but he doesn't rise. He stays in the chair watching me like a hawk watching a rabbit.

"Don't," Marcus warns, his voice a low vibration. "The world outside that door is the one that let you bleed.

The world inside this room is the only one that's going to keep you alive."

I shake my head, my breath coming in shallow hitches. They think they’re my saviors, but all I see are three dangerous men who have spent a decade becoming monsters while I was being broken. I don't know who I am to them—there lover , a princess, or a prize—but the urge to bolt into the cold morning air is almost impossible to fight.

"You're not leaving," Ezra adds, his casual tone gone, replaced by a sharp, clinical edge as he stands to block the hallway. "Not before we finish this"

Fear and adrenaline override every logic center in my brain. I don’t think; I just react. As Ezra steps to block the hallway, I put every ounce of my trauma and rage into my fist and swing.

My knuckles crack against his jaw with a sickening thud.

He wasn't expecting it. The shock on his face is the last thing I see before I’m bolting past him, my boots skidding on the tile as I tear through the back door and into the biting morning air.

I don’t stop. I can hear the chairs screeching against the floor behind me and Marcus’s roar of "NOVA!" echoing through the house. I sprint toward the only structure in sight: a massive, industrial-style garage.

I wrench the side door open and slam it shut behind me, fumbling for the lock. The air inside is heavy with the scent of gasoline, expensive leather, and oil. My chest heaves as I turn around, my eyes widening at the sight.

It’s a fleet. Rows of high-performance cars—glossy blacks, deep silvers, and blood-reds—sit like sleeping beasts in the shadows. I scan the walls, my breath hitching when I see a pegboard of keys.

I grab the first set my fingers touch, my heart hammering against my ribs. I don't care where I'm going; I just know I can't stay.

The rhythmic chirp-chirp of the security system echoes off the high, metal rafters of the garage. My eyes dart frantically across the rows of polished chrome and dark paint until I see it: a pair of headlights flashes toward the back of the building.

I’ve unlocked a midnight-blue Porsche 911. It’s low, lethal-looking, and parked right near the secondary bay door.

I scramble across the concrete, my boots thudding against the floor. I don’t even have the door fully open before I’m throwing myself into the driver’s seat.

The interior smells like Marcus—expensive leather and that sharp cedar scent from the shirt I’m still wearing.

I fumbled with the ignition, my hands shaking so violently I nearly drop the keys.

Behind me, the side door of the garage bursts open.

"Nova! Don't you dare!" Marcus’s voice thunders, his silhouette filling the doorway, chest heaving. Julian and Ezra are right behind him, Ezra wiping a smudge of blood from his split lip with a look of pure, shocked disbelief.

I slam the key into the slot and twist. The engine doesn't just start; it roars to life, a deep, mechanical growl that vibrates through my entire body I'm hunched over the steering wheel, my knuckles white as I grip the leather. The engine is a living, breathing beast beneath me, but I’m paralyzed. Through the windshield, I look at the three of them—the men who claim to be my family, my protectors, my owners.

"Please move!" I scream, the words tearing from my throat. "I’m begging you, just move!"

Marcus doesn't budge. He stands directly in front of the hood, his large hands splayed flat against the metal as if he could hold back the horsepower with sheer will.

His eyes are fixed on mine, burning with a terrifying mix of heartbreak and iron-clad authority. To my left, Julian is reaching for the driver-side handle, his face tight with a desperation I've never seen before.

Ezra stays back a few feet, his hand hovering over his bruised jaw, his eyes cold and calculating.

"You aren't going anywhere, Nova," Marcus says, his voice cutting through the roar of the Porsche's engine. He doesn't shout this time; the quietness is much worse. "You don't know how to handle what's waiting for you out there."

"I’ve handled it for ten years!" I sob, my foot trembling on the clutch. "I handled it while you were nowhere to be found!"

"And that ends today," Marcus growls, leaning over the hood so his face is inches from the glass. "You want to run? Fine. But you'll have to go through me to do it. And we both know you won't do that, honey."

The engine revs as my foot slips slightly, the car lurching forward an inch.

Marcus doesn't even flinch. He just stares at me, waiting to see if I’ve truly become the monster they raised him to protect

The tears finally spill over, hot and blurring my vision as they track down my cheeks. My shoulders shake, the weight of the last ten years and the last ten minutes finally crashing down on me.

Through the windshield, I see Marcus’s expression crack. The iron-hard leader vanishes, replaced by a man who looks like he’s just been struck. His hands, still pressed against the hood of the Porsche, lose their tension.

He sees me—not as a piece of a puzzle or a "Mafia Princess," but as a girl who is terrified and hurting.

"Nova," he says, his voice losing its gravelly edge.

He looks at my shaking hands on the steering wheel, then back up at my eyes. "Look at me, honey."

I don't move. I can't.

"How about this," he says, his tone shifting into something soft, almost pleading. "Instead of driving off and leaving us—instead of running into a world that doesn't care about you—

what if you and I just go for a drive?"

He takes a slow step toward the driver's side, his hands held out where I can see them, showing me he isn’t reaching for a weapon or the door lock. Julian and Ezra step back, giving him the space.

"Just the two of us," Marcus promises,

leaning down toward the window. "We’ll leave the guys here. We can go anywhere you want. We can just... drive until the air feels easier to breathe. No secrets, no Mafia talk. Just us."

He reaches for the door handle, but he doesn't pull it. He waits for me to click the unlock button. "What do you say, Nova? Give me an hour. If you still want to run after that... I won't stand in your way."

I stare at him through the glass, my vision swimming. Marcus looks back with a raw, unshakable focus, his hand still resting tentatively on the door handle.

"Do you promise?" I whisper, the words barely audible over the low thrum of the engine.

Marcus doesn't hesitate. He leans closer to the window, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that feels like a physical vow. "I promise, Nova. On my life. No Ezra, no Julian, no talk about the family. Just the road and wherever you want to go."

I see Julian’s jaw tighten in the background, and Ezra looks like he wants to protest, but Marcus cuts them off with a single, sharp glance over his shoulder. They stay back, respecting the line he’s drawn.

Slowly, my trembling finger reaches for the console. Click. The locks pop.

Marcus opens the door and slides into the passenger seat. His presence immediately fills the small cabin, the familiar scent of cedar and leather wrapping around me.

He doesn't reach for the keys or try to take the wheel; he just buckles his seatbelt and leans back, resting his large hands in his lap.

"The garage door is open," he says softly, nodding toward the morning light spilling into the bay. "You’re behind the wheel, Nova. You pick the direction