Laced With Havoc

Episode-5

Zion Havoc didn’t like repeating himself. And yet, here he was again — dragging himself into Freyda Liselle’s disaster of a life because she was too damn stubborn to listen.

He had already warned her once. Days ago, when whispers first reached him about his enemies sniffing around her boutique, he'd gone down there under the pretense of checking her place out. Tightened the locks, scoped the surrounding blocks.

She had been furious — naturally — hurling insults at him the whole time he pretended not to care. He hadn't told her the truth: that being anywhere near him painted a target on her back. She wouldn’t have believed him anyway. Freyda was too proud, too wrapped up in her perfect little world of lace and silk and delusions.

And now, that stubborn pride was going to get her killed.

His phone buzzed once in his pocket. A single word: Trouble.

He didn’t need a second hint. He was already on his bike, roaring through the city streets like the devil was chasing him.

When he skidded into her neighborhood, he spotted movement near the darkened alley beside her shop. Freyda — unmistakable even in the shadows — was fighting.

And holding her own, Zion had to admit grudgingly.

He saw her land a brutal elbow to one man’s face, twisting out of another’s grasp with a sharp knee to the gut. She wasn’t some damsel waiting for rescue. Freyda fought viciously, without hesitation — but there were three of them, and she was running out of room.

The third attacker lunged toward her with something flashing in his hand — a blade.

Zion didn’t hesitate.

He gunned the bike forward, engine howling as he barreled into the fray. Before the third man even realized what was happening, Zion had him on the ground, a sharp crack echoing off the alley walls as his fist connected with the man’s jaw.

“Could’ve handled it," Freyda snapped before he even opened his mouth.

Zion turned, wiping blood off his knuckles with slow, deliberate contempt. "Yeah? Looked like you were handling it real well. You were one second from bleeding out on the pavement."

Freyda squared her shoulders, glaring at him with raw fury. "I didn’t ask for your help."

"And I didn’t ask for a brainless brat throwing punches in an alley either, but here we are," Zion shot back.

The last of the attackers scrambled to his feet, limping off into the night without looking back. Zion didn’t stop him. He wasn’t worth the bullet.

He turned his glare back to Freyda. "Get on the damn bike."

Freyda crossed her arms defiantly, the defensive stance of someone who would rather chew glass than listen to him. "I’m not going anywhere with you."

Zion stepped closer, close enough that she had to tilt her head up to meet his glower. "You think you’ve got a choice, princess?"

"Don’t call me that," she hissed.

He smirked, all teeth. "Touchy."

The tension between them was pure hatred. No warmth, no hidden softness. Just two forces grinding against each other, sparks flying from friction born entirely of loathing.

"If you want to die tonight, stay here," Zion said flatly. "But if you’ve got half a brain, you’ll get on the bike before someone smarter than those idiots comes looking for you."

Freyda held his gaze, jaw clenching. Zion could practically see the gears turning behind her furious eyes. She hated him. Hated needing him even more.

Finally, with a muttered curse under her breath, she stalked toward the bike and climbed on behind him, keeping as much distance between them as possible.

She didn't even hold on properly. Zion could feel the gap between them like a damn canyon.

"Suit yourself," he muttered, revving the engine and tearing off down the road.

The night swallowed them up. Freyda bounced behind him, refusing to lean in or grab him for balance. Zion didn’t slow down. Let her fall off if she was that stubborn.

The ride was short and sharp, cutting through the backstreets until he pulled into the abandoned warehouse lot they used when things went sideways.

He killed the engine, kicked the stand, and turned to face her.

Freyda jumped off the bike like it was on fire. "This is kidnapping," she snapped.

Zion barked a laugh. "Kidnapping? Sweetheart, you wouldn’t be worth the ransom."

She shoved a finger at his chest. "You think I owe you now? Is that it? You swoop in and save the day, and suddenly you get to boss me around?"

"You owe me nothing," Zion growled, swatting her hand away. "I don’t want anything from you, Freyda. Least of all your gratitude."

"Good," she shot back, eyes flashing. "Because you’re not getting it."

He exhaled sharply, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "You're unbelievable. Even when you almost get stabbed in an alley, you still can't pull your head out of your ass."

"And you’re still a self-righteous thug pretending you’re some kind of savior," she said with a vicious smile.

For a split second, Zion seriously considered leaving her right there, standing in the dirt, and riding off into the night.

But he couldn't.

Because despite every ounce of bile between them, Freyda was in this mess because of him.

And whether she liked it or not, she was now a part of a game she didn’t even know she was playing.

"You’re in danger," Zion said tightly. "Real danger. Not the kind you can kick your way out of."

Freyda scoffed. "Maybe if you didn’t have a pack of psychopaths chasing after you, I wouldn’t be."

His jaw clenched. She wasn’t wrong. Not entirely. But that didn’t mean she got to throw it in his face.

"You don’t have a damn clue what’s coming for you," he said, stepping closer until there was barely an inch between them. "And if you don’t get your s**t together, you’re going to end up dead."

"And you’ll be thrilled, won’t you?" she sneered. "One less burden."

Zion stared at her, something dark and cold tightening in his chest.

"You think I’m doing this because I care about you?" he said quietly. "Don’t flatter yourself, princess. You’re just another loose end."

The lie tasted bitter in his mouth, but he let it stand.

Freyda laughed — a sharp, humorless sound that grated against his nerves. "Perfect. Because I wouldn’t trust you to save a goldfish, let alone my life."

She spun on her heel and stalked toward the warehouse door, not even bothering to wait for him.

Zion watched her go, tension thrumming under his skin.

It would’ve been easier if she were weak. If she broke down, begged for protection.

But no — Freyda Liselle would fight him every step of the way. She didn’t need him. She didn’t want him.

And somehow, that made protecting her even harder.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, jaw tightening as he followed her inside.

Enemies.

That’s all they were.

That’s all they could ever be.

And God help anyone who thought otherwise.