ZOE DEAN'S POV
Unfortunately for me, I didn't walk far before I spotted a group of men at the end of the path. They were huddled together in the shadows, smoke curling from their cigarettes, laughter echoing through the dim alley.
They didn't look like harmless teenagers. No — they were older, rough around the edges, with that kind of look that made your stomach twist. The kind of men you cross the street to avoid.
My breath hitched. Their laughter died the moment they noticed me, and I felt their eyes trail over me like knives. I clutched my bag tighter against my body and tried to keep my pace steady.
Just walk, Zoe. Keep walking. Don't look. Don't make eye contact.
Normally, a group of guys hanging out wouldn't scare me this much. But ever since Nero, ever since I saw what his world really was — the blood, the fights, the danger — I'd become afraid of everyone. Everyone felt like a threat.
My heart pounded as I neared them. The air felt heavy. I could almost taste the smoke and the tension. I kept my head down, whispering to myself like a prayer, If I don't look at them, they won't care. If I don't look, they won't—
"Hey! You there!"
My whole body flinched. I didn't stop. I didn't even look back. I just walked faster, my hands trembling as I held my bag closer.
"Hey, pretty girl!" another voice shouted, closer this time.
My chest tightened. Panic clawed up my throat. "Leave me alone!" I yelled without turning around.
But the sound of their footsteps grew louder. They were following me. Running now.
Oh God. Please. Not again.
One of them grabbed the back of my shirt and yanked hard. I stumbled and fell backward, hitting the ground with a dull thud that knocked the air from my lungs.
Tears stung my eyes instantly. I was trembling, too scared to even think straight. "Leave me alone!" I cried out, clutching my bag like it could protect me from them.
They surrounded me, their shadows swallowing me whole.
"Whoa, she's a beauty," one of them said, and the others laughed. Their voices were full of the kind of laughter that makes your skin crawl.
I squeezed my eyes shut. Not again. Please, not again.
One of them crouched down to my level, his breath reeking of smoke as he grabbed my chin and forced me to look up. I tried to turn away, but his grip was strong. He smirked.
"I told you she looked familiar," he said, glancing at the others. "She's the girl that made Nero humiliate Rhino at the race, remember her?"
My eyes widened. My stomach dropped. Rhino. I remembered that name — the man who'd called me Nero's toy. The one Nero had fought.
"It's really her," another one said with a low chuckle. "She's a beauty. No wonder Nero was so protective of her."
Someone hesitated. "We should leave her alone. We don't want trouble with Nero."
"Nero's not here," one of them said, stepping closer. "Doesn't hurt to play with his girl."
He yanked my bag from my hands. I screamed, reaching for it, tears spilling down my face. "Give it back!"
And then —
"The lady said you should leave her alone."
A deep, calm voice. Cold. Commanding.
All of them froze. So did I.
I heard footsteps approaching, slow and deliberate, echoing against the pavement. My heart pounded as I turned my head. All I could see at first were black polished shoes… and then a tall man stepping out of the smoke.
A leather jacket. Dark eyes. A dangerous, quiet aura that made the air feel colder.
"Nero?" I whispered, my heart stuttering. My chest tightened painfully as tears blurred my vision.
It can't be. He's not here.
But for a second, for one wild, desperate second, I believed it was him.
Then the man stepped into the light, and reality shattered my fragile hope.
It wasn't Nero.
My heart broke all over again, pieces scattering somewhere inside me.
"Who the hell are you?" one of the guys barked, squaring his shoulders.
The stranger didn't flinch. He looked utterly relaxed — too relaxed — and yet there was something in his gaze that made even the shadows seem to back away.
He smirked faintly. "I could be your worst nightmare… or," he tilted his head slightly, "you choose."
The tone in his voice was lethal — low, sharp, and sure of itself.
"Mind your business," one of the men spat, but another grabbed his arm, panic flashing across his face.
"Stephan, don't," he hissed under his breath. "You don't know who he is."
The color drained from Stephan's face. One by one, the rest began to realize it too. Their laughter vanished.
The stranger's smirk faded into something darker. "You see?" he said softly. "Your friend knows me."
Then his voice dropped, cold and cutting. "Hand the lady her things. Now."
No one hesitated. My bag hit the ground, and so did every ounce of their bravado.
"Now scram."
The single word carried enough weight to make them scatter instantly.
And just like that, they were gone — leaving me sitting there on the cold pavement, shaking, tears still fresh on my cheeks.
The stranger turned his attention to me. His expression softened slightly as he bent down and began picking up my scattered belongings.
I couldn't move. I couldn't even breathe properly.
When he was done, he held my bag out toward me. "Here," he said quietly.
I just stared at him, my hands trembling.
He sighed lightly, then reached forward and gently placed the bag in my hands himself. His touch was careful, almost gentle.
And then, to my shock, his thumb brushed against my cheek — wiping away one of my tears.
My breath caught. I froze.
"You shouldn't be out here alone," he said softly, his tone suddenly calm — almost kind.
I didn't know what to say. I didn't even know what to feel. Fear. Relief. Confusion. It all tangled up inside me until I could barely tell them apart.
Who is this guy?