Chapter 28
Lottie
The air smells like wet leaves and burnt coffee. Typical college morning.
I shift my bag higher on my shoulder, squinting against the low sun as it cuts through the trees. Students spill across the courtyard—hoodies, earbuds, chatter about midterms. Normal. The kind of normal I’ve spent months pretending I fit into.
I just finished my first class, and next is biological oceanography.
Normally, someone’s with me. Crew, Archer, or Oscar, sometimes even Elijah, when he’s feeling overbearing. But today, I told them I needed space. Needed to prove I could do something alone again.
I lied. I just didn’t want them hovering.
I didn’t want them looking at me like I’d break.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. Archer’s name flashes. I ignore it. He’ll just tell me to text when I get to my next class, remind me to eat. He doesn’t get that sometimes I just need quiet.
I walk along the back path behind the library, the one that runs along the fence. The trees are half bare now, autumn curling their edges brown.
I adjust my hoodie, tucking my hands into the sleeves. My heart shouldn’t be pounding. It’s just campus. Just a path.
But something’s wrong.
That tight, electric feeling crawls up the back of my neck like static, like being watched.
I slow.
Nothing.
I keep walking.
A sound behind me, soft and deliberate. Footsteps.
I freeze. My pulse spikes. I spin around, scanning the path.
Empty.
“Get a grip,” I whisper.
But my hands won’t stop shaking.
I walk faster, cutting across the grass toward the humanities building. There are still people out here. Safety in numbers, right?
Except the sound follows.
Heavier now.
Closer.
I don’t look back this time. I run.
The wind stings my face as I sprint past benches, my bag slamming against my hip. I cut around the corner of the science wing and slam straight into a wall of muscle.
Strong hands grab my arms, steady but possessive.
“Well, well,” a voice murmurs, deep and familiar, smooth as oil. “If it isn’t my Little Bird.”
My lungs seize.
Lorenzo.
He’s standing right in front of me. Expensive coat, pressed shirt, that smug curl to his lips, I remember from my nightmares. The scent of cologne, sharp and chemical, hits my nose, and I choke.
“I missed that look,” he says softly, tilting his head. “The one you get right before you scream.”
“Let go of me,” I say, but my voice cracks halfway through.
He laughs quietly, dragging his thumb along my jaw. “You look so different now. All this time pretending to be dead. And here you are—alive and defiant. I thought we taught you better than that.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Didn’t James teach you that birds don’t get to fly away?”
My stomach turns. “He’s dead.”
“Yes.” Lorenzo’s voice drops lower. “Because Elijah killed him. And now, you belong to me instead.”
My body reacts before my brain does. I wrench my arm free, pivot hard, just like Claire drilled into me, and drive my elbow into his ribs. He grunts, steps back, but he’s fast. Too fast. He grabs my wrist, twisting. Pain shoots up my arm.
“Still got some fight in you,” he says, amused. “Good. I’ll enjoy every minute of breaking you apart again.”
I stomp down hard on his foot, shift my weight, and twist my wrist the way Claire showed me. Turning into the grab, not away from it. His grip slips. I spin free, drop low, and kick his knee out. He snarls at me, stumbles, but I bolt.
But he catches my hood, yanking me backward so hard my feet barely scrape the ground before I hit.
The impact knocks the air out of me in a single, strangled gasp.
My spine jars against the packed dirt, pain shooting up my back.
Gravel digs into my palms as I scramble to push myself up, but his shadow swallows the light before I can move.
He looms over me, eyes cold. “You think you can run?” he spits, grabbing a fistful of my sweatshirt, hauling me up. “You were meant for James. Meant to be his broken little wife.”
His words scrape against every scar inside me.
I see Claire’s face in my head.
How many girls don’t get up?
He swings his hand—fast, mean, all muscle and fury. I duck, but not fast enough. His knuckles graze my temple, a searing line of pain that explodes white behind my eyes. The world tilts for a second, sound shrinking to a low hum as I stumble sideways, trying to blink the sting away.
Instinct takes over. My legs coil and I drive my knee up—hard—into his gut.
The world narrows to that point of contact: the sickening thunk of bone on flesh, the forced exhale that sounds like a broken thing.
Heat blooms under my palm where it meets his shirt; the smell of his sweat and old tobacco hits my nose.
He folds in half, a strangled wheeze ripping out of him as air fights its way back into his lungs.
I grab his hair, slam my forehead into his nose. The crunch is sickening. His grip loosens. I shove him back and kick, catching him square in the chest.
He stumbles, hitting the wall of the building behind us.
Blood trickles from his nose, but he’s grinning.
“That’s new,” he croaks. “Do you really think you’ll be able to escape me, Scarlett?
I’ve broken you before. You sounded so sweet, screaming for help, until you went silent.
But I told you when I last saw you, I have ways of making Little Birds sing. ”
“Don’t call me that,” I hiss, clenching my fists.
He lunges.
I sidestep, strike—palm heel to the chin, elbow to the jaw, pivot, and sweep. He catches my arm mid-motion and throws me down again. My shoulder smacks the ground. Pain flares. I roll, gasping, dirt clinging to my cheek.
He’s on me in a second, hand around my throat.
“You think you can fight me?” he snarls, pressing his knee into my ribs. “You’re mine. You always were. I might have promised to share you with James, but I had you first.”
I claw at his hand, choking, every nerve on fire. His weight pins me, crushing my chest. The world narrows… blurred light, the taste of blood, his voice dripping venom.
How many girls don’t get up?
I slam my palm into his throat. His choke loosens for half a second… just enough. I twist my hips, roll us. His knee slips. I slam my elbow into his temple, again and again, until his grip breaks completely.
I scramble to my feet, shaking, vision spinning. He reaches for me one last time, but I grab the pepper spray from my bag and blast him in the face.
He screams.
That’s my cue.
I run.
My breath burns my lungs as I sprint across campus, dodging startled students.
My arm throbs, my ribs ache, and my throat feels like it’s going to close, but I don’t stop until I reach the admin building.
I slam through the front doors and stumble down the hall, nearly colliding with Will’s secretary.
“Lottie?” she stammers, eyes wide. “What—?”
“Will—” I choke out. “Where is he?”
She points down the hall, and I’m already moving, half limping, half running.
His office door is open.
Will is inside, standing by his desk, reading something on his laptop. He looks up when he hears me, and freezes. “Lottie?” His voice shifts from confusion to alarm in seconds. “What happened?”
I open my mouth, but the words won’t come. My knees buckle. He catches me before I hit the ground. His hands are steady, anchoring. “Hey, hey… look at me.” His voice drops, calm but fierce. “Are you hurt? Who did this?”
My throat works uselessly. My breath stutters. I can’t talk. My throat aches too much. “Lorenzo,” I use my hands, signing slowly. “He’s found me.”
Will goes still. For a moment, the whole world holds its breath. Then his eyes harden. He pulls me up, settling me in the chair by his desk, his hands on my shoulders, checking me over. “Did he touch you?” he asks quietly.
I nod, trembling. “But I fought him off.”
Something like pride flickers behind his fury, but it’s fleeting.
He exhales sharply, muttering something under his breath, and picks up the phone.
“Stay here.” He dials, voice low but lethal.
“Get eyes on Lorenzo Valen. Now. Campus perimeter, parking lot, west exit—anyone matching his description, you stop him.” He pauses. “No. You detain him.”
He hangs up, then kneels in front of me. His hands cup my jaw, gentle now. “You’re safe,” he says, steady and sure. “You did good, kid.”
I swallow, tears burning. “He called me Little Bird.”
Will’s jaw tightens. His thumb brushes a smear of blood from my lip. “He won’t call you anything again. I’ll make sure of it.”
The words land heavy, not as a promise of vengeance, but of safety. For the first time since I ran, I let myself breathe.
He stands, grabs his phone again. “Archer,” he says as soon as the line picks up. “Get to campus. Now. It’s Lottie.”
I can hear Archer’s voice faintly through the receiver—sharp, panicked.
“She’s alive,” Will says. “She’s safe. But she was attacked. Lorenzo.” A pause. “Yeah. Bring the others.”
He hangs up, turns back to me. “They’ll be here soon. You need a medic?”
I shake my head. “No. My throat hurts. Maybe a sprain and some bruises.”
He nods once, then sits on the edge of his desk, arms folded, staring at the floor. For a long moment, he doesn’t speak. The silence hums with restrained violence. Finally, he says, “You shouldn’t have been alone.”
“I know.”
“And I know you needed to be. You’re not a child, but if that bastard’s willing to come here, it means he’s desperate. Dangerous men get sloppy when they lose control.”
“I handled it. I did everything Claire taught me.”
He studies me, something like pride flickering under the tension. “Yeah,” he says. “You did.”
We sit in silence for a while—the hum of the heater, the faint noise of students outside. My body throbs with every heartbeat. My knuckles sting where I hit him. There’s blood—his or mine—under my nails.
I should feel strong.
Victorious.
Instead, I feel small.
Dirty.
Shaken.
Will must see it, because he pushes away from the desk and crouches down again, resting a hand lightly on my knee. “You’re not that girl anymore,” he says quietly. “The one they broke. You hear me? You didn’t freeze. You fought. That’s what matters.”
I blink back tears, nodding.
The door bursts open a few minutes later. Archer first, then Crew, Elijah, Roman, and Oscar right behind him. They all stop dead when they see me.
Archer’s face drains of color. “Jesus, Lottie.”
“I’m fine,” I start, but he’s already crossing the room, dropping to his knees in front of me, hands hovering over my arms, then my throat like he’s afraid to touch.
“What happened?” Crew demands, his voice tight. “Who did this?”
“Lorenzo,” Will replies. “She fought him off. Security’s looking.”
Oscar’s hands move fast—signs sharp, angry. “Where. Is. He?”
I meet his eyes, shaking. “Gone.”
Archer swears silently, fists clenching. Elijah’s jaw ticks. Crew paces, muttering under his breath. Oscar’s hands flex into fists, then suddenly he’s in front of me, pulling me into his arms.
Roman looks pale. “I should never have gone there. If he didn’t…” his voice chokes. “If he didn’t know you were alive, none of this would have happened.”
Will holds up a hand. “Enough. She doesn’t need you all crowding her. She needs calm.”
I breathe in, slow. They step back a little, forming a wall of protection. The sight of them—all of them—steadies me more than anything. Archer finally looks at me, his eyes burning with something between fury and fear. “He could have got you.”
“He didn’t,” I sign, the silence feeling safe.
Normal.
Little Bird.
I can feel my skin crawling everywhere he touched me, like the memory of his hands is still there, burning beneath the surface. My throat throbs, raw and bruised, every swallow a reminder.
He silenced me, again.
But I’m not broken. Not yet.