“I didn’t ask you to!”
The words hung between them, sharp and raw.
Zach moved, but not toward her. He braced both hands on the counter, head bowed. The tension in him was visible now, running through his shoulders, down his spine.
Not hidden, not composed. Strained.
Emma took a breath, steadied herself.
“You think I can’t handle knowing?” She pressed. “You think I’ll panic? Fall apart? Need protection from reality?”
He turned slowly. “I think you can’t handle a trained attacker.”
The words landed colder than anything he’d said so far.
She lifted her chin. “How will ignorance of the threat protect me from him?”
“Emma—”
“You want me to accept you shutting me out? Making decisions on my behalf?” she asked, stepping into his space. “That you get to renege on our deal?” Her gaze held his. “Then tell me how keeping me in the dark makes me safer.”
Something flickered in his eyes. Not anger. Something more complicated, more dangerous.
He moved toward her with that predator’s grace she’d noticed the first day they met. Controlled. Purposeful. He stopped close enough that she had to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact.
“You want a demonstration?” His voice was toneless. Weighted. Warning bells rang in the back of her mind.
Emma didn’t back down. “Yes.”
Zach’s hand moved—not fast, not aggressive, just precise. His fingers closed around her wrist. Firm. Inescapable.
“What happens,” he said quietly, “if someone grabs you like this?”
Her pulse jumped under his fingers. She knew he felt it.
“I—”
He spun her, moving her arm behind her back in one smooth motion, measured and careful but undeniable. Her body flush against his chest, breath catching as she lost her balance. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t break his hold.
“Your center’s gone,” he said near her ear. “You’re off balance. You can’t generate force. You have no leverage.”
His voice was calm. Instructional. That made it worse.
“If I were an attacker, you’d be?—”
Emma dropped. She shifted her weight hard, letting gravity take her instead of fighting it. Zach’s grip loosened for a fraction of a second. She twisted, used his own hold against him—and broke free. For one beautiful moment, she was clear. Moving. Winning.
Then Zachmoved. Emma’s brain couldn’t process the speed. One second she was pivoting. The next—her back hit the wall.
Zach was there. Everywhere. His arms braced on either side of her head. Her wrists pinned above her. His body blocked every option. No space. No leverage. No escape.
He wasn’t composed now. Not fully.
His chest rose and fell against hers, breath uneven. His eyes, molten silver-blue, focused on her. No longer detached.
“That,” he growled, “is what real training looks like. That’s what we’re up against.”
Emma’s heart hammered. From adrenaline. From anger. From the electric current running beneath her skin everywhere he wasn’t quite touching her.
