THE UNFORSEEN DOMINANCE OF ZACH MARLOW

~ 4 ~

Zach stared at his hands, trembling with disbelief. The crumpled car hood bore the marks of his newfound strength. Since waking in the hospital, his body had felt different—stronger, sharper, as if some dormant power was clawing its way to the surface.

“Zach!” Mary’s tearful voice snapped him out of his daze. She threw herself into his arms, her small frame trembling against his. Her sobs were muffled against his chest as she clung to him tightly.

“You’re alive!” she cried, pulling back just enough to look at him. Her face lit up with joy, though fear lingered in her wide eyes. 

“I thought you—” Her voice cracked, and tears streamed down her cheeks.

“I’m here, Mary,” Zach said softly, holding her close. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Her relief was short-lived as her gaze darted toward the group of men watching them. “You—You should run! They’ll kill you. Please, don’t fight them!”

Zach’s jaw clenched, his gaze shifting to the gang. The group of five men sneered, clearly unimpressed by his earlier display.

“Look at this,” one of them mocked, his voice dripping with disdain. “The poor little man miraculously survives. Too bad your mother didn’t have the same luck, huh?”

One of the men, a wiry figure with a crooked smile, chuckled. “Fight us? That little stunt was lucky, but luck runs out.”

Another, taller with a jagged scar across his forehead, spat on the ground. “Should’ve stayed dead like his old lady. He’ll join her soon enough.”

Zach’s eyes darkened at the mention of his mother, but he said nothing, keeping Mary shielded behind him.

The gang leader, a burly man with a scar running from his left eyebrow to his jaw, stepped forward. His cold, calculating eyes locked onto Zach, and a cruel smile twisted his lips. His presence screamed authority, marking him as their leader.

“We’ve wasted enough time,” the leader said, his voice rough. “The girl belongs to our young master, Darius. He wants the girl, and what Darius wants, Darius gets.”

At the mention of the name, Zach’s eyes narrowed, and Mary flinched, her fingers clutching his arm in fear. The Fitzroys. Zach had heard of them—an influential and ruthless family, even more powerful than Luke Harrington’s clan.

“You’re taking her nowhere,” Zach said, his voice cold and firm.

The leader chuckled, a dark, mocking sound. “Do you have any idea who you’re dealing with? Interfere, and I’ll make sure you join your mother in the afterlife.”

Zach stepped forward, shielding Mary. “She’s my sister. She’s my only family left. I won’t let anyone take her.”

“Do you want to go against Darius, a descendant of The Fitzroy family?" One scoffed in disbelief.

“They could squash the Harringtons like ants,” the leader continued, a smug grin spreading across his face. “And you think you can stop us? We’re taking the girl to Darius. You? You’re just a minor inconvenience.”

One of the men snickered. “He won’t be inconvenient for long.”

“Enough talk,” the leader barked, pointing at one of his men. “Ronan, take him out.”

Ronan, a hulking brute with tattoos snaking up his arms, stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. His grin was filled with malice as he sized Zach up. “This won’t take long.”

“Zach, no!” Mary cried, her voice trembling. “Please, just run!”

Ronan charged with a roar, his fists swinging like sledgehammers. Zach moved without thinking, his body reacting faster than his mind could process. He sidestepped, his hand shooting out to grab Ronan’s arm. With a swift motion, he twisted.

A sickening crack echoed through the air as Ronan’s leg buckled beneath him, twisted at an unnatural angle. He collapsed to the ground with a guttural scream, clutching his shattered limb.

The other men froze, their sneers replaced with wide-eyed shock.

“What the—” one of them stammered, stepping back.

Zach stood over Ronan’s crumpled form, his eyes blazing. He didn’t say a word, but the message was clear.

The leader hesitated, his bravado faltering as he glanced at his incapacitated man. The others exchanged uneasy glances, their confidence shaken.

For a moment, the only sounds were Ronan’s groans and the crackle of distant flames from Zach’s burned-down house.

Mary gasped, her hand flying to her mouth as she beheld the huge man now lying with a broken leg on the floor.

“Who’s next?” Zach asked, his voice calm but lethal, his eyes fixed on the leader.

The leader’s face darkened, his previous arrogance replaced with unease.

“You’ve made a mistake,” the leader growled, pulling out a knife. “The Fitzroys don’t take kindly to being defied.”

“Neither do I,” Zach replied, his body tense, ready for the next attack.

Mary clutched his arm. “Zach, please, let’s go!”

“Not until they understand one thing,” he said, his eyes burning with resolve. “No one touches my sister.”

The leader hesitated, his grip tightening on the knife. The rest of his men exchanged nervous glances, clearly second-guessing their odds.