Page 11 of The Enforcer (Damn! #2)

“WHAT THE HELL are you going to do with me?” she repeated. The words burst out before she could stop them, sharp, hot, furious. Not whispered. Not muttered. Spat like venom.

Her pulse slammed into her throat so hard she felt dizzy for half a second, like the floor might shift beneath her feet.

Her hands curled into fists at her sides, nails cutting into her palms. Every inch of her burned, but not with heat, this was fury.

Pure, reckless, unfiltered. It vibrated in her bones.

Rushed in her ears. She didn’t want to run.

She wanted to hit him.

Zane’s head turned slowly, his face carved from stone, unreadable but lethal in its stillness.

She could feel her pulse jackhammering in her throat. “You think you get to keep me here? Like some prisoner you strip and interrogate whenever your paranoia flares up?”

He didn’t answer.

He didn’t have to. The heat in his stare was answer enough, banked fire behind stillness, a promise and a warning twisted into one.

It didn’t say yes or no. It said try me.

It said run, and it said I’ll catch you.

And something in her chest seized at the sight of it.

Because this wasn’t the kind of man who threatened.

This was the kind who followed through.

Her chest tightened, breath clawing at her throat.

That look in his eyes, dark, unyielding, hungry, said more than words ever could.

He hadn’t called her his. But everything about the way he looked at her screamed possession.

It was there in the heat of his stare, the way his body angled like he already owned the space between them.

And it twisted something deep in her gut, because some part of her wanted to push back, to reject it outright.

But another part… Another part burned from that unspoken claim.

“I didn’t betray you,” she snapped. “And I’m not yours.”

His gaze dragged over her like a touch. Slow. Possessive.

“You are,” he said. “You just don’t know it yet.”

Her heart slammed once, hard. A violent jolt that rocked through her chest, sending heat and panic clashing in equal measure.

Her breath faltered, legs threatening to buckle beneath her as his words rooted themselves inside her.

She hated how her body responded, hated that the threat sounded too much like a promise.

And somewhere deep inside, something traitorous tightened around the need to believe him.

He stepped toward her.

And she knew what he was thinking, because it was written all over his body.

In the tension in his shoulders, in the way his gaze locked on hers with a hunger sharpened by something darker.

Possession. A claim already made, not with words, but with actions.

He thought he was being patient. He thought this was restraint.

But Lily could see it for what it was.

He didn’t want to convince her.

He wanted to own her.

“I’m going to keep you, Lily. In this penthouse. In my bed.”

Another step.

“And maybe before long… under me.” His voice dropped, velvet-wrapped steel. “Screaming my name.”

Her stomach twisted. With rage. With heat.

With a dark, spiraling pull that scraped against the inside of her ribs.

She didn’t want to name it, because doing that would make it real.

Would give it authority. But it was already there, gnawing at the edge of her will, whispering things she didn’t want to hear.

Dangerous things. Shameful things. Things that sounded like yes.

She took a step back. “You’re insane.”

“Am I?” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Because I think I’m the only one here seeing this clearly.”

“The hell you are.”

She stormed past him, heading toward the door with her pulse thundering in her ears, fury white-hot and choking.

She didn’t have a plan, just an instinct to escape before she shattered.

What would she do if he let her go? Run barefoot into the night?

Bolt? Keep running until her lungs gave out and her thoughts scattered like ash?

But she wasn’t the same girl who’d hit send only hours before and watched her world implode. Not anymore.

Now she knew what Zane tasted like. What his silence felt like pressed against her skin. And if she didn’t get out of his bedroom, she wouldn’t escape him, she’d fold for him.

And she didn’t know what would be worse.

His arm shot out. Fast. Impossibly fast. And blocked her path.

Her breath hitched, fury snapping back into her bloodstream like electricity.

“Move,” she hissed.

“Try again.”

“You want a fight?” she snapped. “Because you’re about to get one.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just leaned in, close enough for her to feel his breath against her cheek.

“I don’t want a fight,” he said darkly. “I want you right where you are. Pissed. Panting. And so fucking aware of me you can’t think straight.”

Heat flushed across her chest and up her neck like a warning she couldn’t outrun.

Shame curled low and sharp in her stomach, because no matter how furious she was, no matter how much she wanted to stay defiant, her body wouldn’t fall in line.

It wanted him. And that betrayal stung almost worse than anything he could do to her.

She could feel the burn of it, the electric pulse scrambling through every inch of her flesh.

Her nipples tightened beneath the fabric of his shirt. She hated that he noticed.

He was so close she could smell him, a natural scent combined with steel and heat. The aftershock of want still rolling off his skin like smoke. Her body remembered every place he’d touched her, every place he hadn’t yet. It was unbearable.

And addictive.

“Get out of my way,” she said again, but the threat had softened, just a fraction.

He didn’t.

Instead, his hand came up, brushing the edge of her jaw with maddening precision.

He didn’t grab her. Didn’t force her. Just…

lingered. Close enough for her to feel the want radiating off his skin, the tension bleeding from his fingertips.

A threat wrapped in patience. A promise drawn taut between them, trembling on the edge of something dangerous.

“You can walk past me,” he said. “But you won’t. Because the second you do, we both know what’ll happen.”

She swallowed, hard. “What’s that?”

His mouth brushed her ear. “I’ll bring you back.”

“I’ll fight you,” she said, but it came out weaker than she meant it to, thinner.

The words barely made it past her lips, a half-hearted threat tangled with heat and confusion.

She wanted it to sound bold. Fierce. But something in her voice betrayed her.

Like she knew it was a lie the moment she said it. And worse, he did too.

“Don’t lie to me,” he said, low and sharp. “Ever. I’ll know. And you won’t like what happens if you do.”

His hand moved then, slow and deliberate, trailing down the column of her throat until it rested just above the dip in her collarbone. Her pulse thudded against his palm, wild, unmistakable.

The contact lit something inside her she couldn’t douse.

It wasn’t just touch, it was demand. It was a warning wrapped in heat.

Her skin flushed beneath his fingers, her breath hitching as if her body couldn’t decide whether to lean in or break apart.

The conflict roared louder than her pride, louder than her fear, and left her caught in that suspended second where everything was on the edge of collapse.

He felt her breath catch, her chest rising into his hand, and he swore under his breath. “Tell me you don’t want this,” he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. “Say it, and I’ll back off. I swear it.”

The air between them pulsed. He’d said something almost identical before, words that had twisted her insides and left her breathless. The last time he’d said them, she’d ended up in his bed. And now he was saying them again, same voice, same heat, same impossible proximity.

She knew better now. Knew where this led. Knew what it would cost.

But just like before, she didn’t say a word.

And just like before, she should have. She should have shoved him away. Screamed. Told him to go to hell. Told him that wanting him was a sickness, and that it was killing her.

But her lips wouldn’t form the words.

Because her body remembered. Because his voice unspooled her from the inside out. Because her want was a living thing, louder than shame, louder than fury.

And she hated herself for it.

Because just like before, the moment wrapped around her throat and held tight. His heat, his voice, the unbearable pressure of his presence, she couldn’t outrun it. She shouldn’t want it, but she couldn’t make herself walk away either.

And that knowledge gutted her. Because even now, when she should be terrified, furious, ashamed, she wasn’t.

She was aching, not just for the press of his body or the rough edge of his mouth, but for something deeper.

A tether. A way to compose herself in the chaos.

She was aching for the kind of release that blurred rage into want, that made her forget the war inside her chest and remember how it felt to just feel. Even if it broke her.

His hand dropped to her waist, slid beneath the hem of her shirt, his shirt, fingertips grazing bare skin. “You should hate me for this,” he said. “You probably do. And if you don’t, you will.”

She didn’t speak. Her breath was trembling now, sharp and shallow. Her hands hovered at her sides, balled tight, like she wanted to push him away, or pull him closer.

“You think I don’t know what I’m doing?” he rasped. “You think I don’t know this is a goddamn mistake?”

When she still didn’t answer, her silence heavy with everything she couldn’t say, he leaned in just enough for her breath to catch, and kissed her.

Not softly. Not gently.

Hard. Dark. Possessive.

As though he were staking a claim.