Page 17 of The Enforcer (Damn! #2)

This wasn’t supposed to happen. One reckless night didn’t come with consequences like this, not ones that could reshape the entire trajectory of her life.

She’d faced threats before, been hunted, cornered, nearly caught.

But nothing had ever felt as overwhelming as the idea of being tethered to someone like Zane forever, by blood, by name, by child.

She took a breath, slow and forced, dragging intellect to the surface like a lifeline. Just because he said it didn’t make it real. Just because he wanted it didn’t mean she had to agree. She needed time. Clarity. Space to think. To breathe.

But Zane didn’t believe in space. And he sure as hell didn’t believe in maybes.

Maybes left room for weakness. For loopholes.

For potential manipulation. And Zane Dante didn’t tolerate any of those things.

He operated in absolutes, yes or no, black or white, live or die.

Anything in between was a risk he had no interest in taking.

“You’d really marry me,” she said, “to keep a child I might not even be carrying.”

He didn’t answer. Not right away.

When he did, his voice was low. Final.

“Yes.”

She turned back to him. “Why?”

Zane’s gaze held hers. Steady. Steely. “Because I don’t get second chances any more than I give them. I don’t leave loose ends. And I sure as hell don’t abandon what’s mine.”

“That’s not a reason,” she shot back. “That’s constraint dressed up in sentiment. A cage wrapped in silk.”

His eyes darkened. “I’m not noble,” he said, his voice low and unflinching.

“This isn’t some honorable gesture. It’s not me playing white knight.

It’s survival. Mine. Yours. The kid’s. I protect what’s mine because that’s how I’m built, not because it makes me good.

Let me be clear. I’m the Enforcer. You knew that when I slammed you into a wall and made you strip for surveillance. ”

“You don’t think I deserve options?” Her voice cracked around the question, too thin to hold the heaviness behind it. She wasn’t asking for permission, she was demanding acknowledgment. That this wasn’t just about him. That her body, her choices, still belonged to her.

She caught the subtle shift in his posture, like the mere suggestion grated against something primal. Something immovable. And maybe that’s what terrified her most. That he didn’t even understand why the question mattered.

“Deserve options? No.”

“Why not?”

He stood, slow and deliberate. The air in the room shifted as he moved closer, that same low hum of danger trailing in his wake.

It was the kind of movement that should’ve made her back up, should’ve sent adrenaline spiking in her bloodstream.

But she didn’t move. Couldn’t. Because behind the threat, behind the brutal presence, there was something else, something fixed.

A man who made up his mind once and never looked back. And he’d made up his mind about her.

“Because you don’t walk away from responsibility. You think ten steps ahead and still take the hit when things go sideways. You’re the kind of person who stays, when it matters, when it hurts, when no one else will. That’s the kind of woman I don’t let slip through my hands. Not now. Not ever.”

Her heart thudded painfully. It wasn’t just his intensity that unsettled her, it was the absoluteness of it.

He spoke like there was no version of this where she made a choice he didn’t already approve of.

Like everything would fall into line because he said so.

But life didn’t work like that. People didn’t work like that.

And yet, part of her, the part that hadn’t stopped burning since he first touched her, still wanted to know. Still had to ask.

“And if I was cornered?”

His hand brushed her waist. “Then I’d back you into a better one. With me.”

She blinked, caught off guard by the quiet conviction in his voice.

It wasn’t the words themselves that rattled her, it was the absence of hesitation.

The calm. The utter certainty with which he promised to stand between her and the world, no matter how sharp the edges.

It should’ve felt like a trap. It didn’t.

It felt like inevitability. Like gravity.

And she wasn’t sure if she wanted to run from it, or lean in.

“Zane…”

“I’m not asking for romance,” he said. “Not some fairytale ending. I’m asking for a promise. That if there’s even the smallest chance you’re pregnant, you won’t do something permanent without telling me.”

“And if I say no?”

She already knew the answer. Had known it the moment the word “marriage” left his mouth without an ounce of hesitation.

But she needed to ask anyway. Not just because she wanted the freedom to choose, of course she did, but because she needed to know what kind of man he really was when it came to the fine line between strength and control.

She would never do something permanent. Not with a child.

The very idea made her stomach twist. If there was life inside her, she’d protect it, fiercely, instinctively.

She’d treasure it, even if it scared her, even if it changed everything.

That was non-negotiable. If she was pregnant, that life would matter.

Deeply. Endlessly. She might not be ready for what it meant, but she’d never erase it.

Not even if it scared the hell out of her.

But Zane didn’t know that.

And she needed to see what he’d do if he thought she might.

He didn’t blink. “If you won’t tell me whether you plan to get rid of our baby, then I’ll chain you to my bed and wait it out. Wait until we know for sure whether you’re pregnant.”

“And if I am?”

“Then I hope you like my bed, because once you’re in it, you’re not stepping foot out until my kid is born.

Not for a job. Not for revenge. Not for one of your righteous crusades.

I don’t care what mission pulls you, I’ll pull harder.

Because the moment you’re carrying my blood, your life stops being just yours, it’s ours. And I don’t gamble with what’s mine.”

She exhaled, a shocked breath half-laughing, half-terrified. “You’re not joking.”

“No.”

Lily stared at him, caught between horror and heat, and knew Zane Dante wasn’t bluffing. He wasn’t posturing. He was serious. Deadly. And somewhere under all that steel was a man who’d never walk away from his blood. Or hers.

And that? That was the part that scared her most.

Unable to meet Zane’s gaze, Lily shoved the remnants of her meal to one side. Her mind was racing, too many threads, not enough answers. The last thing Zane had said kept echoing in her head. Not the marriage. Not the threats. The part where he’d said he’d chain her to his bed.

It was a throwaway line. Maybe. A flare of dominance.

But the way he’d said it, calm, certain, unsettled something deeper in her.

Not because she believed he’d actually do it.

But because part of her couldn’t be sure he wouldn’t.

And another part of her, God help her, hadn’t been entirely horrified by the idea.

That was the factor that scared her most, because some small, traitorous component of her understood the impulse. Not his. Hers.

A knock at the door disturbed her wayward thoughts.

Zane rose without hurry, but she could feel the shift in him, something barely restrained beneath the surface. He looked at her for a beat longer, like he could still see the question she hadn’t voiced and the ones she didn’t want to answer.

“Wait here,” he said, his voice low but certain, reassuring in a way she didn’t know she needed. Then he turned and disappeared down the hallway.

She stayed where she was, fingers curled around her water glass, her stomach clenched with anticipation.

The silence after he disappeared down the hallway stretched longer than it should have, giving her too much space to think.

About his words. About the certainty in them.

About how a man like Zane Dante didn’t bluff.

She wasn’t sure what unsettled her more, the promise of chains, or the quiet conviction that he believed it was justified. That he’d do anything to protect what he saw as his. And now, maybe, that included her.

Zane’s footsteps echoed down the hall and into the living area, followed by the soft creak of the front door opening.

Male voices filtered in, low and clipped, too far away to catch the words.

She sat straighter, tension rippling beneath her skin.

Every part of her strained to listen, not because she feared Zane couldn’t handle whatever was coming, but because the quiet outside only magnified the chaos inside her.

Then silence.

A few moments later, Zane returned.

“Your things are here.”

He didn’t wait for a response. Just turned on his heel and walked out, his strides quiet but decisive, like the matter was settled and she rose because momentum pulled her.

Because sitting still in the wake of everything he’d said felt impossible.

Because even if she didn’t trust him completely, some part of her trusted him enough.

And that part, the reckless, aching part, kept pulling her forward.

She followed on autopilot, barefoot and still flushed from the confrontation that had left her body vibrating with equal parts adrenaline and defiance. Her steps slowed when she reached the guest room, barely recognizable. The bed and dresser were gone, pulled out to make space for everything else.

Her everything.

Her desks. Her servers. Her cables, crates, printers, drives. All of it had been delivered, stacked, and organized with military precision, but not connected. It felt like a living blueprint of her mind, waiting to be pieced back together.

The boxes were labeled in neat, clear handwriting. Even the worn edge of her mainboard station looked untouched. She reached out and ran her fingers along it, the familiar groove in the corner catching under her thumb.