Page 20 of The Enforcer (Damn! #2)

It bit into muscle with sharp precision, the thread dragging heat behind it, but his hand never wavered.

Each stitch was a fight, against pain, against fury, but he didn’t flinch.

Didn’t curse. Just focused. Each stitch became a promise.

A refusal to go down. A vow to stay alive long enough to end whoever had aimed that rifle at Lily.

He inhaled through his nose, grunted once, then again, short, managed bursts of pain that cut through the tension like flares.

She stepped forward. “Zane—”

“I’ve got it,” he said, voice rough but unshaken.

She didn’t argue. Her eyes locked on his, something raw and silent passing between them, acknowledgment, trust, and the burden of what they’d both just survived.

Whatever she might’ve said was swallowed by the look in his eyes and the cold finality in his voice.

She just nodded once, sharp and small, and started moving.

After taping gauze over his stitches, he cleaned the blood from his hands, shoved the kit aside, and turned to her. “Get dressed. We’re leaving.”

“I don’t have clothes,” she said quietly.

Then her voice faltered. Her fists clenching as if that would hold her together. A shudder rolled through her, not just fear, but something deeper. Disbelief. Grief. The moment caught up with her all at once, and her knees buckled before she even realized she was falling.

Zane caught her.

Her skin was ice cold, her breathing fast and shallow. Not panic. Not yet. But close. The shock had just taken a minute to catch up, rolling over her in waves that left her silent and pale, her muscles stiff with delayed terror.

She clutched at him, her eyes staring blankly past his shoulder like she could still see the sniper’s dot hovering over her heart. What had almost happened hit her all at once, and Zane held her more firmly, reminding her that she was still here. Still his to protect.

He wrapped his arms around her, lifted her carefully from the cold tile, and carried her into the adjoining bedroom.

Each step was painful in its deliberation, steady despite the pull of his stiches, his bare feet silent on the hardwood.

Her arms stayed locked around his neck, her face pressed into his shoulder, still and shivering.

Only when they reached the bed did he lower her gently onto the edge of the mattress, his hands still gripping her as if afraid she might slip away the moment he let go.

She didn’t protest, didn’t speak, just let him hold her, her body weightless against his.

He released her as if she might break, then stayed close, giving her a moment to recover.

“Breathe, Lily,” he said, pressing a hand to her back, keeping her upright. His voice dropped low, meant for her and her alone, a tether against the chaos that had almost taken her. “You’re safe. I’ve got you. I’m not going to let anything touch you.”

Her breathing hitched, shallow and fast, but she nodded. Barely. As if she was trying to believe him, trying to hold onto his voice like it was the only solid thing left in the world.

She shook her head, one hand lifting to cover her mouth.

The words came out brittle and raw. “He tried to kill me.” Her voice cracked on the last word, and the truth of it hung there between them, heavier than glass and sharper than the bullet that had missed.

Zane heard it not as a statement, but as a fracture, a break in something fragile she hadn’t shown until now.

Crouching in front of her, he didn’t deny it.

He reached up slowly, brushing her hair back from her face, his fingers gentle where his words couldn’t be.

The strands were soft, slightly damp against her temple.

Her eyes didn’t leave his, wide and glassy, holding the echo of what they’d both just survived.

He needed her to see it in his face, that she was still here.

That he would bleed for her again if he had to. That he already had.

He gave her a hard look. “He failed, Lily. He failed because I was there.”

She let out a breath that shook all the way through her, like something vital had splintered inside.

Her shoulders trembled, just once, and her mouth pulled tight against the emotion rising in her throat.

Her eyes brimmed, full and aching, but the tears didn’t fall.

Not yet. She held them back by sheer will, as if letting them go would mean admitting how close it had really been.

“I didn’t see it coming,” she whispered, her hand cupped low on her belly as though to protect an infant life. “I didn’t even feel it.”

“You weren’t supposed to,” he said. “That’s what I’m for.”

“Thank you.” Her wide gaze jerked upward to meet his. “Thank you, Zane. If not for you—”

“Come on,” he said, his voice softer now but no less firm. “Since you don’t have clothes, you’ll wear mine.” He snagged her arm gently and guided her to the dresser. There he opened a drawer without missing a beat.

She tried to change into a pair of his sweats and a soft black T-shirt, but her hands were shaking too badly to manage the fabric.

Zane stepped in without a word, steady and calm, taking over as he helped slide the clothes over her skin.

His movements were careful but unflinching, giving her dignity while shielding her fragility.

Both garments hung on her like she was a child wearing grown-up clothing, but they were warm, and they were his, and when he stepped back to pull on dark jeans and a clean black shirt, wincing only once as the fabric brushed his wound, he didn’t take his eyes off her for more than a second.

As soon as he finished dressing, he grabbed his phone with one hand and pressed it to his ear, his other arm still hovering near Lily as if he couldn’t stand the distance. The moment the line connected, his voice dropped into something cold and lethal.

“Send a team. Lock down the penthouse. There’s been an assassination attempt. No one in or out. I want guards on every floor and two on her servers. If this was about her tech, they may try again. Secure everything. Now.”

He ended the call and hit another. “Bring the car. Three vehicles, full cover,” he ordered, voice clipped. “We’re heading to my brother’s. No delays.” A pause, then his tone darkened. “And have a medic and a priest waiting when we get there.”

Lily stood in the doorway, silent, arms crossed tight over her chest like she was holding in more than just the chill from Zane’s clothes. Her expression was unreadable, eyes sharp, mouth tense, her silence not from shock anymore, but from calculation.

She was absorbing everything, yes, but she was also cataloging it, turning it over in her head the way she would a corrupted data stream.

He saw the shift happen in real time. Whatever she’d felt in the moment, fear, helplessness, devastation, she was rebuilding it into something sharper. Something dangerous.

Zane stepped in close, his gaze fixed on her, eyes hard with purpose and fury.

“You’re not safe here anymore,” he said, each word cut from steel.

“And I’m done letting them write the narrative.

No more waiting. No more silence. They took a shot at you.

Every step forward from here is war.” He paused, voice lowering to a razor’s edge. “They started it. I will end it.”

They left the penthouse under full guard.

Zane led the way, his hand pressed lightly to Lily’s back as they moved through the elevator and into the private parking garage. Three men flanked them at all times, two Dante soldiers in front, another behind with a hand on his weapon and eyes sweeping constantly for movement.

Lily didn’t speak.

Neither did he.

Her silence was heavy, but not afraid. Not anymore.

She walked beside him like she was made of steel, shaken, yes, but reforging by the second.

Zane felt it with every step she took. She hadn’t broken.

She’d bent. And now, she was pulling herself inward, tight, compact, focused.

Like someone stitching herself together with shaking hands.

Not from instinct but from pure will, bracing for the next hit with every ounce of defiance still burning in her blood.

Good.

Because the war wasn’t coming. It had already kicked in their door, put a bullet through his side, and drawn a red dot over Lily’s heart. The game had changed. The Dantes weren’t defending anymore, they were retaliating. And Zane was done playing defense.

The black SUV idled at the curb. Zane opened the door and helped her in, then slid in beside her, blood still seeping sluggishly through the bandage at his side. One of the guards shut the door, another took the passenger seat. The third got behind the wheel. The convoy pulled out.

Zane settled back into the leather seat and let his head fall against the headrest, the cool leather biting into the heat of his skin.

For the first time since the sniper’s shot, he allowed himself a single breath.

Not relief, never that. Relief was for people who didn’t live in crosshairs.

This was just space. Space to think. To regroup.

To plan what the hell came next and how many bodies it would take to send a message loud enough that no one ever tried this again.

Lily sat beside him, his borrowed hoodie swallowing her frame, her knees drawn up, bare toes pressed into the seat cushion. She didn’t lean into him. Didn’t look at him. But her presence stabilized him all the same.

The ride passed in silence, but it wasn’t empty.

It waited. The low hum of the engine blended with the faint rustle of shifting weight and the sharp scent of blood.

Every bump in the road vibrated through the leather seat and into Zane’s ribs.

Every breath was a held note between one threat and the next.