Page 3 of The Enforcer (Damn! #2)

HER brEATH hitched as Zane’s grip on her throat remained firm, his fingers a steel vise against her skin. The question still hung between them, heavy and unyielding.

Are you going to kill me?

Zane considered it, his voice rough, edged with something unreadable. “That depends on your answers.”

His gaze swept over her, searching for deception, for any flicker of fear that might betray her next move. But Lily just stared back, waiting.

He had faced down men who thought they owned the world, had spent years dealing with power brokers, enforcers, and the occasional bloodthirsty son of a bitch who mistook his patience for weakness. He had played the game, won far more often than he lost, and came out standing when most men fell.

But nothing in his life had prepared him for the woman in front of him now.

Lily.

He’d seen her before at Jazz’s wedding, then again at the morning brunch that followed.

She had been polite, a little reserved at first, but he had caught it then, the sharp glint in her eyes, the way she measured every interaction like it was part of a puzzle she was already halfway through solving.

And now, standing before him, snared within his firm grasp, with that same calculating gaze fixed on him, she was impossible to ignore.

She was small, almost delicate, but something about her demanded attention.

Not in the way a man like him was used to.

Not with force. It was in the way she moved, the way she carried herself.

A silent challenge wrapped in something deceptively soft.

She looked like a fairy, ethereal and untouchable, a creature born of moonlight and mischief. But Zane knew better.

She was sharp. A black-hat hacker who could dismantle a man’s entire life with a few keystrokes.

She had a mind that worked faster than anyone he’d ever met, saw connections in places most wouldn’t think to look.

And yet, she didn’t throw that intelligence in a man’s face.

She let them underestimate her. Let them see the delicate, diminutive frame, the wide smile, the bright streaks of blonde in her hair, every shade imaginable, like someone had bottled sunlight and poured it straight into her strands.

Her eyes were the kind of hazel that changed with the light, shifting between gold, green, and hints of brown.

When she smiled, really smiled, her whole face lit up, tiny dimples popping into her cheeks, giving her the kind of innocence that shouldn’t have existed in their world.

But Zane wasn’t a fool. He knew it was a mask.

A beautiful one, but a mask all the same.

And yet, as she stood there, pinned against the wall, her pulse fluttering beneath his fingers, that knowing glint in her eyes told him she was already six steps ahead. He felt something he hadn’t in years, curiosity.

“You’re staring,” she said, her voice low, careful, as if weighing each word. His grip remained solid, unrelenting, his fingers pressing into the delicate skin of her throat, but she didn’t struggle. Not yet.

“I’m deciding,” he said, his voice gruff, edged with something dark. “On whether you’re worth keeping alive.”

Her pulse flickered beneath his touch, but her expression didn’t break. She arched a brow slightly, started to tilt her head before realizing he held her too firmly for that.

“Is that the part where I beg?” she asked, her voice steady despite the pressure at her throat. There was no amusement, no coy challenge, just defiance balanced on the edge of fear, as if she wasn’t sure whether to resist or surrender.

No. If anything, the thought shot straight to his groin, his cock hardening instantly.

He hadn’t expected that, hadn’t expected her to be so still, so quiet.

Most people in her position would be begging, crying, hysterical.

She wasn’t. Not yet. And that rattled something in him.

Was it defiance? Or was it shock holding her frozen?

Either way, it made her infinitely more dangerous.

But the idea of her on her knees, pleading, her sharp mind yielding to survival instinct, it did something to him.

Something primal, dark. And she knew it.

Lily’s body tensed beneath his grip, and this time, she struggled.

Not wildly, not without thought, she twisted just enough to test his hold, her breath coming faster.

He could feel the racing of her pulse beneath his fingers, a rapid pulse of awareness.

She wasn’t just afraid. She was holding on by a thread, her instincts flickering between fight and flight, grasping at anything that might give her a chance to survive.

And damn if that didn’t make him even harder.

“Do you plan on begging?” he countered, his voice a low growl, rough with something dangerous. His fingers flexed against her throat, not squeezing tighter but reminding her he could. “Would it even be real, or just another trick?”

She swallowed, and the motion dragged against his palm, a delicate slide of skin against calloused fingers. He didn’t miss the way her breath hitched, or the momentary flicker in those sharp hazel eyes, quick, deliberate, but there.

“Would it make any difference if I begged?” she asked, her voice thinner now, more forced.

She was still trying to hold on, to think her way out of this, but something was shifting.

The sharp edge of her confidence dulled, her breath coming quicker, her body tensing in a way that wasn’t just strategic, it was instinctive.

Fear was creeping in, pressing against whatever restraint she had left.

But he had her attention in a way no one else ever had.

He leaned in just enough to make sure she felt the heat of him, the steady, unshakable presence of a man who always got what he wanted. “It might.”

Her eyes swept over him, fierce but searching now, not cataloging, grasping for understanding.

He saw the moment fear cracked through her veneer, the moment she stopped analyzing and started feeling.

Realization hit her then, not just because of who he was, but what he might be willing to do.

And that shift, that flicker of vulnerability, hit harder than any retort she could’ve managed.

She didn’t speak right away. Just stared at him, her throat working against his grip, lips parted as if the words wouldn’t come. Then slowly, deliberately, she slid down the wall and lowered herself onto her knees.

The air between them shifted.

Zane’s eyes darkened. He didn’t release her completely, his fingers sliding from her throat to her jaw, tilting her face up.

Her knees were now right between his legs, her face level with the unmistakable bulge pressing behind his zipper.

She went still again, her eyes flicking to the obvious evidence of his arousal before darting back up to meet his gaze.

Her body trembled now, but not from cold. From tension. From awareness. From the dangerous, intimate proximity of it all.

And Zane didn’t move.

“I don’t want to die,” she said, barely above a whisper.

He didn’t speak right away. Didn’t move either.

He let the moment stretch, curious now. Her face was right there, so close to his cock he could feel the tension crackling between them like an open flame.

Most women, faced with the same proximity and threat, would’ve reached for his zipper.

Tried seduction. Tried survival the only way they thought worked on men like him.

She didn’t.

She waited.

Still trembling, still afraid, but waiting. Watching him. As if she knew the wrong move would get her killed, but the right one might just keep her breathing. As if she understood that whatever came next had to be on his terms.

Zane crouched slowly, his body a wall of heat and restraint, his thumb brushing the edge of her chin. Their faces were nearly level now.

“If you don’t want to die, then start convincing me,” he said, his voice still low, but the edge of it sharper now, cutting. Not just a threat. A test.

He wanted to hear what she’d say. If she’d plead. Lie. Offer sex. Offer secrets. He didn’t care which, he only cared what it revealed.

But she didn’t flinch. Didn’t rush. Didn’t grovel.

Her breathing grew shallow, her gaze locked on his. “I don’t have anything you want,” she said quietly. “But if you’re going to kill me, I’d rather it be quick.”

That gave him pause. No bluff, no manipulation. Just truth. Maybe defeat. Or maybe something stronger, resolve.

Zane narrowed his eyes. “That’s not how this works.”

“Then tell me how it works,” she whispered. “Tell me what you want.”

For a moment, he didn’t answer. He just looked at her, the heat between them still pulsing like an open wound.

He could have ended it, should have, maybe, but something about the way she asked, quiet but steady, made him pause.

She was afraid, but not broken. Not yet.

And he wanted to see what would happen if he gave her just enough rope to hang herself.

He stared at her, still on her knees, still so close he could feel the heat of her breath against his jaw. His hand was firm beneath her chin, holding her there. Not cruel, not yet, but absolute.

“I want truth,” he said.

She blinked, confused.

“I want to know what you know. Why you’re here. Why Jazz trusted you. Why I shouldn’t break your neck and walk away like none of this happened.”

She swallowed hard. “I already told you—”

“I don’t want rehearsed answers,” he cut in. “I want the ones you haven’t said out loud. The ones you think will make me angrier. Start there.”

Lily’s eyes widened slightly, just a flicker of real fear now. But it didn’t stop her. She wet her lips and nodded once.

“Fine,” she said. “But then I get to ask you a question.”

Zane arched a brow. “You think you’re in a position to bargain?”

“No,” she admitted, voice tight. “But you’re still listening.”