Page 9 of The Enforcer (Damn! #2)

Zane didn’t answer. Not immediately. He stared at her, expression unreadable, blood cooling in his veins even as the memory of her skin still clung to his hands.

It had been wildfire, hot, consuming, reckless.

And now, in the aftermath, that same fire burned beneath his skin with a different kind of ache.

Hunger twisted with suspicion. Need tangled with restraint.

She still tasted like want on his tongue, but the shadow of her name spoken by a dying man whispered through his head like a curse he couldn’t shake.

“Take it off,” he said.

She blinked. “What?”

“The shirt. Take it off.”

Her spine stiffened. “You think I’m lying, so you want to, what? Punish me?”

“No,” he said, voice quiet but unflinching.

“I want the truth. And I know something about liars, Lily. They don’t break when you push them, they pivot.

They lean on confidence. Clothes give them that.

A shield. A stage. Strip that away, and what’s left is either the truth or the scramble to cover it. ”

She swallowed hard, throat bobbing, but didn’t move.

Not because she wasn’t scared, he could see that she was, but because something steadier was rising beneath it.

She stood rooted, exposed and vulnerable, her spine straight, her eyes locked on his, radiating something fierce and unshakable.

It wasn’t pride. It wasn’t rage. It was resolve.

Quiet, unwavering, and absolute. And that, more than her words, more than her body, was what cracked something open in his chest.

“Strip,” he ordered, his voice quieter now, but no less edged. “I want you vulnerable. I want to see what you do when you have nothing left to hide behind.”

He didn’t say the rest aloud, not the part clawing at the back of his mind. That if she flinched, if she hesitated too long, if she tried to twist the moment into seduction or protest… he’d know.

He needed to uncover what kind of woman stood naked in front of a man who could destroy her, and didn’t try to manipulate him. Not with lies. Not with softness. Not with sex.

If she was telling the truth, she wouldn’t use her body as leverage.

And if she was lying, she’d try to change the scene.

He needed to see who she really was. Not the hacker.

Not the firecracker in his bed. Not the woman she wore like a shield.

He needed the stripped-down version, the unguarded, unfiltered truth.

The version that flinched or didn’t. That begged or held the line.

He needed to see her, raw and unrehearsed, because only then could he believe anything she said.

He wasn’t just demanding her clothes.

He was demanding her core.

“You want me naked so you can interrogate me?”

Her voice was sharp, but there was a tremor under it he couldn’t ignore.

Not fear exactly, something more complicated.

He watched her closely, watched the way she stood her ground anyway.

Her eyes were locked on his, wide and shaded a brilliant gold and green.

There was no flinching in them. No soft pleading.

Just fire, and something raw underneath it. Hunger. Pride. Hurt.

She looked like she was bracing for him to use her.

Like she’d been here before, faced with a man who wielded control like a weapon and wrapped questions around skin and shame.

She wasn’t naive. She knew how easily force could be disguised as need.

But she didn’t back down. And that said more than her voice ever could.

“I want you naked so you can’t pretend,” he said, the words low and dangerous. “Because if you’re lying, it’ll show. And if you’re not, then you won’t need anything to hide behind.”

She held his gaze. Not with obedience. With challenge. With a kind of devastating pride that dared him to look and not blink.

She moved like a woman who’d been tested before. Like she knew exactly what kind of energy was being wielded against her, and refused to bow to it.

She unbuttoned the shirt one by one, her chin held high, her eyes never leaving his.

When it slid from her shoulders, she let it fall to the floor.

Zane said nothing.

He took her in again, her body, her breath, the defiant tilt of her chin, and knew the moment was everything.

Her chest rose and fell in uneven rhythm, her skin still flushed from the heat between them.

Her lips were parted, chin high, eyes blazing with challenge, and beneath all that, he saw it: the restraint, the tension, the near-fracture of a woman who refused to yield.

She was exposed in every way but broken in none.

And that sharp edge, the steel beneath the softness, was as much of a weapon as anything he carried.

It made his blood roar.

Zane’s body responded like it hadn’t just minutes ago.

The way she stood there, vulnerable, fierce, stunning, made him ache.

He felt his cock throb against the loose front of his pants, the hunger spiking all over again, sharper now, laced with danger.

Because he wanted her. Still. Even now. Maybe more.

And not because she was beautiful or bare or trembling.

But because she wasn’t afraid to look him in the eye and dare him to see all of her, and still come closer.

“Now,” he said, voice like gravel. “Tell me the truth.”

He watched her, standing there in nothing but defiance and flickering breath, and for a heartbeat, Zane felt something close to dangerous clarity.

He didn’t want her voice, he wanted her soul to flinch or stand tall.

He wanted truth that came in the tension of her body, the unwavering focus in her eyes. Words could lie. Her skin couldn’t.

He didn’t know if she’d sold him out. Didn’t know if the dying man’s words were panic, revenge, or truth.

But if she lied now?

He’d feel it in his fucking bones.

Because he knew how liars stood.

And Lily wasn’t shaking.

Not in the way that mattered.

“I didn’t betray you,” she said quietly, the words stripped of drama, stripped of everything but truth. “I didn’t know what I was walking into. But I’m here now. I didn’t lie, and I won’t start now.”

Her voice didn’t tremble.

Zane watched her, every muscle in his body strung tight. He didn’t want to believe her, because wanting anything from her made him vulnerable. But damn it, her words didn’t ring hollow. There was no wobble, no shift. Just that unshakable composure staring him in the face.

And still, he didn’t know if it was bravery.

Or the best lie he’d ever been told.

He hadn’t planned to kiss her again, not after what he’d demanded.

But the way she looked at him in that moment, half fire, half fracture, unleashed something sharp and reckless in his chest. The kiss wasn’t about comfort.

It wasn’t even about heat. It was a claiming.

One last taste before the war between them either ended or went nuclear.

Then he pulled back.

Not far.

Just enough to look her in the eyes.

“You say you’re not lying.” His voice was low, measured. “But I’ve known women who could fake truth better than most men breathe.”

Her lips parted slightly, but she didn’t speak.

Didn’t blink.

Still holding his gaze.

Still naked.

Still clinging to her stance before him.

He felt it then, that pull between what he wanted and what he needed. And the voice in his head, cold and sharp, reminding him that desire made men weak. That trust made them stupid.

So he tested her.

He straightened, his hand dropping from her neck. “Get on the bed,” he said. Quiet. Commanding.

Her eyes flared, confusion flashing fast into caution. “What?”

“You heard me.”

He didn’t touch her. Didn’t soften the words.

“Lie back,” he said. “Spread your legs. Let me see you.”

The words tasted like ash in his mouth. Not because he didn’t mean them, but because he did.

And he hated that he had to. Hated that wanting her this much meant questioning her like she was the enemy.

But it was the only way he knew how to dig past the smoke and find the fire.

To see if she flinched. To see if she tried to twist it.

He needed to know what she’d give, and what she wouldn’t.

Her face went still.

Every part of her froze except her eyes.

And in them, he watched a dozen emotions rise and twist, shock, outrage, defiance, and something just barely restrained beneath the surface. Not heartbreak. Not disgust. But something more dangerous: a line she wouldn’t cross, and the fury that dared him to try and make her.

She didn’t move.

Not toward the bed.

Not toward him.

“No,” she said. Just that. A single, hard line in the sand.

Zane didn’t move either.

He wasn’t expecting her to say yes. Not really. That wasn’t the test. The test was to see if she’d fold, if she’d try to twist submission into survival. If she’d drop her defenses not out of trust, but manipulation. The true test was whether she would comply.

He needed to see where her threshold stood, and whether she’d sell herself short just to buy his favor. If she had? He would’ve known. He would’ve seen it for what it was, a performance. A calculated act to manipulate the outcome. And he would’ve walked away without looking back.

If she had, he’d have known she was lying. Because no woman in her right mind, after everything that just happened, after being stripped bare in every way that mattered, would hand herself over like that without hesitation, unless she was playing a deeper game.

But she hadn’t.

She stood there.

Still naked.

Still breathing hard.

And still defying him.

Zane exhaled. A slow drag of breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

He stepped back, just a little.

“Good,” he said. “That was the right answer.”

Her brow furrowed. “That was a test?”

“Yes.”

“And if I’d said yes?”

“I’d have only touched you once more,” he said quietly. “And it wouldn’t have been a kiss.”

Silence pulsed between them. Thicker. Realer.

She didn’t speak right away.