CHAPTER 12
MIA
Zane’s eyes lit up, excitement radiating from him as he waved a glass in my direction. “This is tequila,” he said, his tone practically bursting with enthusiasm, like he was unveiling a hidden treasure.
I raised an eyebrow, glancing at him with a mix of amusement and exasperation. Did he really think I didn’t know what tequila was? Seriously? It was as if he believed I was some naive, sheltered soul.
But I couldn’t help the smile that tugged at my lips as I watched him, so eager, so invested in showing me the world through his eyes.
Little does he know, he’s brought me to a place that belongs to my world.
"Let's have a drink together," he proposed, his smile broad, his excitement infectious.
I glanced at the glass, then back at him, a slight recoil at the corner of my lips. It was sweet, in a way, how he assumed I was unaware of such things. But what he didn’t realize was that, while my life hadn’t been conventional, I’d seen more than my share of bars, parties, and questionable decisions.
And none of that had ever really fazed me. It was my reality, one shaped by a chaos I’d learned to live with, though I wasn’t about to share that with him. Not yet, anyway. To him, I was a mystery, a clean slate, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to erase that illusion just yet.
Zane’s expression softened, as if picking up on something I hadn’t said. Before he could speak, Carter walked over, eyes narrowed, gaze fixed on me like I was the enemy trespassing in his territory. He looked like he could burn me with a single look, and I felt his hostility in the pit of my stomach.
"He’s not the dating type," Carter muttered, leaning in as though offering me some twisted warning, but the way he sounds, it’s more like he’s trying to reassure himself.
I shrugged, a smirk creeping onto my lips. “I’m not either,” I shot back, teasing him just a little, watching his reaction.
Zane, oblivious to the tension, just grinned at me like he always did, unaware of the undercurrents swirling around us. He had no clue about Carter’s feelings—no idea that his friend had some kind of lingering interest in him, and honestly, that bothered me a bit.
"You okay, man?" Zane asked, finally noticing Carter’s frown.
"I have a headache," Carter mumbled, his gaze fixed on the floor, clearly uncomfortable.
Zane’s concern kicked in immediately. "You're going back to the hotel, right?" he asked.
"You wanna come over?" Carter asked.
"Not without Mia," Zane said, unwavering.
Carter scoffed. "Fine. Forget it."
I couldn’t help the small, satisfied smile that tugged at my lips. Carter was not happy about that.
“I don’t get why you have to babysit the girl you once ran over,” Carter sneered, his irritation bubbling over. “Wasn’t it just to check if she was still breathing?”
I stared at him, unimpressed. A flicker of amusement crossed my face as I took a slow sip of tequila. “I don’t understand why you’re so intent on claiming someone who clearly doesn’t want you. Doesn’t that seem a little pathetic?” I let the words hang in the air, deliberately sharp. “But what do I know about life, right?”
Zane frowned at my comment, clearly confused by my tone. “Carter just—”
But Carter cut him off, his words a blur of venom. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, your fucking whore,” he spat, his eyes blazing with rage.
The darkness in my gaze sharpened. I liked when they got angry.
It was like a game, one I knew how to play well.
The more they heated up, the more fun I had twisting that fury into something else, something more interesting.
I enjoyed the chaos—the blood, the tension, the push and pull. Carter? He was no different. I could work with that.
“Shut up, Carter,” Zane growled, his voice surprisingly firm, as if defending me. It was cute in a way, how quickly he’d moved to protect me.
I laughed, shaking my head. "Yeah, yeah, shut up, Carter," I echoed, all playful teasing. "Come on, if you’re trying to piss me off, you gotta do better than that. I literally grew up in a whorehouse. And for the record, we prefer ‘adult entertainment professional’ over ‘whore.’ Keep up.”
Carter’s eyes widened, the disgust clear on his face. “That girl is crazy.”
Zane whipped around to face him, his jaw clenched, eyes burning with frustration. “If you don’t shut your mouth, I swear to God, I’ll knock your teeth out.”
Carter’s anger flared, and his voice was thick with accusation. “You’re defending her instead of your partner?” he spat, his face flushed with rage.
Zane’s patience was clearly wearing thin. “I guess I am. I’m not gonna stand here and let you talk about her like that. Not on my watch.”
Carter didn’t answer. He just snorted, shook his head, and walked away, leaving the tension hanging in the air like smoke.
Zane turned to me, a sheepish look crossing his face. “Sorry about Carter. He’s been... having a hard time since rehab.”
I nodded, the heaviness of the atmosphere pressing down on me. Zane, noticing my discomfort, softened his expression.
“Do you want to get out of here?” he asked, his voice low, almost gentle.
“Yes,” I replied, feeling the weight of the bar’s suffocating air lift slightly.
He smiled, the warmth of it genuine, and for the first time that night, I felt a wave of comfort wash over me. “Take me to the ocean you talked about so much,” I begged, feeling the need to escape—to be somewhere, anywhere, where the tension couldn’t follow.
Where the bloodlust didn’t consume me entirely, where the sharp, gnawing desire to chase after Carter and slowly dismantle him piece by piece—until every drop of satisfaction had been wrung from his pain—didn't overtake me. I should blame it on my mind, on the things that twisted within me, but the truth is simpler. It’s because of how I was raised. I wasn’t born—made. I was a weapon. A tool. A thing to be honed, sharpened, pushed to the brink of human decay, until even the deepest darkness could feel like an afterthought. And I was good at it. Maybe too good.
But in the end, One was my father’s weakness. Without him, he couldn’t finish his plans. Couldn’t complete the final picture. So he turned to my younger sister.
The last piece.
I’ve never actually spoken to Laura— I only know her name, and that’s it. Don’t even know what she looks like.
But part of me hopes—no, I pray—that he failed.
That the twisted thing he created with her wasn't as malleable, wasn’t as easy to mold.
That she wasn’t broken in the same way I was. But something inside me knows better. Part of me knows that, just like with me, he tried to forge her into something unrecognizable.
The sound of waves gently crashing against the sand was the first thing I noticed when we reached the beach. It was night, and the moon shone down on the water, creating silvery reflections that danced across the ocean's surface. Zane stopped beside me, his eyes fixed on the horizon.
"Did you like it?" he asked, his voice calm but full of curiosity.
I nodded. "Yes, the view is beautiful."
Zane smiled, taking my hand. "Then come. Let's go to the water."
I felt my feet sink into the sand as we walked, my anger slowly dissipating with each step, lighter than the last. I wasn’t used to this—the space, the freedom of feeling the wind on my face and the cold water on my feet. It was strange, but in a good way.
Zane looked at me, his eyes filled with a sweetness I didn’t fully understand. "I wonder how you survived this long without it," he said, gesturing toward the ocean.
"Without the sea?"
"Without... that. Freedom. Being able to go out and see the world."
I laughed softly, but not with happiness. "You make it sound so simple. Like you just open a door and that's it."
"It's not simple, I know," he said softly. "But you're here now."
I looked at him, and for a moment, I felt a pang of something I didn’t recognize—something that Carter said and made me uncomfortable, but also intrigued. "Why do you do this?" I asked. "Why are you trying to help me?"
He shrugged, looking out at the water. "I don't know. Maybe because I’m afraid you’ll kill me."
I stared at his serious expression with confusion.
The thought had crossed my mind for a few minutes, but I wouldn't actually do it. I thought we were over that.
My confused expression intensified when he burst out laughing as if he were seeing the funniest thing in the world.
"You’re different, Mia. Strange, but different."
I laughed, unable to help it. "I hope that's a compliment."
"Yes," he admitted, smiling. "But I'm kind of weird too, aren't I?"
I looked at him, a small smile forming on my lips. "You're different, like me."
“Maybe a little,” he agreed, laughing. “But that’s how I like to live. With intensity. With risk. Doing things that no one expects.”
I was quiet for a moment, watching the waves as they came and went. "I don't know what to expect from you, Zane."
He stepped closer, taking my hand again. "So don’t. Just live in the moment with me. We’ll see what happens."
I looked down at our clasped hands, and for the first time in a long time, I felt a spark of curiosity. Maybe he was right. Maybe it was time to live a little—outside the basement, outside the chaos, outside everything I knew.
The salty breeze blew gently, and the sound of the ocean seemed like distant music. I took a deep breath, smelling the sea air, and for a moment, I left everything behind. The basement, the fighting, the blood—all of it faded away as I stood there, with Zane beside me, in the middle of the night, facing the vast ocean.
"Okay," I whispered, squeezing his hand. "Let’s see what happens."
“Great, because I brought more tequila.”
“Hand it over,” I smiled.
“I have to be honest, I was waiting for you to freak out.”
“Why would I freak out?”
“Because of everything you’ve been through, Mia. It’s a lot to process.”
“I freaked out once,” I said quietly. “When I got engaged.”
“Were you engaged?”
“Yeah, I was fourteen, living with my... father, and he assigned one of the men to marry me. I hated it. He was about thirty-seven. I... freaked out.”
“Define freak out.”
“I decapitated my fiancé and turned his head into a decoration for my room.”
I said I disobeyed sometimes, right? Well, my father made the mistake of letting that disgusting old man get too close, waving a sword around like it was gonna impress me.
He told me he'd use it against me if I didn’t listen. Well, guess what? That didn’t exactly go the way he planned. The rest is history.
Dad wasn’t too thrilled when I decided to use the guy’s head as a decoration on the headboard of my bed. But hey, it really tied the room together.
My master said it was just my teenage hormones talking, but honestly, I knew I wouldn’t marry that man.
I’d rather take whatever punishment came my way than spend a single second with him.
“Mia...”
“My father was furious. But my master saved me, took me to live with him, and taught me his ways. I’ve stayed with him ever since,” I explained, my voice tight.
James hurt me, but part of me wanted attention, affection, comfort—because unlike my father, who never looked my way unless he needed something, James cared about me. And I wanted to see him happy. So being hurt was just a price to pay.
Right?
“And if I told you I didn’t remember much of anything because I was in a universe of my own, you’d believe me?” I confessed, referring to the years I spent with James.
“Why not? I created a universe of my own once too. To deal with the reality I didn’t want to face.”
“What’s your story?”
“It seems silly to talk about my problems when you’ve been through so much. I mean, what I’ve been through doesn’t even come close.”
“Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t talk about it,” I found myself saying, stepping closer, placing my hand on his face, and pulling him to look into mine. “I want to know you. All of you.”
“My mother was a very lonely woman because of my father’s death,” he murmured, his eyes filled with a sorrow that I could feel. “One day, she forgot that he and I weren’t the same person.”
“So she touched you like your father touched her?”
Zane nodded.
"I tried to bury it for years, you know? But eventually, I couldn’t anymore. I snapped. I realized that if I stayed in that city for even a second longer, I’d lose everything I had left. So, I packed up and walked away.”
My eyes filled with tears, and I couldn’t stop them.
Why was I crying for him? My uncle had done this to me my whole life—used me, twisted me, made me believe I was nothing more than a tool, a weapon.
He was my master, my creator, and I could never shed a tear for myself. I couldn’t afford the weakness. I couldn’t afford the vulnerability.
So why now? Why did the thought of someone touching Zane—someone I barely knew—make my stomach churn with such a raw, furious ache?
Was it because I saw something in him I never had for myself? The fragility of being cared for, the possibility of gentleness in the chaos? Or was it something darker?
Something buried so deep in me, I wasn’t sure it even existed until now.
The instinct to protect him, to shield him from a world that would break him as easily as it broke me. I hated it. I hated how much it hurt.
And yet, I couldn’t stop it.
So there I was, holding him, feeling his warmth seep into me like a lifeline, and I came to a strange, terrifying realization.
The way I felt about him—it wasn’t just a passing thought, a fleeting impulse.
No, it was starting to consume me. It twisted around my chest, tightening with every breath I took.
I couldn’t control it anymore.
I wanted him more than I should.
More than I was allowed. And with that want, something darker, more dangerous, crept in.
I wanted to kill her.
Zane was already staggering when we left the beach and got back to the car.
He seemed more relaxed, laughing at anything and everything, and with the bottle of tequila I had swiped from the club, he was even more excited.
"You have to really try this!" he exclaimed, opening the bottle and offering it to me.
I laughed, accepting the sip, but feeling the strong heat of the drink run down my throat. Not that it was unusual for me. It was almost a bitter reminder.
Zane, however, seemed to be feeling the effects more. "Okay, that's enough for you," I said, taking the bottle back. "You'll start seeing unicorns soon."
He laughed out loud, leaning against the car, his face relaxed. "I'll take you to the coolest places in Los Angeles!" he said suddenly, almost like a promise.
"I've seen the sea," I replied, trying to sound nonchalant, but there was something about his excitement that made me curious. Maybe it was because he was the first person who hadn’t looked at me with pity or disgust. He just seemed... fascinated.
"You've seen part of LA," he corrected, giving a crooked smile. "But there's so much more."
He tugged on my hand, and before I could protest, we were in the car, driven by a stranger, cruising through the brightly lit streets of the city. Each place was new to me, but there was something comforting about not knowing what to expect. Zane seemed determined to show me everything at once.
"We're going to start at one of my favorite places," he announced, making a turn a little too tight. I held myself back but ended up laughing at the look of concentration on his face.
When we finally parked, I looked around. It was a small building with a flashing neon sign that said "Zane's Tattoos." I stared at it in surprise. "Why are we on one of your studios”
“Because this one is my favorite,” he smiled, clearly proud. “I’ve worked here for years. And now you’re going to help me.”
"Help you?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
He got out of the car with an awkward hop and opened the door to the studio, pulling me inside. "You're going to tattoo me," he declared, as if it were the most obvious idea in the world.
I stood in the middle of the studio, surrounded by drawings on the walls and the smell of paint and antiseptic. "I've never done this before," I said, a little incredulously.
"It's easy," Zane said, grabbing one of the swivel chairs and sitting down haphazardly, still holding the bottle of tequila. "I'll teach you. It'll be fun!"
I laughed, more nervous than I wanted to admit. "You trust me like that?"
"Why wouldn't I?" He replied, his eyes shining. "You don’t look like someone who does anything halfway."
He handed me the gloves and began working on the machines with expert hands. “Look, this is the needle,” he explained, showing me how to hold the equipment. “And here, you select the ink.”
I watched his every move, and even with the slight tequila buzz, something inside me stirred. The idea of marking his skin, of leaving something permanent, was strangely tempting.
"Are you ready?" I asked, trying not to sound nervous.
"I was born ready," he replied, laughing.
With my hands a little shaky, I began the process. Zane guided me patiently, explaining how the pressure of my hand influenced the intensity of the line, how the ink penetrated the skin. He seemed relaxed, and at some point, his laughter made me feel at ease too.
I ended up drawing something simple: a small flower near his shoulder. Nothing fancy, but it was my first drawing, and seeing the trust he had in me was unexpectedly comforting.
"Perfect," he said when I was done, his eyes still half-sleepy from the drink, but clearly satisfied.
"Perfect? Really?" I looked at the drawing and, despite its simplicity, there was something almost symbolic about that flower. Something that meant more than I imagined.
"Perfect," he repeated, staring at me in a way that made my stomach turn.
There was silence between us, but it didn’t feel uncomfortable. I’d never had anything like it—someone looking at me with genuine interest, someone who wasn’t trying to manipulate me or use me.
Zane was… just there. With me. Accepting me for who I was, no questions, no judgment.
"Do you want to make another one?" he asked, his voice soft.
I smiled. "Are you going to let me?"
"I would let you do whatever you wanted."
That phrase hung in the air for a moment, a shiver cascades down my spine at his words, igniting something deep within me. But instead of thinking too much about it, I grabbed my gloves again and started preparing for the next tattoo.
This night is starting to sound fun.