CHAPTER 28
MIA
I wake up to the warmth of Zane’s arms wrapped securely around me , his body pressed close, like if he lets go even a little, I’ll slip away forever. I smile to myself, burrowing deeper into his embrace, inhaling the familiar scent of him, feeling the steady rhythm of his breathing against my neck.
We’ve always slept like this—clinging to each other even when we didn’t mean to. In the beginning, we’d wake up tangled together, confused, trying to figure out how the hell it kept happening. Like magnets.
I shift slightly, and Zane groans in protest, his arms tightening around me as if to say, not yet.
"Zane," I murmur, amused.
He exhales a slow breath, his grip loosening just enough for me to slip free. His eyes are still heavy with sleep as he watches me, and for a second, I see him—the version of Zane who used to laugh with me without hesitation. He runs his fingers through my hair, murmuring,
"Morning."
Instead of answering, I trail my fingertips down his neck and press a quick kiss to the tip of his nose—a fleeting, innocent gesture. Or at least, it’s meant to be.
But the moment my lips brush his skin, something shifts.
Zane exhales sharply, his grip on my waist tightening as if the simple touch jolts something deep inside him.
God, the way his breath hitched when I touched him—barely a brush of my fingertips down his neck and he was already starting to unravel. I could feel it.
His pulse stuttering under my palm, thighs shifting like his body was opening for me without him even realizing it. Reflexive. Natural. Like he was meant to.
I leaned in, lips grazing his ear.
"You're drooling for me already, Zane," I whispered, smiling as his eyes fluttered closed. "And I haven’t even really touched you yet."
He whimpered—whimpered—and I swear it made my stomach twist with heat.
My free hand slid down his chest, slow, claiming every inch. I felt the tension in his body. Not from fear—no. From need. From holding back how badly he wanted to give in.
I pressed my body against his, lips finally finding his. Deep. Possessive. He moaned into my mouth, and I swallowed it greedily, tilting his chin just enough to remind him he belonged to me. My fingers curled gently around his throat—nothing rough, just firm enough to hold him in that space between control and surrender.
And fuck, he bloomed under me.
His thighs parted. His hips rocked forward like he couldn’t help it. Like his body was already begging.
"You don’t need to think," I breathed against his lips. "Just let me take care of you."
He nodded, dazed. So pretty like that—eyes glazed, lips parted, body trembling from one kiss and a little pressure on his throat.
"You want more?" I asked, fingers dipping lower, hovering just above the waistband of his pants. "Use your words, Zane."
"Please…" he whispered.
I smiled. God, I could wreck him.
And I would.
Softly. Slowly. Until he couldn’t remember a version of himself that didn’t ache for me.
He was already trembling.
Pressed beneath me, his lashes fluttering as my hand trailed lower, barely touching him. His hips jerked—reflex. He didn’t mean to. But his body was already mine, and he knew it.
“Breathe,” I murmured. “You’re holding it again.”
His chest rose sharply, like he hadn’t even noticed, and then—
“Oh fuck,” he whispered, voice breaking.
God, he was so pretty when he was overwhelmed. The kind of pretty that made my thighs clench. Eyes glossy, lips wet from how much he licked them, like he didn’t know what else to do with his mouth. His hips kept twitching, desperate for friction, but I didn’t give it to him. Not yet.
“Look at you,” I smiled, dragging my nails up his ribs, making him arch. “Already panting and I’ve barely touched your cock. You’re so sensitive this morning, little angel.”
He whimpered again, and that sealed it. That sound? It was mine now. I’d take it from him until he was breathless and trembling
I leaned down, kissing his throat where his pulse pounded hard against my lips, and whispered, “Is it too much? Do I need to tie you down so you stop fucking begging with your body?”
He nodded—needing it. Wanting it.
My sweet, overstimulated boy who couldn’t even hide how much he needed to be held in place and ruined slowly.
So I did.
Soft fabric around his wrists. A gentle command: “Don’t move.”
And when I finally brushed my fingers over the tip of his cock—just enough to tease that first leak of arousal—he gasped so sharply he nearly cried.
“Oh my God,” he choked out, “I—I can’t—”
“You can,” I purred. “You will. You’re gonna leak for me like a good boy, aren’t you?”
He nodded desperately, thighs twitching.
“I want to watch you fall apart,” I whispered against his mouth. “I want you crying and gasping while I make you feel every second of my touch. You were made to be touched like this. Look at you—already shaking, already leaking.”
A single tear slid down his cheek as his head tipped back, mouth open in a silent moan, cock twitching in my hand.
“You’re so perfect like this,” I murmured. “Falling apart for me. My pretty, pretty boy.”
His wrists strained gently against the fabric, but he didn’t dare move. He was trembling so beautifully, thighs spread, chest rising in frantic little gasps while I hovered over him, brushing my fingers along his cock just enough to make him feel everything—but never enough to let him fall over the edge.
“Please,” he whispered, voice hoarse, eyes glistening. “Please, Mia, I— I can’t…”
“You can,” I said softly, pressing a kiss to his cheek, right where the tears had started to fall. “But not yet.”
He sobbed—desperate, broken.
I dragged my thumb over his slit, collecting his slick, watching his hips jerk helplessly in their restraints.
“Look how much you’re leaking for me,” I murmured. “You’re so fucking pretty like this. Ruined. Begging. You’re not even trying to hide it anymore.”
“Mia,” he whimpered, breath shattering, “please let me come, I—I’ll do anything—”
His body was shaking, barely holding on.
I leaned in, lips against his ear.
“Then beg. Cry for it. Let me hear how badly you need me.”
He sobbed—really sobbed—and the sound broke something in me. Raw, unfiltered, gorgeous.
“Please, Mia, please—I need it, I can’t take it, I’ll fall apart, I swear—please let me come—I wanna come for you, please—”
That was it.
I stroked him, slow but firm, my hand slick with how desperate he was. His body arched, mouth falling open in a cry so loud and broken it echoed off the walls as he came hard, cock twitching in my hand, thick and messy as he spilled for me.
Tears spilled with it, his whole body shaking with the force of it.
I smiled, kissed the corner of his trembling mouth as I untied him. I was about to bring my fingers to my lips to taste him—
But his hand caught mine.
“No,” he whispered, pulling me close, still breathless, still flushed and overwhelmed. “Don’t swallow.”
He smeared it across my lips instead, eyes wild and glassy, as if marking me with what I’d done to him.
“You wear it,” he whispered. “You look so fucking perfect like that.”
I licked slowly across my lips, letting him watch.
And the way he moaned again—like he was ready to fall apart all over—told me this morning was far from over.
Then he kisses me.
Desperate. Starved.
His tongue pushes into my mouth, and the moment he tastes himself on my lips—salty, warm, his—he groans again, deeper this time, like it guts him.
I feel his thick cock throbbing against my belly, desperate and unrelenting, like the mere thought of marking me was enough to make him hard again.
His fingers fist in my hair, breath catching as he licks into me like he can’t get enough. Like he needs to consume it. Claim it.
“Fuck,” he breathes, lips brushing mine, eyes dark. “You taste like me.”
He kisses me harder, messier, tilting my head back so he can take it all. So he can kiss the evidence of his own release off my mouth like it’s holy.
And God, he moans again—that sound.
Like he’s unraveling just from the taste of his own surrender on my tongue.
"I want you," I whispered, voice thick with need, eyes locked on his.
Zane’s breath hitched, lips already parted.
“Tell me how you want me,” he rasped, voice trembling, like he needed the words—like he was already on the edge just imagining them.
I didn’t answer right away. I let my fingers trail down between us, slow and deliberate, until I was wrapping my hand around his cock—still sensitive, still leaking, twitching in my grip.
His head dropped back, a raw moan spilling from his throat.
I guided him down, hips rolling forward as I pressed the tip of his cock against my clit—soft, lazy strokes, just enough friction to make us both lose it. The swollen head dragging over me, slick and aching, spreading his mess across my folds while my body clenched around nothing, begging.
He groaned like it physically hurt not to be inside me.
I rocked my hips again, rubbing the tip against me in slow, teasing circles, my mouth brushing his ear.
“Like this,” I breathed. “So close I can feel your heartbeat in your cock. So close we’re both shaking, moaning, dripping. So close you forget who you are and just give in.”
His hands gripped my thighs like he was trying not to lose it.
“Please…” he panted. “Mia… I’m already fucking desperate.”
“Good,” I whispered. “You’ll give it to me like that. Desperate. Messy. Mine.”
“Those fuck-me eyes again,” he groans against my ear, voice low and wrecked, pulling me tighter against his trembling body.
“I want you to be a good boy and put your big cock inside me,” I gasp against his ear, my fingers tangled in his hair, tugging just enough to make him whimper.
His breath stutters, and I feel his cock twitch against my thigh, so hard it almost aches.
“Yes, baby,” he murmurs, voice thick with need. “I’ll give you everything you need.”
His hands slide under the hem of the only thing covering me—his oversized shirt—and he peels it away slowly, like he’s unwrapping something sacred.
When he tosses it aside, his gaze drinks me in like he’ll never see me again. His palms glide down my sides, warm and reverent, and he groans when he sees how wet I am for him.
“I want to watch,” I breathe. “I want to watch you slide into me. Stretch me open. Fill me. I want it now.”
And Zane listens—of course he does.
He shifts me on the bed with one fluid motion, strong arms positioning me so I’m lying back, legs open, body begging. He kneels between my thighs, guiding the head of his cock to my entrance, pressing just enough for both of us to lose our breath.
Then, with one deep, unhurried thrust—he sinks into me.
“Oh my God,” I moan, my hands flying to his shoulders as my body stretches to take him. “Zane…”
His jaw clenches, brows drawn in that desperate, overwhelmed way I love.
“You’re so tight,” he pants, voice cracking as he buries himself to the hilt. “So wet—I can barely fucking think—”
I wrap my legs around his hips, locking him in place.
“Don’t think,” I whisper. “Just give in. Be good. Mine.”
And when he starts to move, hips rolling slow and deep, it’s all heat and friction and moans, our bodies locked in that perfect, filthy rhythm—his praise, my control, and that look in his eyes that says he’d give me everything.
Because he already is.
And I watch every slow, deliberate movement of his cock sliding against my pussy—slick, aching—until my control unravels completely.
I push against his chest, and he lets me—eager, obedient—falling back against the pillows with a soft, wrecked sound that makes my core clench around nothing.
“Lie back, angel,” I murmur, crawling over him, straddling his hips. “Let me ride you.”
His hands settle on my thighs like he's grounding himself, fingers trembling.
“You’re gonna kill me,” he whispers, looking up at me like I’m something between salvation and sin.
I take him in one slow roll of my hips, watching his head fall back, watching his lips part around a gasp as I sink down onto him—tight, warm, dripping.
“Fuck,” he moans, voice already cracking. “Mia… you feel like heaven—”
I place my hands on his chest, grinding down, and smile.
“I’m not heaven, baby. I’m the whole damn storm.”
And I start to move.
Slow at first, just enough to drive him mad. He bucks beneath me, hands twitching as if he wants to grab my hips—but he doesn’t. He knows better.
“You don’t move unless I tell you to,” I whisper, leaning down to bite at his bottom lip, hips rolling in punishing, wet circles that make him groan through gritted teeth.
“Yes,” he breathes. “Yes, Mia. I’ll be good. I’ll be so good for you—just don’t stop, please don’t stop—”
His voice breaks as I pick up the pace, riding him harder, wetter, the sound of our bodies slapping together filling the room. His head thrashes side to side, fists gripping the sheets, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.
“You're mine like this,” I pant. “Look at you. Just look at yourself—such a pretty, desperate mess.”
“I’m yours,” he sobs, barely holding it together. “Please, Mia—please, I can’t—”
“I know, baby. Let it go. I want you to fall apart for me.”
And when I clench around him, pulling him deeper, he shatters—crying out, body arching, cock pulsing as he comes hard inside me, trembling through every second of it.
But I don’t stop.
Not yet.
Because watching him break?
That’s the part I live for.
I keep moving on top of him, even as he trembles, even as he gasps through the overstimulation. His hands flutter against my thighs like he doesn’t know whether to push or pull, like he’s unraveling under me but still trying to hold on.
And then he looks up at me—red-eyed, lips swollen, flushed chest rising and falling beneath mine—and it undoes me.
That look.
The way he needs me.
I ride the wave of his release into my own, grinding down just right, chasing that delicious pressure coiling in my belly. My body tenses, my head falls back, and I cry out his name as it hits me—sharp, hot, blinding. My walls pulse around him, and he groans again, wrecked and worshipful, his hands finally clutching my hips like he needs to feel every spasm.
I collapse onto his chest, panting, our slick skin pressed together, tangled in sheets and sweat and heat.
His arms wrap around me instinctively, like I’m something precious. Like he’s afraid I’ll disappear.
I smile against his throat, feeling him pull me closer, like he’s trying to memorize every part of me.
And I let him.
For a minute.
But then the hunger hits.
Real, actual hunger.
Before he can trap me again in his warm limbs and sleepy kisses, I slip out of bed, bare feet hitting the cool floor as I stretch with a groan.
“Where are you going?” Zane murmurs, eyes barely open, voice hoarse and dazed.
I shoot him a lazy grin over my shoulder. “Waffles.”
His groan turns into a chuckle, soft and breathless. “You’re unbelievable.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” I say, already making my way to the kitchen.
By the time he follows me downstairs, I’ve got coffee ready and waffles. He leans against the counter, watching me with that steady, unreadable gaze of his.
"You look half-dead," he says, handing me a mug this time.
I take a sip, sighing dramatically. "Because I am."
Zane tilts his head. "Charlie said fresh air might help."
I groan. "Of course she did."
"She’s not wrong." He nudges my hip lightly. "You’ve been more tired lately."
"That’s kind of what narcolepsy is, little angel. Then again… it might just be the aftermath of getting thoroughly, deliciously ruined a few minutes ago."
He huffs a quiet laugh. "Yeah, but you’ve been worse. Sleeping weird hours, zoning out. She’s just worried."
I narrow my eyes at him. "You’re just worried."
Zane doesn’t deny it. He just shrugs, finishing his coffee.
I watch him for a moment, then sigh. "Fine. Let’s go for a walk, but if I get tired, you’re carrying me back."
"Wouldn’t be the first time."
I roll my eyes, but I can’t hide my smile.
We head outside, strolling side by side. The morning is fresh, the sky a cloudless blue, a gentle breeze whispering through the trees. The world feels still, untouched. I swing our intertwined hands, and Zane lets it happen, his fingers warm against mine.
And then—
I feel it.
A shift in the air. A tingle down my spine.
I slow, my fingers unconsciously tightening around Zane’s. My attention drifts from our hands to the trees around us. Something feels… off.
Zane notices immediately.
"What?" His voice is quiet, but alert.
I scan the tree line, my heart picking up speed. "I don’t know. It’s just—" I frown, my skin prickling. "It feels like we’re not alone."
Zane’s expression sharpens in an instant. His posture shifts from relaxed to ready, muscles tense beneath his hoodie. His eyes follow mine, scanning the area.
Silence. Only the wind and the rustling leaves.
But the feeling won’t go away.
“Little Angel,” I call out. “Stay close behind me.”
Zane grumbles something about letting him protect me for once, but I barely pay attention. The nickname slips from my lips naturally now, a habit formed in the short time we've known each other.
Maybe it’s the way the light catches his features, softening the edges, making him look almost ethereal—like an angel. He’s always had that calm, otherworldly aura, ever since the first moment we met.
I don’t know if I’ve ever explained that to him. Maybe I should. Maybe not.
My fingers tighten around the knife in my hand, the cool weight grounding me. I don’t remember drawing it, but my body reacts before my mind catches up. The air is thick, pressing in from all sides, every shadow between the trees stretching a little too far. Something lurks just beyond my sight, watching, waiting.
Beside me, Zane moves with quiet precision, his posture unreadable. There’s no hesitation in the way he shifts his stance, controlled and deliberate.
A click, faint but unmistakable.
Realization settles over me like ice.
He brought a gun.
My pulse thrums, not with fear, but with something far more intoxicating. Anticipation.
“I’ll admit something,” I whisper, barely containing my excitement. “I secretly hope it’s someone bad. It’s been too long since I had any real fun.”
Zane lets out a sigh that’s both exasperated and resigned. We’ve had this conversation before—how my idea of fun and his don’t exactly align. I think he’s finally come to terms with the fact that I find joy in things that most people would recoil from. I’m mostly harmless. I haven’t killed someone in a year now.
The second the movement becomes clearer, I throw my knife.
It slices through the air with satisfying precision, and when I step forward to see the damage, my breath catches.
Not because I’m afraid.
Because I recognize the person slumped on the ground.
“Crybaby?” The name slips out before I can stop it.
Zane tenses beside me. “He’s from Evermore. My brother must have sent him to track me down.”
I shake my head, something cold and distant clawing at my memories. My mind doesn’t work the way other people’s do. Sometimes, I forget things. Sometimes, I remember things too late. But this… this is something I’ve always known.
“No,” I whisper, stepping closer to the unconscious figure. My heart hammers, and I feel something strange—something foreign—tightening in my chest. A pull, like a string connecting me to him. “Uno.”
Zane stiffens. “What?”
My fingers brush against the side of his face, tilting it toward the moonlight. His breathing is slow, steady, despite the tranquilizer in his system. The eyes, even shut, are unmistakable.
“I’d never mistake One’s eyes.” My voice is steadier than I feel.
Zane looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. Maybe I have. Maybe I always have.
But I know what I’m seeing.
“This is my brother,” I say.
Zane curses. Loudly. And then pulls out his phone to call Kyle.
Kyle arrives faster than expected, but he’s not alone.
Abigail is with him, her presence a soothing balm against the sharpness of the moment. She greets Zane warmly, calling him “brother” like it’s the most natural thing in the world. I watch them with quiet interest, cataloging their dynamic. Zane stiffens slightly when she hugs him, but there’s no real resistance.
He missed her. Even if he won’t admit it.
“Well,” Kyle finally says, eyeing the unconscious figure on the couch. “I assume you didn’t call me here for a friendly visit.”
Mischief sparks inside me, and I offer him my sweetest smile. “It is a friendly visit, cranky brother.”
Kyle glares. Zane sighs. Abigail laughs softly.
“Zane wants you guys to meet my brother.”
I wasn’t sure about involving Zane’s brother in this. He kept saying it was Evermore's business, that crossing them would only bring trouble, and that he didn’t want to get mixed up with the club. His reasoning made sense in its own way, but something about it left me uneasy.
I’d spent so long convincing myself that revenge was the answer. They’d hurt my brother—they had killed him, in my mind. That was the story I had lived with, the fire that drove me to make them pay. But when my brother appeared out of nowhere, alive, standing right in front of me, everything I thought I knew collapsed.
The truth hit me like a tidal wave—they hadn’t killed him. He wasn’t some tragic victim of their cruelty. No, he was one of them.
An Evermore, part of their family.
The very thing I’d spent all this time wanting to tear down. He’d chosen them. He’d been a part of their world, living the life I had hated, the life I had sworn revenge on.
And that... changed everything.
Abigail’s eyes widen, flickering between me and Seth. “Brother?”
“Seth’s sister was presumed dead in a fire,” Kyle mutters, skepticism woven into every word.
I tilt my head. “I must be fireproof then, because I’m very much alive.” I place a hand over my heart and sigh dramatically. “Thanks for asking, by the way.”
Kyle snorts, but the suspicion in his eyes remains . “That doesn’t make any sense.”
I shrug. “Lots of things don’t make sense. Like why you always wear that same black jacket. Is it your favorite? Do you not have more clothes?”
Abigail giggles. Kyle’s scowl deepens.
“Mia, you are adorable,” she says, and I beam at her. She turns to Seth, something fond in her expression. “He was just like you when he was younger.”
“Like me?” I repeat, intrigued.
“Innocent.”
I blink. Then burst into laughter. “Oh, that’s funny.”
Innocent and One is not something that fits in the same sentence.
“The girl literally tried to stab you last time she saw you,” Kyle interjects, deadpan.
Abigail waves him off. “I didn’t take it personally.”
I grin. I really like her.
She makes an offer—says she can help me understand more about Evermore if we visit. I almost say yes. I almost let curiosity take over.
But then Zane’s voice cuts in, sharp and final. “Can we focus on Seth?”
Right on cue, Seth groans, stirring awake. My body reacts before I even think, and within seconds, I’m in his lap, arms wrapping tightly around him.
He doesn’t push me off.
My brother doesn’t push me off.
I squeeze harder, just to make sure he’s real.
“You’re still annoying,” he mutters, but there’s no real bite to it.
I pull back just enough to look at his face, searching for something I lost a long time ago. “Did you tell everyone I was dead? Is that why you disappeared from our little room? It got lonely without you.”
I miss him.
His jaw tightens. “We’ll talk about this later.” His eyes flick to Zane, narrowing with familiar aggression. “Right now, I want to talk to the son of a bitch who’s been taking advantage of my sister.”
Kyle, of all people, smirks. “I might be starting to believe in karma.”
I hold up my hand, flashing my ring. “Oh, don’t hurt him. He’s my husband, look!”
Zane, behind me, lets out a quiet chuckle. That’s my husband.
“And he’s teaching me things!” I add, suddenly excited. “Like, did you know the sun is evil? It burns my skin and makes it all sore and red! And waffles! Have you tried waffles? They’re the best thing ever!” I sigh wistfully, switching to Spanish without thinking. “Apuesto a que a Katie disfrutaría de helados y waffles; siempre fue una gran aficionada a probar cosas nuevas, y también te extrana.”
I can’t help it—the little girl inside me comes alive whenever he’s around. It’s like there’s this burst of energy, this whirlwind of thoughts and feelings I can’t quite catch, but I can feel it swirling, bubbling up inside me. There are a million things I want to say to him, all at once, but the words get tangled before they can even form. It’s like my brain moves faster than my mouth can keep up, and everything I want to express gets jumbled together in a mess of excitement, nerves, and maybe a little bit of something deeper I’m not sure I’m ready to untangle.
Seth rubs his temple like I’m giving him a headache. “Deja de hablar por ahora, necesito procesar esto .”
Kyle blinks. “Why the fuck is Seth speaking Spanish?”
The room shifts. More people enter. Connor Ross and… the girl who killed James.
Their eyes land on me, and something flickers in her gaze.
“Mia?” she breathes, stepping closer.
Recognition dawns.
“You’re real,” she whispers. “Right? I didn’t think you survived.”
I tilt my head, studying her face.
“I didn’t think you survived either.”
She steps forward, wraps her arms around me. I sink into the warmth, pressing my face into her shoulder. I like hugs. Almost as much as I like tearing throats.
The conversation takes a turn into serious territory, and I swear I just zone out. Evermore. Cartels. Ownership. Blah, blah, blah. It’s like I’m listening to a lecture I never signed up for.
My mind? It’s somewhere else entirely, caught on one very important detail.
I keep glancing at my brother.
He keeps throwing Zane looks and muttering death threats, and I keep reminding him it’s fine—Zane’s cool! No big deal! But somehow, my mind keeps drifting back to One.
Like, he’s really here. He’s standing there all casual, like nothing ever happened, like he didn’t just disappear off the face of the earth. Seriously, how does he just show up after all this time, and I’m supposed to act like it’s no big deal?
“Mia belongs to no one,” Zane growls. His voice is dark, protective.
Wait, what where they saying again?
But Seth shakes his head. “That’s not how it works.”
I watch them argue, watch them try to make sense of something that doesn’t need sense.
Then I slide my fingers between Zane’s, squeezing gently.
“Little Angel,” I murmur, voice soft but firm. “I’m not going anywhere.”
He turns to me, something fierce and unyielding in his gaze.
I just smile.
We’re married, after all. Married people have to stay together.