Chapter 11
Myles
My throat still feels raw.
It was rough.
So fucking hot.
That wasn’t just punishment for what happened with the girl. He couldn’t give two fucks what happens to her. That was him reminding me who I belong to.
Reminding me that I’m his.
And goddamn, I needed that more than I knew.
But it's the silence afterwards that always gets me. His absence.
I sit on the edge of the mattress, fingers laced behind my neck, elbows on my knees and head hanging, trying not to think about my little doe’s face last night. Or the way she’d flinched like I was a monster.
Phoenix’s words keep circling my mind like a buzzard waiting for something to die.
‘If you two keep fighting over her… I'll get rid of her myself.’
He meant it. Cold and clear.
And maybe that's what pissed me off the most—that he could say something like that and not even flinch. As if she's a broken weapon we can just toss if it doesn't fire right. Like she's not already crawling under my skin… even if she won't so much as look at me now.
Plus, I’m being forced to make up with Zane like we’re little kids fighting over a toy.
This is stupid.
Reluctantly making my way downstairs, I check a few rooms before I find Zane out the back.
He’s crouched by the water barrels, shirtless, back muscles rippling as he washes the laundry. He stiffens as I approach but doesn’t turn, like he knew I was coming and isn't thrilled about it.
How do I even start this conversation?
My boots crunch in the gravel as I walk toward him. “Didn't know you started laundry duty,” I say casually.
He finally glances up. “Someone has to,” he says dryly. “Look, I don't really feel like talking to you right now.”
“Yeah? Well, I don't feel like talking to you either, but here I fucking am,” I snap, fists clenching by my sides.
I drag a hand through my hair and pace a few steps as I breathe and try to calm myself down. I hate this part.
The hovering. The not-knowing-how-to-start-a-goddamn-conversation part.
I wish I could just punch the feelings out of my chest and be done with it.
“Listen,” I mutter, “about last night—”
“You were out of line.”
My nostrils flare, struggling to keep my composure. He didn’t even let me finish.
Zane wrings out the cloth slowly, water dripping down his wrists, then hangs it on the side of the barrel. His voice is calm, but it's got a bite under it.
Drying his hands on his pants, he turns to face me, giving me an unimpressed look. “Say what you came to say.”
I don't like the way he's looking at me. Like I'm a problem he's too tired to fix.
“I didn't mean to scare her,” I murmur. “It got outta hand.”
Zane’s jaw tightens but he doesn't say anything.
Shuffling on my feet, I stare at the dirt. It's dry and cracked, like my throat suddenly is.
“I wasn't gonna do anything to her. I just… I touched her leg, alright? Woke her up by accident. She freaked out.”
“And then you grabbed her,” he growls. “Ripped her shirt off. Left bruises all over her.” His tone doesn't rise, but it hits like a hammer.
Okay, maybe I didn’t stop myself soon enough. Maybe I didn’t even try. I wanted her to feel it. To still see the evidence of where I touched her days after.
“You don't know what happened.”
“I saw her,” he snaps, sharper now. “Saw the way she was shaking. The way she was curled up this morning like she was waiting for someone to finish the job.”
That silences me, hitting harder than I expect. But I swallow it down. I hate this version of me. The one that doesn't have the right words.
“I didn't hurt her.”
“You did.” Zane's voice stays clear and steady.
I hate how steady he is. As if he's already figured out how to be the man she needs.
My jaw twitches. He’s not forcing his opinion down my throat, just laying out the truth. It’s hard to swallow. I’ve been so set on forcing her to see that she’s mine… but maybe in doing that, I’ve actually forced her away.
So I stare at the ground. “I didn't mean to,” I say again, feeling more defeated. And something close to shame. “She’s rejecting me.”
The words burn my throat. I want to hit something. Him, maybe? But Phoenix’s threat stops me from acting out that desire.
Chewing the inside of my cheek, I try to choke the words out without making it sound like I'm begging. “She hasn't even said a word to me, man. I try to get close, and she shrinks away. And now Phoenix is threatening to—” the words get caught in my throat.
Phoenix’s voice still crawling down my spine. His hands still marked on my skin. Need still ghosting through my aching body.
I hate orgasm denial with a passion. But Phoenix knows it gets results.
And here Zane is, high and mighty, like I didn’t just get stripped raw and reminded where I stand because of him.
“Because you treat her like your prisoner,” Zane growls, finally losing a little of his cool before he huffs out a breath and levels himself again. “Like you've already claimed something you haven't earned.”
That one stings.
“Fuck you,” I frown.
“I'm just trying to help,” he shrugs. “She’s not a thing for you to conquer.”
He runs his hand through his black hair as he sighs. “She's not a dog that flinches when you raise your hand and will still crawl back to lick it.”
Heat rises in my chest. “You think I don't know that?”
“I think you're so wrapped up in your own damage, you don't even see hers,” he snaps.
I clench my fists. “I didn't come here for a lecture.”
“And that right there... that's why Ivy will never warm up to you.” He shakes his head, disappointed. Then turns back to his laundry like he’s finished with the conversation.
I blink at him, the world tilting around me. “Ivy?”
He freezes, the muscles of his back rippling.
“Ivy?!” I repeat, voice rising.
There's a beat of silence where I don't know what the hell to feel.
Ivy.
She gave him her name?
And I get silence.
The name I’ve been aching to hear. The name of my little doe. In her own voice. Not the whimpers and sobs of fear.
“She talks to you? She hasn't said a goddamn word to me! And she’s talking to you?”
That word—Ivy—bounces around my skull like a ricocheting bullet. It’s not just a name. It’s a door, and he got to walk through it while I’m still banging on the outside like an unwelcomed guest.
Zane exhales, another tired sigh and looks back at me, gaze steady, “I've been patient.”
Agitation prickles under my skin. Jealousy renewed.
Dragging my hands through my hair, I pace again. “We've been doing this for the same amount of time. How come you got a different result?”
There’s a long pause as he studies me. Long enough to make my skin crawl.
I shift my weight on my feet, cross my arms. Uncross them. Wish I was holding a weapon instead of all this damn emotion.
As he comfortably holds the silence that makes me want to climb out of my skin, I flop onto the concrete steps by the back door and pick at a crack in the surface.
“What do I do? I don't want her to freak out around me. Like she's bracing… even when I'm not touching her,” I pause and meet his unreadable gaze, “even when I'm not trying to be a dick.”
Zane doesn't answer straight away. He stares at me, long and quiet, like he's debating if I even deserve to hear it.
“Speak softer,” he finally says. “Move slower. Treat her like a person and she might talk to you too. Earn her trust… and be patient with her. She's scared. She doesn't know where she is or who we are.”
He turns back to his task and leaves me to process what he said.
Speak… soft?
Move… slow?
Earn trust? Be patient?
What the fuck does any of that even look like?!
All I've ever known is survival. Fight. Run. Take what you can, and cling to it tight.
But I need to try a different approach. To recalibrate. Before Zane gets his hooks any deeper in her.
If I can't figure this out… if I can't learn whatever it is Zane already knows…
He's going to steal her from me.