CHAPTER 10
ZANE
Mia handed me the pliers.
Her face was blank—beautiful and unreadable in that way she’s mastered. Like none of this touched her. Like it didn’t bother her that we had a man strapped to a chair, screaming in front of us.
She played her part perfectly. Cool. Sharp. Almost smug.
I wanted to believe it was all an act.
I needed it to be.
But when I looked at her, I couldn’t see the girl who used to fall asleep on my chest or kiss me like she needed air. I saw someone else—someone far away.
I could barely watch her do it—torture him. He deserved every second, but still... my head’s a mess. All shades of fucked up.
I threw up.
She tried to comfort me, but it felt like one of her lies—and it’s fucking suffocating me. Her lies.
Reign Mitchel would’ve laughed in that moment—maybe sliced the guy’s throat just for entertainment. But I’m not Reign. I never was. I’m just wearing his skin and trying not to drown in it.
Now I’m in the shower, water scalding hot, fists pressed to the tile as if I can squeeze the guilt out through my bones.
She was teaching me how to torture a man—as if it was just another normal part of her day.
And I still can’t get her to talk to me.
Not really.
She lied about everything. Said she was fine. That she left by choice. That nothing happened. She told me not to come for her.
But she was taken.
Used.
Hurt.
And now she’s pretending like none of it matters. Like I don’t matter.
She pushes me away with a smile.
Turns everything into a joke.
Builds walls with that soft voice and expects me not to notice.
But I see it.
I feel it every time she doesn’t meet my eyes.
Every time she touches me like she’s not sure she’s allowed to want it.
And it’s killing me.
I gave her everything—every damn piece I had left—and she’s still shutting me out like I’m a stranger.
I had to find the truth from someone else, and that’s what fucking pisses me off the most. How the hell did I get here? How the fuck did it come to this?
The betrayal stings like a knife, but the anger... the anger is what burns. I deserved better than this bullshit.
“You should’ve told me,” I whisper, jaw clenched. My throat’s raw like I’ve been screaming for days.
Steam fills the space like smoke. My skin’s red, cracked in some places. Doesn’t hurt enough. Not even close.
Then I feel it.
Something behind me.
The air shifts—just slightly. Like someone stepped in. Like someone’s breathing my air.
I freeze.
The water keeps running.
But I know she’s there.
MIA
Steam wraps around the tiles like smoke, thick and suffocating.
I step into the shower without asking.
Zane’s back is to me, head bowed under the water, hands braced on the wall like he’s holding himself up by a thread. His muscles are tight, carved with tension, like he’s seconds from breaking.
I don’t say a word.
I just press my bare chest to his spine and whisper, “Turn around.”
He doesn’t move.
So I grab his arm — harder this time — and shove him back. He stumbles a step, eyes snapping open as he turns to face me. His jaw is clenched, lips curled like I just ripped open a wound.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” he growls, water cascading down his face, dripping from his lashes. “You don’t get to show up like this.”
“I don’t need your permission.”
“You think you can just walk in here like nothing happened?” His voice rises, thunderous in the echo of the tile. “You’ve been lying to me. So why now, huh? You want to fuck me into forgetting?”
“Maybe I do,” I snap, stepping into his space, pressing our wet bodies together. “Maybe I want to see how much it takes before you finally let go.”
He grabs my wrists, slams me back against the wall with a snarl. “Don’t test me.”
“Or what?” I taunt, breathless. “You’ll ruin me? You already did that. And I loved every second.”
He growls, teeth bared. “You’re such a fucking brat.”
“Yeah? And you missed it,” I whisper, grinding my hips up to his. “You missed me. You missed this.”
His breath catches — sharp, involuntary.
“You think I didn’t notice?” I keep going, wicked and low. “You think I don’t know how hard you were the last time I said your name? How many times you’ve stroked your cock to the thought of my mouth?”
“Shut up,” he mutters, voice shaking. But his hands are on me now, sliding down my waist, gripping my thighs like he’s about to lose his mind.
“No,” I whisper, leaning into his ear. “You shut the fuck up and admit it. You missed us.”
His hand flies to my throat — not choking, just holding. Dominating. His cock is hard, straining between us.
“I never stopped thinking about you,” he breathes against my mouth. “Never stopped thinking about how tight you are. How fucking wet you get when I talk to you like this.”
“I’m dripping for you,” I whisper, biting his lip. “Want to feel how bad?”
I grab his hand, guide it between my legs, and his fingers slide through soaked heat. He curses under his breath, jaw grinding.
“Fuck. Mia…”
“You hate it, don’t you?” I taunt. “Hate how much you still want me. Hate how your cock aches when you think about how I taste.”
He slams me back against the wall again, grinding against me, breath ragged.
“I hate how much I crave this,” he snarls. “I hate that my cock’s been starving for your cunt. That I can’t stop dreaming about being inside you.”
“Then do it,” I snap. “Take it.”
He turns me around so fast I gasp, chest pressed to the wet tile. His hand fists in my hair, yanking my head back as he pushes his cock against my core.
“You want it like this?” he breathes against my neck. “You want me to fuck the truth out of you?”
I moan. “God, yes.”
“I hate how quiet you get when you're lying to me,” he growls, every syllable dragging across his teeth like a threat. “I see it in your eyes, Mia. You think I don’t feel it?”
I don’t answer. I can’t. The truth claws at my throat, but I shove it down — and he knows it. That’s what drives him mad.
His hand slides around my waist and yanks me back against him, my spine arching against his chest. His cock throbs at the curve of my ass, hot and rigid, and when he speaks again, it’s low, cracked with restraint.
“You think you can hide from me like this? That I won’t notice when you're shaking?”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. He pushes me forward, until my palms brace against the cold tile wall. Steam curls around us like smoke, blinding, suffocating — but I only feel him.
Zane presses his cock between my thighs, not entering, just letting the head slide slow against my slit. Torturously slow. I gasp, hips twitching.
But he doesn’t move.
Doesn’t give in.
“Say something,” he rasps behind me. “Give me anything. A truth. A lie. A scream. Anything but this silence.”
His tip rubs against my entrance again, slick and hot, teasing my folds, and I whimper, nearly losing it. Still, he doesn’t push inside.
“You want it?” he grits out. “After everything you’ve done?”
I nod, eyes shut tight. “Yes. I want you.”
He breathes harshly, jaw clenched like he’s trying not to break. Like he already has. His hand slips between my legs, guiding himself again — just the tip sliding in, then pulling out. Over and over.
It’s torture.
"Zane," I beg, breathless. “Please. I need it. I need you .”
He pauses. And when he speaks again, it's not rage anymore. It’s something else. Something deeper.
“You lied to me,” he says, forehead pressed to the back of my shoulder. “And I still can’t stop wanting you.”
He slams into me in one brutal thrust, knocking the air from my lungs. His groan is feral, pained, and filthy—like he’s been caged for too long and finally tasted freedom again.
"Fuck," he snarls, his voice broken, ragged. "You feel like home and hell at the same time."
Every muscle in his body coils with tension, like he’s holding himself together by a thread. He doesn’t stop. He can’t. Not with the way I squeeze around him, not with the way I whimper every time his cock grinds deep into the ache he’s created inside me.
His hands clamp down on my hips, bruising. “You fucking haunt me,” he growls into my ear. “Even when I try to forget—this body, this cunt—it’s all I fucking see.”
I try to speak, to say his name, but all that comes out is a moan that dissolves into a sob. He moves again, dragging out slowly, just enough for the head to tease my entrance, then slams back in so hard I see stars.
Over and over, he fucks me like he’s trying to replace the anger, the betrayal, with something he can understand. Something that burns just as much.
He leans over me, chest pressing into my back, heat rolling off his skin. “Tell me to stop,” he breathes, voice dark, shaking. “And I will.”
I twist to look at him, eyes glassy and wild. “Don’t you fucking dare.”
He grips my hips, slamming into me harder. “Say you’re mine.”
“No,” I hiss.
He thrusts deeper, harder. “ Say it. ”
“Fuck—you make me crazy,” I cry out, head falling forward. “I’m yours, Zane. Always was.”
He growls, grabs my throat again, turns my head just enough to kiss me over my shoulder — teeth, tongue, desperation.
“I’ll never stop wanting this,” he rasps. “I’ll never stop fucking you like I own you.”
He pulls out, spins me around, lifts me into his arms, and slams me against the glass wall of the shower. I wrap my legs around him, riding every thrust like I’m trying to tear him apart.
“I hate you,” I whisper, eyes burning.
“No, you don’t,” he growls. “You hate how much you need me.”
“I hate that I can’t stop.”
“Then stop lying,” he snaps, slamming into me again.
The glass fogs with heat, with breath, with the violence of everything we can’t say. He kisses me like he’s drowning. I moan into his mouth, shaking, clawing at his back.
When I come, I scream his name — broken, wrecked, undone.
He follows with a hoarse groan, spilling inside me, forehead pressed to mine, both of us trembling.
We collapse onto the bench, still tangled, still inside each other.
The water runs cold.
His hand slides over my thigh, grounding me.
After a long silence, I whisper, “Do you still hate me?”
He doesn’t answer at first. Just breathes.
Then finally, voice low and raw: “I hate that I don’t know what’s real with you anymore.”
I close my eyes.
Because that’s the one truth I can’t fight.
But then his hand moves—fingertips brushing my jaw before curling under my chin, lifting my face to his.
“But I hate more,” he murmurs, “how it wouldn’t actually change a thing.”
My breath catches.
“You could turn into the villain,” he says, eyes burning into mine, “and I would still be here.”
He leans in closer, mouth barely touching mine. “Because I can’t stop craving you.”