Trusting Zane

by Casey Hagen

  They faced each other, locked in a standoff, Dylan his anchor in the present, but those flashes of the past clawing at him, trying to suck him back in. “I’ll be living it until my last breath.”

  Dylan shook his head and slid his hands in his pockets. “You’ve got to let that shit go, man. I’m telling you, if you don’t find a way, those fuckers that tortured you keep winning. They keep stealing your life from you.”

  “It’s too late for me, but it doesn’t have to be that way for anyone else. No one can hide from the system I created. With one drone carrying my tech, they’ll know what’s happening in the deepest, darkest places on the planet. They’ll find prisoners of war before they get filleted alive.”

  Glass crashed to the floor and shattered, the shards and liquid splashing his pant leg. He whirled on the sound and found Kinsley’s bloodless face locked in horror, staring back at him.

  He’d thought she left. She hadn’t made another sound, and he’d lost himself in the presentation, in the bit of kinship he found in a roomful of his own people.

  He’d loosened his vice grip on his guard, and he’d fucked up.

  He’d confirmed what his sister had told her. His past had twisted him into something hard and cold, unfit for the living, but not yet dead. Something that didn’t fit in the past, or in the present, and left him twisting in a living purgatory.

  Chapter 10

  Kinsley lay in the queen-sized bed with Tyler and Brielle as they slept peacefully next to her. She’d promised them she’d stay with them.

  That had been two hours earlier.

  Now, she had to see if their guardian was going to let her follow through on her word.

  Instead of being an adult, she’d hid in that room, using those kids as an excuse to avoid Zane. She’d listened as his guests, clients, confidants, whatever they were left, a couple here, a couple there, over the course of the last thirty minutes.

  The house grew quiet. The kind of quiet that was louder than a roaring house party.

  A heavy stillness full of all the things unsaid, undone.

  Her skin tingled with awareness as the sound of tentative footsteps reached the door to the room.

  She thought he would be aggressive, come after her, his anger spilling over at her constant invasion of his privacy.

  His resentment for the part she played in resurrecting his past.

  But it was the look on his face when he realized she had overheard. The shock of fear, something she had never expected to see on a man so confident, so in control, so powerful.

  The man with one weakness.

  The love he had for his family—it tangled with his fears, with his pain, and as well-meaning as she believed him to be, she couldn’t be certain he had the clarity of mind to handle what was to come.

  She slid off the mattress and laid Brielle’s arm on the teddy bear Grace had dropped off earlier with the board games and other odds and ends. Kinsley tucked the comforter in on both sides, making the kids snug. Leaving the lamplight on so they didn’t get scared if they woke, she slipped out the door.

  She waited and listened. Once she was sure they continued to sleep, she headed for the kitchen. She’d fled before and left her mess for the others, not her finest moment, but she would go in now and make sure the kitchen floor had been scrubbed and any shards that might remain from the glass that shattered at her feet were disposed of before little feet bounded out of bed in the morning.

  Careful to be quiet, to avoid confrontation, she padded along in her socks, scanning the dim light for any sign of Zane, but only found stillness.

  Reaching the doorway to the kitchen, she froze, her hand resting on the doorframe, her eyes landing right on Zane’s powerful back.

  He stared out the window to the backyard, his body still.

  The same dress pants he wore earlier hugged his thighs and that white cotton dress shirt concealed what she now knew to be a shockingly violent past.

  The memories of their kiss flooded her mind, a kiss she now knew to be shared with someone dangerously haunted by trauma. Her lips tingled with awareness, with yearning, even as trepidation told her to retreat.

  “Are they asleep?” he said with a gravelly voice, making her jump.

  “They are,” she said, squeezing the wood frame.

  “You’re going to take them from me, aren’t you?” His rough voice broke as if he pushed the words past a throat that had been scraped raw.

  “I don’t know,” she said as her professional confidence wavered.

  He turned, leaned against the sink, and slid his clenched fists into his pockets. “Don’t play with me. With them. If you’re taking them, just tell me the truth,” he said.

  “I’m compromised,” she said, surprising herself with the admission.

  “Meaning?” he asked.

  She met him at the counter and propped her hip on the edge as she faced him. “I can’t make the decision. Not after the kiss.”

  He nodded and dropped his gaze to his feet.

  The gesture was so unlike what she had seen from him so far that she had no idea how to react. This Zane she didn’t know, like the invisible weight of defeat had scampered up his long legs, his powerful arms, and settled on those wide shoulders of his.

  He glanced at her, looked her right in the eye. “I was out of line. That’s not your fault,” he said.

  Of course, he would face her as he took responsibility. The man she’d watched talking about security, protection, and his pain in what he thought was a private, safe circle of SEALs he could trust, that man, that scarred warrior wouldn’t know how to hide from anything.

  “I didn’t stop you. And I participated. That is my fault,” she said, reaching for his arm, hesitating, and letting her hand fall to her thigh.

  “Don’t let it cost you your case,” he said.

  “Worried about me now? This morning you blamed me for everything.” God, had it really been just that morning. So much had happened, so many shifts that she felt as though a week had gone by. She leaned against the counter and nudged him with her elbow. As much as she wanted to know more about his past, she needed to get them back on equal footing because this man, with his lack of temper, this man could really make her fall and the idea of that, of the danger she sensed deep inside of him resurrected fears she thought she had buried long ago.

  He scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed. “I’ve been scared for those kids every single day since they were born. Every. Single. Minute. I don’t know their mother anymore. She’s not the sister I grew up with, and as much as that kills me, seeing what it’s done to them is so much worse. You took the hits for that.”

  “Wow, that was almost an apology,” she said, her lips twitching.

  “Almost, but not.”

  “But not,” she agreed.

  “So, what can I expect from here?” he asked.

  She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I need to report that the kids are with you. There will be an inspection of the house. A hearing to determine temporary custody.”

  He nodded. “What will you say about my sister?”

  “That depends. What do you plan to do about her? For real?” she asked, searching his profile for a hint of what he was thinking.

  “We’ll find her. We’ll find the men who took her. And we’ll bring them to justice.” The words came out with an unyielding edge. A lethal promise.

  “We? You’re calling the police?”

  “Fuck no,” he said, shifting away from her, tension rumbling in his voice.

  “What kind of justice are you talking about?”

  “The kind you don’t want me to be specific about.”

  “Well, then I have two choices,” she said with a heavy sigh. “I can be honest and report this all to the authorities myself, stealing the justice you’re looking for. Or…I go all in and tank what little chance I have left of saving my career.”

  The way his eyes flashed and the line of his mouth in the pale light over the sink showe

d her the hint of a smile he suppressed. “Your choices suck.”

  “They do suck,” she agreed.

  “But either way, you won’t steal the justice. We’ll just work around the authorities,” he said with that air of confidence verging on arrogance in his tone.

  She pushed away from the counter. “I can’t hear this.”

  “Why this career?”

  She halted her retreat and glanced at him over her shoulder. “I wanted to make a difference.”

  “That’s original.”

  “Excuse me?” So much for common ground.

  “You sound like a pamphlet.”

  “Whatever,” she muttered. She didn’t need this shit. If he wanted a punching bag, he’d have to find it somewhere else.

  Or, he’d sensed a weakness in you, a sordid past of your own, and it pisses you off.

  “I thought there would be something deeper. Something personal that convinced you this job was for you,” he said.

  She stopped with his thoughtful words but didn’t turn back to him. “My personal life isn’t up for discussion.”

  “So there is something deeper.” It wasn’t a question.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You didn’t have to. You don’t think I recognize it?” His words tumbled over her as he approached her. “The shadows hiding in you, it may be born of something else entirely, but the dark recesses buried in me recognize it.” His body heat crept into her space. “The way it hides inside you. The way you go into full-blown protection mode to keep it hidden where it can never hurt you again.”

  “How do you see that?” she whispered, feeling his heat although he stopped short of touching her.

  “I spent a lot of time trying to figure out why you left those kids with Chloe. There had to be a reason. Something in your own past that tricked you into being lenient with her. And then later, the way you refused to leave. Like I bet you won’t leave tonight. I don’t think that was dedication to the job. I think that was guilt. The kind of guilt that comes from your past skewing the present, leading you to make a shitty decision,” he said quietly.

  The hair on her neck stood up as he lined up the vague puzzle pieces that drove her and came dangerously close to fitting them together.

  “If I had to guess, I’d say you were taken from your mother and while life with her wasn’t the greatest, something far worse happened to you after.”

  No. No. No. No. NO! If she let him dig up the old shit, it would breathe with life once again and the details, they’d lay between them.

  She’d see her confessions in his eyes whenever he looked at her.

  And it would break her heart.

  “Can you tell me about it? About what happened to you?” she asked, turning and leaning into him, willing to do just about anything to distract him from her past, even if that meant pushing his buttons.

  He took a step back and grimaced. “You heard plenty.”

  “The scars are bad, right? I mean, you don’t have to show me or anything if it scares you, but that’s what you meant by I’ve only seen you from the neck up?”

  He tilted his head and studied her. She fought the urge to shift under his scrutiny as her question lingered between them unanswered.

  This was it, she’d prodded at his still-raw wounds, and he’d retreat to save himself and as a result, saving her as well.

  He reached for her, and the air moving through her lungs stuttered and stopped. A faint ringing rippled through her ears as he linked his long, rough fingers with hers and brought her right up against him. His tall frame blocked out most of the glow from the light over the sink, leaving him a faint silhouette, his features difficult to make out but for the dark line of his beard and the whites of his eyes.

  So much lay hidden in the shadows, but not enough, and when he dropped his hand, his fingers going to the button at the top of his shirt, she knew without a doubt he’d called her bluff.

  Shame and curiosity clashed within her. She’d driven him into this. She’d manipulated him.

  Maybe he had let her.

  With a quick flick, the white fabric parted, the sliver of his tanned chest all but swallowed by the darkness, giving him a way to hide even as he laid himself bare to her.

  Her stomach flopped as his fingers went to the next button and the next after. Her eyes adjusted just enough for her to make out the muscular lines of his chest, his stomach, and the dip of his belly button.

  “Zane,” she whispered his name as she took a small step back.

  With the final button undone, the crisp shirt fell apart. Taking her hand again, harder this time, he gave a firm tug and drew her in, his free hand linking with her other, heat between them growing.

  His ragged breath fanned over her cheek as he dipped his head before pressing his jaw against her temple. He gulped and with an exhale, guided her palms along his waist.

  Fear and flashbacks filled her, but she didn’t back down. She traced over him, her nails grazing his flesh, searching, but finding only hot-blooded, heady male beneath them.

  “Higher,” he said on a ragged intake of breath, his skin almost vibrating under her now as he started to shake.

  She should back off. This was a total invasion of his privacy. Somehow, in that moment, she realized without a shadow of a doubt that he’d never shown the scars to anyone. If he had, he wouldn’t have sought the darkness.

  What would he think of her if she pressed on, caring more about satisfying her curiosity than what it cost him to show himself to her?

  But worse, what would it say if she retreated now? Would he think she backed away in disgust? She couldn’t let him think that and wouldn’t it be human nature for him to internalize it as a form of rejection?

  Had he spent the past decade hiding from intimacy, from the touch of loved ones, lovers even, agonizing that he’d disgust them with what remained of serving his country?

  Hadn’t she gotten involved in social work to make a difference? To make people whole? To give them safety?

  No, she couldn’t back down no matter how she wanted to in order to save him the fear of rejection, of humiliation.

  To save herself from reliving excruciating memories from her ugly past.

  Biting her lip, she walked the pads of her fingers over the soft flesh that concealed solid, unwavering strength, a fraction of skin at a time, in no rush to find his secrets, knowing that they’d meet soon enough.

  This will be the last time.

  The last time she allowed herself to cross the line with a case, with him, knowing that each time she did, she lost a piece of herself, of the person she hoped to be in the process.

  She leaned in and traced her mouth over his heated chest, reveling in the way his heart hammered and muscles jumped under her lips.

  Gentle kisses, lingering kisses, every kind of kiss—she used them all mercilessly as she explored him.

  He growled low in his throat, the sound stalling when she connected with the first rough ridge.

  Tight, raised slashes, at least an inch-tall spreading from the front edge of his ribs, dipped and curved as they wrapped around his sides and onto his back before narrowing to points. She continued to explore, swallowing hard, fighting tears clogging her throat and flooding her eyes. They lay in the same pattern on each side, spaced a few inches apart, stacked three tall.

  A sickening realization hit her; words she didn’t dare utter even in the cloak of darkness.

  “Say it,” he commanded.

  “Zane—” she choked and swallowed, a throbbing ache halting her words.

  “Don’t fucking pity me. Just say it,” he said, his tone turning lethal, but not toward her. Somehow, she knew that the venom in his tone was for the men who’d done this to him.

  “They’re like gills,” she whispered.

  His arms went rigid, almost pinning her hands against the trauma to his skin. “They called me their little fish. I remember that much as I slipped in and out of delirium, praying the infection would kill me.”

  “Stop,” she pleaded.

  “I raged with fever, the wounds filled with maggots, so they branded the raw flesh, to keep me alive longer. Long enough to…” his voice drifted off.

  “Don’t. Please, you don’t have to do this.” She stopped roaming over the scars now and held onto him as though both might burst into thousands of fractured pieces if he said one more word.

  “A rescue team got to me just as they made the first slice down my back, with every intention of keeping me alive as long as possible while they cut out my spine.”

  A strangled sound somewhere between anguish and hysteria slipped from between her lips. Her legs tingled, and she staggered before slumping against him.

  Thick, capable arms curled around her, held her as she shook, as her imagination simulated his torture and played it through, giving her no escape.

  “I’m sorry,” he murmured, running his lips over her temple and down her cheek.

  Each graze of his mouth a sign of affection sucking her back into the present. She blinked away the vision and snuck a peek at his kitchen, a sheen of sweat rising up from her skin.

  He cupped her cheeks and tipped her face up to his. “I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me. I shouldn’t have said it like that.”

  She curled her fingers around his wrists. “No, it’s fine. I just didn’t expect to feel it. Well, not feel it, not the way you did, but—”

  “Shhh, I get it,” he said, pressing his index finger to her lips. He lingered there, his gaze going straight to her mouth, the mere inches between them slipping away. “Kinsley?”

  “Hmmm?” she asked.

  “You’d better run back to that room before I cross the line again,” he said, pressing his forehead against hers.

  “But—”

  He set her away from him and spun toward the sink. “Go.”

  Chapter 11

  Zane stared out the window, the information Dylan sent churning in his gut.

  First, they ID’d the guys who abducted his sister. They were working on three likely locations and gathering a bigger team so they could hit all three at once.

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