Zadie’s POV
They brought me back to the same room. Clean sheets, locked windows and chain on my ankle. It wasn’t a safehouse anymore, it was a prison dressed quietly.
They left a tray of food by the door. Soup, bread, and some fruit. But my stomach was too twisted to even look at it. All I could see were Lazaro’s eyes in that room. All I could hear was the chair crashing against the wall, his voice scraping against every raw edge of me.
He thought I was the reason his people were dying, but that didn’t make sense. I never found proof. I’d been here for weeks and every trail I followed led to dead ends. No documents, no meetings, no confessions. Just smoke and whispers.
So why did he think I’d uncovered something? Unless… unless someone wanted him to think I had. The possibility chilled me. Has someone planted fake evidence to set me up? To break this operation from the inside? Or maybe… maybe this was Lazaro’s way of testing me. A trap in disguise. Either way, I couldn’t sit here and rot. I needed to contact the Chief. I needed answers before this entire mission collapsed.
When dinner time came, I made my move. I pushed the tray away, held my stomach, and leaned against the wall like I was going to be sick. Kendall appeared at the door, arms crossed, her expression bored and suspicious all at once.
“You’re wasting food now?” she muttered.
“I need the bathroom,” I rasped. “Now.”
She sighed like it inconvenienced her personally, but unlocked the chain anyway. Her gun stayed close to her hip as she led me down the hall. I stumbled a little, enough to sell the act, but not too much to look desperate.
Once inside the bathroom, she waited by the door, arms folded. I didn’t hesitate. The second she turned her head, I struck, slammed her into the wall, kicked the gun from her grip, and bolted.
I almost made it to the corner. When suddenly Lazaro caught me mid-sprint like I weighed nothing. Slammed me back into the room, his hand digging into my arm. My other fist flew toward his face, but he blocked it. Pinned both my wrists.
“Get off me!” I snapped, struggling hard.
“You’re done running,” he said, totally pissed off.
“Let me go!” I thrashed against him, but he wouldn’t budge. “I’d rather die than rot in this house like some caged criminal!”
His jaw clenched. “You’re not going anywhere, Zadie.”
“You think this is gonna make me talk? Locking me up? Dragging me around like some… some prisoner?!”
“Because you’re a traitor and I’m not done with you!” he snapped.
I spat at his feet. “I’m done with this. Let me go.”
“I will never let you go. You’re mine!” That did it.
He shoved me backward, toward the bed this time. I landed hard, breath knocked out of me. He followed, standing over me, breathing like a man at war with himself.
“You can’t get away from me, Zadie. I’m losing my mind. How can I still get nasty thoughts from someone who betrayed me?” he asked, eyes darker than before. Those stormy eyes feel like it will swallow me whole.
I pushed myself up, shoved him back. “I hated you. I hate criminals like you.”
“Really huh? Prove it,” he growled. Without a warning, he slammed his lips against me. Not soft. Not tender. It was anger and frustration, and I hated him for it. But I hated myself more because I kissed him back. I pulled away then slapped him. He grabbed my wrist, making me curse at him. Immediately, he crushed my mouth with his again.
It was a storm. Violent, breathless, and wild. We tore at each other like enemies. Fought like lovers. Every push became a pull. Every scream bled into a gasp. He tore my shirt open, buttons flying. His mouth latched onto my breast, biting just enough to make me gasp. His hands gripped my waist, shoving my pants down. I kicked them off, growling against his lips. “You want to fuck a traitor, huh?”
“I want to ruin you.” He grabbed my thighs and flipped me over, dragging me to the edge of the bed. His belt hit the floor. Then his cock, thick, hard, veined, slammed into me raw from behind.I screamed into the mattress, back arched as he pounded me mercilessly.
“God, you’re so fucking tight,” he growled, yanking my hair. “This pussy was made for me.”
“You’re… insane,” I gasped.
“You love it. Say it.”
“F-fuck you.”
He drove in harder, faster. “Say it.”
I choked out a moan. “Fucking ruin me, then. You think I’m scared?”
He grabbed my throat, pulled me upright, fucking me deeper from behind. “You should be.”
My walls clenched around him. My legs trembled. I moaned his name without even knowing it. His hand slid to my clit, rubbing hard and fast. I shattered. Screaming. Sweating. Writhing against him.
He came with a deep, guttural groan, holding me still as he emptied inside me.He collapsed beside me, breathing like he’d just been through hell. When it was over, we lay tangled in the mess we made. Sweat. Blood. Silence.
He turned his back. I stared at the ceiling, wrists still aching from the fight. I should’ve hated him. But the truth? I hated how much I still wanted to stay.