Unlike Damon, whose calm, calculated demeanor seems to mask whatever emotions he keeps locked away, Zane’s hatred for Jason feels raw, palpable. It hangs in the room like smoke, and it makes me pause. Why would he care this much? Why would he feel this protective of me already? He doesn’t even know me or my girls yet. With Damon, it’s different, but for Zane, it seems almost just as personal.
“You knew Jason.” The words spill out before I can stop them.
Zane freezes, his expression going stony. It’s the kind of reaction I’ve seen before in myself and in others who’ve survived their own private wars. That particular blend of hatred and guilt—it’s unmistakable.
“We served together,” he says finally, his voice flat and cold. “Until he betrayed our unit and got three men killed in Kandahar.”
My hands freeze where they’re smoothing down the edge of the bandage on his knuckles. The room feels suddenly too small, too quiet.
“Kandahar,” I repeat.
The name conjures up images I don’t want to see—dusty landscapes, desperate faces, a place I only know from Jason’s stories. Stories that now, I realize, were carefully crafted lies meant to paint him as the hero instead of the villain.
Jason had mentioned something about it to me, though obviously nothing about what he had done. He would never expose himself, let alone admit to ever being wrong about anything. He convinced me that he would do anything for me, buy me anything I wanted.
“That son of a bitch wasn’t just running guns... he was skimming off the top. Stealing from every damn deal our unit brokered with local contractors. Selling intel on troop movements to the highest bidder. He sold us out to the highest bidder.”
Two weeks before I left, he had bought me a rare emerald ring. I never questioned him on how he could afford it. Questions would always lead to hurt—a bruised eye, a broken finger. I had learned better than to ask him questions. But he had been deployed in Kandahar for six months before he came back to base abruptly. That was a few days before I found out I was pregnant. The emerald gave me the courage to finally make a run for it.
Jason couldn’t accuse me of theft, and now I realize why. He knew he wasn’t supposed to have the ring. I sold it off to get money—a lot of it—and finally get out of his reach.
All of that feels like a lifetime ago.
Now I finally have the answers. I should have known he was up to illegal dealings.
“You were there,” I murmur, piecing it together. “When... when it all happened.”
He nods once, his jaw clenching. “I trusted him. We all did. And then he started running drugs through our supply routes, using our missions as cover. The ambush...” His voice falters for a moment, a crack in his armor before he steadies himself. “The ambush was his doing. When he got caught, he cut himself a deal and got out of the situation, leaving us there stranded amongst enemies. Three good men died because of him. He was supposed to die there that night, not them.”
My fingers tremble as I pull back from him, my heart pounding. I’ve always known Jason was dangerous, but this... this is something else entirely.
Zane’s eyes lock onto mine, and for the first time, I see beyond the scar, beyond the hard edges. There’s a grief there that mirrors my own, and it makes my chest ache.
“I’m sorry,” I say, unsure what else to say.
He shakes his head. “Don’t be. I’m not telling you this to get sympathy. I just... you deserve to know what he’s capable of. What he’s done.”
I nod slowly.
Zane’s jaw tightens as he looks down at his bandaged hand. “I barely got out as it is. But now I have my chance to finally get back at him.”
There’s a raw edge to his voice, a bitterness that feels like it’s been festering for years. My mouth opens to respond, to say something about how revenge can be destructive, how it rarely brings us the closure we expect. But the words stick in my throat as I lean closer to him, suddenly all too aware of his steady, intense gaze.
“The man is more than a menace,” Zane says softly, his voice like a quiet storm. “Let us help. Let me help.”
I want to respond, to tell him I’ve been fighting this battle on my own for so long that the idea of help feels foreign. But before I can, the soft thunder of tiny footsteps echoes down the stairs.
“Mommy?” Emma’s small voice carries into the room, and she appears in the doorway, clutching her unicorn tightly. Her big brown eyes—so much like Damon’s mother—widen as they land on Zane.
“Are you a soldier like Damon?” Emma asks.
The silence that follows feels like it might crack the walls. Zane’s sharp gaze darts to me, then to Emma, his expression unreadable. It’s like watching him put together a puzzle in real time, one that’s almost complete but missing just a few critical pieces.
“Something like that, princess,” he says finally, his rough voice gentling in a way that tugs at something deep inside me. “I help keep people safe.”
Ella peeks out from behind her sister, her curls a wild halo around her head. Both girls stare at Zane with the kind of innocent curiosity only children can muster.
Zane doesn’t flinch under their gaze, but something shifts in him. The hard edges of his demeanor soften, and the lines of tension in his shoulders ease just slightly.
