His Voice Alone

Chapter 15

Ezra’s POV

She was the only thing that ever made the silence bearable.

Juvie didn’t teach me time, it erased it. There were no clocks, no windows, no markers to separate one hour from the next.

Just recycled air and the same cold slab of concrete under my back. The silence there wasn’t real silence. It was distant screaming, fists on steel, breath rattling in cages.

But inside me, there was nothing. Not even a whisper.

Weeks passed, and I said nothing. Not to the guards, not to the others, not even to myself. Then one night, when the dark pressed in too thick and the air felt like it would crush my lungs, I couldn’t remember the sound of my own voice.

So I said her name. “Leia.”

Probably, barely audible. Not a plea, just a test. Just enough to prove I hadn’t disappeared. That I was still tethered to something human.

I said it again, smaller, trying to imagine how it could echo.

Now, she stands in front of me. Not behind glass, not buried in memory. Real, right here.

Still pretending she doesn’t want it, still lying with every breath she takes.

But I see through her, I see the way her thighs twitch when I get close. The way her breath shortens when she hears my name.

So I sent her a message from a burner. A single line.

Me: I found something you left.

She doesn’t respond, but she shows up. She rounds the back of the old maintenance building with her arms crossed, jaw locked, every inch of her body pretending to be cautious.

But I can see what’s beneath the surface, curiosity, need, surrender.

I open the shed without a word and step aside. She walks in like she was always meant to. The door clicks closed behind her.

When she turns to speak, I’m already on her. My hand wraps around her wrist, and she freezes. Her breath stutters, but she doesn’t pull back. I pull the cord from my pocket, and her eyes meet mine like she’s known this was coming.

“Say you knew I’d do this,” I murmured, trying to keep my voice low, too close.

Her lips part. “I… I didn’t-”

“Lie.” I harden my tone, feeling how it comes rough out of my throat, quiet and sharp. “Try again.”

She swallows. Her voice is probably tight, caught in her throat, when her lips move. “I knew.”

With that, I led her to the chair, she didn't sit until I forced her down. My grip presses her into the seat, and she obeys without resistance.

Her pulse flutters in her throat, her breaths are too shallow.

I drag her wrists behind the chair and knot them tight, rough rope, fastened with deliberate pressure. She flinches when it bites into her skin. Her chest rises and falls faster.

She’s already shaking, but she never looks away.

“I could cut you open right now,” I say in her ear, calmly. “And you’d still say thank you.”

She exhales slowly, trembling as she turns to face me and whispers, “You wouldn’t have to.”

I step back and reach for her shirt. Without hesitation, I rip it open, buttons scattering to the floor. Her gasp is feeling sharp, involuntary. She’s wearing lace underneath, barely covering anything. Her nipples are hard, her skin flushed and glowing under the dim light.

I didn’t touch her, not yet. I pull the knife from my coat pocket.

It’s small, clean, and sharp. The blade catches the light as I turn it in my hand, and I watch her eyes lock onto it. She doesn’t flinch, but she swallows hard.

“Are you going to hurt me?” she asks quietly, lips trembling.

I crouch in front of her, dragging the flat edge of the blade along her collarbone, not enough to cut, just enough to let her feel the threat of it.

“No,” I say, slow and measured. “I’m going to show you what you are.”

I slide the blade down her chest, her breasts and stomach, watching the way her breath hitches. Then I press the tip just above her hip, and with careful control, I carve a single shallow X.

She jerks, a sharp cry ripping from her throat, followed by a moan.

The moment the sound escapes, her eyes go wide. She didn’t mean to, she hates that she did. But she did, and I smiled.

“Say it,” I whisper, leaning close enough to feel the warmth of her skin. “You feel safe being scared by me.”

Her lips twitch, and her jaw trembles. I can see her fighting it, but she’s already lost. “I feel safe…” she breathes.

“Say it all,” I signed.

“…being scared by you.” I press my mouth to her shoulder once, no tenderness, just heat.

Then I leave the blade on her thigh, still warm from my hand, and I walk out. She doesn’t call after me. She doesn’t move but I know she wants more.