The Alpha's and Their Assassin Mate

Chapter 10

Dean’s POV



We relaxed on some large rocks in the water, just enjoying the closeness and moment. She was straddling my legs, facing me with her head on my chest. Her fingertips skimmed the scar above my ribs—jagged, raised, the kind of mark that doesn’t fade no matter how many years pass. A relic from a life I’d buried long before I met her.

I stiffened before I could stop myself. The scar flared beneath her touch like a flare in the dark, and my breath hitched.

She noticed and sat up. Of course she did. Max saw everything.

Her voice was barely louder than the water lapping between us when she murmured, “It still haunts you.” A statement, not a question. There was no pity in her eyes, just quiet understanding, like someone who’d seen the same kind of rooms.

I caught her wrist, pressing her palm harder against the ruined skin. “Sometimes but since you entered my life, it haunts me less and less.”

Her thumb brushed over the ridge of it, slow, deliberate. She knew how pain settled in flesh, how scars told stories.

“Tell me,” she said. A demand, not a request. Goddess, I loved that about her.

The water rippled around us, crisp and clear, yet the memory settled like ice in my veins. I exhaled through my nose, slow and controlled. My free hand rested on the curve of her waist. Beneath the surface, it was a grounding touch, something real to tether me to the present.

“I grew up in the South Virginia pack ran by Alpha Jeremy since I was five or six,” I began, voice low, rougher than usual. “He started to feel threatened by me as I got older. Not because I ever challenged him, I would never do that, but power has a way of shifting, whether you want it to or not. I had that damn Alpha aura, and wolves listened to strength. They obeyed him, respected him, but when I spoke, their eyes lingered. Their ears pricked. He noticed it before I did, so he asked me to be our pack’s liaison. I was away from home just as much as I was home, which helped, and I enjoyed traveling.”

My thumb traced idle circles against Max’s skin, needing the contact. I let out a short sigh. “Eventually, not even that helped. People listened to me instead of him when he spoke, they looked to me when there was trouble. And after a while, I could see it in his eyes—that quiet, simmering resentment. So, I made an excuse. I told him I wanted to travel and search for my mate. He accepted and I know it wasn’t easy for him. He was a good man who didn’t want to kill me over something I never asked for.”

A humorless smile tugged at my lips. “Working as a liaison for Jeremy made sure that lots of packs knew me and I wanted to get away from anyone who knew me. So, I decided to go visit a friend down south.”

The water shifted as I led us towards shallower water. I sat in the water with Max in my lap. My mind went back to the blistering Mexico sun, the dust-choked air, the too-friendly smiles of men who knew exactly what I was before I even stepped off the plane.

“When I landed in Mexico, the cartel spotters picked me out from the crowd at the airport. I was kind, helpful and patient which that made me appear weak and I was big so they thought no one would mess with me. Essentially, I was a prime target. To top it off, I was a lone wolf, a foreigner, and I had no pack to retaliate. Which then made me the perfect prey.”

My fingers tightened slightly on her hip.

“I rented a car, and on the drive to my friends, there was a helpless woman by the road. Her car broke down, and she had tears in her eyes. Being me, I stopped and then the guns came out. They played me.”

A beat of silence. The scars on my ribs burned like they were fresh.

“They wanted a mule to transport their drugs, but I refused. So, they made an example out of me.” My voice dropped, stripped raw. “They tortured me for goddess knows how long. Time blurs when you’re bleeding out on a concrete floor.”

I could still smell it—rust, piss, the acrid sting of gasoline and burning flesh.

“Right when I thought they were going to kill me, Jason arrived. Then Luke. Finally, Zane. I was their favorite, being the softest out of all of us. If it weren’t for my brothers, I would have broken and given up shortly after Jason arrived.”

“You were the first to be captured?” Max breathed out in pain.

I shook my head, “there were others, but they were human, so they didn’t last long. At first, they treated me like the others, but soon they realized I could last longer and heal faster. So, they started to find my limits and push them further. They didn’t capture others for a while. It was like I was their new favorite toy. When they brought someone new in, we weren’t there for each other like my brothers and I were. I was lucky to have them, more than they know,” I admitted. I looked down at her hands and took one in mine and circled her wait with the other. I continued, “do you know why I never say you as a monster?” I felt her shake her head on my chest. “Because I imagined doing what they did to me to them, plus some. I imagined cutting them ten times the amount they cut me. Burn them with cigarettes until their body is covered in them. Knives are easy. You can brace for those. But fire?”

I flexed the fingers of my free hand, watching the scars pull taut. “Fire doesn’t stop. Neither do pliers nor the things they do to make sure you’re awake for every second of it.”

I turned my head, meeting Max’s eyes, letting her see the darkness there, the part of me that would never fully leave that room.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away. Her gaze held mine, steady, understanding. She nodded, her thumb still tracing the scar like she was reading it. “That’s the point. Pain only works when you’re awake to feel it or witness others suffering.”

Her voice was quiet, but not soft. “I’ve held the tools. I knew where to press, how to time the agony so they couldn’t slip under.” A pause. “Then I learned what it meant to be on the other side. To beg for unconsciousness and be denied it.”

The water between us felt colder, lapping against my ribs like it carried the ghosts we’d both named.

“Most people think that surviving the torture is the hardest part, but it’s not,” she said. “It’s remembering the memories and pain that came with it.”

I let out a breath, slow and steady. My grip on her waist eased, though every instinct screamed to retreat.

“Time helps,” I said.

“Yes,” she replied. “But the ghosts still follow.”

Her words weren’t sympathy. They were a confession. And the ghosts in her voice sounded too much like mine.

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. “Then maybe,” I said, “we can help each other forget the worst parts.”

The water between us stilled, as if listening.

Her hand didn’t move, but something inside me did. Her thumb lingered against the scar, pressing lightly as if to remind me I was here, not there. The ache didn’t vanish—but it softened. Like her touch had coaxed the pain into something quieter.

I wasn’t whole. Neither was she. But in this moment, we weren’t broken either.

That’s what I love about her. She didn’t just say words to make me feel understood. She shared her own scars, her own ghosts, to prove that we were stronger than in the past. And yet, here she was—holding me like I was something worth saving.

The air was cool on my shoulders, the water still around us, but for the first time in years, the scar didn’t feel like a chain. It felt like a story—and she was part of the ending.

The water lapped between us, cool and clean. Not enough to wash away the past but it was a start.

I didn’t need words. I needed her and for once, I let myself want without guilt. So, I pulled her towards me and kissed her. Hard.

I stood with her in my arms and walked her out past the pool’s edge. She gasped into my mouth, fingers digging into my shoulders like I was the only thing keeping her afloat.

When I pulled back, her eyes were dark, her pulse fluttering under my grip like a trapped bird. The challenge in her eyes was all it took.

I pulled her closer to my body and laid her down on top of our clothes. Her gasp vanished into my kiss—hotter, deeper, all teeth and no control. She melted, legs locking around my waist, her core pressing flush to my hips. A groan tore from us both.

“Goddess, she is soft.” I thought as my hand explored her as if it was the first time.

Her fingers tangled in my hair, tugging hard enough to sting. “Dean—”

I silenced her with another kiss as my hand pinched her n*****s. She arched into me, head tipping back to bare her throat. My mouth found her pulse, nipping, sucking, reveling in the shudder that wracked her body.

“Still think I can’t catch you?” I growled against her skin, reminding her of her challenge earlier.

Her laugh was breathless, wrecked. “I think you’ve got me right where you want me.”

I pulled back just enough to meet her gaze—her pupils blown, lips swollen.

“Not yet.” My thumb brushed her bottom lip. “But I will.”