by C. M. Owens
And all the questions he asked gave me my answers.
My brother was the traitor. Is a traitor.
I, of course, played dumb and acted like I simply wanted to bring him home, get him help to get off drugs and stuff, and wanted to clear his name from any nasty rumors that said he played a part in something so atrocious.
“My father learned early on that Lathan couldn’t ever be the head of the Family,” I go on, quieter this time as I look down at my hands. “He acts before he thinks. So I was chosen instead. And Lathan never let that go.”
I stand up, because I’m done talking, even though I’m sure they’re just getting started and waiting for me to leave so they can dissect the shit storm they’ve unwittingly stepped into.
I skate to the door before turning around.
“We were all conditioned differently to deal with what we’d one day face. It’s not sunshine and rainbows for a Family child. It’s also not terrible. My parents loved me, and I never questioned that.”
I pause a beat, noting the curious expressions on their faces.
“I grew up with all the kids of the Four Families. But we were the Five Families before Jenkins turned on us. And never did I meet the notorious AJ. He never brought her around. Never groomed her to take over. Her conditioning, if the rumors are true, was the worst kind imaginable. It’s amazing she has enough heart to give a damn about you or anyone. But I’ve seen it. She does care. The only person she’d ever trusted before this club betrayed her. My parents would have never betrayed me. I can’t imagine what that’s like. So cut her some slack, because she may be the only person in the world who cares enough about you to risk it all to save you.”
With that off my chest, I pull open the door, and skate past a bunch of really mean looking bikers. They’re a little put off by my skates, because I’m the crazy chick who has the balls to float like a butterfly up in here.
I head straight for the tequila again, spotting Jude already at the bar and downing shot after shot himself.
“I need clothes from my apartment. Shoes would be great too,” I tell him.
He glances back at the closed doors, then his hard eyes level me with a brutal stare.
“When I decide to be a fetch-it-bitch, I’ll grab them for you.”
I smile, and he mutters something about me being psycho before looking away.
“Seriously. I could use a lift, and they’ll be a while.”
He cuts his gaze toward me again, and he rolls his eyes before pushing away from the bar. He starts to say something, but a heavy hand comes down on my hip, tugging me back.
When my body reacts with little zings shooting through me, I know exactly whose hand it is.
“Don’t make this a problem,” Axle says.
I open my mouth to speak, but Jude is apparently the one he’s talking to, because he answers before I can.
“Keep her out of my face. I think this club has enough friends of AJ’s.”
“Sarah,” I quickly interject, watching as Jude’s scowl forms.
“Her name has never been Sarah. Never will be Sarah. She’s Alexius Jenkins. AJ. Not Sarah. Sarah was just a lie. She was a lie.” His words are dripping with venom as he snatches a bottle of whiskey from the bar and walks away.
Axle spins me around, his gaze leveling me like he’s about to chew my ass out.
“Stop goading him. He’s not himself right now, and he’s got a nasty habit of being unpredictable when he’s pissed,” he cautions.
“He’s being a baby,” I say with a shrug.
Axle studies me for a moment before taking a seat in a stool, releasing me completely in the process. I try not to feel disappointed that he’s not touching me anymore.
He gestures around at all the guys who are loitering in the massive, open space. Couches and TVs are set up, along with a huge dining table. It’s like a home-away-from home sort of setup.
“No one here came to be here because they had a perfect life with normal issues. You end up in this place because you have nowhere else you fit in. Nowhere else that lets you kill the demons. Nowhere else where people don’t give a shit if you beat a guy to death for pissing you off. These guys don’t play nice, and they won’t care who you are if you piss them off enough. We all have triggers, including Jude. Sarah tripped that trigger for him.”
My eyes connect with his again.
“And what about you?” I ask, cocking my head. “What’re your triggers? If I piss you off, are you going to beat me to death?”
His lips twitch, but it’s a brief reaction. I silently make it my mission to make Axle smile. I don’t think he knows how.
“If that were the case, you’d already be dead.”
I do smile, and I can tell he makes a concentrated effort not to let my smile infect him when he looks away and grabs my bottle of tequila, pouring two shots. I let it slide that he didn’t answer me on the triggers.
“You know my biggest secret, and I don’t even know your last name.”
He pauses, the shot glass almost touching his lips as he looks over the rim at me. He tosses the shot back in one quick motion, and he swallows before putting the empty glass down.
“Axle isn’t the name I was born with. The name I was given was burned with the rest of my past. It’s just Axle.”
I bite down on my lip, my eyes flicking over his face, taking in the scars and the beauty. If he didn’t have scars to flaw him, he’d be so devastatingly gorgeous that he’d make me sick. It’s the scars that make him irresistible.
“That’s all I get?” I ask, looking back into his eyes.
Music starts playing loudly, and I look over as a group of girls—possibly strippers, given the tassels—come strutting in. The guys cheer as the girls saunter over to them, already getting to the lap-dance portion of the evening.
Idly, I wonder if Axle is going to take a turn. Then realize I might cut a bitch if that happens.
Probably not a good idea for me to hang around too long. I’m too crazy to be social.
My eyes swing back to Axle, waiting expectantly for him to answer the question. He’s an unreadable book before me, all the pages blank, and the cover only hints to a story I want to dive into.
“For tonight, that’s all you get,” he says, looking away.
My lips curl in a grin as I skate a little closer, and his hand shoots up, steadying me when I wobble. I really want out of these skates, but I don’t like walking around in my socks on this dirty floor.
“But you might tell me more tomorrow?” I ask.
His gaze flicks to my lips, and for a really exciting second, I think he’s going to kiss me. But he simply shifts his gaze back to mine.
“You’re a confusing girl.”
That has me smiling all the more. “Did you just call me normal?”
One side of his mouth tugs up in a reluctant grin, and a small bit of triumph swells inside me.
“You’re staying in my room,” he says as he pours another shot, watching me as he takes it down in one quick toss.
I arch an eyebrow. “Now that you know I’m the head of a Family, you want me to stay in your room.”
Something dangerously close to amusement sparks in his eyes, but he banishes it, just like he does all the good stuff. Life like this doesn’t offer too many good things. Gotta find pleasure in the small moments.
“I don’t see how you’re running a bookie operation in New York all the way from Halo. Makes that a loophole in your story,” he says, a hint of suspicion in his tone.
This time, I’m the one who is amused. But I don’t want to make him feel stupid. Because he’s not. He just doesn’t understand the way a syndicate works, as opposed to the club he’s in where they handle everything themselves.
“I’ll never run the day-to-day bookie operation. Smitty handles that—”
“Smitty?” he asks, his eyebrows going up.
“My father’s right-hand man, and the man who has saved my life more times than I can count. He�
��s a really rich man because of my family, and his daughters are my goddaughters. His son is like the adopted brother I always wanted, and he’s part of the business, though it’s a little on the lower end from Smitty. Smitty runs the operation. I only handle the head-of-the-Family obligations. I don’t go around busting kneecaps all day, or keep a ledger on who owes us what. I decide things like how to find, destroy, and kill Phillip Jenkins without starting a war.”
He leans back, eyeing my attire like it somehow makes me less threatening. I only grin broader. Finally, he mutters something under his breath.
He stands, and I skate along behind him as he starts walking toward the stairs.
“Axle! You going to introduce us to your little friend or what? She’s been here all day, and ain’t no one told me her name,” some big guy calls out, his beard touching his chest as he strokes it.
I’m not fond of that leering look he has.
“Her name is Off Limits,” Axle says with a smirk, and the guy waggles his eyebrows at me.
“No ink, my man. No ink.”
“Drex is the only one vain enough to put his name on a girl’s body,” Axle says, shooting a look toward Drex, who simply flips him off as he sits down and pulls his girl into his lap.
Does she not ever get to sit in a chair when he’s around?
Axle pauses at the stairwell, and I become a little curious about how to go up the stairs in skates. He eyes them like he’s thinking the same thing.
“We’ll go to your place tomorrow for you to pack a bag.”
“What do I sleep in tonight? You okay with me sleeping naked?” I grin, and a few whistles follow that totally lewd remark that I apparently said way too loud.
Axle glances over my head at someone, then gives an eye roll to me before he bends. Without warning, I’m suddenly over his shoulder, my breath heaving out of me as my hands land on his back.
Catcalls and whistles erupt with a few cheers of encouragement. Axle carries me much too easily up the stairs as my head bobs with each step. I don’t even look down below after I see the first guy miming a thrusting motion.
Axle’s arm is clamped around the bend of my knees, keeping me secured in place as he opens his door and steps through. When he kicks the door shut, I lock it, since I’m sort of eye level with the handle.
He bends again, and I feel all the blood drain quickly, giving me a head rush when he drops me back to my feet.
“A little warning next time, Cave Man,” I grumble.
“Take off your skates, but sleep in your clothes. I can only handle so much for one night,” he tells me without turning around.
That’s not the answer I wanted.
The room is like a hotel room with concrete floors. A bathroom is in the back, and a large, messy bed with black sheets and a black comforter takes up the bulk of the bedroom.
A small dresser rests off to the side, letting me know my clothing will not have too much room. No closet.
“Do you have a house?” I ask him as I sit down on the bed to start taking my skates off. “Or an apartment?”
“Yeah,” is his one word response, before he adds, “house.”
“Think I’ll ever see it?” I ask, trying to start a conversation as I manage to wrangle off one skate.
He quirks an eyebrow as he glances over at me.
“You going back to New York once all this is finished with Jenkins?” he asks me randomly.
Frowning, I finish with the other skate and crawl up the bed, not missing the way his eyes drop to my ass. My shirt still has blood on it from the dead guy I fell on, so I tug it off, despite his earlier objection.
He’s looking at me with narrowed eyes when I drop it to the floor, and I smirk at him. “I’m not wearing someone else’s blood to bed. And I’ll eventually go back.” I try not to react to the small pang I feel in my chest. “Even though there’s no one left for me there. Hence the reason I’m here instead of anyone else.”
His gaze drops to where I’m starting to remove my bra, and he tenses as he turns around and jerks open a drawer. Without facing me again, he tosses a shirt to the bed, and I grin as I pick it up, tugging it on as I toss my bra away.
Then I slip out of the shorts I’m wearing, and peel off my ridiculously long socks. All the while, his back stays turned as he types something into his phone.
“They sent you without any protection? Sounds like they think you’re expendable,” he tells me.
“I am expendable,” I say on a breath. “As I stated, I’m not needed to run the business. My name will pass on to Smitty if it needs to, even though he’s terrified of that happening. The head of a Family is always a target, and unlike me, his identity isn’t so secretive. But unless he’s a head, he’s not a target. No one kills the right hand man for fear of the unknown head raining down hell.”
I shift under the covers, wondering if he’s ever going to face me. In all the chaos, I almost forgot that someone is supposed to text me tonight and tell me about the latest shipment of girls and if we succeeded in running interference.
My phone is on the floor. Poor thing spent all day in my bra.
I decide to stay on topic with Axle after I pick it up and see the text that tells me success was mine.
“But if I came down with an entourage, Phillip would have gotten wind of it really early on. Our plan would be shot to hell, and a war would have already started. Phillip hasn’t been physically in Halo too long, but his guys have been stationed here since after the bomb. It took us a while to infiltrate them and get eyes near the prize. Once we had someone firmly in place, I came down to be more aggressive with the plan.”
He finishes typing something into his phone, and he spins around, leaning back to study me.
“You hate Sarah too?” I ask him curiously.
He shakes his head. “She shouldn’t have lied to Jude, but I don’t have beef with her. I’m the one she calls when she wants to keep tabs on the club. But I never give her detailed information—only broad spectrum things.”
He crosses his arms over his chest as he leans against the dresser.
“Do the other guys know that?”
He shakes his head slowly. “You wanted a secret, so show me what you do with that one.”
He pushes away from the dresser, and I suck in a breath when he tugs his shirt over his head. Hard lines of muscle greet me. Several mostly-subtle scars line his chest and abs, but when he turns around to put his back to me, the scars stop being subtle and scream suffering.
Large, angry red and white scars are bubbled across his back in long swipes.
He was mercilessly whipped.
He was repeatedly cut.
He was brutally tortured.
I’m not good at guessing the dates of scars, but I can tell they’re old and were never properly treated when they were fresh wounds. His one arm of sleeved tattoos goes across his shoulder and a full shoulder plate on his back completes the sleeve.
I watch as he shoves his jeans to the floor, and bite down on my lip to keep from whimpering when I’m once again on the verge of being a woman. But then I see worse scars there.
The scars on his legs look like a lot of burn marks…as though he was caught in a fire—or set on fire once. The burn marks go up to his thigh on his left side, but on his right, they stop at his knee.
Violent scars mar the flesh there, and no hair is able to grow over the various red and pale patches of poorly healed tissue.
He glances over his shoulder to find me staring, and I look up, locking eyes on his. His lips twitch.
“Not so desperate to fuck me anymore, are you?” he drawls lazily, but the hard look in his eyes says he’s anything but amused.
“Actually, I sort of want you more.”
His expression goes blank, giving nothing away. Pale blue eyes study me intently for a moment longer before my eyes drop to his boxers and my mouth twists in a very eager grin.
He’s totally turned on, if that erection of his says anything. The t
ip of his cock is sticking up above his boxers just enough to have me pressing my thighs together.
When I lick my lips, he clears his throat and jerks the covers back. The bed dips when he presses a knee to it and climbs in.
Just as I scoot over to be closer to him, two hands grab my shoulders, and I’m shoved back forcefully. I blink, looking to see Axle is glaring at me.
“What?” I ask, wondering why he’s keeping his body on the bed instead of coming down on top of me while he holds my shoulders. “You need an engraved invitation or something? ‘Maya’s hungry, talented vagina cordially invites your big penis to come stay the night.’ How’s that work for you?”
I can’t be less subtle than I’ve been.
His eyebrows go up, and a ghost of a smile toys with the edges of his lips as he shakes his head. “Stay on your side of the bed.”
He releases me, and I huff in frustration when he turns his back to me and shuts off the lamp beside the bed, submerging us into darkness.
I’m sure there’s no way I can go to sleep, but that lasts for about five seconds before I close my eyes and get lost in some of the best sleep I’ve had in years.
CHAPTER 12
AXLE
Want to know the definition of hell?
Waking up with a mostly naked girl right next to you for seven straight days, and refusing to fuck her, because you don’t know what her angle is.
Maya loves to sleep in just my damn T-shirt, even though we’ve already collected her clothes. In fact, her clothes have essentially taken over my room. I bought several damn temporary, pop-up closets to confine her multitude of things.
She’s invaded my bathroom, my room, my bed, and my motherfucking mind, and it took less than a week to accomplish all of the above.
The cover is pushed halfway down her waist, and the curve of her ivory, smooth ass is very visible, since she apparently approves of torturing me with her body. Naked underneath my shirt.
It’d be easy to push her up onto her knees and put myself out of my misery. Very fucking easy. Too fucking easy. Suspiciously easy.
Inwardly cursing her, I toss the covers off me and adjust myself in my boxers as I stand up and tug on some jeans. I spent an extra thirty minutes in the shower last night just to deal with the never-ending state of arousal I’m in.
