"Me?" I snap.
Axel and the driver seem to exchange a look through the rearview mirror, and their silent conversation pisses me off. "Well, I'm not talking about Chuck," he snorts. "Chuck, here is trained with every weapon, close combat, and evasive-driving technique. When things go south, Chuck points things back north, usually before any of us get to help. When our lives are at stake, Chuck has one-hundred-and-ten percent of my trust. To answer your question, yes, Harley, I was talking to you."
"What do you mean then?" I ask snidely. "What issues could I cause?"
Axel sighs and shifts his weight around. "Look, I can't have you and Everett acting the way you did tonight, and then carrying on with business as usual the next day," he says simply.
I twist in my seat, facing his profile. "I'm sorry. I wasn't aware I had to conduct myself in a certain manner while in a bar. Maybe next time you take me out to a public setting, you should outline the ground rules first."
"It's easy," he says before a long pause. "Don't fuck Everett. I need him to be thinking properly at all times. We all need to be thinking straight, even if we let loose a little." He shouldn't be saying this. He shouldn't care who the hell I choose to fuck, and by the discontented look on his face, I assume he's thinking the same thing.
"We were just dancing," I say, hoping to resolve his assumption.
He chuckles demeaningly. "You may have only been dancing, but I think we both know if you didn't have clothes on, you might be pregnant after what I watched tonight."
If I weren't buzzed from the amount of alcohol I consumed, his words would be a cause for either rage or embarrassment—neither of which I feel right now. Instead, I spit something ridiculous out. "Jealous?" He totally is. I'm not sure what there is to be jealous of, considering I look like some sick woman after starving for far too long, but maybe it's my charming personality he's enamored by. This is dumb.
He glances over at me with a squint to his eye. "Just stop talking," he says, obviously irritated by my mere presence.
The SUV pulls up to the hotel and I sort of expect Axel to dump me here and head home, wherever home might be for him, but instead, he follows me inside.
I feel him on my heels as I head to the elevator, and I have the sudden urge to swing my head around and whip him with my hair so he knows not to stand so close, but being the masochist he clearly is, he probably wouldn’t learn his lesson. I huff my hair out of my face as I wait for the elevator doors to open. "You can go now," I tell him.
No response, of course, but when the elevator doors open and I walk in, he follows. "Okay," he finally says.
"Axel, what are you doing?"
"Making sure you get to your room?" he says, matter-of-factly.
"I'm pretty sure I can find my way."
"Yeah, just like Everett," he mutters.
I place my hands on the rail along the center of the elevator's walls and glare at Axel for a long minute. Staring this man down would never work; he'd be inside of my head faster than I'd like to admit. "Why are you so wound up? Have you considered the possibility of enjoying your life during the time you aren't torturing p—"
Axel removes the small space between us quicker than I’m able to understand what’s happening. His hand cups around my mouth as he presses me into the corner of the elevator. Despite the position I’m in, the strong scent of soap mixed with a musky cologne is probably the nicest thing I've smelled in months. Axel's face is inches from mine and our eyes are caught in a burning stare—one that reveals a weakness pooling in the green of his eyes. He slides his hand down the side of my face and his words gently blow into my ear in the form of a whisper: "There are video cameras all over this hotel. Do not talk about our business in public. Ever. Do you understand?" Taken aback by his rapidly changing mood, I find myself still and hardly nodding in an agreeable gesture.
It takes a minute to regain my composure, especially since he hasn't moved an inch. "There are cameras, and yet, they just watched a man nearly assault a woman before sweetening the act with a gentle touch. Smart," I quip in the same volume he spoke to me.
"Some people are into that shit," he mutters.
The doors open while he still has me cornered and his hand wrenches around my wrist, pulling me out and down the hall faster than my legs want to cooperate. We get to my room and he pulls out a key, then shoves the door open. "You are jealous, aren't you?" I ask with a faulty sense of confidence.
"I have no reason to be jealous. If I want something, I take it," he affirms. I'm calling his bluff, though.
"You would think that way, wouldn't you?" I ask him while leaning up against the door to keep him from coming inside.
A cynical grin unfurls across his lips as his hand grazes up and down the side of his lightly stubbled cheek. "I have yet to be given a reason not to think that way."
"We'll see," I tell him.
He inhales sharply through his nose as if a storm is brewing inside of him. We're in a stare-off with nothing to say, yet he isn't moving from the doorway of my room, and neither have I. It’s become very clear that there’s something important going on here that I’m not understanding, and I've obviously gotten wrapped up in this situation too quickly.
"Is there something else?" I ask him.
He appears to pause in thought, staring through me briefly before refocusing on my eyes. "Yeah—a uh—a new case came in. The subject is being transported to our custody tonight. I will meet you here at seven tomorrow morning," he says as he turns to walk out the door. "I wouldn't suggest being hungover."
"Yeah, I'll be fine. Oh, and thanks for a lovely night, Axel."
He turns back and slaps his hand against the door, a couple feet above my head. "I know you think you have me all figured out," he says in nothing more than a hoarse rasp. Then, his free hand reaches for a strand of my hair and he twists it around his finger, lightly tugging on it before releasing his grip. "You're not even close." His knuckles sweep against my cheek, holding me prisoner to the sensation of his touch until reality sets back in, reminding me of how I ended up here.
I jerk my head back, moving away from his reach. "Well, if that’s the case, then I suggest you follow your own advice and don’t mistake me for whatever type of woman you’re used to manipulating."
"Of course," he says, unaffectedly. "However, you should be aware that my thoughts are derived mostly from facts, and very few assumptions."
His words drive through me like a serrated knife, and I move inside my room, hoping he releases the door and leaves, which he thankfully does.
With the door closed, my eyes glaze over while I stare through the peephole, watching Axel walk away as my mind slips to a memory I have done my best to forget. What the hell does he know about me? There aren’t breadcrumbs for him to follow. He’s just tactfully using fear as a weapon, and it isn’t going to work on me.
He called me Isabelle tonight, and I can’t just let that go.
After those drinks, I’m glad I’m not able to think as clearly as I normally do because I would be staring through this peephole in front of me until morning, replaying every little incident that occurred tonight—speculating the truth of what Axel assumes.
A Year Earlier
The metal cuffs around my wrists are tight and the one on my left is pinching my knotted bracket against my skin, which must be leaving a bruise, but I force the pain to disintegrate into the back of my mind as the man in front of me tries to manipulate my thoughts with nothing more than a heated staring contest. I hold my focus on his eyes, unfaltering without even a blink.
The clamp around my finger is connected to a machine—one they think will determine whether I'm speaking the truth.
I can control that too.