"It’s not uncommon to use your last name," he says. "Plus, I don’t think you should be one to talk about names at the moment, huh?"
"You changed a lot," I tell him in observance of his executive look—clean shaven, short hair, at least forty pounds slighter—and muscles, lots of those. I look back and forth between his face and the ID, noticing the similarities, one by one. The kind eyes I remember looking at when we talked. The green color is the same, but there’s a hardness within those eyes now. He's unfriendly, rather than always smiling and being goofy as I remember him. He takes the ID out of my hand, and I watch as relief settles through him. Axel sits down on the edge of my bed and buttons his shirt back up. "I had a thing for you," he admits.
"Me?" I laugh. I never paid much attention to guys those last couple years of classes. The research papers and exams were so heavy, they took over my life.
"A hot, smart chick who gave me the motivation to want to do something with my life. You were kind of unforgettable." I'm listening to what he's saying, but my confused and fragile mind trips and falls over the part where he called me hot.
"I guess I don't need to ask what happened to you, but how did you end up like this?" Is all I can manage to ask. "I liked you better then." It’s the truth.
"It's a long story," he mumbles. "And you? What happened to you?"
"It's a long story," I mirror his reply.
"Well, I like you better now," he says. My stomach feels hollow, and my pulse quickens, causing me to stand from the bed. "When I brought you into this, it was because I needed you—your skills. I had read many papers written by Dr. Phillips over the years, and he was constantly mentioning your name when it came to developments within the research he was conducting. I knew Dr. Phillips well, and I know he didn't speak highly of anyone. You were the only one, which confirmed my beliefs on where you were headed in your career. Then, when he went to prison, some people speculated you were gone, like the other apprentices you were working with, but I knew you were smart enough to escape the limelight. It was the exact moment the student became the teacher—it was the exact moment you became more important than you may ever realize."
"It's just a psych degree," I tell him, continuing to pace. The gig is up. He knows who I am, but I’m not buying his reasons for needing me.
"Your skills are untouchable, Isabelle. Your passion turned into success, and it’s a drive we need." He stands up, pulling me to him. "I've witnessed what you're capable of. You may think you're doing something bad, but we're the good guys. We're protecting this country from things they should never know—from turmoil, fear, and destruction."
"Who is we?" I ask. Considering this is the most words I've heard come from Axel's mouth since I met him, I want to believe what he's saying is sincere, but then again, everything surrounding my life is a lie.
"Me, whatever."
"Axel, who do you work for?"
"Myself. I do contract work. People do it all the time."
"Who are you contracting for?"
"I can’t tell you that. I signed a non-disclosure agreement. I’m sorry. I’m sure you know all about those agreements and how important they are." I signed too damn many of those; although, I’m sure they’re all void now, considering Mason is behind bars.
"No. I don't want to be beaten just because I have a useful skill," I remind him. Did he forget why I left this morning?
"I can train you," he says. I close my eyes and want to shake my head. I want to tell him no. "You can trust me." His hand cups my shoulder, then his fingers trace down the length of my arm before touching the bracelet on my wrist. The sensation of the knotted weave moving against my skin makes me jump with fear.
I pull away from his grip. "I can trust you? Just because you say so? No, it doesn’t work that way, Axel. I can’t trust anyone. My life is constantly in jeopardy. Do you not understand that? The only reason I knocked on the door of your staged job offer location is because I was starving and scared to sleep at a shelter, or on the street if the shelter was filled. Besides that, how do you suggest I trust a man who had been following me, stalking, and waiting for the exact right moment to dive in and snatch me up for your own use."
"Fine, don’t trust me, but I can keep you off the street, okay?" he argues.
"Why are you always so angry?"
"I'm not angry," he argues.
"Bull!"
"If it's any consolation, I've been a hell of a lot less angry since you agreed to work with us. Well, most of the time," he says, giving me a hint of a smile.
"That's a little scary," I tell him, making my way over to the window, needing a break from the conversation and the question of whether I want to stay.
He gives me a minute as I press my forehead up against the cool glass while I stare out into sapphire swirls within the bay. What other options do I have? I couldn’t find a job I’d be safe at, or that offered enough money to keep me off the street. I was out of options, and I’d be right back there if I walked away from this potentially catastrophic trap I willingly dove headfirst into.
Heavy hands rest on my shoulders, and the proximity of his warmth fogs my head a little bit more. "Stay," he whispers into my ear.
The word sends a shiver down my spine and other places that are still tingling from his touch. With the relentlessly growing ache in my chest, I succumb to an agreement. "Okay," I reply. My response is based on a survival instinct and a lack of options, but to him, this will probably just be a notch on his bedpost.
His hands fall from my shoulders, and he takes my arm, turning me to face him. My gaze sets on his chest, and I refuse to look up at whatever expression he may be trying to show me. "Good," he says.
"We shouldn't have done what we just did," I tell him.
"So ... " he sighs, sounding pleased with himself. "I shouldn't do this either." A finger slides beneath my chin, urging me to glance up at the lustful look I desperately need to avoid. He leans down, prolonging the seconds of silent apprehension with less than an inch worth of space between our lips. With his eyes locked on mine and the slightest of smiles carved into his mouth, I lose my restraint, becoming a different kind of prisoner against my will. The only control I’m left with is taking in the air that’s tainted with his cologne, so I hold my breath.
Axel steals all that’s left of me as he pins my body to the window with his solidity. His hand works through my hair and his body becomes heavy against mine as the chill from the window seeps deep into my skin. His other hand finds my cheek, and the gentleness of his touch doesn't match the rest of his movements. This kiss is nothing like the last two. This one isn't out of frustration, it's built from a memory and an intended purpose.
I’ve had no connection with my prior life—my parents or friends—and therefore, no one has given a shit about me for so long that the feeling of being wanted by someone causes a confusing desire. When Axel parts his lips from mine, his gaze softens as he twists a loose strand of my hair behind my ear. "I wanted to do that every day during those three months of classes. Every single day, Isabelle. You made me want to become the man I am today, and it means more than I can explain to you."
I swallow hard, trying to take in this other side of Axel. "Why didn't you ask me out or say something during that time?" I liked him then too, but I thought we just had a common interest, which seemed like nothing more than an ordinary landscape for our short-lived friendship.
"You were out of my league," he mutters.
"I still am," I say, grinning. "Sometimes, it’s worth taking the shot though, right?"
"Yes, you are, and I realize now, I should have taken the chance then." Axel backs up and gives me some space so I can catch the breaths I’ve lost over the last minute.