"Why are you so angry?" he responds, which is a nice way to change the subject. The Nobody Loves You method, used by an interrogator who is attempting to persuade the interrogatee to confess out of despair.
I'll play. "Why am I so angry? Let's see, here ... I'm angry because I'm hurt, lonely, deprived, deceived, grieving loss and griping on to a life I never wanted. I was let down. I was left behind. I was fed to the wolves. I no longer have a family or friends, and I'm basically homeless without your help." I take a moment to catch my breath and calm the growing rage, but the words keep coming like an unstoppable freight train. "Except, now I know you're going to offer to help me even more. You're going to try and weaken me to the point where I tell you everything there is to know about my sad life because you're a friend. You're here for me. You'll listen and do whatever you can to make things better."
"Well, yeah," he says, his face contorting with a mixture of confusion and irritation.
"That method won't work on me, so I'll save you some time. We can just say we're moving onto the resistance part of this situation."
"What are you talking about?" he asks.
"Where did you get your amazing skills from, Axel? The psych ward or rehab?"
The corner of his lip curls. Great, he’s only slightly amused. "Some people learn from experience," he says.
"I'm going to walk away now and you're not going to follow me. Got it?" Like it would ever be that easy. I'm going to run. He's going to chase me, take me against my will, and drag me back to the hotel. Then, he's going to get me into a compromising situation and play off our forbidden attraction that I let go too far earlier. He'll then attempt to extract more information from me, while I get little if any real pertinent facts from him. We'll lie in bed naked as he strokes my hair, pretending as if none of this is an issue. Morning will come quick and we'll fly back to Boston to start all over again. Or ... maybe I redirect this little situation.
I do as I said, turn back to walk away. I'm guessing I'll get five feet before he grabs me again. One, two, three ... I was wrong. "Harley, please." Begging is a nice touch. He obviously has his job under control as I've watched over the last few days so I'm not sure why I'm so important to keep around. If it were honest feelings for me, he wouldn't have thought to bring me into a place where Everett had concerns. Therefore, I can assume Everett feels stronger for my well-being than Axel does. I think I mean something to Axel in a completely different way.
"Let go of me, Axel," I demand.
I struggle against his grip, but he holds tight and by the look on his face, I'm getting under his skin. There's a pained look in his eyes, which is either great acting or he’s losing his touch.
Axel pulls me in the opposite direction, but my struggle isn't as real as it would be if I weren't trying to undetectably go along with his plan. "I'll scream if you don't let go of me," I tell him. "What will people think?"
He doesn't respond to me. Instead, he pulls his phone out and I see him sending a text to Everett, telling him he has me. He almost made that part of this too easy.
"Why are you doing this?" I groan.
"You're not safe here, Harley," he tells me.
"So, what, I'm safer as your prisoner now?"
"No, you're not my prisoner."
"Kind of seems like it to me seeing as the way you're treating me right now."
"Okay, well, sorry to let you down, but you’re not a prisoner."
"So then why are you being so aggressive?" I ask, skittishly.
"I told you I like to have control at all times."
"I never agreed to give you control of me, Axel."
"I beg to differ," he says.
He pulls me down a small alley and shoves me against the stone wall. His hands are wrapped around mine, pressing into my shoulders as he peers down at me with his burning gaze that’s not only holding me hostage but also embracing the moon’s perfect reflection. I hate that his sinful glare makes my pulse react. I must be stronger than this. I need resistance inside even if I'm outwardly giving into this.
Axel lowers his forehead to mine, pressing the back of my head into the wall. His breath is warm against my lips and I'm drinking it in, enjoying the hint of whiskey mixed with fury. "Stop," I tell him.
"Why?" he asks.
"One of us is going to get hurt." He doesn’t need to know that I don't mean me.
"No one is going to get hurt," he corrects me, "unless you prefer things that way."
Everything from my waist down clenches as if his words have physically traced a line down the center of my body with the ragged tip of a feather. I swallow hard. Ignore the feeling. I can turn it off.
"Isabelle," he whispers into my mouth. "There's a lot of confusion here but you're smart enough to know the difference between what's real and what's not." His lips skim mine like a smooth caress from a wet cherry. Then he kisses my cheek with only the slightest touch from his lips. The move is purposefully close enough to taste but far enough away that my lips yearn for more. The chill from the slight gust of wind turns his lips cold, allowing him the privilege of leaving cold streaks down the length of my neck. His hands release mine, but only so he can touch his fingertips to my bare chest before sliding his palms up slowly until my face is cupped within his grip.
Stop feeling everything.
His mouth returns to mine along with a sharp inhale through his nose. He works his lips into a powerful frenzy as if he were trying to make me forget all evidence that my lips ever knew anything less than this sensation. He knows he’s pushing my bounds to the brink of losing control by manipulating my movements to his unspoken command while he simultaneously trains me to match his pace, flow, and movement.
As the minutes roll by and my lips begin to tingle from a lack of release and air, Axel arches back enough to look down at me, smiling ever so slightly as we quietly catch breaths that have escaped between us. "Will you walk with me, or do I need to throw you over my shoulder?"
"I'll walk," I tell him. It was part of my plan, anyway. What is not part of the plan is what is happening inside of my chest, within my loins—what is internally out of my control.
"Thank you," he says, taking my hand within his, gently, rather than with force.
The silence is loud, blaring with questions I assume we're both now seeking. He was looking for me, but I want to know if he knew I had been evicted. Plus, having a boss or whoever the hell he answers to working out of D.C. rather than Boston doesn’t add up. Most importantly, I need to know how he was so knowledgeable about my skills. We may have shared a class, but it wasn't about brainwashing or screwing with the human mind.
I hadn't realized the town car had taken us closer to the hotel after we dropped Axel off at dinner. The streets all look similar, but I recognize the hotel down the block. "How did the dress work out for you tonight?" Axel asks. His question feels odd after everything that has happened in the past twenty minutes.
"It was fine, thank you," I reply.
"I'm sorry I didn't get to enjoy it longer," he says. "I didn’t intend to send you out for dinner with Everett tonight."
"I understand," I tell him. I don't understand a goddamn thing, but I will soon.