Page 164 of Axel

But it keeps me here.

Fuck him. Fuck him.

I lick the metallic taste off my lips and face him with a bloody smile.

“Thank you,” I smirk. “Red is my signature color.”

Purple. No, it’s purple and the first color Axel saw me in. Where is he?

Charleston is hours from wherever in the hell we are.

“So, enough about fashion.” I glare up at him. “Let’s talk business.”

To anyone else, Halstead looks like a Vice President. You know the kind, looking so godly and conservative, he’s hiding the sickest secrets of all?

“What do you want?” I ask. “A million? Three million?”

“Who do you work for?”

“Oh, I don’t work for him. I kneel for him.”

He blinks, shocked.

“And when he finds you with me, whether I’m dead or alive, he will cut off your hand, salt it, and fuck it up your ass … while you’re alive.” I bat my lashes. “He’s so hot and sadistic like that.”

“Your boss?” He sneers while tucking his phone in his pocket, his other hand still aiming his gun at my face. “The one who looks like a thug, covered in ink.”

“Okay, you’re not understanding the assignment. His ink is hot. Your bow ties are not.”

“Hot?” He tilts his head, his gaze dropping to my braless breasts under my emerald slip dress. “This is hot.”

With the tip of his gun, he slides the silky strap off my shoulder. It dangles over my arm, the fabric barely exposing my breast.

And I lift my chin.Stay here. Stay here.I don’t flinch when he rubs the gun over my flesh, tugging my dress down more, exposing my nipple next.Stay here. Stay here.

“I think we should make a video for your inked boss,” he jeers. “You can kneel for me while I shut that mouth up and fuck it with my cock.”

“Got any mustard?” I ask. “I like it with my little Vienna Sausages.”

“Fuck you.” He yanks my hair, dragging me to the floor. “On your knees! On your fucking knees!”

“If you insist.” I fall hard on my kneecaps before him, the carpet slimy against my flesh. “Just know. If you put that inchworm in my mouth, I will bite it off. I’ll take death over your dick any day.”

He stares down at me. And with every minute as a girl, Icowered, afraid of a man like this—no more—I fire my rage back at him.

“Go ahead,” I taunt. “Eventually, every man meets his match and this bitch is yours.”

Fuck him. Fuck him. Stay here. Stay here.

“You think you’re my fucking match?” He presses the gun to my temple, its metal warming against my sweating flesh. “You think I can’t handle a bitch like you?”

“You’ve never met a bitch like me,” I sneer. “Stubborn is where I start and stabbing your little dick is where I’ll end. Here or in hell, mother fucker. Bring it on.”

I see him. I see my stepfather. I see Calloway. I see every boy in high school who grabbed my ass. Every man on the street who thinks his catcall is game, when it’s really his little dick energy calling card.

I meant it when I told Axel I’d rather die than let a man own me.

I’m staring down this rapist psycho with his gun pressed to my temple and in life or death,fuck you, I’m proud.

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