Page 167 of Axel

I glance down at his exploded ankle. “Aw, shucks. You can’t. Hollow point bullet to the ankle. Sorry ‘bout that.”

“Fuck you,” he whines. “I’ll pay you more. Whatever he’s paying, I’ll double.”

“I may be a psycho country boy, but I ain’t dumb. Your money ain’t got nothing on what my friend will do.” I lean down and whisper to him, “Rumor is, he’s Russian and sick as fuck. He’ll go all Bolshevik on your ass. Ever heard of the Red Terror?”

I hear it.

The shocked gasp from Axel’s woman.

So I rise and turn her way, shushing her with my finger. “Just a little rumor I heard about him, darlin’. Don’t worry. Axel’s more myth than man.”

Seriously, though.

I’ve been meaning to tell him about that Russian oligarch’s superyacht in Savannah.

But I’ve been overwhelmed by pussy, beer, and bullets.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

AXEL

“Did he do this to you?”

I gently brush my thumb over Ruby’s busted bottom lip. I sweep the auburn tendrils off her beautiful face. I’ll be careful with her…

Before I cut that man into pieces.

“I’m fine, dickhead, and thank you for being such a stalker.” She smiles as if she’s damn happy to see me, her lips seeking mine in a kiss that confirms it.

She’s okay.

We’re okay.

But I’m not.

“Which hand?” I softly murmur over her lips.

“Hmm?” She wants more of our kiss.

“Which hand did he hit you with?”

She pulls away, her smile resigned. “You’re going to go all Axel on him, aren’t you?”

“Fuck yeah, he is,” Wilder crows over my shoulder.

I raise an eyebrow at Ruby, and she answers, “Right.”

I signal Grant and Nash, standing in the doorway of the motel room. “Coverher.”

I don’t give a shit that Wilder has this fucker, Halstead, tied to a rusty metal chair. Even though he’s been shot twice, I won’t risk my woman.

Nash and Grant enter, and Grant reaches for Ruby. As if to comfort her for this, but she pats his pecs. “I’m fine, Reacher. Just stand there, look pretty, and grunt.”

Grant laughs but the fuck if this is about to be pretty.

“Hold him down.”

Wilder knows the drill. He grabs Halstead’s right arm and pins it, holding it over the top of a decrepit table strewn with beer cans, cigarette butts, and shit I don’t want to know what it is.

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