Page 58 of Axel

I touch my lips, too. They still tingle from his hungry kiss, but I don’t have time to think about it.

“Let’s get out of here.” I shove the phone and vibrator into my purse. “I have to get home before he gets suspicious.”

Silently, Axel nods and grabs our suitcase. Then, he holds his hand out, demanding mine, and I rush across the room to catch it.

He pulls me near, whispering, “Take the suitcase and stay behind me. Grab my shoulder and let me know you’re there.”

“Where are we going?”

“Out the front. There are no cameras there. Grant will cover the back.”

We follow the same path through the house and reach the front door. Axel peers through the peephole as a gunshot rings out. I jolt, but he orders, “Let’s go,” reaching for the doorknob.

“I’m not going out there,” I hiss. “You check first.”

He turns to me, grinning. “I thought we were gender equal.”

“In high heels, yes. In a high-noon shootout? Fuck that. Go be a cowboy.”

He pulls the gun from his holster, teasing, “Someone’s sounding like a damsel in distress.”

“Someone’s going to ice his balls later.”

“Indeed, Wildfire.” He opens the door. “You made them blue as fuck.”

I’d be flattered if I weren’t suddenly terrified with my shaking hand holding Axel’s tense shoulder. He moves like a special-ops ninja, peeking around the door, his gun held down and ready before he declares, “Clear.”

“Clearly, we’re dead?”

“We’re fine. Don’t stop obeying me now. Get the suitcase.”

I hold his shoulder and grab the handle, dragging it behind me. I follow Axel outside and freeze on the front porch, shocked as Grant appears around the corner of the fancy log cabin, holding his gun to the back of a man’s head.

The man keeps his hands in the air as Axel aims his gun at him, too. “Name!” he demands.

“Brayton Jervis,” I answer. “The quarterback for Tennessee.”

Brayton pauses a moment before he recognizes me, even in disguise.“Hey, doll.” Terror shakes his voice. “Mind telling your boyfriends to holster their weapons?”

Axel swings his ferocious glare at me.

“Youknowhim?”

“Yes, Iknowhim,” I whisper so Brayton won’t hear me. “I know him in the biblical sense, so if you’re going to fire jealous Bratva bullets over it, do it now. Otherwise, let’s find out why he’s here.”

“I had to fire my gun to get him to put his down,” Grant shouts, nudging his muzzle against Brayton’s skull, making him walk our way. “He said he’s looking for the owner.”

They cross the front yard while Axel seethes over me, “Are you here for the owner, or are you stalking her?”

“The owner,” Brayton answers.

“Who?” Axel tests him.

“Don’t know yet.”

“But you’re carrying a Beretta and want him dead?” Grant interrogates him.

Brayton holds his hands in the air, his eyes frantically searching mine. He trusts me. He knows he can. Over a year ago, I shared a night with him and his husband at Zar and Nick’s place. No commitment. Just trust and lust and one night of fun.

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