Page 12 of Axel Martin

His lips were rough. Hungry. Like he’d wanted this for so long he didn’t know how to slow it down.

And I didn’t want him to.

I kissed him back with everything I had. Every lonely night. Every second of fear. Every heartbeat I hadn’t realized was waiting for his.

And just like that, the world vanished.

No stalker.

No trailer.

No storms.

Just Axel.

We sat on the couch, not saying much. The weight of that kiss still sat heavy between us—crackling and tender, like a secret we weren’t ready to speak out loud.

Then Axel’s phone buzzed.

He glanced down.

Steel.

Cooper:You need to see this.

Cooper:Trailer footage enhanced. We got a clear frame of the guy’s hands.

Cooper:He’s wearing tactical gloves. Military issue. Special Forces. Possibly ex-SEAL.

Axel’s face went pale. Like someone had flipped a switch.

“What is it?” I asked, sitting up straighter.

He looked at me—and the ice in his eyes scared me more than the storm ever had.

“This isn’t just some creep with a camera, Lark. He’s trained. He knew how to cut the camera feed, what gear to target. He’snot just watching—he’s playing a game. Leaving signs. Symbols. Taunts.”

I felt the chill crawl down my spine.

“So… he’s not after me because I chase storms.”

“No,” Axel said, his voice hard. “He’s after you because you got in his way. He’s hunting something—and now, that includes you.”

I swallowed. “So what do we do?”

He stood, something shifting in his posture—like the soldier in him had just taken over.

“We stop running,” he said. “We start hunting him back.”

11

Axel

The conference room wasn’t much—just a spare cabin with a whiteboard, a folding table, and a whole lot of dangerous men hunched over maps and camera footage.

I stood at the head, with Rush, Turner, Max, and Fraiser flanking me like chess pieces waiting for orders.

And there she was—Lark—perched on the edge of the table like she belonged. Fierce. Unshaken.

---