Axel
Belladonna Mansion
Rear Grounds
Virginia Beach Oceanfront
He’d gone through the motions, but his mind and heart were already on Skid Row.
As soon as the last person walked out the door, he grabbed his backpack and hauled ass to his car.
He’d only been home for ten minutes, and he’d already dropped his belongings in his room and was in the kitchen with the tote he’d packed that morning.
He had more supplies for Clarence and a few of the others who depended on him. He never went down there empty-handed. Water, food, clothes, and sometimes meds if he could get them.
But tonight, he hadn’t packed anything for Waylan.
Waylan wasn’t just another stop. He was bringing him home.
Axel had already readied a room for him with clean sheets, fresh towels, a bathroom full of toiletries, and a warm quilt that smelled faintly of lavender draped over his queen-sized bed.
As much as he wanted Waylan in his condo, he’d decided giving him his own space would build their trust faster.
He wouldn’t feel monitored, wondering any minute if Axel was going to ask for his body in exchange for the plush accommodations.
Axel remembered all too well what it was like to be promised safety, only to be cornered, touched without consent, or pimped out.
Waylan’s room would be his sanctuary inside a sanctuary.
With his arms weighed down, he was almost at the back gate when he froze at the sound of voices.
The glow of the Jacuzzi caught his attention. He slowed, then pressed himself against the trellis of ivy so he wouldn’t disturb what he was seeing.
Underneath the cascading waterfall, Lincoln had that surly detective in his arms. The man’s head was thrown back, throat exposed, his arms locked around Lincoln as if he’d drown if he let go.
The detective’s needy moans carried across the frigid night air, raw and guttural, loud enough to stir heat in Axel’s own groin.
He shook his head, smiling. Lincoln always loved the hardest challenges. He’d mended hearts Axel never thought could be touched.
But he’d never kept them. He’d always healed them and let them go to find their true loves.
The detective was obviously different.
Axel crept past, leaving them to their moment. Lincoln had won his fight—it was time for him to win his.
Axel
101st Street, Skid Row
Virginia Beach Oceanfront
10:02 p.m.
The few blocks stretched long and lonely, the air growing colder and the taste more bitter the farther he walked.
That uneasy prickle worked its way up Axel’s spine again, like someone watching, some thing following…tracking his steps.
He glanced over his shoulder, but just like before, all he saw was blackness. He quickened his pace all the same.
By the time he reached Clarence’s tent, his pulse was thudding. He set his things down, took a few deep inhales, and let them out slowly.
“Where is he?” Axel demanded.
Clarence glanced up from arranging his things, a slight frown creasing his forehead.
“Down at the shore. Damn fool tried washing up in that freezing water.”
Axel swore softly. Of course he did. Waylan probably wanted to clean himself, to smell better—for him. He would risk pneumonia just to be presentable.
Axel pressed his palm to his chest.
“Oh, my strong heart,” he whispered. What kind of man would I be if I didn’t answer that courage?
He passed Clarence the supplies, and the older man smiled with his usual gratitude.
Axel lingered a bit, visiting with a few of the families nearby, but his focus kept tugging toward the shore. That pull in his chest, the same invisible tether connecting his and Waylan’s souls together.
He found Waylan easily…always would. He just followed the radiant beacon of Waylan’s aura until there he was, sitting hunched on the damp sand, shoulders bowed under too many layers, looking both monumental and broken.
Axel didn’t hesitate. He went right into his arms, burying himself against the larger man’s chest, shocking Waylan so thoroughly he stiffened.
“I missed you,” Axel murmured against the scratchy wool of his coat.
Waylan let out a sad, strangled chuckle, but his arms—hesitant, shaky—wrapped around him in return.
“How can you stand to touch me?” His voice was sandpaper.
Axel pulled back enough to meet those beautiful eyes.
“The question is…how can I stand not to?”
He swallowed, heart pounding, and asked the question that’d been burning on his tongue all day. “Are you coming with me?”
Waylan blinked. “What for?”
“To heal.”
Waylan’s height, broadness, his sheer presence towered over Axel, even slouched on the sand, and Axel loved it. Loved that his strong heart carried so much weight and yet still beat on.
“My home—Belladonna—it’s a haven for the broken,” Axel explained softly.
Waylan’s mouth twisted. “Plenty of broken people around here for you to choose from.”
“The broken hearted ,” Axel clarified, his voice a whisper against the ocean’s power. He leaned up and brushed his lips across Waylan’s cold, chapped mouth. “Please,” he begged against him.
Waylan’s amber-colored lashes fluttered closed.
“Just one night. And if you don’t want to stay, it’s only a few blocks to leave and come back. But if I can’t have you at Belladonna…I’ll be here every night and have you on Skid Row.”
He locked his gaze to Waylan’s, refusing to show an ounce of doubt.
And then—finally—he got a small nod.
Axel’s chest burst with light.
They returned to Clarence’s tent together, and Clarence’s gaze bounced back and forth between them before he grinned.
“Always knew you didn’t belong here, kid,” he told Waylan. “Always knew it was temporary. Don’t worry, son. Trust Axel. He’s one of the good ones.”
Waylan looked torn, but Axel held tight to his arm.
After spending a few more minutes with Clarence, they left and began the walk back to Thorn’s property.
Toward home.
Waylan
Waylan hadn’t wanted to follow. Not because Axel wasn’t trustworthy—nothing about him ever rang false—but because life had taught him not to trust.
Every man who ever promised him anything hadn’t followed through. Every hand that had reached out for him had eventually turned into a fist. His judgment of people was broken and faulty. He didn’t believe he could tell a saint from a sinner anymore.
But Axel…Axel was different.
Waylan ached at the mere thought of disappointing him. He couldn’t walk away from him or tell him no.
It was crazy, yet undeniable.
So he followed.
“I would’ve come earlier if I didn’t have an evening class.” Axel’s voice was soft—a sound he could listen to all day and night.
Waylan frowned, glancing down at him. “Class? You’re a student?”
“I teach high school during the day,” Axel said, almost sheepish, “and a technical writing course at the community college at night.”
Waylan blinked, thrown off. Axel wasn’t just some rich do-gooder—he actually worked , gave his time and his talent.
The thought left a strange ache in Waylan’s chest.
The farther they walked, the air grew cleaner, the sand softer under his boots. It was like stepping out of darkness and into light as Waylan’s mind stayed torn between dread and desperate hope.
“I’m still confused about what we’re doing,” he admitted at last.
Axel’s hand was warm in his, steadying him.
“You can take all the time you need,” he whispered, that poetic reverence never leaving him. “I’ll be right there with you the entire way.”
Waylan shut his eyes for a beat, trying to believe that.
He wasn’t conceited enough to think Axel was bringing him back just for sex, not when he could have any man he wanted.
Besides, Axel already said he’d have his own room, with a lock on the door protecting his privacy. But he couldn’t help the suspicion that gnawed at him.
“Why me?” Waylan muttered. “You could have anyone. You don’t have to go…slumming it.”
Axel stopped him with a firm squeeze of his arm.
“Don’t say that about yourself…don’t even think it,” Axel bit out.
Waylan huffed, his depressing humor leaking out. “What if I’m a serial killer, huh?”
Axel’s reply was quick and unwavering, “There’s no killing in your eyes.”
The conviction hit Waylan dead center in his core.
“But Thorn will want to meet you. It’ll be like an interview, to explain what Belladonna really is…and he’ll do a background check on you. It’s standard for anyone coming to the house.”
Waylan had no problem with the check…it was kind of reassuring.
They walked on in silence, Skid Row at their backs, the mansion lights just visible ahead.
And then…Axel slowed. His gaze flicked to the shadows at their side, and Waylan felt it too, cold fingers pressing along his back.
Without thinking, he shifted, pulling Axel against him, shielding him with his body.
The moment his instincts flared, a figure stepped out of the night. Dressed head to toe in dark clothes, face hidden, a gun gleaming in his grip.
Waylan’s heart slammed, but his legs stayed solid. He shoved Axel behind him, turning his body into a wall.
“What do you want?” Waylan demanded.
The stranger’s voice was rough, distorted, and dripping with hate. “I want Belladonna. And the devil hiding behind its walls.”
Axel’s gasp was hot against the base of his neck.
“And the man behind you is going to get me inside.”
The gun stayed pointed at Axel’s forehead as the night seemed to pause and hold its breath.
End of Season Three Episode One