21. Axel
CHAPTER 21
AXEL
LONDON – BADFLOWER
Studying the frankly insane scene that’s unfolded on the other side of the two-way mirror, it offers a direct view of our interrogation rooms. Only two are occupied.
In the first cell, Warner sips coffee while engaged in a silent standoff that’s been rumbling on for what feels like hours. No matter what tactic he attempts, his prisoner won’t utter a single damn word.
Opposite him, Blaine Madden lounges in the steel chair he’s handcuffed to by his ankles and wrists. I’m not quite sure how he manages to make being incapacitated look so comfortable.
“Why did you come back to England, Blaine? You were free overseas. Why risk it?”
Still, Madden refuses to open his mouth. He simply stares. Smiles. Silently waits. For what, I’m not quite sure. Warner has no intention of letting the criminal bastard see the light of day ever again.
“Did you come back for Ember?” Warner directly asks.
Nothing. Not a fucking peep.
“Why did you help her last night? Why not let her be taken again?”
Still dressed in dark clothing saturated with blood, Madden looks every inch the unhinged powerhouse that his reputation suggests. His face, hair and body are all crusted with dark-red splotches.
“You’ve been meeting with Gael’s associates. Why is that?”
With a quiet chuff, Madden flicks his gaze over to the mirror. I know he can’t see me, but it feels like he’s challenging me with his stare regardless. I want to go in there and rip his fucking face off.
It doesn’t matter that he saved Ember. Sure, without him there, she’d be lost all over again. Perhaps even dead. None of us care, though. We’d rather understand why he was there in the first place.
Looking away from the tight-lipped crime lord, I peer into the second room. Hyland should be interrogating this sick fuck, but he’s with Ember in the hospital right now.
With a half-smoked cigarette clasped between his fingers, legs outstretched and feet propped up on the table, Hudson Knight stares down a beaten Miguel. The lucky bastard survived his run-in with Ember.
“It won’t be a challenge to tie you to decades worth of international crimes, Miguel. The Mexican authorities are in full cooperation with us. We will bury you.”
Hudson’s terrifying voice is enough to put me on edge, let alone anyone who doesn’t know the heavily-inked brute. To everyone but those he cares about, he’s a stone-cold, merciless bastard. I love the guy.
Taking another drag from his cigarette, Hudson eyes Miguel without a single care in the world. He’s completely calm.
“How much did Gael offer for Ember’s safe capture?”
“ Chinga tu madre! ” Miguel spits saliva at him.
Unfazed, Hudson wipes his face then lifts his legs to stand up. “I’m going to assume that was something unpleasant. And I dislike uncooperative people.”
When he smashes his still-lit cigarette down on Miguel’s exposed collarbone, the asshole wails like a baby. His cries are so shrill, they even soak through the double-glass mirror to bite into my ears.
Hudson lifts the now-extinguished cigarette butt then flicks it aside. A red welt, already weeping with blood and puss, is left behind on Miguel’s skin.
“Care to answer my question now?”
“ Hombre loco !”
“I know you speak English, dickhead. Start talking, or I’ll go fetch another pack of cigarettes.”
Turning away, I peer into the empty third room. By the time we located the source of the gunshots after losing Luis then subduing the maniacs throwing themselves at us, Diego was dead.
Perhaps decimated is a better word. Madden did a hell of a job when he covered himself in all that spilled blood. He sure exceeded expectations. I hate that.
Disregarding the interrogations when my phone vibrates in my ripped jeans, I almost hang up by accident in my rush to accept the call.
“How is she?”
“No idea. She won’t let me in the room.” Hyland’s voice drips with weariness. “Still having tests done, I think. They called in a neurologist from St Thomas’s hospital.”
“Wait, a neurologist?”
“She had a seizure, Ax. A really fucking bad one.”
Several elongated seconds stretch on, filled with my disbelief. Surely not. If Ember was having seizures, we’d know about it. She would’ve told us. That’s too big a thing to hide.
“That can’t be right,” I eventually reply.
“It’s their medical opinion. I lifted some of her paperwork because the doctor won’t tell me shit. She’s having an EEG, CT scan and blood tests done.”
“Well… Maybe this was the first one?”
Hyland’s sigh rattles down the receiver. “I tried to listen in. She told them she can handle it. This is clearly not the first episode she’s had.”
“I don’t believe this. She would’ve told us.”
“Would she?” he retorts.
Uncertain how to respond, I stare at the wall. A bulletin board filled with scraps of paper, sign-up sheets, health and safety posters grabs my attention like it holds the secrets of the universe.
“If Madden hadn’t found her and killed that son of a bitch, there’s no telling what he would’ve done while she was incapacitated.”
“He didn’t just kill Diego,” I reply hotly. “He damn near took his head off. Forensics had to collect the shattered pieces of his skull to toss in the body bag.”
“So what? You’re jealous he got there first?”
“Yes! That shithead laid his hands on our girl!”
“ Our .” Hyland’s laugh is dark and bleak. “She isn’t our anything, Ax.”
“Don’t you dare. Ember’s our teammate. Our friend. Our fucking family!”
“Families don’t lie to each other.”
The line clicks as he disconnects the call. Clenching my phone tight, I fight the urge to hurl it at the goddamn bulletin board until both objects break.
Hyland can say whatever the fuck he likes—he’s still glued to his seat in the waiting area, ensuring Ember isn’t left alone in the emergency ward. That doesn’t scream of giving up to me.
Emerging from the interview room, Warner sags against the door that slams shut behind him. He’s barely able to walk. One of the bastards we took down landed several strategic blows when they spotted his prosthetic.
“You should go home.” I watch him wince in discomfort. “Take your leg off. I can handle this.”
“Fuck off, Ax.”
“That’s professional, team leader.”
Shaking his head, he downs the last of his coffee as he looks towards the room he just left. “That slick shit isn’t saying a goddamn word.”
“Why would he?”
“To save himself?” Warner supplies. “To negotiate a plea deal? To avoid being tossed in a maximum-security prison? One he won’t escape this time?”
“Madden clearly isn’t afraid of you or being punished.”
“He should be!”
Head falling, Warner’s shoulders shake with each ragged breath he pulls in. None of us have had a spare moment to clean up or change. He’s still blood-streaked and wearing ripped clothing.
I’m not faring much better. Though I took down seven men singlehandedly, only succeeding in killing two of the fast fuckers, I still caught a decent beating. My lip is split and sore while my face stings from bruises.
“We ambushed the meet, seized Madden and Miguel. Diego is dead. Sure, we lost Luis and Madden’s crew in the chaos, but I’m still considering last night a win.”
“A win?” Warner scoffs to the floor. “You said it yourself. We lost Luis. Fuck, we almost lost her too.”
Walking over to him, I place a hand on his shoulder. “We didn’t lose Ember though, did we?”
“Not this time. She’s so reckless!”
“Come on, man. Are you telling me that if you saw those responsible for hurting you or your friends, you wouldn’t see red? Or take the first chance you got to batter them?”
“I…”
Trailing off, Warner lifts his head to the ceiling like he’s searching for patience or understanding. None of us seem to have the answers today.
“She reacted on instinct. I’m sure she regrets it.”
“Well, that instinct almost got her killed,” he growls. “I don’t know why Madden stuck around alone to save her, but I’m damn well going to find out.”
Before he can head back into the interrogation room, I clamp my hand down to halt him.
“You need to go to the hospital. Hyland’s losing his shit because he’s being kept in the dark, and Ember’s in for a slew of tests with a neurologist.”
“What? Why?” He visibly startles.
“They reckon she was passed out because of a seizure. He’s been snooping in her medical notes.”
“A… Seizure?” Warner repeats thickly. “Like, epilepsy or something?”
“I don’t know, man.”
“Surely we’d know about that?” He frowns to himself. “She never had seizures before.”
“That’s all I know. You need to go be with her.”
“Why me?”
“Besides the fact that I’m sure Tom is freaking the fuck out, Ember’s being an uncooperative bitch, and Hyland’s talking like she’s off the team? You’re her friend!”
His lips sealing shut, Warner nods. “You’re right.”
“Leave Madden to me. Hudson’s still in with Miguel.”
“We need him capable of forming words, Ax. Don’t cut his fucking lips off.”
“Dude, that was one time!” I protest.
His tired eyes rolling, Warner pats my hand on top of his shoulder then shrugs himself free to limp away. Once he’s gone, I refocus on his abandoned task.
Madden will talk.
I’m not going to ask nicely.
Picking up the rolled, black fabric case I retrieved from my office safe, I saunter into his interrogation room. Madden’s gaze locks on me the moment I shut the thick metal door then engage the lock.
“Warner sending his latest pet project in to take a crack?”
“Something like that.” I smile widely at him. “I’m his favourite pet project.”
“So I hear.” Madden shifts against his shackles, still appearing relaxed. “Axel Slaughter. Thirty-one years old. Orphaned at thirteen. Eight years in MI-5 and now… Sabre’s bitch.”
“Congratulations. You can profile.”
Setting my fabric case down on the table, I work on untying the silky knots to release the flaps. It rolls open easily, revealing an array of neatly secured scalpels, blades and instruments of torture.
“Someone else profiles for me,” Madden corrects, sparing my toys a disinterested glance. “I can read words on a page.”
“Aren’t you a clever boy?”
“Not as clever as you. Tell me, Axel Slaughter. Does anyone know the truth?”
His words cause my movements to still for a moment before I quickly shake the uncertainty off. He’ll stop chatting shit as soon as I slide my stainless-steel needles beneath his nail beds.
“Oh, Axel,” Madden drawls in that stupidly formal accent. “The truth was buried so well, wasn’t it? Maybe you even convinced yourself it was real.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I bet not even your team leader knows what really happened to your family, does he?”
Selecting a wickedly sharp, carbon steel scalpel—one of my favourite pieces—I turn to face Madden’s knowing grin.
“I’ve been instructed not to cut bits off you. However, I think you can still talk without eyelids. So perhaps I’ll start there.”
“Go right ahead.” He quirks a brow. “It won’t change the fact that I know your little secret.”
“I have no secrets.”
“No?”
“No. My past is a matter of public record.”
“Quite,” he hums. “Just the way dear old mum planned it, right?”
Each word he utters threatens to undo almost twenty years of carefully placed memories. The memories I crafted, refined and planted like baby trees to grow over the reality I dare not recall.
“Enough!” I slam my fist onto the table.
“Give me what I want, and I’ll stop right there.” Madden casually raises a shoulder. “No one has to know about him. I won’t spill your secrets.”
Those three traitorous letters pierce my body like rapid-fire bullets. Him. The ghost I’ve long erased from my memory. For all intents and purposes, he never even existed.
“What do you want?” Both palms on the table, I lean into his space.
“I’ll only speak to Ember. That’s my terms.”
“You’re joking, right?”
“Not much of a joker, I’m afraid. Bring her to me.”
My laughter is a short bark. It feels alien. Uncomfortable. This man is tearing every last thread from inside me and pulling them tight until it feels like I’m being played like a violin.
“Ember’s in the hospital. She can’t and won’t see you.”
“I have time.” He reclines in his seat. “I’ll be waiting.”
“No one will allow it!”
“That sounds like a you problem, Axel. Go cut someone else’s eyelids off, and bring me what I want. Or else I’ll be taking a trip down memory lane.”
The urge to throw him from that chair, press my blade into his jugular vein and bleed him dry until I’m dancing in his essence is all-consuming.
“Run along.” Madden jerks his chin towards the door. “I’ll wait.”
Conflicted, I consider executing him even though it would end my career. Potentially my life. I’m not sure who would kill me first—Ember, Warner or Hyland.
Shoving the scalpel back into place, I quickly refold my weapons case then tuck it under my arm. The longer I’m breathing the same air as him, the more acute my need to silence his wagging tongue becomes.
Moving to the door, I stop at the last second to look over my shoulder. His beady, black eyes are watching me, full of intense calculation.
“How did you know?”
“Know what?” Madden smirks at me.
“About… him ?”
“Ah. Now you want to acknowledge his existence, hm?”
Nausea and the need to flee war for supremacy inside me. I haven’t opened this Pandora’s box for years now. It became easier not to acknowledge his existence as I grew older. Like second nature. I pretended to forget.
“You may have forgotten about your brother, Axel… But I know that he hasn’t forgotten about you.”
Blinking several times, the scene refuses to change. A dream-like haze doesn’t lift to reveal a reality in which this conversation never happened. This is real.
I don’t reply before leaving the room. Madden’s satisfied chuckling follows me out until the door slams shut with a metallic thud, and I slump against it.
He hasn’t forgotten about you.
If the sibling I’ve written out of my life is tangled up in this, I’m on a collision course with a part of my pitch-black past. A course that offers no hope of there being any survivors in the wreckage.
Ember lied to us, but that’s forgivable.
Because I lied to all of them first.