42. Axel
42
AXEL
I step onto the veranda, coffee in hand, and watch the sunset over the ocean. The sound of waves crashing against our private beach has become as familiar as the voices that once consumed my mind. Those voices have grown quieter here, sometimes disappearing completely for days.
Six months in paradise, and I still check the perimeter every morning. Old habits.
“Security system’s all clear,” Tommy calls from his workstation in the guest house. He’s grown up since we got here—filled out, gotten some color. The local girl he’s shacked up with, Lucia, brings him out of his shell. They’re good together.
“Thanks.”
Tommy nods, returning to his laptop. His security business is thriving—rich expats are paranoid about their digital footprints.
I sip my coffee, watching a fishing boat on the horizon. Our beachfront property sits isolated at the end of a private road, surrounded by dense vegetation on three sides and the ocean as our front yard. It’s the perfect fortress—beautiful but defensible.
Willow arranged flawless documents—birth certificates, medical licenses, and even childhood vaccination records for our new identities.
Elise and James Carter are American expats with enough wealth to avoid uncomfortable questions. The local officials accepted our residency applications without a second glance after the “administrative fees” we paid—double the standard amount, delivered in cash. Money and distance buy remarkable amounts of forgiveness for paperwork irregularities.
Inside, I hear Willow moving around in the kitchen. Six months of freedom, and I still can’t believe she’s mine. Her practice is growing steadily—word has spread among the American and European transplants about the blonde therapist who speaks perfect English and doesn’t ask too many questions about their pasts.
Ironic that she’s helping people work through their trauma when she’s living with a monster like me. Maybe that’s why she’s good at it. She understands me better than most.
I’ve found a way to keep the beast fed without drowning in blood. It’s a delicate balance.
The first time trouble came knocking was a group of local thieves casing our property. I watched them from the shadows for three nights before making my move. There is no need to spill blood when fear works better.
“You know what I am,” I told their leader after dragging him from his bed in the middle of the night. I showed him the newspaper clippings I’d kept—my crimes, my reputation. “This territory is protected. Spread the word.”
Willow has changed something in me—not cured, never cured—but given me a focus.
Now I have a system. I don’t hunt anymore, but I protect what’s mine. The local criminal elements give our home a wide berth. Some have even become useful allies. Ricardo, who runs security for several properties along the coast, and I have an understanding. His men avoid our stretch of beach; I provide intelligence on potential threats moving into the area.
“You’re different here,” Willow said last night, tracing the tattoo on my shoulder as we lay in bed. “Still dangerous, but controlled.”
She’s right. I’ve learned to redirect the violence, to calculate and plan rather than simply react. The voices that once demanded blood are satisfied with strategic intimidation. When a drug runner tried moving product through our cove last month, I didn’t kill him—I ensured he’d never try again by demonstrating exactly what would happen if he returned.
My reputation travels ahead of me now. “El Americano con ojos del diablo,” they call me—the American with devil’s eyes.
Tommy jokes that I’ve become the neighborhood watch from hell, but it works. We’re safe. Willow’s safe. And the monster inside me is fed just enough to stay quiet for days.
I watch Willow and her mother walking along the shoreline, heads bent together in conversation, laughter carried back to me on the breeze. Three days turned to three weeks, and now it’s been six months since Anna Matthews decided to stay.
Never thought I’d have a mother-in-law who doesn’t flinch when I enter a room.
“More lemonade, Axel?” Anna asks, climbing the steps to the veranda where I’m sitting. Sand clings to her ankles, her skin tanned from days spent in the Brazilian sun.
“Sure.” I nod, still uncomfortable with the casual domesticity of it all.
She pours the drink, ice clinking against the glass, before settling into the chair beside mine. “She’s happier than I’ve ever seen her,” Anna says, nodding toward Willow, now wading in the surf. “More herself, somehow.”
I remain silent, unsure how to respond to the grudging approval in her voice.
“I didn’t understand at first,” she continues. “Thought maybe she was being manipulated.” She laughs at herself. “But I see it now. You balance each other.”
“She calms the storm,” I admit.
Anna studies me, her eyes searching my face like Willow’s. “And you give her the strength to face the wicked parts of her.”
This new alliance between us feels fragile, built on careful conversations over late-night drinks while Willow slept. Anna asked about my childhood, about prison, about the voices. I answered as truthfully as I dared. Her clinical mind—Willow inherited that too—processing my pathology without judgment.
“You’re not what I wanted for my daughter,” she said one night, words softened by wine. “Maybe you’re what she needs.”
Now, she hands me a small leather-bound book. “Found this in town yesterday. Thought you might like it.”
It’s a journal, expensive by the feel of it, with a compass rose embossed on the cover.
“For your thoughts,” Anna explains. “Willow mentioned writing helps.”
The gesture leaves me speechless. This woman who should fear me, hate me, instead treats me like family.
“Thank you,” I manage, turning the journal over.
I go down to the shore, where Willow stands ankle-deep in the surf, her blonde hair dancing in the ocean breeze. The sand is hot beneath my bare feet until I reach the shoreline where the water laps against the earth.
The journal feels strange in my hand—a gift for normal people with normal thoughts. But I’m learning to accept these small kindnesses.
Willow turns as I approach, her smile lighting up her face. The sight still hits me like a physical force. Six months of freedom, and I still can’t believe she chose this life with me.
“Hey, you,” she says, reaching for my hand.
Instead of taking it, I pull her to me, one arm snaking around her waist. I kiss her deeply, tasting salt on her lips from the ocean spray. Her body melts against mine, familiar and perfect. When we break apart, her eyes are shining.
“What was that for?” she asks.
“Do I need a reason?”
She laughs, her fingers trailing along my jawline. “No. Never.”
I hold up the leather journal between us. “Your mom gave me this. For my thoughts.”
Willow takes it, running her fingers over the embossed compass rose. “It’s beautiful.”
“Why would she give me something like this?” The question comes out more vulnerable than I intended.
“Because she sees you,” Willow says simply. “Not just what you’ve done, but who you are. Who you’re becoming.”
I look back toward the veranda, where Anna sits, watching the horizon. She gives us privacy while staying within view. She raises her glass slightly when she catches my eye.
“I never thought I’d have this,” I admit. “A family.”
“Me neither.” Willow leans against my chest, facing the endless blue where the ocean meets the sky. “I was so busy hiding parts of myself that I never thought I’d find someone who understood me like you do. I had my mom, but I knew she wouldn’t understand, not like you do.”
I take Willow’s hand in mine, feeling the familiar softness of her skin against my calloused palm.
“Walk with me,” I say, nodding toward the stretch of beach that curves beyond the rocky outcropping. Away from the house, away from Tommy’s watchful security cameras, away from Anna’s kind but ever-present gaze.
Willow tilts her head, studying my face. “Everything okay?”
“Everything’s perfect. Just want you to myself for a bit.”
She smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Lead the way.”
We stroll along the shoreline, the damp sand cool beneath our feet as the sun dips toward the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink.
Here, the cove feels more private, sheltered by palms and the natural curve of the shoreline. The only witness to us is the fading light and the endless ocean.
I stop walking and turn to face Willow, my hands finding her waist. “Swim with me?”
“Now? We didn’t bring suits.”
I raise an eyebrow, a challenge in my eyes. “Who needs them?”
Willow glances back toward the house, though it’s no longer visible from here. “Skinny dipping? Really?”
“Afraid?” I tease, already pulling my t-shirt over my head.
She laughs. That uninhibited sound still surprises me whenever I hear it. “Not on your life, Morrison.”
In one fluid motion, she grabs the hem of her sundress and pulls it upward, revealing the smooth skin of her stomach, her ribs, and her breasts. I watch, transfixed as always by her confidence, her beauty. She stands before me, unapologetically naked in the fading light, her blonde hair tumbling over her shoulders.
“Well?” she challenges. “Are you coming?”
I shed my remaining clothes quickly, feeling the evening breeze against my skin. Together, we wade into the warm waters, the gentle waves lapping at our bodies as we move deeper. The water feels like silk, embracing us as dusk settles over our private paradise.
I pull Willow against me in the water, feeling her slick skin sliding against mine. The sunset paints her skin golden, droplets clinging to her eyelashes as she looks at me.
“You’re fucking perfect.” My hands slide down to grip her ass. “Every inch of you.”
She wraps her legs around my waist, the buoyancy of the water making it effortless. “So are you.” She runs her fingers through my hair. “My dangerous man.”
I dip my head to taste the salt on her neck, biting gently. “You like that I’m dangerous. Admit it.”
Willow moans softly as I suck at her pulse point. “I love it. I love how you make me feel when you take control.”
I cup her breast, feeling her nipple harden against my palm. “Tell me what you want,” I demand.
“I want to feel you inside me. Right here in the ocean.”
I grip her thighs tighter, positioning her. “You want to display your devotion publicly? To demonstrate how completely I command your pleasure?”
She rolls her hips against me, teasing me. “Yes. I want the whole fucking world to know who I belong to.”
Her declaration makes me growl. “And who’s that?”
“You, Axel. Only you.”
I slide into her with one smooth thrust. Willow gasps, her head falling back.
“You’re unbelievable,” I groan, holding her suspended in the water as I thrust up into her. “Every inch of you feels like paradise.”
“Harder,” she demands, nails digging into my shoulders. “Make me yours.”
I obey, driving deeper while supporting her weight. “You like being fucked in the ocean? Anyone could see what a dirty girl you are.”
Willow moans, her body tightening around me. “I don’t care. I just need you. Need this.”
The water splashes between us as our movements become more urgent. The sun dips lower, casting long shadows across the water, but I can only focus on Willow.
I grip Willow tighter as the warm ocean water swirls around us. Her legs lock around my waist, her body rising and falling with each thrust. The setting sun casts golden light across her wet skin, making her glow like something otherworldly.
“You’re so fucking beautiful.” I tangle one hand in her hair, pulling her head back to expose her throat. “Taking me so deep out here where anyone could see.”
She moans, her inner walls clenching around me. “Only you get to see me like this. Only you.”
The possessiveness surges through me like wildfire. Mine. All mine.
I drive deeper into her, the water creating resistance that makes every thrust more intense. Willow’s nails dig into my shoulders, drawing blood.
“Mark me,” I command, my voice rough with lust. “Show everyone who I belong to.”
She bites down on my shoulder hard enough to leave an imprint. The pain shoots straight to my cock, making me thrust harder.
“That’s it, pixie. Fuck, you’re perfect.”
I shift our position, moving us to where the water is shallower, my feet finding purchase on the sandy bottom. With this leverage, I can drive up into her with more force. Each thrust pulls a desperate cry from her lips.
“Axel, I’m close,” she whimpers. “Please don’t stop.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” I slide my hand between our bodies, finding her clit with my thumb. “Come for me. Let me feel you fall apart.”
Her head falls back, water droplets cascading from her hair as her body tightens around mine. I can feel her starting to pulse, her pussy clenching.
“That’s it,” I encourage, circling her clit faster as I drive into her. “Let go for me.”
Willow’s orgasm hits her like a tidal wave. She cries out my name, her body clamping down on me so tight I see stars. The force of her pleasure triggers my own, and I thrust deep one final time, emptying myself inside her with a guttural groan.
I hold Willow against me as the aftershocks of pleasure ripple through both our bodies, the warm water lapping gently around us. The sky has deepened to purple, the first stars appearing like distant witnesses to our connection. She rests her forehead against mine.
“I never thought I’d find peace.” The honesty of my words surprises me. “The voices, the rage—they’ve always been there, driving me. But with you...” I trail off, searching for words.
Willow traces my jawline with her fingertips, her eyes reflecting the emerging stars above us. “With me?”
“With you, I can breathe.” I press my lips to her forehead, tasting salt. “You don’t try to fix me or change me. You just... see me. All of me.”
She smiles, that smile that still makes something in my chest constrict. “And love all of you.”
The word no longer terrifies me like it once did. Love. Such a dangerous thing, yet I’ve surrendered to it completely.
“We’re not normal,” I say, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “We never will be.”
“Normal is overrated.” Willow wraps her arms tighter around my neck. “I’d rather have this—us—exactly as we are.”
I look past her at the endless horizon, at the infinity of ocean and sky melting together. For the first time, I’m not running from something or hunting something. I’m simply existing, present in this perfect moment with the one person who quiets the chaos inside me.