2. Ember #2
“I beg to differ.”
“Meaning?” Axel’s tone has reached a sub-zero deep freeze.
“Now that, dear pup, is absolutely none of your business.”
Rolling his lip piercing as he unveils an amused smirk, Blaine scours over me, disregarding Axel’s rapidly building rage. He really doesn’t appreciate that particular nickname catching on so quickly.
Intense onyx eyes sear beneath a mop of untidy, raven locks, left long on top and shaved on the sides. With an old scar warping the right side of his face from his eyebrow over his exaggerated cheekbone and down to his strong jawline, Blaine’s bad boy persona screams danger.
His all-black jeans, dark t-shirt and signature leather jacket only add to the image, encasing his slim but strong limbs in armour. Even if he lacks Hyland’s bulk, his two long, powerful rowing oars give him height that adds to his scarily magnetic presence.
“Hello, Ember.” He slowly lavishes my name like it’s his favourite concoction of syllables. “You look… tired.”
“No shit.” I glare at him. “Having fun?”
“Living the dream.”
“So I hear.”
“You’re back early. Trouble in paradise?”
His smirk doesn’t budge, not even at my exaggerated eye roll. The scheming bastard loves to worm his way under my skin. Like his presence in our lives isn’t already confusing enough.
When Sabre offered him a plea deal in exchange for his assistance, a part of me was secretly thrilled by the idea of having him close. Blaine’s dark aura, his raw intelligence and silent schemes… it all exudes influence and power. We need his brand of evil right now.
It doesn’t hurt that he’s delicious to look at either.
A fact my ovaries have most definitely noted.
“Something like that,” I dismiss quickly. “Why have you been driving Axel mad?”
Blaine flicks invisible lint off his shirt. “He’s the mad one. I’ve been perfectly polite.”
“Because throwing a knife at me is perfectly polite!” Axel blusters.
“It’s not buried in your gut, is it?” Blaine responds. “There you go. Polite.”
“God, I cannot wait to demolish you with a machine gun then piss on your corpse.”
“I would enjoy seeing you try. It’s been a while since I practiced my skinning skills.”
“Come near me with a knife again, and you won’t have hands to practice anything with.”
“Guys.” I grapple to find some patience. “Enough.”
Neither pays any attention to me. They’re far too busy tossing verbal barbs in lieu of actually pulling their dicks out to measure them side by side. Fantastic. This is really productive for effective teamwork.
Escaping their pissing contest, I head straight for the kitchen to locate a cold beer from the fridge. I don’t know when Warner or Hyland will make an appearance, but before they do, I need a drink.
By the time I’ve popped the cap with my teeth and thrown back half of the bottle, Axel and Blaine have followed me into the kitchen. Considering there are five people currently living here, the marble surfaces and array of high-end appliances are pretty spotless.
Blaine lounges on a stool at the breakfast bar, his switchblade retrieved from Axel now spinning between his fingers. Ignoring him, Axel opens the cabinet where my medication is organised and begins to dole out my evening pills.
“I can do it,” I feebly protest.
“You’re cute and all, dimples, but you look like a strong breeze would knock you over right about now.”
He plasters on a cheerful smile while pushing the bright-coloured handful across the marble countertop towards me. Glowering at him, I ignore the way my knuckles twinge, still coated in dried blood.
“I do not.”
Axel shrugs. “Just an observation.”
“Then observe silently in the future.”
“Is that an order or a threat?”
“Can’t it be both?” I quip back.
“Well, I’d prefer a threat. That would be far hotter.”
“Then it’s a fucking order.”
From the breakfast bar, Blaine chokes on a laugh. I ignore him and watch Axel’s brows raise along with his quickly growing grin.
“That’s my ball-buster.”
When I move to toss the pills into my mouth, his smile falters.
“Um, probably not advisable to take those with a beer. I need to look at your injuries too. Hyland told me that he found you nearly passed out.”
“That little rat,” I mutter under my breath.
“Yep. He’s a real snake.”
Glancing at where I’m clenching the beer bottle, the damage from assaulting the boxing bag without wraps is apparent. My hands are puffy, the skin enflamed and littered with shallow lacerations.
In the moment, I felt nothing. The pain was inconsequential. It didn’t matter that I blasted past every last physical limit I have, particularly since the epilepsy diagnosis. All I wanted was to get my rage out.
Setting the beer aside, I nod in defeat. Axel quickly fills a water glass then slides it over for me. The pressure of Blaine watching us both burns into my skin as I focus on swallowing my pills.
“When is your next follow-up?” Blaine asks.
“Tomorrow,” I reply.
“Are the pills working?”
Axel flashes him a dark look. “Stay out of this.”
“I’m not allowed to ask?”
“You’re not allowed to pretend like you care or you’re part of this team.”
Blaine narrows his eyes on my golden psycho. “I do care.”
“You’re not capable of it.”
“Because you are?” he combats.
“For her? Fuck yes. Ember is our family. Don’t ever question what I’d do for her.”
“Right,” Blaine drawls. “And we all know family is so precious to you.”
I watch Axel immediately stiffen.
“Shut it, Madden.”
“After all, Sabre is all you have left now.”
“Final fucking warning.”
“Or what?” Blaine waggles his eyebrows.
“You do not want to find out,” Axel cautions threateningly.
“I think I do.”
Something festers between them—a palpable tension that raises my hackles. Studying Axel’s body language, he appears to shake himself when he notices my stare, trying to relax as he looks away from Blaine.
“Bathroom.” Axel points in that direction. “Let’s clean those hands up.”
“What’s going on?” I ditch the empty water glass.
“Go on,” Blaine goads, still lounging like he’s on holiday. “Tell her what’s crawled up your ass. I’d be happy to corroborate.”
Face flushing with a red tinge, Axel ignores the shit-stirring ex-con. “It’s nothing, Em.”
“Sure doesn’t sound like nothing.”
“Well, it is. Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”
Axel steers me from the kitchen without another glance in Blaine’s direction. This only seems to amuse him more, Blaine winking at me as we pass him. I merely glare back.
“Maybe him working with us wasn’t such a good idea.”
“You think?” Axel scoffs. “That psycho’s got a brain full of monkeys. Trust me, it takes one to know one. At least I’m semi-sane.”
Honestly, the pair are probably far more alike than they’d ever admit. No one is happy with Blaine’s presence here, but for whatever reason, Axel seems to have taken particular issue with him.
Leading me towards his bedroom, I’m offered a glimpse of Axel’s private space. Unlike Hyland’s blue-toned cave of dark wood and bookshelves, Axel’s room is bright and lurid—just like him.
The charcoal-painted walls are plastered in movie posters, art prints, humorous postcards and more. It’s a full mosaic of uncontrolled chaos that hits me with sensory overload. Every inch is covered in his madness.
The generous double bed is covered in tie-dyed blue and green sheets with a huge, fluffy blanket messily piled at the foot. While not as basic as Hyland’s space nor as structured as the glimpse I’ve seen of Warner’s militarily organised bedroom, it isn’t untidy.
At the sight of a gnarly, half-destroyed blue rabbit between Axel’s two pillows, I choke on a breath. It’s like he tried to hide the ancient teddy but quickly gave up and nestled it on a throne of pillows.
“Oh my God.”
“What?” Axel’s steps falter.
“You sleep with an old rabbit?”
An adorable red flush creeps over his inked neck. “Uh, no.”
“Then what’s that?” I point towards the ragged stuffy.
“Ah, that’s just… it’s… a… um, mistake.”
Hearing Axel splutter only intensifies my amusement.
“You totally do! You have a comfort bear.”
“Bathroom, Ember!” he snaps, clearly flustered. “Move it.”
Still snickering, I let him tug me into the en-suite. It’s similar to mine—decently sized with a walk-in shower, full of sparkling off-white tiles, decadent brass accessories and scattered toiletries.
Positioning me in front of the sink basin, Axel runs the water then holds his hand underneath to test the temperature. Once it’s warm, he opens the vanity to reveal more products stashed inside.
“Ah,” he hums. “Gotcha.”
I study the tube of antiseptic cream he pulls free. “Isn’t Warner the resident first aider around here? You know, ex-field medic and all.”
“If I went to Warner every time I needed patching up, he’d be sick of the sight of me. More than he already is.”
Ointment placed aside, Axel beckons for my left hand first. I let him take it and run my knuckles beneath the warm water, each droplet aggravating the cuts and abrasions revealed beneath the blood.
Much like Hyland’s paws, my hands are already thick with scar tissue. Six years of constant fighting and training will do that to you. This isn’t the first time I’ve busted my own knuckles by pushing too hard.
“I can’t do this,” I blurt without thinking. “Wait for Tom to be found. I just can’t hold on.”
“You’re gonna have to, Em. No one is letting you hand yourself over.”
“I survived once. I’ll do it again.”
“Yeah, fuck that. Not a risk any of us are willing to take.”
“What if it’s not your decision?”
His chuckle is utterly humourless. “At the risk of sounding like Hyland, if you try to leave and take Luis’s insane deal, I’ll be forced to tie your sweet backside up in my bedroom until this is over.”
“Like that would stop me.”
“I tie excellent knots. Go ahead and test me.”
Narrowing my eyes, I pin him with a look. “I could take you.”
“You’re welcome to try. I’d enjoy it.”