CHAPTER TWELVE
AXEL
A laugh bubbles up in my throat as I lie on the floor and watch Zara’s luscious, yoga-pants-clad ass sashay to the door. She slips into the covert hall without another glance back.
Fuck, she’s something else.
Trouble. Ruination. Irresistible.
If she fucked me and killed me, I’d die happier, and she’d be satisfied on all accounts.
I shouldn’t find that as hilarious and tempting as I do.
Might be worth it.
Her snark is invigorating. Sparring with her—physically and verbally—is enlivening. Even when I call her out on it, she doesn’t contradict my claim that she’s here for reasons that could put me or someone I care about six feet under. That alone should be enough to keep me from ogling her.
But the age issue is quickly dying. Any thought regarding her being younger gets lost in our conversations. And when she grinds against me. She doesn’t hold herself like someone in her twenties. She’s poised and mature and … alluring.
And probably closer to death than I am.
I’m guessing reality is hitting home now. Maybe at this very minute since she’s probably stuck in the corridor, unable to leave. I let her sweat it out for another minute before I peel myself off the floor, will my hard-on to stand down, wipe off with a towel, and go after her.
The corridors leading to and within the penthouse walls require various specific authorization to go in or out.
That way, if by chance someone manages to sneak inside, they can’t leave.
It’s a mix of codes; finger, iris, and retina scans; and facial recognition.
You need to be armed with it all to navigate our private domain.
As I round the corner to the first locked exit, she scowls at me.
Her arms are crossed beneath her chest, which has her perky breasts practically spilling out of that tiny sports bra.
Far too tiny to be wearing in public. It makes me want to rip off my T-shirt and cover her up, smack Maddox, and maim the guards—I guess she took care of them.
I saunter closer, and she huffs, glaring at the wall as if her eyes were laser beams that could cut her a hole to leave.
Despite my best effort, I can’t help but chuckle at how furious she is right now. “Such a stellar exit, overshadowed by your inability to escape.”
She says nothing, but waits expectantly. So, I stand beside her, answering emails on my phone—enlarging the print since I don’t have my glasses.
Eventually, her head slowly turns toward me, her emeralds bulging. “What are you doing?”
“Waiting,” I respond without sparing her a look.
I’m not sure why I like messing with her so much. That is a tactic one of my younger brothers would employ. Not me.
Everything I do is strategic, methodical, well planned. Women are no different.
I don’t fuck a woman on a whim. I don’t get entangled in the throes of passion. I don’t entertain anyone inexperienced or those more than five years younger than me.
It holds me accountable. And in turn, I don’t fret over holding them accountable. They sign an agreement—an NDA of sorts. We enjoy our time. And we part ways.
It’s always worked. My parents lost everything—their happiness, their sanity, their lives—all due to love or lust. I refuse to repeat those errors.
Even if I were foolish enough to want that, KORT has very specific rules concerning any type of romantic or sexual relationship. As it stands, they align perfectly with mine.
So, this draw to Zara is irritating. And distracting.
But her skin is flushed from her frustration, her lips are parted with the cutest gasp of indignation, and every one of her toned muscles is working overtime.
She usually hides that lithe and lean physique behind sophisticated clothing that is seductive in its own right, but this?
I’ll never be able to unsee this—her unschooled temper and her glistening curves on full display.
How could I not want to draw out the moment?
“Waiting for what?” She enunciates every syllable, like she’s about to blow. Though even that drips with grace, like her fighting skills. Everything appears poised and effortless under her command.
She makes me fucking dizzy. I want to throw her up against the wall, rip off those workout clothes that fit like a goddamn second skin, and thrust inside her until she never fucking questions me again.
So, I lean close, letting my scruff scrape over her feverish cheek and my breath cool the fiery flesh of her neck, even though my answer will be kindling for her rage.
“I’d say that I was waiting for your cheeks to blush a pretty pink, like they did when you were grinding against me, but they already are. ”
Her lips pop open with thirst and ire. “Then we should revisit why you’re waiting.”
“Ahh, yes.” I grin, savoring the ability to weasel under her flushed skin even though it’s a recipe for disaster. “For that syrupy politeness you use to get what you want.”
“Please,” she whispers while gulping down hostility, “don’t make me kill you in this hallway so I can use your eyeball and finger to make my way out. If my blushing cheeks didn’t make it clear, I really liked the idea of having some fun with you first.”
The reckless threat aside, I know she’s just trying to nettle me, but she really needs to stop suggesting that I fuck her with such unabashed willingness.
She’s brazen and fearless. It’s possible some of that is due to her naivete and her not fully grasping the gravity of her situation.
Her cover isn’t really blown. I don’t know why she’s here, who she works for, or—as far as she knows—her true identity.
And she doesn’t know that I’m involved with KORT, though I threw her a bone that day in the city with my threat to report her.
It wasn’t enough to be seen as a betrayal to my KORT agreement—we aren’t permitted to reveal our position outside of our executive administration or family.
But it should’ve been a clue for her to realize messing with me or my family was certain death—not just for her, but for everyone she loves.
The La Lune Noire empire will go to war over an immediate threat.
But KORT will hunt anyone who dares to cross them. There is no hiding.
Since she returned with me, she either didn’t fully comprehend the tip or she foolishly ignored it.
That was also a way for me to gauge whether she knew about my KORT affiliation, though even if she’s working for the people hunting Rena’s family, they may not have explained it was battling against KORT. Few assassins would accept that risk.
With a shake of my head, I pocket my phone and scan my retina to lead her out. “That’s the kind of statement that ensures a person never leaves La Lune Noire alive.”
She follows me into the next passageway, keeping pace. “Why am I different?”
“Maybe you’re not.”
She scoffs. “My beating heart says otherwise.”
I don’t dignify the accuracy of that statement because beating hearts or not, every interaction with her has me digging a grave. I’m just not sure whose grave it is.
Scanning my fingerprint to open another hidden door, I make a quick turn and guide us to the elevator.
“We’ve wasted enough time today. And enough days avoiding each other.
You were issued a phone. The staff meetings were added to the calendar.
You’re expected to meet in my conference room every day from one to three so we can review the translation work. ”
“To what end?” she snaps, stepping into the elevator beside me.
“To the end that my worldwide satellite sites are launched soon.”
She grunts in exasperation, far more untethered than she traditionally is. “You keep me here, the translation work is completed, and then what? I’m still not able to leave? Let’s say I am on a mission, like you believe, and I’m not safe outside your protection, when would that change?”
“Maybe never.” I shrug. “Surely you know that a hit on someone in your profession is rarely outrun. Once a liability …” I let the insinuation dangle because this is a problem of her own making.
As the elevator settles on her floor, she shoots me another glare. “And how does me being trapped here solve anything?”
“It’s simple, Miss West.” I hold the door once it opens. “You get to live, and you’re unable to carry out a mission that puts my family, my members, or me in danger. That sounds like a big win.”
She rests her hand on her hip, making no move to exit the elevator.
“Even if I were here on this hypothetical mission you’ve conjured up, I’d be one worker bee.
You can cage me, but that won’t stop the queen from sending a whole hive after the honey.
So, your altruistic gesture of harboring me is only so you—the guy who boasts of providing a safe haven for the underworld—can imprison me without guilt, preventing me from living my life. ”
“Right. So, what’s the plan, Zara? Forget the mission you aren’t on. What does your future entail? You marry some unsuspecting schmuck, put up a white picket fence, have two kids, and be a murder for hire between soccer practice and PTA meetings?”
No idea where that came from. Maybe I’m just pissed at her father.
I worked my ass off to keep Rena from this life.
It didn’t pan out, but that wasn’t for lack of trying.
And while she may be connected, she isn’t in the line of fire on a regular basis.
After what happened to Melody—Zara’s mom—how the hell did Stone allow Zara to enter this life?
An ember of darkness coasts through her green eyes before she mutters, “Something like that.”
She has similar concerns. Either she knows she’s in over her head or she’s realizing that she’s shackled by her own choices far beyond her current containment at La Lune Noire.
My chest grows heavy. “Fine. Let’s get you back to that life. Can you complete your mission here?”