CHAPTER FIFTEEN
AXEL
She’s eating cherries because she skipped lunch. Who the fuck does that? It’s a goddamn garnish, not a meal.
And each time one touches her tongue, her lashes flutter, and a faint purr emanates from her. Like she’s on the verge of coming. It’s making me sweat. If I have to endure one more sultry, indulgent hum from her, I’m going to combust. Or tie her down and retrieve the cherry with my teeth.
“You seem stressed,” she notes, pushing one into her cheek so there’s a healthy lump where my cock should be. “Is it about this? Everything’s moving according to the timeline.”
Too young. Employee. Probably hired to kill me. Or to find information on Rena. Or at the very least, to spy on my members. You’d think that would be sufficient to curb this ache I seem to have for her.
The off-limits, horrible-idea aspect must be making it worse.
And that figure-hugging navy dress. It’s professional—hitting at her knee, sleeves to her elbows, off one shoulder, belt at her waist—but all those modest details enhance the urgency to discover what lies underneath. She’d give Audrey Hepburn in her prime a run for her money.
I offered to have a late lunch catered in, but Zara insisted her garnish was sufficient. She chews her fruity treat, sucks her lemonade through a thick straw, licks her plump lips, and smiles. She has to be fucking with me.
Ignoring her for a beat, I spin roulette on my watch. Today’s bet is six. The ball bounces, jumping from pocket to pocket, from red to black, landing on twenty-one—that was my number yesterday. A subtle reminder that everything has been slightly off lately.
“Not about this,” I finally manage, adjusting my glasses. “Launch dates are optimistic, but still feasible. I have meetings with some officials scheduled. The sites with the most compliance from government players will go live first.”
She scrutinizes the proposed timetable while dragging a cherry over her lower lip. “The earliest is still a year out, so I’m sure you’ll make the needed connections by then.”
“We,” I correct.
“What?” she asks, dazed, like she’s as mesmerized by the fruit as I am.
“The connections we will make since you’ll be part of my executive staff until the end of fucking time.” I take the jar of cherries and the fancy tool she uses to spear them and set them on my office bar. “You can have your snack when we’re done working.”
“Well,” she sings, standing and sauntering to the floor-to-ceiling window that peers out at the city, the delectable curve of her ass a far superior view, “when you make being a La Lune Noire lifer so appealing, it’s hard to remember I’m a captive.”
She is essentially a captive. I’ve trapped her here more than she even realizes, but I’ve also got one finger hovering over the button to exile her. It’s anyone’s guess which would be a worse fate. Because I’m conflicted. She’s at my mercy, and I still feel like I’m losing.
Helping myself to a midday drink because my coffee isn’t cutting it, I pour two fingers’ worth of Glenfiddich 30 Year Old on the rocks. “Not such terrible accommodations for a prisoner.”
“I would have agreed before the warden stole my cherries.” She reins in a mischievous grin, those salacious green eyes twinkling before she twists back to the cityscape. “I do enjoy the employee culture here.”
I sip my scotch, chastising myself for relishing the warmth and fire and beauty she brings to my office. “Let’s be done for today. I’ve got another … matter I need to handle.”
She spins, studying me, her mahogany hair tucked behind her ear, offering a slight semblance of false innocence. “Is that what’s upsetting you? What’s the other meeting about?”
She’s digging.
I drop into my chair and swivel to face her. “Why don’t you just tell me what you’re searching for? Maybe I’ll provide it.”
Her face never betrays her—she’d be an excellent gambler. “You are never ruffled, yet clearly, you are today. But you think me noticing that and being concerned is a ploy?”
“Yes.”
“Fine,” she huffs through a brittle smile that nearly convinces me she does actually care, but she follows it with sarcasm. “And if I simply tell you what I want, you’ll give it to me?”
My dick has evidently usurped control of my brain because that sounded sexual. Maybe she’d wanted it to. Another avenue to obtain what she really came for.
Tamping that down, I keep my response laconic. “Perhaps.”
“What if it’s something that crosses a line for you?”
Everything about this and you crosses a line. I’m so far past it; I can’t even see it anymore.
Instead of sharing that outright, I skirt the edges.
“What uncrossable line is left at this point? I suspected you were here to kill me and haven’t retaliated yet—that’s one hell of a line.
And I already own you. I’m reaping the benefits of your skills.
You’re smart and an asset, so I may be inclined to give a little more.
Might as well try me. Worst case is, I don’t supply what you need. ”
“I’m not sure that’s accurate.” She stares out the window again, watching the bustling city. “There’s no intel that would be worth killing me over?”
I consider that for a beat before resolving to be forthright. “If it’s being gathered to harm my family, that’s unquestionably the line of fire.”
“That’s fair,” she whispers, and that authenticity is why I can’t help but want to save her.
She’s stuck. But she’s going to betray me; I can feel it. And then there will be no way out for either of us.
Her vulnerable request from a few days ago hasn’t stopped filtering through my mind. “Come up with a real solution. Because you’re right; I’m in trouble.”
“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what you need, Zara.”
She ambles to the door with a raw admission. “You know I can’t do that.”
She can’t unless she’s prepared to be a traitor, blacklisted, and put on a hit list. I could help with that—in exchange for her loyalty. But I wouldn’t trust me if I were her.
She halts at the threshold, but hardly spares me a glance. “I’ll let you get to your meeting.”
“I don’t have another meeting.” Stay.
She grips the molding of the doorframe, peering back at me. “A hot date then?”
I haven’t thought about another woman since I laid eyes on her, but it’s futile to tell her that when it can’t amount to anything. So, I play into her idea. “Something like that.”
Her face falls, though she quickly schools it. “Someone suitable, I hope.”
I’m not sure what that means, but it’s a decent opportunity to set boundaries for both of us. “Age appropriate.”
She bobs her head, a barely discernible pulse in her jaw. “Is that the only requirement you have for suitability?”
My eyes never leave hers as I swill my drink and set it on my desk. “It’s an important one.”
“How old is too old?”
A slight chuckle escapes me. I like that she started with that direction. “More than five years.”
“And too young?” she inquires.
“Same.”
The room grows hot and muggy for seconds that tick by like a year of seasons before a summer storm, our gazes crashing, our impasse thundering, and the blustery tension between us … brewing.
“So, Mr. Noire does indeed have another line he won’t cross.” She flashes me a wry smirk, bats those thick lashes, and readies to leave. “Well, it’s a good thing I have a hot date, too, since I’m out of bounds twice over.”
My heart stops, a sharp pain shooting through my sternum as my hands ball into fists. “You have a date?”
“Don’t worry,” she calls as she struts into the hall. “It’s a suitable one.”
“What are my options?” I ask Ryker three hours later, after giving him the rundown on my need to find a solution for Zara’s predicament.
He rolls his dice in his palm, though he’s staring at me. “What do you want to achieve?”
Omitting my blooming obsession with her, I keep it simple. “I don’t want her to betray me, and I don’t want her dead.”
A wry, all-knowing chuckle falls from him. “Is that all?”
I grunt, unsurprised that he can read my desire for her between my words. “For the most part.”
The reality of the situation doesn’t permit my infatuation to be realized.
It’s not even about my own practices. The main reason KORT only authorizes the extremes of one-night stands or marriages is because the in-between is when things get murky.
Pillow talk. Sexual relationships can turn intimate fast, secrets get spilled, and without a solid commitment, classified KORT information could be leaked.
Even a one-night stand with someone I see daily would be unacceptable—too much potential for intimacy to build.
Violating that bylaw would either force us into a marriage or deem her a threat. Neither scenario would be safe for her.
Everything about us already feels intimate.
When I arrived in the conference room earlier, she’d placed Our Mutual Friend by Charles Dickens there.
It’s a thick book, so anticipation pumped through me as I flipped the pages to find her telltale green highlighter: No one is useless in this world who lightens the burden of it for anyone else.
It felt like a thank-you or at least validation that I hadn’t even known I needed. This weird literary exchange we have going makes me want to build her a whole damn library and fill it with every book ever written, which would take a lifetime, but …
Ryker’s dice hit the table, and he watches them roll as he speaks.
“Hiring her was a wise move, especially with you putting her on lockdown. She can’t carry out a hit on anyone, and even if she gained intel, she’d be insane to leak it without an extraction plan.
She must know we have eyes on her at all times.
That makes her less of a threat around Mercy and Tessa than half of our members at this point.
And in turn, she’s protected. I wouldn’t change a fucking thing. ”
Scrubbing my hand over my chin, I exhale my frustration. “I don’t disagree, and she hasn’t claimed that she isn’t on a job against us. But we can call it whatever we want; she’s still imprisoned.”
“And alive, Axe.”
He’s right. If it were anyone else, she’d be dead already—if not by my hand or KORT’s, then by whoever she works for after I sent her packing.
And while she’s here, her employment is saving her life.
Wells probably has someone in the resort by now, and my executive staff won’t be where they concentrate their search. But I don’t confirm that.
After giving it some serious thought, Ryker pockets his dice and leans on the conference room table.
“Well, I doubt she’d be open to it, but if you want her protected from whoever her client is and still unable to strike against us, we have a number of favors we can call in.
We could marry her off to someone connected.
Get a claim out on her, so it’s her client against an organization, not a rogue assassin.
But that’s challenging without knowing who she’s working for. ”
“She probably doesn’t know,” I muse.
Many assassin networks don’t provide that information.
It’s one of the advantages of hiring an outside firm.
If an asset gets caught and interrogated, they can’t reveal an identity they aren’t privy to.
For that same reason, they’re often spoon-fed details on a longer job.
Everything is geared to protect the client.
“I figured.” His pensive stare scrapes over me, but I ignore him and spin my roulette wheel, until he finally moves on. “Of course, it can’t be someone in a secret society because she wouldn’t pass a loyalty test.”
I already thought of that, but I keep that to myself because he’s baiting me, and I’m not ready to divulge how fucked up my head is over her.
“I’m not going to marry her off to some asshole who will see it as him ruling over her.
She’s too strong and talented for that. We were adamantly against most of the prospects for Rena.
This should be no different.” I stand abruptly, ready to head back to my office.
“Zara wouldn’t go for it either. This isn’t the kind of solution she’s looking for. ”
His deep tenor stops my tracks before my hand is even on the doorknob.
“Despite what you keep saying, that girl is under your skin. Maybe you haven’t even admitted it to yourself.
But if you start something with her and she turns out to be betraying KORT, it could get you both killed.
And even if she isn’t working against them or hired to harm our family, she doesn’t sound like someone who would willingly stick around.
Do you really want to risk it all for someone who won’t reciprocate? ”
It’s not as though I haven’t ruminated on all of that, but it’s still a crushing weight smacking into me.
I glance over my shoulder at him and shake my head. “You’re overthinking it. This is nothing more than the daughter of someone who died by our father’s hands. I’d like to make it right.”
“Remember that then. Because you might be nothing more than the son of the man who murdered her mother. And she might be here to make it right.”
His final warning wars with my conviction that she’s not vindictive with every step back to my office.
Of course, the reason I met Ryker in our private conference room is because I had security sweep my office to ensure Zara hadn’t planted a bug in there, so vengeful or not, we’re a long way off from trust.
They did send me an all-clear though, so the only thing she did today was her job.
And she did it well. She even suggested an alternative payment system based on merit and oaths because assassins on the run don’t always have enough cash for the type of equipment they need, but favors in that world can be worth a lot.
We’d be the only place able to supply them in that instance. It was a brilliant idea.
Still, Ryker had valid points.
Breezing through my office, I catch the illuminated city skyline and don’t bother turning the lights on.
I’ll only be a minute since I plan to check in with Bernard about my upcoming arbitration meetings.
Then I’ll go back to the penthouse to put Remy to bed so Mercy can join Ryker on his evening walk-through.
Stepping into my private bathroom and closet—an area I added when my siblings were little kids with sticky fingers and I’d often squeeze in lunch with them and need to change—I wash up, straighten my cuff links, and shrug my suit jacket on, forgoing the tie.
It’s been a long day. I flip off the lights in the dressing area and tuck my phone away.
And when I stride back into my office, my hackles rise.
Someone’s in here.