Chapter 13 Axel
Axel
Beckham shifts in the seat beside me, exhaling sharply. He doesn’t complain about the late hour—it’s not his style—but I can see the weariness in his shoulders. It’s been a long day and I know the cold air outside is going slap us in the face when we step out.
I tug my jacket tighter as we climb out of the truck, these brutal winter nights are no joke.
Locking the truck with a quick beep, I glance toward the café, my gaze lingering on the lights inside.
Teagan is still there, as I knew she would be, working later than she should.
She’s got Bristol to help now, but that doesn’t stop me from wishing I could wrap her up, take her home, and keep her safe from everything.
Even if it’s been six weeks since the last letter, the memory of it still gnaws at the back of my mind.
The break-in, the cryptic warnings, someone turning on the burners waiting for her to get blown up—whoever’s behind this is patient, cruel.
The kind of person who waits for you to let your guard down.
I reach the door and push it open, the soft jingle of the bell breaking the silence.
Warmth rushes out to meet me, carrying with it the smell of coffee and sugar.
It’s a comfort, one that makes me hesitate for a second before stepping inside.
Teagan stands behind the counter, her head bent as she counts the register.
Bristol works wiping down the last table, moving with the kind of easy confidence I’ve come to rely on.
The two of them have been a solid team these past weeks, and for that, I’m grateful.
Beckham follows me in, his boots scuffing against the floor as he shrugs off his coat. I lock the door behind me out of habit, flipping the deadbolt.
“Long day?” Bristol’s voice carries to her brother across the room as she sets down her rag.
“Yeah,” Beckham answers, his tone as laid-back as ever, though I catch the flicker of concern in his eyes as he glances at Bristol. “How about you?”
“Not bad,” Bristol replies, “Just as busy as ever, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.” She gives him a smile that doesn’t quite meet her eyes telling me she is more tired than she’s letting on.
I walk toward the counter, stopping just short of Teagan. “You about ready?”
She glances up, flashing me her “I’m not worn-out” smile—but I see right through it. “Almost.”
Her voice is light, but the exhaustion weighing on her is apparent.
She’s been pushing herself too hard, pretending everything’s fine when we both know it isn’t.
My jaw tightens as I glance at the finally empty café, the quiet space a reminder of the unease that’s been creeping closer with every passing day.
Bristol moves toward the back, reaching for the broom, but something catches her eye. She freezes mid-step, bending down slowly to pick something up from the floor. The folded piece of paper in her hand makes my stomach drop.
“Teagan,” Bristol says, her voice steady but low. She walks to the counter, holding out the note without a word.
Teagan hesitates, her fingers grazing against the paper as she takes it. I step closer, the tension in the air sharp enough to cut. She unfolds the note, and even from here, I can see the shift in her posture—the way her shoulders tighten, and her breath catches for just a second.
"You took what was supposed to be mine. Leave now, while you still can. Next time, it won’t be a warning."
Reading those words hits me like a bullet straight to the heart. My hands clench into fists at my sides, and I have to force myself to stay calm.
“Not again,” I mutter, stepping closer to her. “Teagan—”
“It’s nothing,” she cuts in, folding the paper and tucking it into her pocket. Her voice is firm, but I can see the crack in her resolve.
“It’s not nothing,” I snap, unable to hold back the frustration. “This isn’t going to stop until we do something.”
Beckham steps forward, his tone calm but firm. “We’re on it. Security is solid. Cameras are running. Whoever’s doing this isn’t going to get past us.”
Bristol nods, her gaze steady. “We’ve got you, Teagan. You’re not alone.”
Teagan gives them both a weak smile, but I can see the way her posture shifts, the subtle muscle tick in her jaw. She’s holding it all together, not wanting anyone to see the storm brewing beneath. The concern lingers, just below the surface.
As the door closes behind us, the cold air gives a sudden gust taking our breath away. It's sharp, bitter, but somehow feels like a small reprieve after the heaviness we left in the café.
But as we’re walking toward the truck, I hear a sudden, loud crack—like a sharp pop, something breaking, or splitting. Turning my head, I search for the source. Before I can react, I hear an ear-piercing scream.
“Teagan!” I spin around, panic flooding my chest.
Teagan’s foot slips out from under her, and she crashes down hard onto the pavement. Her body skids, her arms flail about, but she can’t catch herself. She’s pinned to the ground, her leg twisted at an odd angle, and I’m already rushing toward her, my heart in my throat.
“What the hell—” I reach her just as she tries to push herself up, her face pale with pain.
Her eyes flash with anger—and fear. “I’m fine, Axel, it’s nothing.” But the way she’s clutching her side says otherwise. The familiar feeling of helplessness creeps in.
“Teag, no. That isn’t nothing. Someone did this.
” I stand between her and the ground, checking the pavement for any sign of what caused it.
I catch a glint of something on the ground—a scattering of salt, but not where it’s supposed to be.
A patch of black ice, perfectly timed for her to slip—a deliberate setup.
“Someone’s trying to kill you,” I growl, fury burns hot and fast in my veins.
Behind me, Beckham and Bristol approach quickly, checking on us. Beckham kneels down next to Teagan, checking her leg carefully. “We need to get you inside. Can you stand?”
Teagan nods her head, wincing, but doesn't cry out. She’s strong, tougher than nails. Suddenly, hair stands up on the nape of my neck. And I know the culprit is near watching, hoping for her demise.
I look up at Beckham. “Call the cops. Get them here. And get the footage from the cameras —now.”
Beckham’s eyes darken, but he doesn’t hesitate. “On it.”
Bristol gives me a sharp look before turning to Teagan. “I’ve got her. Don’t worry.”
As Beckham makes the call, and Bristol helps Teagan to her feet, I stand at the edge of the lot, my eyes darting between the shadows and the street.
Again, the damn hairs on the back of my neck prickle, standing at attention.
Something’s off. It’s too quiet. And then I see it.
A dark figure, too quick, too deliberate.
A shadow darts down the asphalt at the far end of the lot, slipping into the trees near the edge of the cliff.
THIS. ENDS. TONIGHT!
A surge of adrenaline hits, raw and electric, and I don’t even think—I just move.
I reach into my jacket, my fingers closing around the cool steel of my 9mm, and I’m off. My boots slam into the pavement, the sound of my heartbeat pounding in my ears as I close the distance. I can’t let him get away. Not after what he did to Teagan.
My breath comes in sharp, ragged bursts, the cold night air filling my lungs as I push harder, pumping my legs faster.
The trees blur around me, my focus narrowing in on the figure ahead of me.
He’s trying to zig-zag to throw me off, but I’m quicker.
I’m not letting him lose me. The crunch of snow and twigs underfoot sounds deafening in the quiet of the woods, and my limbs burn, but I won’t stop. Not until he’s behind bars.
There’s only one way out of these woods: down the cliff, into the sea. He knows that now, and I can see it in his movements. He’s trying to shake me, but he’s running out of time.
I’m almost there—so close now—and then he stops. Turning to face me, his breath misting in the freezing air, he pulls a gun from under his coat, and my instincts scream. I pull my own weapon, steadying my aim, my heart racing.
“It wasn’t supposed to be you.” The voice hits me like a shock wave. I know it. The words are familiar, but the tone... it’s off.
I see him then, really see him. Grady Stewart. The bastard who’s been playing his game from the start. His coat flaps in the wind, the glint of something in his pocket catching my eye. A cigar. A damn cigar.
“I was going to open a cigar shop,” he says, his voice dripping with something I can’t quite place. Regret? Or maybe it's just the same greed and rage I’ve seen in too many men like him.
I don’t hesitate. “Do you think I care?” The words tear from my throat, full of anger for hurting Teagan.
My fists clench tighter around my gun, we stand in a dual.
I’m furious, so damn furious, but there’s something deeper behind it.
A protective instinct. "You tried to kill the love of my life, Grady. And I’m supposed to just let that slide? ”
I step forward, ignoring the pain in my legs, tension building in my chest. "You set a trap for her to fall on black ice—she could’ve broken her neck, or worse. What the hell is wrong with you?”
Grady’s face twists, his finger coils around the trigger, but there’s a flicker in his eyes—like he’s almost confused by my anger.
“That spot is prime real estate,” he snarls.
“I knew I had to have that spot, but then when the woman I’ve always loved kept complaining about Teagan and I knew I had to get rid of her once and for all.
I tried running her off but she just wouldn’t go!
” His hand shakes as he shifts his gun, his finger still on the trigger.
A cold, cruel realization sweeps over me. This guy is actually psychotic. “What?” Standing my ground, my voice grows colder, but more controlled. “If you kill Teagan, you’re not just losing your precious spot, you’re going to jail, Grady. And you’ll never get your cigar shop.”
His cheeks turn beet red, but my eyes never leave his as I watch his every move. He’s lost and unpredictable. He’s beyond reason.
“Stella will ba..bail me out,” he stutters, his voice a twisted mixture of desperation and belief. “She’ll fix everything.”
I asked confused. “Stella?”
“Yes! She LOVES ME!” He shouts. “She patted me on the chest that one time in the coffee shop.”
I let out a short bitter laugh. She probably doesn’t even know his first name, or at least his last. She only cares about herself. He’s completely delusional. “She can’t bail you out of a murder charge.”
His finger tightens on the trigger. My breath lodges in my throat when I hear the click.
Diving low to the ground, I hear the bullet whistle past my head just barely missing me.
Then another pop sounds from his gun. A sharp pain rips through my bicep as the bullet grazes my arm, but I don’t stop.
The pain is nothing compared to the rage that’s fueling me now.
I roll as I go down, coming up on one knee and fire one perfect shot between his eyes.
He stumbles back, and I watch, helpless, as he tips over the edge of the cliff. His body falls, hitting the jagged rocks below, disappearing into the violent crash of the sea beneath.
I stand there for a moment, breathing heavily, my heart hammering in my chest. My arm is burning as blood seeps through my sleeve, but I can’t tear my eyes away from where he’s fallen. He’s gone. And I’m still standing.
Grabbing my bleeding arm, I stagger to my feet, my vision blurring for a second.
I take a step toward the cliff edge, my feet unsteady.
The wind stings my face, the cold piercing through my jacket.
And there, at the bottom of the cliff, Grady’s body washes up on the shore, his gun still in his hand.
“Damn it,” I whisper, the sound almost lost to the roar of the waves below.
The wail of sirens breaks through the fog in my head, but it’s distant, fading.
This is surreal like this shouldn’t be real.
I stagger back, my legs weak beneath me, and finally, I feel it: the burning exhaustion, the relief that comes with knowing Teagan’s safe—there’s no doubt I’d give my life to protect her.
I press my palm to my wound, my hand slick with blood, and I wait.
“He’s shot. Tend to him while we get to the other one,” a medic yells out running past me.
I’m going to be fine, the bullet didn’t hit anything serious. The threat’s been eliminated. It’s over. And Teagan is safe.
It was worth it. Every bit of it.
For a moment, the weight of the world lifts off my shoulders. I let my head fall back against the cold metal of the ambulance and I close my eyes. She’s safe. She’s really safe.
And for the first time in what feels like forever, I let myself breathe.
The paramedic’s voice cuts through the fog of my thoughts. “We’ve got to clean your wound and bandage it. This might hurt.”
The words feel far away like I’m not even part of this moment.
I hear the medic again, but it’s just background noise now. I’m already thinking about her, already planning what I’ll do when I see her again. I’m going to hold her, make sure she knows—knows—I love her. I can’t imagine ever living without her. I’m going to make her mine permanently.
In the midst of all the chaos, a strange peace settles over me, Teagan Sinclair is going to be Teagan Pembroke sure as the stars and moon shine above.