Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
A ll the built-up tension between us—the stolen glances, the near-misses, the moments spent pretending I didn’t want more—comes crashing down in this one moment. Every denial, every boundary I’ve tried to honor, shatters as his mouth claims mine.
Never in a million years did I think I’d end up here, pinned against a wall, making out with one of The Five . Especially Axel-fucking-Bonanno .
We’re kissing like we’re reckless teenagers, like we’ve got nothing to lose. And I know— God , I know—how wrong this is. I shouldn’t want this. I shouldn’t want him .
So why does it feel so good I never want it to end?
Axel presses harder into me, one hand tangled in my hair as his mouth takes and gives with a force that’s nearly violent.
I can feel the rough scrape of the brick wall biting into my back—a delicious blend of pain and pleasure—as he nips at my lower lip.
My throat releases a breathless, needy moan, a sound that spills out of me like permission. Like surrender.
It’s just us now, in the alley. The rhythmic throb of bass leaking from Club Palma. And the fevered, wet sounds of our mouths devouring each other .
His tongue moves like sin, coaxing and claiming mine, and the way he grabs my waist—fingers digging in, unrelenting—is branding me with his want. I’m already drowning in it. And I don’t want to come up for air.
My hips tilt instinctively, chasing the friction I shouldn’t crave—but do.
I don’t even try to hide the pleasure I find when I lift one leg and hook it around Axel’s, pulling him in closer until there’s no space left between us.
We’re swallowing each other’s moans, stealing each other’s breath, tangled in something far too intense to name.
His hand finds my thigh, fingers slipping beneath the hem of my dress. I’m silently begging him to go higher, to push further—but he doesn’t. His grip is firm, his touch rough, but there’s a reverence in the way he handles me. Like he wants to take his time. Like he’s afraid of breaking me.
I want to find out what else that mouth of his can do besides ruin me with a kiss—but then reality hits me like a slap.
I jerk back, heart hammering.
“What’s wrong?” Axel pants, voice gravel-thick as he holds my face like I might disappear if he lets go.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, breathless. “I shouldn’t have…”
Axel knows what I’m about to say before the words even leave my mouth. He steps back, giving me the space I need to breathe, to collect myself—even if it’s already too late for that.
“I need to go,” I murmur, pushing past him, my chest tight with a storm of emotions. Lust and guilt churn violently inside me, hot and chaotic. I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore.
I reach for the door, fingers trembling, but just as it swings open, fiery blue eyes lock onto mine.
Lexie .
“There you are!” she shouts from the doorway, making me flinch.
My pulse crashes in my ears, my breath ragged as I try to act normal—while Axel, infuriatingly, stands there looking completely unfazed. His hands are shoved casually into his pockets—the same hands that scorched my skin moments ago.
I have no doubt I look sheepish right now—the way Lexie’s eyes narrow at me says it all. She knows me too well not to sense that something just happened, even if her intoxicated state is muddying her instincts.
Just when I think I might get away clean, she blurts, “So you told him about the article?”
My blood runs cold.
“What article?” Axel’s voice is sharp, his eyes zeroing in on Lexie like a blade. I’ve never seen her retreat so fast. She takes a quick step back, already backpedaling, avoiding the question like it might bite her.
“Lexie!” I call after her, panic lacing my voice. But she’s gone—abandoning ship and leaving me to go down with it. And Axel? He’s the fucking Kraken.
“Axel, I?—”
He pins me with a look that steals the air from my lungs. I shrink back against the wall, arms wrapped around my middle, trying to find warmth against the chill spreading through me.
“What the fuck is she talking about?” he growls, stepping in and caging me against the brick with one hand beside my head. He’s so close, I can’t think. Can’t breathe.
“Cooper,” I stammer, my eyes flicking to the ground—only to find my view blocked by the weight of Axel’s looming presence. There’s nowhere to hide.
“He wrote an article about you,” I force out, the words bitter on my tongue. “It’s bad. I didn’t read it all, but it’s?—”
“Bad,” Axel finishes for me, his voice low and razor-sharp. There's a flicker of understanding in his expression—relief, even, that I told him the truth. But it’s fleeting. The glint in his eyes turns lethal, and I know someone just landed on his hit list.
“Yeah,” I whisper, my voice barely audible. I can’t bring myself to meet his gaze. The shame sits heavy on my shoulders.
Still, Axel reaches out and lifts my chin with two fingers, forcing me to look at him. His eyes, cold and unrelenting, search mine—like he’s trying to decide whether to forgive or destroy. And yet… there’s something else there. A glimmer of something almost like solace.
He exhales sharply, pulling away from the wall and adjusting the lapels of his suit, trying to regain control.
“How bad is it?”
“Bad enough to ruin both of us,” I murmur, the weight of it pressing down on every word.
“Motherfucker!” Axel spins and slams his fist into the wall behind him. The sound cracks through the alley, and I flinch. I don’t need to look to know his knuckles are bloodied.
“I’m sorry.” The words leave me in a broken whisper, and Axel turns instantly. The sharp edges of his expression soften as he steps closer.
“Don’t be. This isn’t your fault,” he reassures, his hand lifting to cradle my cheek. “I don’t care what he does to me, but he’s not going to ruin your life, too.”
It’s funny how the simplest of words seem to calm me. Yet the sincerity hits me like a freight train. It’s the most he’s ever shown—raw, protective, and real.
I just stare at him, mouth parted, completely speechless. What am I supposed to say? Thank you ? Stop ? My brain is short-circuiting, and I’m certain he can see every gear grinding behind my eyes.
Without waiting for me to speak, he takes my hand and pulls me toward the fire exit. “Let’s get a drink,” he mutters, already leading the way.
I follow Axel back into the club. He doesn’t even have to wave the bartender down—he’s already been clocked. With a casual two-finger salute, Axel is handed two glasses of whiskey and the bottle to go.
He shoots me a look and nods toward the stairs. Without a word, I fall into step beside him.
Axel takes the steps two at a time, balancing both glasses in one hand and the bottle in the other like it’s nothing.
Meanwhile, I’m trailing behind him, trying not to trip over my own feet like a newborn gazelle.
We reach the top and head down a long corridor.
To my right, a balcony overlooks the dance floor—right where I saw Axel watching me earlier.
At the end of the hallway, he pushes open a door and braces his back against it to hold it open for me. I slip past him into what looks like an office. A sleek desk anchors the back of the room, and two deep red leather couches sit opposite each other near the entrance.
“Have a seat,” Axel offers, nodding toward one of the couches.
The door closes behind us, muffling the bass thudding from the club below. He sets his suit jacket down before handing me a glass and sinking into the seat opposite mine. He watches me from over the rim of his drink.
“So… you own this place?” I ask, just to break the silence. Ever since Lexie dropped the Cooper bomb, he hasn’t exactly been chatty. My eyes scan the room—the dark wood panels, the minimal furniture. It’s clean, masculine, quiet.
Axel shakes his head, finally answering with a sip of his whiskey. I mimic the motion, swallowing a generous gulp. The smoky burn coils down my throat and settles like heat in my chest.
The tension between us might be buried for now, but it’s far from gone. Especially with the way he’s still raking his eyes over me—slow, intense. It makes my nerves spark to life all over again.
My eyes drink in the sight of Axel in that tailored silver-gray suit.
It hugs his body in all the right places—broad shoulders, narrow waist, crisp white shirt stretched clean across his chest. The tattoos trailing up his neck peek just beneath the open collar, drawing my gaze like a flame.
I lick my lips unconsciously, already imagining what his skin would taste like under my tongue .
“I know the owner,” Axel states, breaking my trance with that low voice of his—the kind that hums in my bones and tugs at my gut. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and I hate how much I love it. There’s power in the tension he creates between us, and he wields it like a goddamn weapon.
“Explains a lot,” I murmur into my glass, trying to compose myself. Axel leans in with the bottle, refilling my drink to the brim. There’s a devilish smirk curling at the corner of his mouth—like he’s letting me in on a private joke I haven’t figured out yet.
“What’re you thinking?” His voice is low and rough around the edges as he studies me. He doesn’t look away, just watches—really watches—like he’s memorizing every flicker of expression on my face.
I laugh softly, swirling the amber liquid in my glass. “I’m thinking if we finish that bottle, I’ll be drunk enough to forget how complicated all of this is.”
He chuckles, slow and deep. “Don’t worry,” he mutters, his voice thick with conviction. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
And for some reason, I believe him. The way he says it—quiet, steady, without hesitation—makes my breath hitch.
He lifts his glass and my eyes are drawn to the bruised and bloodied knuckles wrapped around it.
A reminder of who he is. What he’s capable of.
But instead of fear, something warm settles in my chest.
I swallow. “And what about you?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. “Who’s going to take care of you?”
For a second, something flickers in his expression. Not amusement—something softer. Something that almost hurts to see on a man like him. But he masks it quickly with a lopsided smile, dry and a little sad.
“I don’t think anyone’s ever asked me that,” he admits, his eyes dropping to the rim of his glass. “Not without wanting something in return. ”
Silence stretches between us, heavier than before. Not uncomfortable—just full. Honest. It lingers until he breaks it by gesturing to the couch with a tilt of his head. “Come here. You look like you need to stop thinking so damn much.”
Another hour passes. The bottle that was once full now lies nearly empty between us.
I’ve somehow ended up stretched across the couch, my legs draped over Axel’s lap, the heat of his hand absentmindedly stroking the side of my calf.
I’m lightheaded from the booze and the feel of his touch, but my head is clearer than it’s been in days.
He tells me about the other four men—his brothers, not by blood but by bond.
There’s Hunter, the loud one with the spotlight constantly on him; Ryder, quiet and stuck in his father’s shadow; Max, the silent type who speaks with his presence more than his words.
And Trigger—his closest friend, the only person Axel trusts with things he can’t even say out loud.
“You trust them that much?” I ask.
Axel nods slowly. “With my life. But even with them... there are things I keep to myself.”
“Like what?”
He glances at me, the weight of something unspoken behind his eyes. “Like how fucking tired I am of pretending I don’t want more.”
The words hit me harder than I expected. There’s no bravado in his voice, no sharp edges. Just raw honesty.
I shift slightly, watching him. “More from… this life?”
“More from everything,” he murmurs. “Control, loyalty, power—it all used to be enough. Now I’m not so sure.”
My chest tightens at his confession. It’s the most real he’s been, the closest I’ve seen him to letting the armor crack. “I think you want to be seen,” I say softly.
He looks at me, a little stunned, like the idea never even occurred to him. “Maybe,” he finally says. “Maybe I just want someone who doesn’t look at me like I’m already damned. ”
His hand stills on my leg, and my heart skips when his eyes lock with mine.
“Maybe I want you.”
He says it so quietly I almost think I imagined it. But the way his fingers tighten on my thigh, the way his jaw flexes like he’s trying to swallow back everything he’s never allowed himself to say—I know he means it.
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. The air between us is suddenly too heavy, thick with a truth I’m not sure either of us is ready to hold.
“You don’t know what you’re saying,” I whisper, but it’s weak—pathetic, even. Because I want to believe him. God help me, a part of me wants it more than I want my next breath.
He leans in, just enough for his forehead to brush mine. “I know exactly what I’m saying,” he growls, voice rough at the edges. “I’ve spent my whole life taking what I want. But this—” His eyes burn into mine. “This I’d fucking beg for.”
My pulse stutters. I feel his words settle deep in my bones, rattling loose every piece of sense I have left.
“You shouldn’t say things you can’t take back,” I breathe.
He smiles then—small, almost sad. “Cassie, the only thing I can’t take back is you .”
And I know in that moment that if I let him, I’ll never be able to take myself back, either.