Chapter 5 Axel #2
"I haven’t figured that part out yet,” I admit, stealing another glance at her.
She’s settled at the bar now, one heel hooked on the rung of her stool, her back straight but not rigid. The bartender slides a martini toward her—gin, not vodka, with what looks like a twist instead of olives. A woman who knows exactly what she wants.
“This is unprecedented,” Alek marvels, leaning back against the booth. “Axel Warner, legendary for his ice-cold tactical approach to everything, is actually flustered by a woman.”
“I’m not flustered,” I growl, but the heat crawling up my neck betrays me.
“Your left eye is doing that twitching thing it does before you punch someone.”
I force myself to relax, to unclench the fist I didn’t realize I’d made. “This isn’t a battlefield.”
“Isn’t it, though?” Alek’s voice softens, becomes serious. “For you, everything’s a tactical operation. Analyze, assess, execute. You’ve never just... felt something and acted on it.”
The truth of his words stings more than I want to admit. Everything in my life has been calculated, controlled, and contained. Even my rare relationships have been carefully selected, managed, and eventually terminated with surgical precision when they no longer served their purpose.
This—this gut punch of recognition—is entirely outside my operational parameters.
“She’s talking to someone,” Alek observes, nodding toward the bar.
A man has taken the stool next to her. Expensive suit, Italian shoes, the practiced lean of someone used to getting what he wants.
He’s saying something that makes her smile politely, but I can see the slight stiffening of her shoulders, the infinitesimal shift away from him.
She’s being courteous, but she’s not interested.
Something primitive stirs in my chest.
“Easy, tiger,” Alek murmurs, clearly reading my reaction. “She’s handling it.”
Indeed, she is. With a grace that speaks of practice, she’s creating distance without causing offense, her body language clear to anyone paying attention. Unfortunately, her admirer doesn’t seem to be getting the message. He leans closer, his hand moving to rest on the bar just inches from hers.
I drain my whiskey in one burning swallow and stand.
“Ax,” Alek warns, but I’m already moving.
The bar seems to stretch and contract as I approach, the ambient noise fading to a dull roar in my ears. I’m not even sure what I’m going to do when I reach her, but my feet carry me forward with the inevitability of gravity.
I’m three steps away when she laughs at something her unwanted companion has said.
The sound stops me in my tracks—not the practiced, polite chuckle she’d offered before, but something genuine that transforms her face.
Her eyes crinkle at the corners, her head tilts back slightly, and for a moment she’s radiant with simple joy.
The sight of it hits me like a physical blow. I’ve seen beauty before—in sunset-streaked skies over desert mountains, in the perfect execution of a mission, in the relief on a rescued hostage’s face. But this...this is different. This feels like finding something I didn’t know was lost.
The man says something else, leaning in with increased confidence. Her smile fades, replaced by that polite mask again. Her fingers tighten around the stem of her martini glass.
That’s when her eyes find mine over his shoulder.
For the second time tonight, the world stops spinning. Her gaze locks with mine, and I see something there—recognition, perhaps, or relief. Without thinking, I close the distance between us.
“Sorry I’m late,” I say, the words coming from somewhere I don’t recognize within myself. My voice is softer than usual, but still carries the authority that makes men twice my size stand at attention.
The suit half-turns, irritation flashing across his face before he registers my size, my stance, the look in my eyes that has made hardened criminals reconsider their life choices.
“I didn’t realize you were meeting someone,” he says to her, but his eyes stay on me, measuring the threat.
“That’s because she was being polite,” I say evenly. “But now I’m here, and you’re in my seat.”
There’s a moment—there’s always a moment—when a man decides whether his pride is worth the consequences. I watch the calculation play out across his face, the mental assessment of his chances against someone built like me. He makes the smart choice.
“No problem,” he says, sliding off the stool with forced casualness. “Nice talking with you.”
She doesn’t respond, her eyes still on mine as he retreats. Up close, they’re even more remarkable—a deep amber with flecks of gold, intelligent and wary and curious all at once.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she says, but there’s no reproach in her voice. “I was handling it.”
"I know you were.” I don’t move to take the vacated seat, maintaining a respectful distance. “But sometimes it’s easier when someone else steps in.”
Her lips curve slightly. “And you just happened to be passing by?”
"No.” The honesty surprises both of us. “I saw you the moment you walked in.”
Her eyebrows lift, but instead of looking uncomfortable, she seems intrigued. “That’s either very romantic or slightly concerning.”
"It surprised me too,” I admit, feeling strangely exposed. “I’m not usually so...”
"Forward?” she suggests.
“Certain,” I correct her.
Something shifts in her expression—a flicker of recognition, perhaps, or understanding. She studies me for a moment, then extends her hand. “I’m Della.”
I take it, hyper-aware of the softness of her skin against my callused palm, the delicate strength in her fingers. “Axel. Most people call me Ax.”
"Axel,” she repeats, ignoring the nickname, testing the full weight of my name. It sounds different in her voice, like she’s uncovering something hidden within those two syllables. “Are you going to sit down, Axel, or just loom intimidatingly all evening?”
The tension breaks, and I find myself smiling—a genuine smile, not the calculated one I use in negotiations or the predatory one that warns of danger. I take the seat beside her, feeling like I’ve passed some test I didn’t know I was taking.
“So,” Della says, turning slightly to face me fully, “My friend is running late, so you have fifteen minutes to tell me five things about yourself.”
I fight the goofy smile spreading across my face and nod. “Deal.”