Page 30 of Axel (Belles & Bratva Beasts #2)

CHAPTER NINETEEN

RUBY

“Turn around, you preppy prick in a bow tie. Come on. Let me get a good shot of you.”

I aim my phone and pinch the screen to zoom in on the crowd gathered at the bus stop on Meeting Street.

From where I sit in the window of a corner bar across the road, I can scan the crowd of familiar faces waiting for the bus. Some of them work at Luca’s hotel. Some I know from years of riding the bus, too.

I can easily spot who doesn’t belong. Who I told to meet me at the bus stop so I could pay his bribe.

While Axel was gone all day, I got the text we were waiting for. It demanded one hundred thousand dollars, or a video clip of me “having an affair with my boss would be sent to my husband.”

Did I bother troubling Axel’s big, sexy brain with this small excursion?

Nah. He’s got enough on his mind.

This is my mission. I’m not stupid enough to meet the man in person. I just need a picture of his face so that Grant can scan it and determine which of the three owners of the rental chalet is filming and extorting the guests.

It’s obviously this preppy fucker.

Typical.

I don’t trust men in seersucker suits. Okay, I don’t trust most men, but any man with whales on his tie can blow my hole.

I hate them.

This is the man bribing Nick, Brayton, and the daughter of the owner of Delta’s. This man, shifting nervously in his loafers, is the one targeting gay pro athletes.

A green city bus lumbers through the intersection, breaking in front of its stop and blocking my view.

I sip my iced tea and wait for it to move. When it does, my target is gone, but my mission is complete.

For now.

I signal my server so I can pay for my she-crab soup while I turn back and watch the bustling evening sidewalk outside.

It’s almost summer, and tourists crowd the city, motivating many locals to go on vacation. I’m looking forward to mine with my sisters. We’ll have fun. We always do, but I’ve never felt this…

I’m going to miss Axel.

Yes, the arrogant, smug boss who I loved to hate. The one whose executive chair I’d lower every night after he’d leave, just to piss him off the next morning. The one who made me so mad once that I changed the notifications on his desktop to sound like Tickle Me Elmo.

Yeah, him. I’m going to miss how he holds me at night.

I meant it; I hope Axel calls me. I hope absence makes the heart grow fonder … and feral.

God, I’m so feral for that man. He’s making us wait. Okay, I’m doing it too, and my pussy is not pleased with the stand my heart is taking, and quite frankly, I’m impatient with it, too. I’m almost?—

“Well, well,” a deep voice mocks over my shoulder, “fancy seeing you again.”

Fancy? No. I turn around to meet the smarmy eyes of John Calloway. Standing next to him in Madras shorts and a yellow polo is his lanky friend, who he’s told all about me; I can tell by the equally smarmy grin on his face, too.

“Fancy a fuck off,” I scoff before writing in a big tip on my restaurant receipt.

“Why so mad, Rubes?” John sips his beer. “My wife’s not here, so we have lots to catch up on.”

“No, you have an unhinged wife, and I have a life. I have nothing to say to you.”

“That’s fine.” He jeers, “Your mouth has better talents than talking.”

“And my fists would have a lot to say to your balls, too,” I smile, “if you had any.” I grab my purse and phone, jolting to my feet. “Now, step aside. Life is short and so is your dick and I have other places to be.”

He blocks my path. “You weren’t complaining about my dick in high school. You were moaning on it and begging for more, so we gave you two.”

“And yet,” I bat my eyelashes, “I was still unfulfilled. But, hey, that’s what I get for starting with the trial size.”

“Damn, she’s feisty.” John’s friend stares at my cleavage, barely revealed by my belted black shirtdress. “I bet she loves to have all that pride fucked right out of her.”

It’s instant, the spike of my pulse. The recognition of a predator. The pure disgust that floods my veins.

“Is your ass jealous of the amount of shit your mouth talks?” I try to push past them. “Because you couldn’t fuck a hole in the ground if you fell in it. ”

But they don’t move, and for the first time, I’m thankful for my high heels. I stomp on John’s foot, stabbing my spiky heel into his Sperry loafer, and he yelps as I shove through their barrier.

In quick strides, I push through the bar’s double doors, my heart racing like my steps down the sidewalk. With a glance over my shoulder, my stomach knots, spotting them. They’re following me with lecherous scowls. They’re after me.

I whip out my phone, thumbing through my contacts for SPITTING CObrA. He’ll be furious with me, but I don’t care right now.

With one ring, Axel answers, “I’m right behind you.”

Relief floods me. “I’ve never been so thankful for your stalking.”

“There’s a graveyard on your left, just a half block up. Lure them there, and we’ll take care of it.”

“We?”

“Kings protect their queens, Wildfire. Don’t ever doubt it.”

A graveyard is always nearby in a city with over four hundred churches. This one is tucked behind an iron fence under a palm canopy, shadowing a neat row of weathered headstones dating back two hundred years.

“Kind of kinky,” John sneers with his friend, stalking behind me through the open iron gate, “but whatdoyasay, Rubes? A threesome in a cemetery? I’m game.”

With no fear, I turn and confront my predators. I let John approach. I let him reach out to fondle my breast before?—

“No, Calloway, you’re dead.”

They whip around to face the ferocious wall of Axel, seething with his vow, and … that’s not Grant . But it looks just like him. Maybe just a smidge cuter, sweeter, sexier.

Oh, that’s Jace—the big teddy bear who bashes skulls.

Good god, these brothers won gold medals in the Olympic gene pool. Their father might be the world’s deadliest asshole, but unfortunately, he’s got to look like a gigachad.

Translation for all over fourteen: the ultimate man. Hot. Masculine. Muscular.

But they double down with the Mafia swagger, too. And I know how hot—sorry, Axel—how stunning their mother is.

Their beauty is distracting from the murderous show about to happen.

“What the…” John falters at the menacing sight of Axel. “What are you doing…” But he catches on quickly, throwing up his hands. “Hey, man. We were just having some fun with her.”

Without a word, Jace drops a black hood over the other man’s face and covers his mouth, muffling his shouts.

I look behind them, through the ivy-laced gate, to see if there are witnesses, but it’s a quiet side street. I’m the only one watching as Axel muscles his way toward John, backing him into the deep shadows of the church, and Jace follows with his captive.

“Fun with her?” Axel snarls. “You dare to touch my queen? To even fucking speak to her?”

He pulls out a black tactical knife from his right front pocket, its automatic blade snapping with a razor-sharp reveal.

“Scream, and you die. Let me have a little fun with you, and you live.” Axel trails the dagger’s tip across John’s neck, drawing a trickle of blood. “What’s it going to be, Calloway?”

“Cameras.” John glances around. “You can’t do this. There are cameras everywhere.”

“Not here, princess,” Jace mocks. “This ain’t our first knife party.”

“But… but…” John trembles, “But I didn’t even touch her.”

“Oh, but you did .” Axel towers over him.

“And then you shamed her for doing exactly what you did. For wanting what you wanted. For being curious like you were. You know, for such a wealthy man, you can’t afford that double standard.

” He presses the dagger’s tip to John’s cheek under his shaking eye.

“And you were about to assault her just now. That’s not a double standard, Johnny-boy, that’s deadly in my book. ”

In a slow, calculated cut, Axel pierces John’s flesh, dragging the blade down his cheek while John whimpers, and I stand, shocked. Not horrified. Shocked at how I’m not appalled by what I see.

No, I want to applaud.

Maybe I’m not civilized. Maybe I’m too country. Maybe the only justice poor people like me get is vigilante justice, and it feels good.

In seconds, Axel leaves a weeping gash down John’s face. It’ll leave a scar. A permanent warning.

From his left pocket, Axel reveals a small, white paper packet. When I read the label, I see the beast Axel warned me about.

But unlike the nights with my stepfather, I don’t want to run from Axel. I want to stay, right here, admiring him.

“You know the saying ‘salt in a wound,’ Johnny-boy?” Axel even sounds evil. “We say it now as an idiom for excruciating pain. And it is. Trust me, my father taught me well.”

Blood drips down John’s cheek, staining the blue cardigan draped over his shoulders. I glance down and note the wet stain on his Madras shorts, too.

Axel’s made him piss his pants.

“But it originated as a medicinal practice,” Axel keeps lecturing, and it’s the first one I’ve ever enjoyed. “It cleanses a wound.” He tsks, “But, oh, Johnny-boy, let me tell you. It burns like the fire of hell. It’s a helluva price to pay for healing. So tell me…”

With his teeth, Axel rips the salt packet open. “How many girls and women have you hurt? Other than mine , how many?”

“I… I…” Blood pools at the corner of John’s blubbering mouth. “I haven’t ever?—”

“Don’t fucking lie to me,” Axel fumes. “Predators are made, not born. You were raised entitled. You were taught women are objects you can use and abuse. You became delusional about their desire. You think they want you when they actually fucking hate you. I was born to a man like you, so fucking say it. How? Many? ”

Tears well in my eyes. Not for John’s temporary suffering. But for Axel’s. For his life.

To be born to a monster. Raised by a monster. Abused by a monster. And to be half a monster.

But Axel has a heart. The purest heart and mine breaks at the pain he’s endured. His mother and brothers, too.

“I don’t know,” John quavers. “Only one. Maybe two. But she wanted it and?—”