Page 35 of Axel (Belles & Bratva Beasts #2)

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

AXEL

“Lie down, you stubborn, fucking, mule.”

I jolt from my chair, ready to shove Grant back on his hospital bed, but with one red lacquered fingernail, Delphine pokes Grant’s pec, and he falls for her. Every time, and on his bed.

To ensure his compliance, she rewards him with an unblushing kiss, their lust obvious and not caring that we’re in a hospital.

“All this passion,” my mother sighs, “and still no grandchild.”

I wince, feeling like I failed her, while Grant jokes, “Mom, we’re not ready to lose sleep over a baby yet. Let Sire and Wren do it.”

I was supposed to do it.

The heir is supposed to be the first to provide the next. But Katya never gave me that chance, and secretly, I’m relieved. I couldn’t see her being the loving mother I had.

Even bruised and battered, my mother fiercely loved us. Like a lioness, she licked her wounds, held us close, and roared at anyone threatening us…

Except our father.

No one, not even her, could stop him.

Ruslan Kholodov would ruthlessly hold my youngest brother. First Jace, then Nick, then Loch. He’d grab the most vulnerable, making my mother plead through tears until she relented, and Sire or I would go with him.

He wanted us to learn, to watch him do his bloody bidding, until Sire started praying for him. Morality didn’t sit well with my father, so he put his focus on me … in every brutal way.

At least I learned how to torture, how to kill, and every time I do it, I see my father. I see my revenge and redemption. I only kill evil men like him.

“Or,” Grant teases, pulling Delphine down to lie with him, “ask Axel. He’s found his next queen. They can give you a true heir.”

Even though he’s shirtless, with hospital sheets tucked around his waist, and sickening bruises swell, dark and painful under the ink over his ribs, Grant’s fucking with me.

I snarl, “You’re supposed to keep your mouth shut.”

“Oh, but he can’t. He likes her.” Delphine rests on Grant’s chest, smiling. “He came home from your mission and told me how you found your true queen. You just need to stop playing games with her.”

In her French accent, Delphine makes it sound torrid and teasing. She can’t help it. But I’m not fucking around about Ruby. I’m serious and taking my time.

“Do my sons care to tell me who, or must I smack your thick skulls together?”

Mom never beat us. She didn’t need to. She’d playfully smack the back of our heads or tug our earlobes until we whined and obeyed.

But with anyone else? My mother rules with an iron fist, a hellcat pistol, and a calculating mind that’s a hundred steps ahead, anticipating your next moves—a skill only a survivor acquires.

She doesn’t need to kill you, though she will. Wait a month, and you’ll find your life in ashes and my mom smiling with a hot, gold lighter in her hand.

“Aleksi.” My mother rarely says my birth name. We never speak Russian. We’ve perfected our American accents, some of us sounding Southern, too. We blend in. We survive. We thrive, though occasionally, my mother reminds me that though I’m King, she’s The Queen. “Who is she?”

In an ivory Chanel bouclé dress and her long dark hair in an elegant twist, my mother sits in the chair beside me, demanding, expecting. She looks like royalty, because she is.

The daughter of a wealthy oligarch, a descendant of the last Tsar of Russia, she became the stolen princess, the young queen to the evilest man. No matter how my father made her bleed, blue blood thunders in her veins.

She raised us with the same nobility.

“You’ve met her,” I confess.

Do I keep things from my mom? Sure. I’m a grown-ass man into kinky shit.

But lie to her face? Never.

She arches a groomed brow while Grant stirs the pot. “She’s beautiful. All fiery hair, fearless and feisty, and she doesn’t put up with his shit. He can’t bat his baby blues at her and make her swoon. She’s a badass.”

Oh, but I can spank her ass and make her obey.

I smirk at the memory stirring my cock.

“I’ve met this woman?” my mother asks.

“The cowgirl at the club.” Finally telling her about Ruby does something to my chest. It’s warm. It’s promising. “She was the one, wearing a blonde wig, who you tried to help that night. ”

“The luxe night?” Mom nods, remembering, “But she was upset. Was it with you?”

Oh shit. Don’t let my mom find out we’ve wronged a woman.

“No, Ruby wasn’t mad at me. She was stalking me.” Mom smiles, impressed. “Because I was stalking her. She works for me and knows about us. And now, I’m trying to protect her and go slow, but diarrhea-of-the-mouth over there is talking shit, so … so much for that.”

Delphine giggles and Grant beams like Ain’t love grand.

“Where is she?” Instantly, my mom worries. “We have that sex-trafficking psycho on the loose now. He tried to shoot my little baby,” she points at Grant, ignoring that he’s six-foot-five, “and now he can go after everyone we love.” She points at me. “Everyone you love.”

“She’s secure. She’s with Nick and Zar.” I love that my mom immediately protects whoever we love. “She’s on vacation in Greece with them. Turner can’t get her there.”

“I want Turner’s blood,” my mother seethes. “I want him chained and bleeding. And I want every man who’s ever bought from him. They’ll suffer like they’ve made so many suffer and?—”

“Yes, my Queen.”

I understand.

My mother never got justice. She got freedom. She got us, but she lost the love of her life doing it. Still, she fights for others trafficked as she was.

The phone in my pocket chimes. It’s Nash calling. TWO reads across my screen and I answer, “Yeah?”

“We’ll stay at the marina until this system passes.” Nash updates me on his status, hiding out on his boat in stormy weather with Vale Monroe. They’re the ones exposed to Turner. Turner knows their identities, not ours.

Even while we held him captive after we trapped him, luring him to us through a gambling golf tournament, Turner saw no faces and heard no names but Nash and Vale’s. It’s unfortunate, but by design.

We cover our faces, use numbers instead of names, and hide our properties behind anonymous LLCs—I make sure of that. We all have second and third hideouts.

And if we need to, any king will take the heat for others. That’s the sacrifice Nash is making for us now, so we’ve got his back.

“And yes,” Nash sighs, “I’ve found my queen.”

I smile, relieved. “Told you.”

I’ve watched Nash’s secret love for Vale Monroe deepen. For years, she was just his daughter’s best friend. Alena and Vale are close. But when Vale matured into a hot, snarking spitfire, giving Nash unrelenting shit? And me , I might add. He finally saw her as a woman, as his.

He’s killed for her, and now, he’s claiming her.

The irony doesn’t escape me; Nash found his queen, and I found mine. Neither of us would ever share our queens, yet we know we’ll have to.

I don’t gloat about it.

I understand him.

“And you’ve found yours, too, you sneaky piece of shit.” And Nash understands my silence. “Who is she?”

Too quickly, this is getting out of control. Grant, Sire, Jace, and now my mom know about Ruby. And Nash? I’d never lie to him, but I won’t overwhelm him. He’s got enough going on, keeping Vale safe and protecting Alena, too.

“Grant’s in the clear.” I change the subject. “No internal damage, just some wicked bruising.” I glance at my mom and speak of Turner. “We’re going to rip the last pieces of that fucker apart when we find him.”

“We did so much damage already,” Nash replies, “he could’ve drowned. ”

Nash took one of Turner’s eyes out for disrespecting Vale. I let him, and then Jace, Grant, and I took turns interrogating Turner for intel—for his hideout and associates. We held him captive on my boat, and we were breaking him until…

“We don’t operate on luck,” I tell Nash while I glare at my brother. “ Clearly. I can’t believe Grant let his guard down.”

Grant rolls his eyes while Nash defends him, “He feared we were losing our asset. We always check a pulse.”

He’s right. But that was a close call, Grant, getting shot at point-blank with his gun when Turner grabbed it while Grant checked his pulse. Thank god, my brother was wearing a vest.

I can’t imagine losing a brother or a queen.

“Alena?” I ask. It’s instinct. “The other queens?”

“Secure,” Nash answers for his daughter and Vale. “The Queen?” he asks.

I nod at my brother, his wife, and my mom, hearing every word. “With Grant. And she wants blood.”

“She’ll get it,” Nash promises, ending our call.

Tucking my phone in my pocket, I toss my chin up, blinking at the fluorescent lights, my heart torn in two.

I’m loyal to my family. I want to be here, protecting them. We have a vengeful predator on the loose.

But I need to be with Ruby.

Six days without her have been hell. Our calls and kittens are some comfort. But then she gets Zar to send me the hottest shots of her lying topless on a Grecian beach and I fucking die.

Hunger like I’ve never felt pulses through my veins. Like a starving man, the meal of Ruby is all I can think about. Like a dying man in a desert, she’s my water, my survival. That’s this maddening instinct to find her, to have her, to consume every inch of her and...

“Go.” My mother’s voice turns my heavy stare to her. “We’re fine.” She smiles. “Go get your queen. ”

“But we have kittens.”

Shit.

The words fall from my mouth before I can stop them. Like a doting dad, I can’t leave them, and Grant laughs. “Our family needs grandkids, not kittens, you pussy-whipped fuck.”

I bark, “Says the man so pussy-whipped for his French wife that you cream for French fries.”

“Hey!” Our mother glares. “Never forget where you came from. Don’t you dare use that word as an insult. Honor it. Honor your women, or we’ll smack your delicate balls.”

Delphine laughs, Grant shuts up, and I shake my head, chuckling.

“I’ll take care of the kittens,” Delphine offers.

“Hell no,” Grant huffs. “Then you’ll want to keep one.”

“And we will.” Delphine trails her long fingernail down his chest. “Honor your queen, remember?”

My mother nods, surveying the proof of how she’s raised us, then she reaches for my hand to calm me because I want to punch the shit out of my little brother.

Do I love him? Always. Do I care he’s injured? Yes. Will I still beat the snot out of him? Hell, yes. We fight. We kill. We’re alpha as fuck and will prove it.

But for our queens?

My mother squeezes my clenched fist, and I remember … we were raised to love, too.