Page 55 of Axel (Belles & Bratva Beasts #2)

“Keep fucking talking.” He turns around. “It’ll make it fun to choke you on my cock later.”

“Please,” I scoff. “I wear heels bigger than your dick.”

The doors and windows are locked. He controls them. The road is isolated. This psycho thinks he can kidnap me, but I know I’m worth far more alive than dead. And while I’m alive and avoiding heaven for now, I’m going to give him hell.

“I love that you record innocent people having sex. Is that because you’re taking notes for when you finally do it? You were confused about which hole? Don’t worry. With you, they won’t feel a thing.”

He starts raising the partition.

“I promise,” I shout to the rising glass. “One day soon, someone will pity fuck you … over .”

Then I’m left in silence, frantically searching the back of the limo for anything I can use as a weapon, and I tug at my hand, making sure I left enough slack in the cuff to pull it out when I need to.

Wherever Halstead’s taking me? He’s planned it.

This whole night, he had to have planned.

Shit, did I make it too easy? All the pictures of me with Colton in Atlanta at the same restaurant. I’ve been all over social media.

But wait. How did Halstead recognize me? I was disguised in my video with Axel at Halstead’s chalet.

Unless…

Unless at the drop on Meeting Street, when Halstead was waiting at the bus stop … he was secretly clocking me, too. I was sitting in the corner window of the bar. It was like a giant fishbowl, and I guess… I guess I stand out.

Damn, I’ve never cursed my curiosity and flaming hair before.

But maybe that’s it. Maybe Halstead saw me watching him, and somehow he followed me and Axel that night? The night Axel cut Calloway?

I’m not sure, but it’s my best guess.

Either way, even with my hands cuffed, I’m able to double-click the charm on my bracelet. It’s my SOS beacon. Axel will get it.

The only problem is, will he find me before it’s too late?

The isolated roads Halstead’s taking have highway markers, all of which read ‘East’. I try to stay calm and focus on where we are. Not what he’ll do.

I’m not trapped.

I’ll be okay.

I can always run.

But when Halstead parks the limousine in front of an abandoned one-story roadside Georgia motel, half-eaten by kudzu vines and the perfect place for zombies … or my murder.

I’m not so sure.

The door beside me swings open.

“Ankles.” He tosses leg cuffs at me, the black muzzle of his gun eclipsing his face. “Now.”

“How will I walk?”

“Bitches like you should be dragged.”

“Jeez. Someone’s been trolling the Kardashians.”

I force myself to joke, to find my next inhale and exhale, obeying with trembling hands.

With my wrists and ankles bound and a gun in my face, I’m utterly defenseless except for my mouth.

I could scream, but it would only be swallowed by the empty night and cicadas. So I hold my fire.

When he waves his gun for me to crawl out of the backseat, fuck yes, I lift my chin. When he reaches to grab my arm, I jerk it away.

“I can walk and you can kiss my ass. Every time you touch me is every stab I’ll put in your dick.”

He laughs. Sick and twisted and amused.

“I have lots of plans for your ass tonight.” He presses the cold muzzle to my temple. “And I’ll record it. And send it to the fucking bogus email you gave me and who ever it is that you work for will pay me a million dollars not to fuck your ass again. But I will…” He smirks. “Off camera.”

I’m okay.

I’m okay.

Shuffling in my heels over broken pavement, I let him shove me toward a blistered, red door. Behind a tattered curtain, yellowed with age, a light glows inside the creepy hotel room.

“In,” he commands, so I reach and twist the rusty doorknob, opening the creaking door.

Immediately, I’m overwhelmed by the smell of mold and stench attacking my senses. It retches my stomach when I see the old bed, its bare mattress covered in gross stains.

There’s no power in here. The light that glows is from two camping lanterns he must have brought earlier.

“On the bed,” he orders, and with every ounce of strength I have, I make myself sit and not shake into a million pieces.

Do not drop.

Do not drop.

Breathe.

Stay here.

“I like what you’ve done with the place.” I glance around. “It’s giving me The Walking Dead .”

He doesn’t answer. He leans against the cinder block wall, texting something.

“I was always Team Daryl on that show. You had me at a hot, red-neck MC with a motorcycle and a crossbow. Though Rick was hot,” I chuckle, “his accent was not. We don’t sound like that. Do we? Go ahead. Say something Southern and I’ll tell you if it sounds like your mouth is full of syrup.”

Silence. Texting.

“But I gotta say. Your new limo driver look? All black? It’s way more snatched than your belt with whales on it. That thing is Moby Dickless.”

“Shut up,” he mutters before lifting his phone, its camera light practically blinding me.

“Cheese.” I smile for his kidnapping photo. “Anyway. Let’s talk about your seersucker suit. Ain’t no dick getting sucked in one of those. Sorry, but I’m keeping it real.”

I’m keeping myself sane and talking. I don’t want to slip. I don’t want to drop.

With a ping , my picture’s sent. Probably to the email that Grant checks. I don’t know, but I’m sure my kings will come for me, but what if it’s too late? What if I have a seizure?

Stay here. Stay here. Breathe.

“So my advice is to stay away from nautical fashion for men.” I stay present. “Pussies go dry at sailboats and whales. Ain’t nothing wet about them. Stick with the black. Maybe mix it up with some kicky greys and sick whites and?—”

In two steps, he’s backhanding my mouth so hard he splits my bottom lip open. The taste of blood spills over my tongue while my ears ring from the impact, my head spins to the side while I force my focus on the moldy carpet.

But it keeps me here.

Fuck him. Fuck him.

I lick the metallic taste off my lips and face him with a bloody smile.

“Thank you,” I smirk. “Red is my signature color.”

Purple. No, it’s purple and the first color Axel saw me in. Where is he?

Charleston is hours from wherever in the hell we are.

“So, enough about fashion.” I glare up at him. “Let’s talk business.”

To anyone else, Halstead looks like a Vice President. You know the kind, looking so godly and conservative, he’s hiding the sickest secrets of all ?

“What do you want?” I ask. “A million? Three million?”

“Who do you work for?”

“Oh, I don’t work for him. I kneel for him.”

He blinks, shocked.

“And when he finds you with me, whether I’m dead or alive, he will cut off your hand, salt it, and fuck it up your ass … while you’re alive.” I bat my lashes. “He’s so hot and sadistic like that.”

“Your boss?” He sneers while tucking his phone in his pocket, his other hand still aiming his gun at my face. “The one who looks like a thug, covered in ink.”

“Okay, you’re not understanding the assignment. His ink is hot. Your bow ties are not.”

“Hot?” He tilts his head, his gaze dropping to my braless breasts under my emerald slip dress. “This is hot.”

With the tip of his gun, he slides the silky strap off my shoulder. It dangles over my arm, the fabric barely exposing my breast.

And I lift my chin. Stay here. Stay here. I don’t flinch when he rubs the gun over my flesh, tugging my dress down more, exposing my nipple next. Stay here. Stay here.

“I think we should make a video for your inked boss,” he jeers. “You can kneel for me while I shut that mouth up and fuck it with my cock.”

“Got any mustard?” I ask. “I like it with my little Vienna Sausages.”

“Fuck you.” He yanks my hair, dragging me to the floor. “On your knees! On your fucking knees!”

“If you insist.” I fall hard on my kneecaps before him, the carpet slimy against my flesh. “Just know. If you put that inchworm in my mouth, I will bite it off. I’ll take death over your dick any day.”

He stares down at me. And with every minute as a girl, I cowered, afraid of a man like this— no more —I fire my rage back at him.

“Go ahead,” I taunt. “Eventually, every man meets his match and this bitch is yours.”

Fuck him. Fuck him. Stay here. Stay here.

“You think you’re my fucking match?” He presses the gun to my temple, its metal warming against my sweating flesh. “You think I can’t handle a bitch like you?”

“You’ve never met a bitch like me,” I sneer. “Stubborn is where I start and stabbing your little dick is where I’ll end. Here or in hell, mother fucker. Bring it on.”

I see him. I see my stepfather. I see Calloway. I see every boy in high school who grabbed my ass. Every man on the street who thinks his catcall is game, when it’s really his little dick energy calling card.

I meant it when I told Axel I’d rather die than let a man own me.

I’m staring down this rapist psycho with his gun pressed to my temple and in life or death, fuck you , I’m proud.

And I’ll make Axel proud.

This man will not break me. He won’t have me.

I only belong to Axel, even if it’s in his memories. Even if that’s all I’ll leave behind for him; I was his proud queen until the end.

I won’t even close my eyes while I wait for the trigger to be pulled.

But instead…

The door is kicked open.