Page 56 of Double Standards

“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 inone 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.