Page 57 of Double Standards

I swallow. “And what about you?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. “Who’s going to take care of you?”

For a second, something flickers in his expression. Not amusement—something softer. Something that almost hurts to see on a man like him. But he masks it quickly with a lopsided smile, dry and a little sad.

“I don’t think anyone’s ever asked me that,” he admits, his eyes dropping to the rim of his glass. “Not without wanting something in return.”

Silence stretches between us, heavier than before. Not uncomfortable—just full. Honest. It lingers until he breaks it by gesturing to the couch with a tilt of his head. “Come here. You look like you need to stop thinking so damn much.”

Another hour passes. The bottle that was once full now lies nearly empty between us. I’ve somehow ended up stretched across the couch, my legs draped over Axel’s lap, the heat of his hand absentmindedly stroking the side of my calf. I’m lightheaded from the booze and the feel of his touch, but my head is clearer than it’s been in days.

He tells me about the other four men—his brothers, not by blood but by bond. There’s Hunter, the loud one with the spotlight constantly on him; Ryder, quiet and stuck in his father’s shadow; Max, the silent type who speaks with his presence more than his words. And Trigger—his closest friend, the only person Axel trusts with things he can’t even say out loud.

“You trust them that much?” I ask.

Axel nods slowly. “With my life. But even with them... there are things I keep to myself.”

“Like what?”

He glances at me, the weight of something unspoken behind his eyes. “Like how fucking tired I am of pretending I don’t want more.”

The words hit me harder than I expected. There’s no bravado in his voice, no sharp edges. Just raw honesty.

I shift slightly, watching him. “More from… this life?”

“More from everything,” he murmurs. “Control, loyalty, power—it all used to be enough. Now I’m not so sure.”

My chest tightens at his confession. It’s the most real he’s been, the closest I’ve seen him to letting the armor crack. “I think you want to be seen,” I say softly.

He looks at me, a little stunned, like the idea never even occurred to him. “Maybe,” he finally says. “Maybe I just want someone who doesn’t look at me like I’m already damned.”

His hand stills on my leg, and my heart skips when his eyes lock with mine.

“Maybe I want you.”

He says it so quietly I almost think I imagined it. But the way his fingers tighten on my thigh, the way his jaw flexes like he’s trying to swallow back everything he’s never allowed himself to say—I know he means it.

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. The air between us is suddenly too heavy, thick with a truth I’m not sure either of us is ready to hold.

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” I whisper, but it’s weak—pathetic, even. Because Iwantto believe him. God help me, a part of me wants it more than I want my next breath.

He leans in, just enough for his forehead to brush mine. “I know exactly what I’m saying,” he growls, voice rough at the edges. “I’ve spent my whole life taking what I want. But this—” His eyes burn into mine. “This I’d fucking beg for.”

My pulse stutters. I feel his words settle deep in my bones, rattling loose every piece of sense I have left.

“You shouldn’t say things you can’t take back,” I breathe.

He smiles then—small, almost sad. “Cassie, the only thing I can’t take back isyou.”

And I know in that moment that if I let him, I’ll never be able to take myself back, either.

Chapter Twenty

The room is still dark when I stir. A soft crack of light peeks through the curtains, slicing a golden line across the floor. I’m groggy but not hungover, the kind of fog that comes from too much whiskey and not enough sleep. The kind that settles in your chest instead of your head.

My arm stretches out automatically, hand brushing the empty cushion where Cassie had been last night. Where her warmth should still be. I sit up slowly, head turning toward the soft rustle of movement near the front door.

She’s there—half-shadowed, barefoot, her shoes dangling from her fingers, her dress draped over one arm as she moves quietly toward the bedroom door.

“Going somewhere?” My voice is rough from sleep and smoke, and the things I didn’t say last night.