Page 121 of Fractured Future

“Past eight. Hyland and Warner are dealing with some mission planning. We’re all going to talk when they get home.”

“Planning? What happened?”

“I located the meeting and identified some players.”

“Who?” I quickly demand.

“Nuh-uh,” he tuts. “Food first, team meeting later. They want to be there for the big debrief. And trust me, you do not want to see me hangry.”

I roll my eyes at him. “Like hangry Axel is any different.”

“That’s rude.” He slings an inked arm around my neck. “Come on, the local cafe does a mean burger. It’s just down the road.”

Smothered by him, I happily let Axel strong-arm me from the building. Anything to put distance between Doctor Richards and the whispered secrets swirling inside me that I do not want him to unearth.

“Don’t we need security?” I ask as we step outside.

Axel pats a bulge in his supple leather jacket. “I am your security, babe. You’re safe with me.”

Honestly, I feel far from it with his body heat wrapped around me. Axel’s inability to maintain boundaries is far more dangerous than anyone who would dare attack me.

When he snags hold of my hand and tangles our fingers together like it’s the most natural thing in the world, I bite down on my bottom lip. He has to know what he’s doing.

Even at this hour, the crush of traffic and pedestrians fail to relent. Night and day don’t really exist in London. It’s always in a perpetual state of motion.

We walk in comfortable silence to a scary-looking cafe down the street. Seriously, the place is complete with a striped, red-and-white overhang and neon lighting outside.

“What is this place?”

“London’s finest greasy spoon!” Axel excitedly rubs his hands together. “Home to the juiciest cheeseburgers in town. I know you’re a fan.”

“I’m just easily pleased,” I joke.

“That ain’t a bad thing, dimples.”

Disentangling myself from his body, I step inside the cafe and grimace at the sound of blaring rock music. With its cheap Formica tables, cracked vinyl seats and plastic menus, the entire place screams tacky and cheerful.

A skinny chef flipping burgers behind the serving counter gleefully sings along to an oldNirvanatune while plating dishes. His counterpart—the scowling waitress scribbling on a small notepad—startles me when she yells out an order.

“It’s not exactly Michelin star dining,” Axel admits somewhat nervously. “But I didn’t think you’d care.”

“You’re right.” I laugh under my breath. “I really don’t.”

He releases his held breath. “Thank God.”

“But I want three burgers with extra bacon and a portion of cheesy fries as an apology for calling me a cheap date. You also don’t want to see me hangry.”

Tugging the end of my loose braid, he cracks a wide grin. “Whatever the lady desires.”

I find an empty table while Axel places our order, handing over a few crumpled notes to the harried-looking cashier. After receiving a laminated table number, Axel joins me with a selection of drinks.

“Take your pick, babe.”

Considering the options, I steal an apple lemonade. “Thank you.”

“You’re a bit weird, you know.” He wrinkles his nose. “That was my wild card.”

“What? I like fruity stuff. More than the shit you’re drinking.”