Page 18 of Velvet and Valor (Platinum Security: Shadows of LA #4)

AXEL

You ever know that you’ve fucked up, but you’re not really sure how you let it happen? That’s exactly how I felt when June slammed the door to the guest room.

Now I’m just standing here like an idiot, wondering where the hell I went wrong. Things were going great at first. We were eating, and flirting, and I was sure we would wind up back in the bedroom after our lunch. Then it all went to Hell.

I start thinking over the things I said to her in our conversation. Maybe I poured the jaded soldier bit on a little thick? No, that’s not right. I have to admit. I spoke from the heart. Fuck.

I lean on the wall and put a hand over my chest. It hurts me on the inside, knowing that I’ve hurt June. But coming to the realization that I’ve run out of hope is its own kind of pain and despair.

“Oh, come on,” I mutter to myself. “Get it together, Axel. You’re not some whiny goth edgelord. You don’t have existential crises. You drink beer and play darts and sleep with hot women…”

My words trail off, because ever since I met June, I haven’t thought about other women. At all. She’s special. Damn special, and I just drove her away.

I need to think. The closeness of the house is stifling all of a sudden. I need blue skies overhead, clear skies with plenty of air to breathe. I know leaving her again is risky, but I can’t seem to take a full breath.

I push my way out the glass door and stumble out onto the patio, then keep going onto the sand. I know there’s air all around me. I know there’s plenty of it to breathe. But my sides heave as I suck in gasp after gasp of air, while the memories of darker times take hold of me.

Like when our convoy got hit on the Red Sea road, and the transport I was in caught on fire and the interior filled with smoke. A sound like rain outside the hull told us we were under heavy fire. There seemed to be two choices at the time.

I could stay inside the transport and suffocate or go outside to meet a faster, messier death.

Thankfully, a chopper came in and scattered the rebels like dust in the wind. We got out. I remember ripping my helmet off even while my CO bellowed at me to keep it on. No matter how much air I breathed in, it didn’t seem like enough.

Just like now.

I sink to my knees in the sand, forcing my breathing to slow. I tell myself that everything is fine. I’m not in the desert any longer. I’m on a totally different kind of sand, where no one is pointing guns at me. Well, at least not at the moment.

The panic fades, but not the despair. I want to have hope for humanity like June does. God, I want it so bad! I want to think things are going to get better, that everything happens for a reason, even suffering.

But I just can’t.

The blue sky overhead is gorgeous. The perfect shade of azure. But when I look up into it, I can still see black plumes of smoke blotting out the perfect blue. I can’t hear the cries of the gulls over the screams of the dying, or the wailing of those in mourning.

Raise a family? In this world? For fuck’s sake, why? So they can suffer, too? I can’t be like June. I just can’t. There’s no hope. We’re on a long, slow march back into the muck humanity first crawled out of.

I’ll admit, though: Sulking on a gorgeous beach is hard.

It’s even harder when there’s a stunning woman you’re totally into just inside the house.

And it’s harder still when you’ve recently upset said stunning woman.

I feel the pin pricks all over my body, urging me to get off the sand and go make up with June.

I take about ten steps toward the house, but then I slow. Why should I go kowtow to June? I’m entitled to my own philosophy, aren’t I? Do we have to agree on everything? Why can’t I call it like I see it?

No, she’s the one who messed up here. She left without giving me a chance to even explain my position. I’ve seen a Hell of a lot more than she has! I’ve been all over this world and seen all the awfulness it has. What’s she done, sat in a movie studio office and gone over scripts?

My anger washes out like the tide, and in its place, guilt rushes in. I don’t really think that about June. Hell, she knows what it’s like to have her life in danger, too.

And if I’m being honest, I was trained, equipped, and supported by the US Arsenal of Democracy when people were trying to kill ME.

June never had that training, equipment, or support.

She’s dealing with this crisis a lot better than I would have, had the circumstances been different.

My dumb ass would probably go try and find Moorcrock and either convince him to back off, or take him out…

Wait a second. That’s not such a bad idea!

The best defense is a good offense, right?

Only, I can’t figure out any way to get to Moorcrock that doesn’t involve putting June in danger.

I don’t want to take that step. It kind of defeats the purpose of being her bodyguard/security guard/whatever in the fuck I am to her.

I’m not her boyfriend; I can’t let my emotions lead me.

Boyfriend? Man, why do I like the sound of that so much? I’ve never been one to settle down. But June is different. Special. There’s something she’s got that I can’t define, but it’s everything I want. Everything I need. Everything I’m afraid of letting into my life.

I start moving toward the house again. I need to make up with June. I guess I got a little carried away with the whole doom and gloom thing.

I do WANT to be optimistic about the future, but am I going to be able to? If I can’t muster up some hope, I don’t think June and I can be together.

And that worries me more than Tongs or Moorcrock and his cronies.

The cooler air of the beach house envelops me as I step back inside. I close the sliding door with a click and start for the hallway.

A sharp knock on the door stops me. I grab my gun on the way to the door and peer through the peephole.

Two uniformed LAPD officers stand there, with that officious glare and jutting chin that says they mean business.

The first thing I do is carefully click on the safety and put the gun into the drawer of a small end table.

Then I go to answer the door, figuring that the cops are here because of the situation with Moorcrock.

Jax has good relations with the P.D., so I’m not that worried.

That is, until I open the door.

“Hello officers,” I say cheerfully. “What can I do for–”

“Get down on the ground! Now!”

Suddenly, I have two pistols pointed at my face. My hands go in the air, but I’m still not that worried. This has to be some kind of mistake.

“Okay, take it easy,” I say, getting down on my knees, holding my arms carefully away from my body. “I’m not going to cause trouble. What is this about?”

“I said get on the ground! Now!”

“Okay, fine,” I say with a sigh. “This is all a big mistake.”

“That’s what they all say.”

I get down onto the ground and they pat me down before snapping on cuffs. Damn tightly, too.

“Hey man, my fingers are gonna go numb, do they have to be this tight?”

“Shut up!” snaps the cop.

A heavy bang from down the hallway draws the cop’s attention. I can’t really see much other than my floor. I crane my neck as best I can, and spot June running down the beach, kicking up sprays of sand behind her.

“She’s making a run for it!” says one of the cops.

“I’ll get her,” says his partner. “Stay here and keep an eye on him.”

A cold chill envelops me. This isn’t good. This isn’t good at all. Now that I get a better look at these guys, I’m realizing that some things are…off.

Like their uniforms. Pretty close to the real thing, but the patches are the wrong color. And their badges, while accurate at first glance, are off as well. No radios on their shoulders or belts. And instead of the standard issue police pistol, they’re wielding 9mm automatics.

Add all of these observations to the fact that they’re not acting much like cops either, and I’m starting to worry. I notice a gang tattoo sticking out from under the remaining cop’s arm.

“What’s the charge?” I ask, hoping to make him expose himself.

“Your girlfriend is in a lot of trouble,” he says. “Maybe you, too. They found a body in her house. Chinese national. Died by homicide.”

Oh, shit. Maybe they ARE legit cops. Who else would know about the body…Oh, right. Whoever hired the goon squad that ambushed us would damn sure know. How did they find my beach house, though? Or know that I was the one guarding June in the first place?

Our enemies are better prepared than I thought. I can only hope that June escapes. I need to be sure, though, before I start doing drastic shit.

“Hey, call Logan Sharpe, LAPD,” I say from my position on the ground.

“You can call him yourself at the station house,” the maybe fake cop snaps. “It can be your one phone call.”

“I don’t think you heard me, officer. Logan Sharpe.”

I study his face carefully. Zero reaction. He’s never heard of Sharpe, which is highly unlikely. Not impossible, though. I need to make a decision, now.

Are these real cops, in which case it will be uncomfortable and inconvenient, but ultimately harmless to be taken into their custody?

Or are these agents of the triad, or Moorcrock and the people he works for? In that case, letting them take us anywhere is a really bad idea.

I’m still waffling when the second cop comes back with a furious, fire-spitting June.

“I know my rights,” she growls as he pushes her forward, hands cuffed behind her back. “You can’t arrest me without probable cause.”

“A dead body is pretty good probable cause,” the cop answers back.

I called in the body to Platinum Security. They should have been on it, or at least told Jax’s contact Sharpe about the situation. This does not feel right. My gut is screaming at me that if we go anywhere with these people, we’re dead.