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“Twenty-one,” she replies and I think, thank fuck. “But I know I look more mature.” Flushing, she lowers her face and I figure she’s referring to her pretty curves and that clever light in her gaze. I’m older than her, thirty four to be exact but I don’t give a shit. I want her and I want her to want me.
“You look like something out of a dream,” I tell her and her jaw slacks. “I’m known as Axwell X but you can call me Axe.”
“Right,” she breathes, glancing at the window again, “um...”
“You the brainy kind?” I say, grabbing a chair and I turn it around and place it close to hers. “You have to be. With a name like that, eyes like that.” Finally, the tension in her body softens a little.
“I’m a chess player,” she murmurs and she lifts her face in pride. “Three times national champion.”
At that I let out a low whistle. “You better fucking bet I’m impressed.” And all up in knots and she’s turning me inside out. I’d walk through fire for this girl, as long as I know she’ll be waiting on the other side.
“And you?” she asks, raising her brows and I dread the question. “What exactly is it that you d...do?”
3.
Yale
It can’t be anything good. Obviously. He just unalived a man and he’s covered in tattoos that spell danger. On top of it, he looks like he’ll explode if I as much as disappear out of his sight. There’s a look in his eyes as if he just has locked me down and I squirm. He seems unware of my discomfort. When I tried to escape him in the bathroom, he thought I stumbled. When I planned on jumping out of the window, he closed it, assuming I was cold.
And sometimes he smiles at me. Or, I think that he thinks he’s smiling. What he’s actually doing is just baring his teeth. He knows the language of violence and it’s making it hard to breathe. Or maybe it’s just my treacherous body’s response to him because it is responding. There are two fears in me, one that he somehow will be nothing but a risk and the other, that I’m developing a crush on him despite of it.
How can I not? He looks like a mean gangster but at the same time he’s been nothing but good to me.
I want to slap my face. Focus! I can’t let my attraction to him distract me and my eyes go to the runes on his arms and I swallow. He catches my gaze, his brows curving and he pulls up his sleeves a bit more.
“These?” he rasps. “They’re tattoos members get. They mean something to us. They mean family. Respect. Tradition.” My eyes nearly roll back in my head when he asks, “You know what they stand for?”
Panting silently, I shake my head and he leans a little bit closer and I realize the color of his eyes isn’t just silvery diamond. It also reminds me of gunpowder.
“They stand for the Nordic Mafia,” he says and I nearly fall back in my chair. “Maybe you’ve seen our symbols around town?” Gulping, I nod, glancing at the window again. “The guy who owns this house also had a tattoo. Said ZeroSum.”
My eyes flare in shock. Oh no, this is not good at all...
“They’re a biker gang,” Axwell continues. A muscle ticks in his jaw. “They could show up. Ask around. Find out you’ve been here.” His face turns to pure steel, wanting no protests. “I need you to come with me.”
Jolting, I drag a breath and clasp a hand over my mouth. “Come with you? Come with you where?”
His forehead furrows and he curses to himself. “I could take you to our compound but there are other men there and right now I don’t want you anywhere near male energy.”
“W..why?”
Axwell’s eyes darken. “Because they’ll look at you, be attracted to that hair of yours, to what’s between your legs...”
I twitch at his natural coarseness. “Why do you care if other people look at me?”
He seems perplexed by my question, replying firmly, “You’re my woman.”
“Oh,” I breathe and then it dawns on me. He really thinks I’m his, thinks he’s laid a claim on me and I go dizzy, needing to get out of here. “Um...sir X...I mean Axe, I got someplace where I need to be this afternoon.”
Leaning back, he raises a brow and it’s the same color as the black parts of his hair. “Where’s that, the fantasyland where fantastical beings like you reside?”
“Need to meet up with my coach,” I say and for a moment he looks like he’s considering it but then I ruin everything by adding, “he’ll get worried if I don’t show up.” I regret saying it as soon as the words spill over my mouth because his body tenses, his nostrils flaring.
“He?” His voice lowers to a hiss. “Your coach is a man?”
Realizing my mistake, I figure I can’t take it back now and I nod. Axwell forcefully rises out of his chair, causing it to topple and he starts pacing. “He teaches you things? A man? You two sit in a room like this one on your own.”
Yes, but he makes it sound a lot more intimate than it is. Axwell stabs his fingers through his hair and I turn fretful.
