Black Sheep

by Zara Cox

  A trail of ice chills my spine. I attempt to shift from his lap. He holds me in place. “I’m not exactly shouting it from the rooftops.”

  “Good. There are some things you already know too much about.”

  “What things? You mean Taranahar?”

  His tension increases, and his hand slides around my nape. “Yes.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t know any more than what I saw on the Internet.”

  His jaw flexes. “Make sure you keep it that way.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  Dark eyebrows gather in a frown. “Threat? Why would I threaten you?”

  “I don’t know, why would you?” I throw the question back, the claws of fear resurfacing after being shoved aside by days of mind-blowing sex.

  “Dammit, I’m telling you this to keep you safe.”

  My heart lurches. “Why would I not be?”

  He opens his mouth then clamps it back shut.

  “If you really mean that, tell me,” I push.

  “I can’t. Not yet.”

  Disappointment tightens around the fear, forming an even bigger knot of desolation inside me.

  “We’ll talk about this soon. Just not right now.”

  I don’t respond. I can’t. I may want to know more about Axel the man, but I don’t know if I’m ready to deal with Axel the ex-soldier, and especially his involvement with the brutal massacre of a whole village. Not so soon after his confession.

  The limo pulls to a stop. I look out the window and realize we’re at XYNYC.

  He steps out and reaches in to help me out. The bouncer manning the door, whom I recognize from last time, struggles to keep the surprise from his face as he holds the door for us.

  The reminder of what happened the last time I was here ratchets up my tension.

  Despite the early hour, the evening crowd is impressive. Axel cuts a dynamic, dominating figure as he leads me to his VIP lounge. A considerable number of female—and male—heads turn as we move through the buzzed crowd. The amount of eye-fucking shoved his way churns acid through my gut.

  The moment we reach the roped-off area, I pull my hand from his.

  He recaptures my hand, his eyes narrowed on my face. “What’s wrong?” He has to raise his voice above the music, even with his mouth hovering close to my ear.

  I fight my the shiver when his breath washes over my lobe. I fail miserably. “Who are you meeting? And why am I even here?”

  “I’m meeting Quinn Blackwood. And you’re here because I want you here. And you will behave,” he warns.

  My breath catches. “Excuse me?”

  “You’re showing me that stubborn little chin again. Whatever’s gotten into you, contain it until I can take care of it.”

  I glare with every flame inside me. My offended chin rises higher. “And if I don’t? Are you going to head out there and grab one of those dozen women who are eye-fucking you right now?” Shit. I bite my tongue. But it’s too late.

  He rocks back on his heels, his eyes flaring with surprise. An instant later, he yanks me forward and traps me against his body. “They can try all they want, but they’ll go blind before any of them comes within a thousand miles of giving me what you can.”

  I catch my jaw before it drops. But the breath I was holding shakes out of me, along with a telling little whimper. “I…you…”

  His thumb brushes over my lip, silencing me. “Let’s get a drink, baby. Then I’m going to put you in my lap and grant you permission to give anyone who looks our way the finger.”

  My mouth twists. “And let them all think I’m a raging bitch? No thanks.”

  His hand traps my waist. Leading me toward the bar, he leans down to rasp in my ear, “Okay then, I’m sure I can find some other rewarding project for you to undertake in my lap.”

  Once again I’m overpowered by the absence of the man those twenty-one minutes of footage tell me he should be. My brain tells me it shouldn’t be this easy to want to banter with Axel because he is that man. Yet playful words like those we used to indulge in when we were teenagers rise on my tongue. I bite them back and perch on the barstool.

  He murmurs to his private bartender, who sets up the makings of a mimosa. A minute later, Axel slides the drink in front of me. “Enjoy it whiles it lasts. I’m cutting you off after two.”

  “I hold my liquor better these days.”

  A shadow crosses his eyes but it’s gone a second later. “Says the person who passed out after one drink last night.”

  “That wasn’t the drink. It was…” I stop, my cheeks flaming.

  “Getting your brains thoroughly fucked out?” he supplies with an arched brow. “Well, drink up and expect a repeat performance tonight.”

  The recollection sends tingles up from my toes.

  I grab the drink and take a large sip then watch him swallow a mouthful of his Balvenie whisky. Through the open neck of his shirt, I watch his strong throat move. Dear God, even watching him sip his liquor is sexy.

  How? How can he be two completely different people? The desperate need to understand claws through me. I turn in my seat to look at him, really look at him.

  But he’s staring over my shoulder, his face set into serious lines. I follow his gaze, the hairs on my neck rising. Axel is staring at a couple two lounges over. The man is tall with dark hair almost the same shade as Axel’s. Even from a distance, he’s striking and chillingly sexy. His demeanor is forbidding to the point of arctic. Except when he looks at the woman he’s with. She’s petite, barely coming up to his shoulder, with caramel-blond hair, and yet there’s a strength about her that I almost envy.

  Axel stands, his hand pressing into my waist before he releases me. “Excuse me, baby. Quinn’s here. I’ll be right back.”

  The man looks up as Axel approaches. His expression turns from complete and utter absorption in the woman to guarded camaraderie.

  They shake hands. He introduces Axel to the woman then they move to one corner of the lounge.

  A faint memory strikes. He’s the man I saw Axel talking to when I was forced to resort to texting Axel the last time I was here.

  Quinn Blackwood.

  The men are remarkably similar in height and build but, where Axel’s face bears the shadows of his character, Quinn Blackwood’s daunting personality lives in his chilling aura and eerie silver-blue eyes. I felt the power of it when he looked my way that night.

  Unwilling to be caught gawking at the two most striking men in the club, I let my gaze drift over the crowd. And land on a redhead glaring at me from the side of the dance floor below the lounge. She was one of the many women eyeing Axel when we entered.

  My middle finger twitches. I tighten it around the champagne flute, turn away, and take another sip. By the time I reach halfway, the light buzz in my belly is fizzing through my blood.

  I rise from the barstool and move to the U-shaped booth. Tall and sumptuous, it gives privacy when needed without compromising full enjoyment of the club. I set my small clutch down and perch on the seat.

  Dua Lipa’s “Hotter Than Hell” throbs from the speakers. The sultry music pounds through me. Between my legs, the unsatisfied hunger Axel stoked earlier rears its head. I cross one leg over the other in a vain attempt to stem it but that only intensifies the ache. I drain my drink and jump up.

  The lyrics wail about the devil, pleasure, heaven and sin.

  My skin heats. My hips move before I fully connect with my actions. Across the lounge, Axel’s gaze hones in on me. His lips move in conversation but his eyes never shift from me. My nipples tighten at the unholy gleam in the gray depths.

  They finish talking, and he walks across the floor to me. With every predatory step he takes, my heart races, and the muscles in my belly quiver. He reaches me, towering over me like a dark overlord.

  “Are you done with your meeting?” Shit, is that my voice? Needy and unsteady?

  “I’m done with my meeting,” he confirms, his voice pulsing with decadent int
entions. “Now I can take care of you.”

  “H-how?”

  “Take a wild fucking guess.”

  A different sort of tension mounts. Not-quite-steady hands trace my bare arms, down to my wrists. He raises them to drape over his shoulders, then takes control of my hips. The light material gives him the perfect geography of my naked body underneath. When he cups my ass, his breathing alters.

  What that does to me…I shake my head.

  He slides a finger under my chin and lifts my face. “What?” he demands.

  “The way you sound, the way you look at me sometimes. Like…you’re into me,” I blurt, my tongue loosened by rum and champagne.

  An almost sad expression washes over his face. “I’m so into you, you have no idea. I’m also aggressively into the sweet addiction between your legs. I love knowing that you’re completely naked under that dress. I get hard as a fucking rock watching you walk across a room, knowing your pussy is wet with my cum.”

  I whimper.

  “But you’re not wet right now, are you?”

  “N-no.” The sound drags from me.

  “Should we change that, baby?”

  He doesn’t wait for my answer. A nod at the bartender, and he leaves the lounge. Axel walks me to the booth at the back of the room. He sinks down into the farthest seat and pulls me crossways into his lap. He presses a sleek remote nearby, and the lighting subtly dims.

  We’re partly obscured from view with only a corner of the dance floor and the VIP bouncer’s broad back visible. The last strains of “Hotter Than Hell” pound the air, and I move my hips.

  Hard hands clamp my waist. “Behave,” he grits out.

  “Or what?”

  His eyes darken. “You wanna push me over the edge tonight? Is that what you’re in the mood for, Cleo?”

  Biting my lip, I shake my head.

  “Are you sure? That frisky little ass is still moving, driving me fucking nuts.” One hand slides down to grip my hip, the other moving to fumble between us. I hear the distinct tug of his zipper, and my breath strangles.

  “Axel…”

  “Put your arms around my neck,” he instructs gutturally.

  Refusal doesn’t stand a chance against the hot thrill spiking through me. My arms curl over his shoulders, my lower half lifting long enough for him to pull the back of my dress out of the way. The front still covers my knees.

  One hand caresses my bare ass, and a lusty shiver flays me.

  “Are you turned on, baby? Do you like what’s coming?” Against my hip, his cock is a thick, hot rod.

  I bury my face in his neck, my head bobbing almost of its own accord.

  “Tell me if you’re ready? I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “I’m ready,” I groan. “So ready.”

  One powerful arm around my waist tips me against him then back down again. His hips roll upward, and I’m impaled on him.

  My tiny scream meets his rough grunt. We both still to absorb the impact, my channel pulsing to accommodate him.

  “Okay?” he rasps against my neck.

  “Y-yes.”

  He huffs out a tortured breath. “Christ, you feel insanely good.” His hips flex, seating himself deeper inside me. We both groan. “Perfect. So perfect.”

  We stay like that, my arms around his neck, face buried in his shoulder. His hands clamp on my waist and thigh. Then he begins to move. Slow, glorious strokes that build and build, relentlessly propelling us to our own pleasure heaven.

  When he senses my impending climax, he grips my nape and tugs my face to his. Hot, wet, seeking, he tongues my mouth with the same sure strokes as his cock. The measured synergy sends me over the edge.

  Half a minute later, he gives a hoarse groan. “Fuck, fuck, yes.”

  He jerks inside me, filling me with hot jets of creamy semen. His hands stay on me, stroking my body until our racing hearts quiet.

  “I like this dress. Very, very much,” he breathes in my ear.

  An unexpected giggle catches me. “I think it likes you too.”

  His low, throaty laugh rumbles through me. The sound of it, the first genuine show of amusement I’ve heard from Axel, reaches inside and squeezes my heart. My breath catches.

  “What’s going on in that gorgeous head of yours?”

  “Your laugh,” I blurt without thinking.

  His eyes turn wary. “What about it?”

  “I haven’t heard it for so long.”

  The light leaves his face. His jaw clenches tight. “A million reasons for that, baby.”

  And just like that, the easiness is gone. I don’t know what comes over me. I slide my fingers down his cheek. Words I shouldn’t feel, shouldn’t accommodate, push against my vocal cords. With everything inside me I bite them back.

  He sees my struggle. His haunted eyes meet mine, probing for a minute. Then he taps my waist.

  “Time to go.”

  “Where are we going?”

  His steel hard jaw flexes. “To my next meeting. It’s time to step things up.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  POSSESSION IS NINE-TENTHS OF THE LAW

  Axel

  Thursday nights at the Punishment Club are what I’ve termed Vanilla Socials, although B chooses to slap a fancier term on it. But it’s the night when the less adventurous club members socialize in the lobby.

  It’s the only night I allow Cleo in this part of the club. The only night when I can be assured some asshole won’t try to draw her into his game.

  Recalling the fucker who knocked on her door yesterday, my gut clenches in fury.

  Why keep her here at all?

  I’m giving her what she wants…Like I always have. Because it’s always been her.

  Always will be…

  My gut clenches for another reason. I push it aside and concentrate on the man in front of me.

  Detective Malone’s meerkat-like expression is almost comical. The moment he entered, I clocked his disappointment at the lack of a salacious orgy right here in the lobby. Since then he’s been glancing around, waiting for the skin flick that is never coming.

  I nod at the waitress, who delivers his beer, and glance to where Cleo sits at the bar, sipping her second mimosa as she listens to a man reading incomprehensible poetry to his wife. Every now and then, her gaze catches mine and skids away.

  Something happened in that booth at my club. I saw questions in her eyes, questions I silently pleaded for her to ask, even though I was terrified I might not be able to answer.

  It still hurts like an open wound to see her withhold them.

  She catches my stare again, and her body freezes under the overhead bar light bathing her body. Fuck, she’s gorgeous. And responsive. And strong.

  And still closing her heart against me.

  I exhale and redirect my attention to Malone. “The parameters of your assignment have changed.”

  Street-hardened eyes meet mine without surprise. “I had a feeling this was coming.” He sighs. “So this is it? You’re firing me?”

  “No. I’ve found someone else who can do a better job on the Bearwood Lake thing. But I need you to concentrate on something else.”

  He perks up. “Sure. What is it?”

  I slide the list of names on my notepad in front of him. He reaches for a pad and scribbles down the four names on it then looks up. “Who are they?”

  “Ex-mercenaries employed by MMFR International on military contracts. There were twenty strong. They’ve all gone underground. But these men were in charge of the outfit.”

  “Something else to do with Finnan?”

  My jaw clenches. “Everything is to do with Finnan.”

  He eyes me for a beat, carefully composing his words. “And you’re hoping these men will further your…crusade?”

  My mouth twists. “Crusades are not my thing, but…yes.”

  “And if they can’t be found?”

  “You buffering yourself against defeat even before you’ve taken a first crack
at the job?”

  “Hey, I’m a pragmatist. Bright sides are for Disney Princesses.”

  “Okay, here’s a little pragmatism for you. Find the men within the week or you will be fired. How’s that?”

  “That’s…fair.”

  I rise and button my jacket. He’s back to doing his meerkat impression as I walk away.

  Cleo is finishing her drink when I reach her. Intelligent blue eyes dart to Malone for a second. “He looks like a cop.”

  My knuckles trail her arm, the knowledge that I’m unable to stop touching her a living truth inside me. “Because he is. Not a very good one so far, but I live in hope.”

  “In hope for what?”

  “That he’ll find me the answers I seek.”

  Her eyes widen into watchful pools, and a trace of color leaves her cheeks. “An-answers to what?”

  I open my mouth to tell her then caution myself. She still has a connection to Finnan. A connection she refuses to divulge. A connection that might put her in harm’s way should he find out what I’m up to.

  Arctic fury sizzles along my spine at the thought of Finnan harming her again.

  “This will be over soon, Cleo. In the meantime, you’re going to have to trust me on a few things.”

  A virtually impossible request if the look in her eyes is any indication.

  “I…I don’t know that I can, Axel,” she whispers brokenly.

  A wave of pain hits me like a body blow, knocking the wind out of me.

  Jesus, what am I thinking, asking her to trust a murderer? Isn’t it enough that she doesn’t run screaming from me every time I come near her? That she allows me to touch her? Fuck her?

  For how long though? Will there come a time when she won’t? The very idea of that slashes me wide open.

  I note the light tremble in my hand as I caress down to her wrist. When my fingers mesh with hers, I’m gratified that she doesn’t pull away. “Fair enough. But know this: I’m doing everything I can to ensure that you remain safe. Is that good enough for you?”

  Her eyes meet mine again. Searching. Like they did at XYNYC.

  My gaze drops to her plump lips; I’m almost wishing for the questions I know she’s dying to ask me. After a minute, she gives me a jerky nod.