by Harper Sloan
I shake myself off, mentally berating myself for going there. I just eye fucked this complete stranger without even saying hello. Maybe I shouldn’t have had that last drink.
I look back up and meet the most stunning green eyes I have ever seen. Eyes I have seen before. Eyes I have spent hours gazing into. Loving and planning. Eyes I have been mourning for the last twelve years.
Feeling dizzy, I reach out to steady myself, catching the first thing I find, which I think might be Greg.
“What the fuck?” he mumbles under his breath.
This isn’t happening.
This can’t be happening.
He’s gone. I know he is. If he wasn’t, I wouldn’t have just spent the last twelve years missing him so ferociously with every fiber of my being.
The last thing I think before I feel my world spinning and crashing down on me is that Axel isn’t gone. He isn’t dead. I didn’t lose the last part of him when his baby bled out of my body on my eighteenth birthday.
And before I lose all touch with reality, I swear I hear, “Are you fucking kidding me? Isabelle is your goddamn Iz?”
I must be dreaming because MY Axel would never sneer my name with so much anger and hate.
CHAPTER 5
“Baby,” I hear his deep voice seductively rumble as he trails his fingertips up my spine.
God, I love how he wakes me up, always touching my skin like just the contact alone makes him feel whole. His hard body is pressed tightly to my own, keeping me snug and warm against his side.
“Baby girl,” he croons in my ear, kissing the spot right behind it—the spot that never fails to make my body go from warm to boiling. Goose bumps instantly start to sprinkle against my skin.
No one has ever set me on fire like he has.
No one has ever loved me like he has.
Axel, my love, my heart, my everything.
I’m finally back in his strong arms.
How did I get here? My heart skips a beat and my breath stalls in my lungs.
It’s all been a dream, it must have been. Just a terrible nightmare I never thought I would wake from.
My parents are still alive.
Ax isn’t leaving me.
Our baby is still safe within my womb.
Everything is perfect.
The enormity of this moment hits me like a Mack truck. Big, body-heaving sobs rack my body.
He’s here; my Axel is here. I am finally back in his arms.
“Baby girl,” his voice says again, getting fainter like he is down a long hallway.
“Izzy? Baby girl, please wake up.”
Why is Greg holding me? He shouldn’t be here. This isn’t right. Where is Axel? He was just right here. I don’t want Greg, I want Ax!
My crying intensifies, and I can feel his body tensing, trying to figure out how to calm me down. I can hear myself; I must sound ridiculous with my hysterical babble. I’m begging Greg, begging and pleading for him to take me back to Axel. I know I don’t make any sense but I just can’t seem to figure out where reality is and where I left Axel in my fog.
I want that dream back. I can’t lose him again . . . I won’t survive it a second time around.
I eventually settle down to just a few shudders, my breath escaping my body. I try desperately to make sense of this situation. How did this happen?
Looking around, I notice for the first time that we are in an office of sorts and I am sitting on a large leather couch pushed off to one end. Maddox is standing next to the door like a guard. His face has lost the small touch of friendliness he had before and has now taken on a fierce look of pure rage. I look up at Greg with what I’m guessing is a face of pure confusion. He returns my look with a small, forced smile.
I can hear Dee now that I have finally stopped my grief-filled sobbing; she sounds like she is a million miles away. She is muffled enough that I can’t understand her words, but the venomous tone to her voice is clearly reaching my ears. Greg is still holding me tightly in his arms, whispering reassuring words in my ear. At least I think they are reassuring. His tone is soft and slow, delicate. My mind can’t catch them though; I am still searching for Axel.
“Move the fuck out of my way, woman. I will not tell you again.” I hear the steel-like tone attached to the voice I haven’t heard in so long. He sounds almost feral. That is not a tone I have ever heard his voice take. “I will get back there. Do you fucking hear me, Isabelle? I will be talking to you!” he continues to boom through the office door that Maddox is guarding.
At the sound of my full name, my body goes rigid. I can feel every muscle individually seize up. Each bone seems to have turned to stone, and tremors are starting to work their way through my body. My heart picks up speed and my breathing becomes shallow.
No one has called me that in two years; and no one would dare. That was the name, the only name, Brandon used with me, and it was almost always followed by his fist or foot. No one who knows me would use that name. The first time Dee called me that after I left Brandon, I had to be admitted to the hospital because I couldn’t calm down.
God, I can’t breathe. I look up into Greg’s worried eyes. I know what he sees when he looks down into mine—absolute raw terror and fear. A fear that I am back in that place and terror that Brandon has finally found me.
Gasping to catch a small slice of oxygen down into my lungs, I start clawing at his arms, trying my hardest to get away. I have to run. I have to hide. If Brandon is here, he won’t stop until he kills me this time.
“Fuck,” Greg spits out. “Mother FUCKING fuck!” He is pulling me closer to his body, trying with great desperation to calm me down. I try to soak up his warmth the best I can, attempting to almost crawl inside his body, but none of it is touching me. I feel like my body is being filled with ice, filling me completely to my soul with ice-cold fear. I can almost drown in the memory-induced terror; it is completely taking over my body and mind.
“Fuck,” Greg rumbles again. He sounds so worried. I wish I had the words to reassure him that I’m okay, but what a laughable reassurance that would be.
We both know I am not okay; I am so far from okay I might as well be in another country. I haven’t had an episode like this in a long time; not since the early months after leaving Brandon. I have been doing so well at beating back the panic and finally seeing the light of peace. In fact, yesterday’s breakdown after the ‘present from hell’ was the first time I have felt the claws of fear take hold in months.
“Locke, come here, man. Hold her for a second so I can go bash that motherfucker in the goddamn head.” Greg softly throws his request over to Maddox. I guess he has had enough of watching me come unglued. It can’t be easy for him to watch the aftereffects of a beaten and broken woman. After he first witnessed one of my panic attacks, I remember he wouldn’t leave for days. He kept his hawklike eyes trained on my every move, just waiting for me to crumble.
I feel my body being lifted and then set down within a new set of steel bands. Maddox hooks one arm around my shoulder and pulls me to his chest, taking my legs and pulling them up close to my body before wrapping his other arm in tight. I feel almost infantile in his arms as he starts to hum a slow tune. I never expected him and his hard exterior to be so understanding and nurturing.
Finally feeling some of the panic recede, I take what feels like my first gulp of air in hours, willing my heart to settle. Maybe it’s his warmth or the way this big hard man curled me in tight and started to softly sing under his breath. Maybe it’s just the fact that I don’t want this new person to see how completely fucked up I am. But he finally calms me down enough to feel the stress and exhaustion of the situation start taking over. Looking up, I meet the concerned dark depths of Maddox’s eyes.
“You okay, girl?
“No,” I whisper back to him.
What an absurd question. If I could, I would belt out one hell of a laugh.
I don’t think I will ever be okay again.
I tuck my head ba
ck down onto Maddox’s chest and hope for a miracle.
Axel
You have got to be fucking kidding me. What are the odds, after this long? Isabelle fucking West. I am still at a loss over this new intel. My goddamn Izzy is Greg’s friend who needs help? No, that’s not right. She isn’t mine anymore. She stopped being mine when she couldn’t wait for me, couldn’t hold on for just a few months. She stopped being mine the day I finally found her—married to another fucking man.
Fuck! How is it possible that the Isabelle I knew all those years ago is the same woman Greg gave me the rundown on yesterday. He described a scared, innocent, and very broken woman. The Izzy I knew would never let a person break her spirit. Hell, in the three years she was my girl, even I had a hard time keeping that spirit from overtaking me. She was so full of life and happiness. No fucking way this is the same girl.
When Greg called me yesterday to have a chat, he explained that his girl was in trouble. And not the kind of trouble a girl needs to be in. I didn’t have the time yesterday to sit down and get the details, being in the middle of moving across the country and setting up shop with Greg; things are insane. I had finally handed over the West Coast operations of Corps Security just a few days ago, quickly jumping in my truck and heading east. I had bought my house quickly and we had just signed the lease on the new office space. Now all that is left is getting set up with Greg and becoming familiar with his case load. There is an endless backlog of people requesting consultations for investigative work. Luckily it hasn’t taken much to convince Locke, Beck, and Coop to pick up and start over in Georgia with me.
During our quick meeting yesterday, he filled me in on the very hazy issue. He had a good friend escaping a bad marriage. How bad, I don’t yet know. She has been living here for about two years and during the last six months has been having a back and forth battle for divorce. The bastard doesn’t want to let go. Greg said that it hasn’t been a big issue until yesterday when she got a fucked-up picture in the mail. He explained it to me. The ex sounds like one sick fuck and enough of a threat for me to tell him to set something up.
He didn’t tell me her whole name; he called her Iz. I remember snorting humorlessly at the name yesterday. But yesterday, the last thing I thought was that Iz could possibly be one and the same, Isabelle West.
I’ve known Greg for close to a decade now. I still remember a few years ago when he called up, telling us he had to run to North Carolina and be some white fucking knight. I don’t remember the details, even though I wish to fuck I did. I just remember him going radio silent for almost a month after.
He has always talked about his two girls here in Georgia. The guys and I have been giving him a hard time for a while now about handing over his nuts since he liked hanging with pussy so much. He has always spoken about these two chicks like they are fucking queens, goddamn Mother fucking Teresas. I honestly don’t think I have ever heard him say a negative thing about either one of them.
Such bullshit. This little scrap of female is blocking the club owner’s office door like she would take out any threat that tried to get through her to try and reach Isabelle. Where the hell is the small sprite Greg said radiated glee like a fucking fairy?
“FUCK!” I roared. “Get out of my goddamn way, woman.” How does this tiny, one-woman circus think she is going to fucking keep me from breaking that door into splinters? I look over at Coop and Beck; they seem just as confused as I am about this whole standoff. Jesus, I am getting in that damn office, even if I have to physically remove this woman from my path. I’m tired of playing nice. I might not have a mother, but even I know to respect women; this one though would try the patience of a fucking saint.
Just when I am about to pick her up and remove her from my way, the door opens and out steps a red-faced, spitting-mad, Greg Cage.
“You”—he points at my chest, getting right up in my fucking space—“get the fuck out of here. You might be bigger than I am, but when it comes to her, I will fucking kill you.”
What. The. Fuck. The hell with that.
“Who the fuck do you think you are, brother, telling me that I can’t speak to her?” I can feel the vibration of unshed violence rushing through my veins. Even with the small thought in the back of my head that I would do the same thing in his shoes, I still can’t calm myself.
He takes a deep breath, looks me dead in the eyes, and spits out words that almost stop my heart.
“If you don’t back the fuck off right fucking now, Iz will end up leaving here in the back of an ambulance . . . again.”
The fuck? “What the hell are you talking about, Greg? Because it sure as fuck sounds like you’re talking in code.”
Sighing deeply, I can tell how much this little toe-to-toe is costing him. “Look, Reid. You know I respect the hell out of you. You have been my brother for a fucking long-ass time, but Iz . . . She is not in a good place right now. Yesterday was hard enough, but Dee and I have managed to keep her chill. Fuck, even with the package from that sick fuck, she didn’t go this deep. You need to back the fuck off for now. If you want to speak to her, fine, but it will be on her terms, not when she is fighting every demon that owns her soul. Not tonight. You hear me good, Reid. I will talk to her and set something up, but not until you tell me just how you know my fucking girl.”
“What do you mean your girl, G?”
I must be acting like a fucking idiot, especially after all his long-winded bullshit. Greg is gaping at me like he is trying to find a solution for world peace or some shit like that. He holds my gaze for a long while, and I can practically see the gears turning at full steam.
Finally, with an eerily neutral tone, he says, “Reid, just how long have you known Iz?” He might sound neutral, but his eyes seem to be silently communicating that if he doesn’t like my answer, there will be no talking with Izzy.
I look down at my boots and reach up to rub my neck, trying to ease some of the tension out of my body. What a loaded question.
“Why does it matter, G?”
“Humor me, brother. Just fucking humor me. How long have you known her?”
Straightening to my full six-foot-six height, trying to at least give myself that small advantage, I look down on him with a matching grim expression. What the hell is going on here? They are acting like Izzy is some wounded bird. No way in hell this is the same girl I knew.
“I’ve known Isabelle for going on sixteen years, and twelve years ago, when I left home, I left my heart in her fucking palm. I haven’t seen or heard from her since,” I respond with a calm I do not feel. Not in the least.
Greg’s eyes fire instantly, and after a moment of silence, he grunts, “Do not call her Isabelle. Ever.” Then he turns on his heel and leaves me standing in stunned silence with Beck’s, Coop’s, and Dee’s burning eyes on my back. With the exception of Dee, they seem just as confused and shocked as I am.
What in the fuck?
Looking around, I back up and plop my ass down on the hard floor, preparing to wait this out as long as it takes.
I’ve been sitting out here in the hallway for what seems like hours. My ass is numb. Whether it’s from sitting here or the music thumping through the floor beneath me, I have no clue. I look down at my watch to see that it’s only been a half hour since Greg’s cryptic comment. What the fuck is going on in there? I don’t like this overwhelming feeling of helplessness; I haven’t felt this way in a long-ass time. I have no idea what is really going on here. I feel like I have some big-ass puzzle with one missing piece. One piece some little shit took and won’t give back.
What happened to the seventeen-year-old, stars-in-her-eyes girl I left behind twelve years ago? Sure, she was sad I was taking off for basic training, but she knew I was coming back for her. We had plans, dreams, and a future all mapped out and ready to roll. Why is she acting like the wounded party here? She wasn’t the one who arrived home six months later, tired but elated to finally have his girl in his arms again only to find her gone. And sh
e was gone, vanished into thin fucking air. There was not a single trail to lead me back to my girl.
I remember the day I rolled back into our hometown of Dale, Georgia. I was so excited to finally get my arms around my girl. Things with the Marines had been intense, but I was home for a little while. I had a new family now, a band of brothers with an unbreakable bond. I couldn’t wait to bring Izzy into that fold, making my family complete.
Basic training was nothing like I’d expected it to be. I’d known I would be the perfect candidate for the Marines when I signed up; I’d just never imagined excelling at such a rapid rate. Arriving one day, then the next being pulled into a conference room and being handed one hell of a life changer. I was good, damn fucking good, and they wanted me. Only problem was, like with most everything deep within the government, I wasn’t to tell a soul. Top secret to the highest degree. I received my first letter from Izzy the same day, reminding me how hard it was going to be to go dark on my girl; she knew me though, and she knew what this gig meant to me. I wrote her one hell of a hearts-and-flowers letter and mailed it off the same day I left for special training, knowing it would have to see her through until I was home. When I finally got a call home, I had been gone for three long, hard months. I can still feel the shock I felt when the operator informed me that her number had been disconnected. With no one to ask, I just had to pray that my girl knew me and knew our love enough to be there when I came back to her. I couldn’t worry; I had to have my head about me. So with all the hope of a naïve teenage dreamer, I believed everything would be fine.
Izzy and I, we were what some would call a fairytale, if you believed in that shit. I met her the first day of my sophomore year. She had been a scared little freshman, a fish completely out of the water and terrified out of her mind. But did she let it show? No, not my Izzy. She marched right into Dale High with her shoulders back and her head high. Her pale green eyes were trained right ahead, ready to take on the world. And I had taken one look and knew she would be mine. From that moment on, she was mine and I was hers.