Page 61 of Black Sheep

“You can have any woman you want, Axel. Why me? Why force this…thing on me?”

The questions seem to give him pause. Or perhaps he doesn’t intend to answer. He changes lanes and steps harder on the gas, a blatant disregard for the rules of the road stamped into every gear change.

It’s only when light traffic forces him to ease up that he casts me a sizzling glance. “Besides the fact that you make me as hard as a fucking rock just by breathing in my direction, there are a few things you need to atone for.”

“Things like what?”

Another blithe shrug, despite the stiff clench of his jaw and when he speaks, his voice is granite hard. “The small matter of eight years of my life.”

Shock powers my breath out of me. “What?” My voice is a ragged croak.

“You’re not deaf, sweetheart.”

I frown, wondering whether the madness that seems to dog us has finally addled our brains. “How…?” I stop. Shake my head. Regroup. “How the hell did you arrive at that wild and amazing conclusion?”

“Very easily. With irrefutable video evidence. You know the one.”

“Video…?” A block of ice lodges itself in my chest. That sounds a little too much like a Finnan-made version of hell for it to be a coincidence. I open my mouth to ask for verification then absorb his whole answer. “What do you mean, I ‘know the one’?”

The languid man who slid behind the wheel like a sated predator is gone. In his place is the snarling beast I recognize. “You knew his sick little game of filming every Hallmark moment. You knew he was recording what took place in his office the day he threw the let’s-convince-Axel-with-a-little-grievous-bodily-harm party for me. What, did you forget to turn off the camera after you were done?”

The ice spreads further, numbing me from head to toe. “God, you think I enjoyed knowing that was happening to you in there? That I condoned it?”

His mouth twists in a macabre smile. “Nice try, sweetheart.”

“Axel—”

“I saw you! On video, offering to ‘take care of me.’ You want me to recite it word for word for you? Or maybe you’d prefer to watch it again, with popcorn and a giant cocktail thrown in?”

The blood drains from my head, and the hand I lift to my head shakes uncontrollably. “He filmed that?” Of course he did.

A grating laugh barks from him. “That’s what you’re worried about? That you were caught on camera?”

I rush to speak before I can think it through. “Axel, I can—”

“Explain? Really? You have an excuse for sticking to your word and offering me three days’ false sanctuary of pussy and sympathy before helping him ship me off to West Point?” His voice is a deadly dagger wrapped in soft velvet.

I open my mouth again, then realize no, I can’t explain. Stating my reasons why will bring everything I’m fighting for to one brutal end. “I…I didn’t want him to keep doing…that to you.” A partial truth. Despite knowing the extent of his cold-bloodedness, the sight of Axel beaten to a pulp still wrenched at the part of me that insisted on remaining innocent.

They turn off the highway. He stops at a red light, the less-than-smooth stamp on the brakes testifying to his shredding control. Eyes the color of frozen ice chips find mine in the dark. “You’re a fucking liar, Cleo.”

There is no way to escape the cold, bald indictment. But I can’t keep silent. “You thrived in the army, hell, you positively excelled. I may not know much, but I know they don’t hand out medals on a whim. You may not have wanted to go, but in the end, was it all so bad?”

His ragged hiss stops my breath. The knowledge that I’ve touched a nerve, perhaps one so raw it’s a live grenade, smashes through me a second too late.

A horn blares behind us. His eyes don’t budge from me, nor does he attempt to move. Not for another charged ten seconds. In those seconds, I see a thousand howling demons leaping through his eyes.

“The beating was nothing. I could’ve withstood ten times worse.” His hand rises, and two fingers toy with my hair, twisting, smoothing, tucking, all while horns blast and cars swerve past us and drivers hurl abuse. “But you used this,” he traces my lips, his touch whisper soft, “and this,” his hand drops to my lap, dives beneath the T-shirt to stroke my pussy, “to change the course of my life. That deserves a reckoning, don’t you think?” He withdraws and calmly sets the car in motion.

As if he hasn’t just shown me the underbelly of his psychopathy. As if he hasn’t just left me gasping.

“Axel—” I stop, my mind blanking in the face of that casual damning. Clearing my throat, I attempt to speak. “You can’t lay the blame for…all of that on me.”

“No, not all of it. But you’re one of a collective, sweetheart. Everyone else will get what’s coming to them.”

Oh God. “What does that mean?”

He doesn’t respond.

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