Page 128 of Double Standards
Since my visit, Axel hasn’t stopped sending messages. It started the second Trigger dropped me off, a quick check-in to make sure I was safe. But that one message turned into dozens. Axel’s unraveling through my phone—every text laced with sharp protectiveness, his paranoia bleeding through the screen. Even though it brings a smile to my face, I know we’re not out of the woods yet.
Now, more than ever, I feel it.
Eyes. Always on me.
Even when I whirl around in the street, searching for shadows or movement, there’s nothing. Just the echo of my own steps and the gnawing paranoia clawing at my spine. Maybe he’s rubbing off on me. Maybe Iamgoing mad.
I shake off the thought and keep walking toward the subway, craving the anonymity of underground tunnels. A change of scenery. Something normal.
I stayed late at work, chipping away at case files, making more progress in the silence than I ever manage during daylight chaos.
Still, Axel’s messages cut through the silence, each one tugging at my attention, demanding a reply. I understand hisfear. I do. But if he keeps unraveling like this, he’ll never claw his way out of the wreckage he’s drowning in.
I’m too lost in my own thoughts to notice the shift—until I’m slammed sideways into a dark alley. My shoulder crashes into cold, rusted metal, a dumpster maybe, and the impact knocks the breath clean out of me. I hit the ground hard, my bag slipping from my hand and spilling across the concrete like shrapnel.
Then I hear it. Laughter. Sick and jagged. A sound you only hear from someone who’s lost all sense of right and wrong.
“What the fuck?” I groan into the pitch-black void, pain radiating through my ribs.
A silhouette steps forward, dark and breathing hard.
I scramble, fingers clawing through broken glass and garbage as I search for my bag. I don’t even get the chance to scream before a hand clamps around my throat, dragging me up and slamming me against the wall. Brick digs into my spine as my windpipe folds beneath the pressure.
“Please,” I gasp, nails raking at the arm crushing my throat. My lungs scream for air, my chest seizing with pain. I try to kick, but my legs hang like dead weight, useless.
“Begging won’t get you anywhere, Caruthers,” a voice growls.
I freeze. I know that voice.
The streetlight slices through the darkness just enough to catch the angles of his face.
Aiden Daniels.
Hatred burns in his eyes. No remorse, no hesitation, just rage.
“I should finish you off,” he sneers.
My stomach drops when I see the gun in his hand, glinting as he lifts it slowly.
“Not such a big girl outside of court, are we?”
He’s trembling. Even with the weapon in hand, he’s trembling. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s scared of whathappensafter. Maybe it’s Axel’s name that haunts him. Maybe it’s me. Either way, I need to stall.
“Don’t… do… anything… stupid,” I rasp.
“Fucking call me stupid one more time!” he roars, driving the gun into my cheek. The cold steel cuts like ice, and I flinch.
A tiny sound escapes me, part whimper, part realization that I’ve misread this entire situation. “What… do… you… want?” I wheeze, eyes darting around the alley.
There’s nothing. No one.
“I need Axel gone. If he won’t die, I’ll just have to hit him where it hurts.”
The venom in his voice is undeniable. This isn’t some random attack—it’s war. And I’m the battleground.
“It was you,” I breathe. “The flowers?”
“Stop talking!” He shoves the barrel against my face, harder this time.
