Page 20 of Double Standards
“Hello?” My voice scrapes out, raw and reluctant.
“Outside.” Colombo’s voice is gravel and menace, just two syllables and I’m already sweating.
I blink. “Now?” I stammer, even as I’m already moving, kicking the blanket off my legs.
“Yes.”
He hangs up without another word.Such a gentleman.
It’s Sunday morning. Supposedly the day of rest, but I guess there’s no rest for the wicked and I’m pretty sure Colombo falls under that category.
I dart to my closet, to find a pair of jeans and a hoodie, something to fight the chill that’s settled in my bones. But also something that doesn’t scream “I spent the whole night spiraling on my couch.”
Cooper doesn’t so much as glance up from his phone when I knock the coat stand over in my rush for the door, or when I shout a clipped “laters”.
“You’re late.” Colombo’s eyes cut to his watch as I step out of my apartment building, then back to my face.
“It’s Sunday,” I retort.
He doesn’t bother replying—just opens the car door with that same stone-faced silence. A warning, not a courtesy.
I slide in and my stomach flips when I realize the back seat is empty.
“Where’s Axel?” The question escapes in a whisper, brittle and unsure.
“We’re going to him.” Colombo’s tone is full of steel and threat.
That’s my cue to shut up. The rest of the ride is smothered in silence, thick and suffocating. Every bump in the road sends my nerves rattling against my ribcage.
Half an hour later, we’re pulling up to a sleek building wrapped in black glass, towering and anonymous. No visible entrance. Colombo is already out, yanking open my door with a grunt.
“Out,” he growls, irritation crackling off him like static.
I follow, dragged forward by a mix of fear and something darker—something I don't want to name. He vanishes through a hidden door and holds it open, not looking back. My bodyhesitates, but my name crashes through the silence like a gunshot.
“Cassidy.”
That voice. Low, commanding, yet laced with warmth.
Colombo’s smirk widens. He saw the way I flinched—saw the way my body betrayed me.
I step inside, into a pristine, clinical room where art clings to white walls like ghosts. It’s all wrong. Too clean. Too cold.
Then I see him.
Axel.
He’s leaning against the far wall, a figure carved from shadow and control. A black shirt clings to the sharp cut of his chest, silver-grey trousers tailored to perfection. Not a hair out of place. That same stubble graces his jaw, but it doesn’t soften him—it only sharpens the edges.
I shift under the weight of his stare. It’s not curiosity; it’s calculation.
Footsteps echo. I turn to find four more men entering. Solid. Silent. Dangerous.
The Notorious Five.
Their presence is a warning. Their beauty is a weapon. Each one cut from the same brutal cloth, each stare pinning me in place like a butterfly under glass. My stomach knots, not from fear, but from the undeniable heat crawling beneath my skin.
I spin back toward Axel just as he clears his throat.
