Page 4 of Axel

“Now who’s the one ogling?” I tease, giving Axel my best smirk. I’m still a little breathless from being so close to him, so I’m not sure I pull it off.

He smiles and wags his eyebrows, which makes me giggle. “So, are you going to tell me the real reason you’re here?”

I rub my lips together nervously, deciding if I can tell him. Maybe I’ll test the waters. Talking with Axel might be easier than going straight to Blade. I guess there’s only one way to find out. “Well, uh, I was wondering…” I pause, breaking eye contact to look up to the sky. “What did Blade mean about me having the protection of the Savage Saints?” I ask in a rush.

I’m met with silence, so I peer back at Axel. His features have grown intense, his brow furrowed, his jaw tight with tension, and his blue eyes nearly black. “Who do you need protection from?” he asks, his tone serious.

“N-no one,” I say in an unconvincing voice. He’s not buying it, so I try again. “It was hypothetical. No big deal.” I wave my hand in the air, dismissing the thought altogether.

Axel’s face never changes. He scrutinizes me, and I don’t know if I’ll hold up under the pressure. I might break and confess everything, but I don’t think I’m ready for that. Not yet. Axel won’t look at me the same once he knows the truth.

“Anyway,” I continue, taking a few steps backward. I look at my wrist as if checking my watch, only I don’t have one. “Better get going. I forgot to… uh, forgot to turn off the oven,” I ramble, groaning internally over the lamest excuse to leave in the history of the world.

“Gemma, wait,” Axel calls as I turn. “You can’t keep leaving–”

“Seems like that’s exactly what I’m doing!” I joke as I break into a run. My only focus is getting the hell out of here before I give in to the urge to turn and run right back into Axel’s arms.

“Gemma!”

I half expect him to chase after me. Lord knows he could catch me easily on his bike or on foot. One last look over my shoulder reveals he’s debating letting me go. In the end, he stands at the end of the Savage Saints Clubhouse parking lot, watching me sprint away.

I run past the graveyard and down the next block, only stopping when I can no longer ignore the cramp in my side. Doubling over, I clutch my side while catching my breath.Shit.This isn’t how I wanted today to end, and now I’m late.

My parents don’t like it when I’m not home by dinner. It’s not because we have a family meal planned or anything, although there’s a lot of cooking—just not food.

Straightening, I walk the few blocks to the trailer park on the other side of the graveyard. I hear my mother and father screaming at each other before reaching the mostly broken door of our trailer.

My shoulders tense, and my heart rate spikes. Everything in me is on high alert. Instead of walking through the front door, I creep along the side of the trailer to my bedroom window. I usually leave it open a crack in case I need to sneak in. Suffice it to say, this isn’t the first time I’ve come home to screaming matches. I’ve walked in on physical fights between my parents or three older brothers, drug use, and other questionable behavior.

I grip the window pane and shove it upward, opening it enough to wedge myself inside. Wrapping my fingers around the window ledge, I step on the cement cinder block I keep underneath the window and hoist myself up.

My bedroom door bursts open as I get my top half through the opening. My eldest brother, Randall, stomps inside, a sinister grin twisting his lips as he lunges toward me. I scramble away, but he grabs my arms and tugs hard, pulling me through the window and letting me fall to the ground with a thud. My left hip takes the brunt of the impact. Pain shoots down my back and leg as I try to catch my breath.

“Trying to sneak in and avoid your family, Gemma?” Randall spits out as he wraps his fingers around my forearm. He yanks me off the floor and tugs me forward, his grip tight enough to bruise.

“No, I–”

“Save it,” he snaps, dragging me to my parents in the main room.

The two stop fighting and look at me, disgust and annoyance in their eyes. I should be used to it, but I’d be lying if I said their disdain for me didn’t hurt every damn time. I know I was unplanned. Randall is almost thirty-nine, Carl is thirty-seven, and Nathan just turned thirty-six. I’m fifteen years younger than Nathan and nothing short of a total outcast in my family.

“Where the fuck were you?” my mother asks, making her way toward me. “You know your shift starts at six. We have orders to keep up. Product to push.”

“I know, I just–”

“Unless you’d like to sell, instead?” my father grunts, approaching me.

I brace myself for whatever mood he’s in. None of them are good. “N-no, I don’t want–”

I hear the slap before I feel it. The sting follows a second later, quickly joined by a throbbing pain in my left cheek and temple.

“I don’t give a fuck about what you want. You need to start pulling your weight around here. This is the family business. Got it?”

“Yes, I understand. I just thought maybe tonight I could–”

“No,” comes the automatic response. “No more excuses. No more nights off. No more headaches or whatever other bullshit you say to get out of your responsibilities.”

I nod, too scared to say anything else. My father’s eyes are crazy tonight. He’s been sampling his product again, and meth is a hell of a drug.

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