Angels in Leather
Page 19
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“Stop fuckin’ movin’,” he orders. “I have to hold this here until the bleeding stops, because clearly you can’t hold it.”
He rattles my handcuffs, and I want to cock-punch him.
“You fucker,” I growl, but it comes out as a muffled sound that even I can’t understand.
“I can’t understand you,” Axel says, and his tone is amused. “But by all means, keep cursing me. I imagine that’s what you’re doing behind my shirt right now.”
Asshole.
He stands there for a solid ten minutes, neither of us speaking. When he’s satisfied the bleeding has stopped, he pulls the shirt away and tucks it into his jeans.
“On the bike. We’re goin’ back.”
“I hate you,” I mutter, gripping the bike seat and throwing my leg over it.
“If you gave me what I wanted, we wouldn’t be going through this constant ‘me cat you mouse’ bullshit.”
“I’m not giving you anything until you tell me everything,” I say defiantly.
“Ain’t nothin’ to tell.”
“That’s a lie, Axel, and you know it.”
He glares at me, but takes a helmet and shoves it toward me. I’m thankful, in that moment, that it’s an open-face helmet and not a closed-face one, or I’d be in a world of pain right now. I shiver as a gust of wind whips past me, causing my damp clothes to feel cool against my skin. Axel climbs on the bike in front of me, and then turns back, uncuffing my wrists and pulling them around his waist. Then he cuffs them again. He’s not stupid. Then, without warning, he pulls out onto the road.
I close my eyes, unable to stop myself, and breath in the fresh, crisp air. Being on a bike is like being free. There are no words to describe the intense feeling of joy that swells in your chest as you soar through the wind, nothing surrounding you, nothing holding you down. It’s just you and the bike. Or, in my case, you, the bike, and the biker. I concentrate on the moment of freedom, instead of focusing on the way my lips are trembling from the cold, or the fact that I’m cuffed to a man that despises me.
Worse I’m trying to ignore the feeling of his warm, hard skin against my hands.
By the time we get back to Axel’s compound, my nose is pounding, and my head feels heavy. Axel helps me off the bike, and leads me directly to his room where he spins me around and uncuffs me before taking the hem of my shirt, beginning to raise it. I screech loudly, and he snaps his hand back.
“What the fuck?” he growls.
“Don’t touch me!”
He narrows his eyes. “You want to stay here, in wet fuckin’ clothes?”
“No, but I don’t want you touching me.”
“Fine, I’ll go and get Cobra to do it. He did enjoy it last time.”
My mouth drops open, and I clench my fists. He knows he’s giving me a choice, and he knows I can’t refuse him. I’m cold, I’m wet, I don’t want to be in these clothes all night, and I certainly don’t want Cobra taking my clothes off again. God only knows what he did last time. Lowering my eyes, and clenching my jaw, I lift my arms.
Axel rolls his eyes angrily, as if my hesitation was stupid, and then he takes my shirt, lifting it over my head. I keep my eyes downturned as he moves his large body down mine, and grips my pants, lowering them too. I don’t want to look at him, or recognize that my body is having some sort of reaction to him being so close. My feelings for Axel confuse me, and I don’t know that I’ll ever begin to understand them.
When I’m in my underwear, he stands and tosses me a shirt. I pull it on, and it goes all the way down to my knees. It’s one of his. My heart stammers, and again, it makes no sense to me. He’s a monster to me, and yet my body is reacting every time he’s this near. I stand still as he chains me back up on the floor, and then he turns and I hear him ruffling around. A hand is shoved in front of my face a minute later, and I see he’s got some painkillers and a power bar. Shock fills my body as I reach out, and shakily take them.
Then he leaves the room without a word.
Just for something different.
~*~*~*~
The next few days are spent going over the same bullshit. He asks for the USB, I deny him, we get into an argument, and he storms out. By day four, I’m tired of the same crap. I’ve contemplated just giving it to him and leaving this place, but I’m not entirely convinced Axel will let me go once he gets what he wants. He’s a whole other person now. Someone I don’t know.
And yet he’s drawing me to him like a magnet. I want to know what went down. I want the story. I want answers. I need my closure. I don’t know what happened to Axel, or why he needs this USB, but I want to. I should hate him for killing my father, and part of me does, but part of me knows there’s so much more to it than I could ever imagine.
And until I can understand that, I don’t want to leave.
So I keep playing this silly little game. On the night of day four, I’m curled up in my little spot in the corner, ignoring the ache in my thighs and legs from sitting too long. Axel gets me up, and moves me around, but I spend most of my time here, chained up, as if I am a wild animal. He’s trying to break me. I’m not stupid. My wrists are chaffed from the cuffs, and my body is weak with dehydration. I feel exhausted, and yet sleep most nights is non-existent. Instead I listen to Axel sleep, and dream.
He dreams a lot.
I hear the door creak open, and I move my eyes up to see Axel walking in with those lazy, heavy eyes. I slowly lie down and close my eyes, once again too tired to deal with his shit. I hear him shuffle across the room, and then I hear him stop in front of me. I peek through my lashes to see him kneel, and stare down. His eyes hold something I’ve not seen before. It’s compassion. A certain level of gentle I didn’t think he had left.
He rattles my handcuffs, and I want to cock-punch him.
“You fucker,” I growl, but it comes out as a muffled sound that even I can’t understand.
“I can’t understand you,” Axel says, and his tone is amused. “But by all means, keep cursing me. I imagine that’s what you’re doing behind my shirt right now.”
Asshole.
He stands there for a solid ten minutes, neither of us speaking. When he’s satisfied the bleeding has stopped, he pulls the shirt away and tucks it into his jeans.
“On the bike. We’re goin’ back.”
“I hate you,” I mutter, gripping the bike seat and throwing my leg over it.
“If you gave me what I wanted, we wouldn’t be going through this constant ‘me cat you mouse’ bullshit.”
“I’m not giving you anything until you tell me everything,” I say defiantly.
“Ain’t nothin’ to tell.”
“That’s a lie, Axel, and you know it.”
He glares at me, but takes a helmet and shoves it toward me. I’m thankful, in that moment, that it’s an open-face helmet and not a closed-face one, or I’d be in a world of pain right now. I shiver as a gust of wind whips past me, causing my damp clothes to feel cool against my skin. Axel climbs on the bike in front of me, and then turns back, uncuffing my wrists and pulling them around his waist. Then he cuffs them again. He’s not stupid. Then, without warning, he pulls out onto the road.
I close my eyes, unable to stop myself, and breath in the fresh, crisp air. Being on a bike is like being free. There are no words to describe the intense feeling of joy that swells in your chest as you soar through the wind, nothing surrounding you, nothing holding you down. It’s just you and the bike. Or, in my case, you, the bike, and the biker. I concentrate on the moment of freedom, instead of focusing on the way my lips are trembling from the cold, or the fact that I’m cuffed to a man that despises me.
Worse I’m trying to ignore the feeling of his warm, hard skin against my hands.
By the time we get back to Axel’s compound, my nose is pounding, and my head feels heavy. Axel helps me off the bike, and leads me directly to his room where he spins me around and uncuffs me before taking the hem of my shirt, beginning to raise it. I screech loudly, and he snaps his hand back.
“What the fuck?” he growls.
“Don’t touch me!”
He narrows his eyes. “You want to stay here, in wet fuckin’ clothes?”
“No, but I don’t want you touching me.”
“Fine, I’ll go and get Cobra to do it. He did enjoy it last time.”
My mouth drops open, and I clench my fists. He knows he’s giving me a choice, and he knows I can’t refuse him. I’m cold, I’m wet, I don’t want to be in these clothes all night, and I certainly don’t want Cobra taking my clothes off again. God only knows what he did last time. Lowering my eyes, and clenching my jaw, I lift my arms.
Axel rolls his eyes angrily, as if my hesitation was stupid, and then he takes my shirt, lifting it over my head. I keep my eyes downturned as he moves his large body down mine, and grips my pants, lowering them too. I don’t want to look at him, or recognize that my body is having some sort of reaction to him being so close. My feelings for Axel confuse me, and I don’t know that I’ll ever begin to understand them.
When I’m in my underwear, he stands and tosses me a shirt. I pull it on, and it goes all the way down to my knees. It’s one of his. My heart stammers, and again, it makes no sense to me. He’s a monster to me, and yet my body is reacting every time he’s this near. I stand still as he chains me back up on the floor, and then he turns and I hear him ruffling around. A hand is shoved in front of my face a minute later, and I see he’s got some painkillers and a power bar. Shock fills my body as I reach out, and shakily take them.
Then he leaves the room without a word.
Just for something different.
~*~*~*~
The next few days are spent going over the same bullshit. He asks for the USB, I deny him, we get into an argument, and he storms out. By day four, I’m tired of the same crap. I’ve contemplated just giving it to him and leaving this place, but I’m not entirely convinced Axel will let me go once he gets what he wants. He’s a whole other person now. Someone I don’t know.
And yet he’s drawing me to him like a magnet. I want to know what went down. I want the story. I want answers. I need my closure. I don’t know what happened to Axel, or why he needs this USB, but I want to. I should hate him for killing my father, and part of me does, but part of me knows there’s so much more to it than I could ever imagine.
And until I can understand that, I don’t want to leave.
So I keep playing this silly little game. On the night of day four, I’m curled up in my little spot in the corner, ignoring the ache in my thighs and legs from sitting too long. Axel gets me up, and moves me around, but I spend most of my time here, chained up, as if I am a wild animal. He’s trying to break me. I’m not stupid. My wrists are chaffed from the cuffs, and my body is weak with dehydration. I feel exhausted, and yet sleep most nights is non-existent. Instead I listen to Axel sleep, and dream.
He dreams a lot.
I hear the door creak open, and I move my eyes up to see Axel walking in with those lazy, heavy eyes. I slowly lie down and close my eyes, once again too tired to deal with his shit. I hear him shuffle across the room, and then I hear him stop in front of me. I peek through my lashes to see him kneel, and stare down. His eyes hold something I’ve not seen before. It’s compassion. A certain level of gentle I didn’t think he had left.
