My eyes connect with his again.
“And what about you?” I ask, cocking my head. “What’re your triggers? If I piss you off, are you going to beat me to death?”
His lips twitch, but it’s a brief reaction. I silently make it my mission to make Axle smile. I don’t think he knows how.
“If that were the case, you’d already be dead.”
I do smile, and I can tell he makes a concentrated effort not to let my smile infect him when he looks away and grabs my bottle of tequila, pouring two shots. I let it slide that he didn’t answer me on the triggers.
“You know my biggest secret, and I don’t even know your last name.”
He pauses, the shot glass almost touching his lips as he looks over the rim at me. He tosses the shot back in one quick motion, and he swallows before putting the empty glass down.
“Axle isn’t the name I was born with. The name I was given was burned with the rest of my past. It’s just Axle.”
I bite down on my lip, my eyes flicking over his face, taking in the scars and the beauty. If he didn’t have scars to flaw him, he’d be so devastatingly gorgeous that he’d make me sick. It’s the scars that make him irresistible.
“That’s all I get?” I ask, looking back into his eyes.
Music starts playing loudly, and I look over as a group of girls—possibly strippers, given the tassels—come strutting in. The guys cheer as the girls saunter over to them, already getting to the lap-dance portion of the evening.
Idly, I wonder if Axle is going to take a turn. Then realize I might cut a bitch if that happens.
Probably not a good idea for me to hang around too long. I’m too crazy to be social.
My eyes swing back to Axle, waiting expectantly for him to answer the question. He’s an unreadable book before me, all the pages blank, and the cover only hints to a story I want to dive into.
“For tonight, that’s all you get,” he says, looking away.
My lips curl in a grin as I skate a little closer, and his hand shoots up, steadying me when I wobble. I really want out of these skates, but I don’t like walking around in my socks on this dirty floor.
“But you might tell me more tomorrow?” I ask.
His gaze flicks to my lips, and for a really exciting second, I think he’s going to kiss me. But he simply shifts his gaze back to mine.
“You’re a confusing girl.”
That has me smiling all the more. “Did you just call me normal?”
One side of his mouth tugs up in a reluctant grin, and a small bit of triumph swells inside me.
“You’re staying in my room,” he says as he pours another shot, watching me as he takes it down in one quick toss.
I arch an eyebrow. “Now that you know I’m the head of a Family, you want me to stay in your room.”
Something dangerously close to amusement sparks in his eyes, but he banishes it, just like he does all the good stuff. Life like this doesn’t offer too many good things. Gotta find pleasure in the small moments.
“I don’t see how you’re running a bookie operation in New York all the way from Halo. Makes that a loophole in your story,” he says, a hint of suspicion in his tone.
This time, I’m the one who is amused. But I don’t want to make him feel stupid. Because he’s not. He just doesn’t understand the way a syndicate works, as opposed to the club he’s in where they handle everything themselves.
“I’ll never run the day-to-day bookie operation. Smitty handles that—”
“Smitty?” he asks, his eyebrows going up.
“My father’s right-hand man, and the man who has saved my life more times than I can count. He’s a really rich man because of my family, and his daughters are my goddaughters. His son is like the adopted brother I always wanted, and he’s part of the business, though it’s a little on the lower end from Smitty. Smitty runs the operation. I only handle the head-of-the-Family obligations. I don’t go around busting kneecaps all day, or keep a ledger on who owes us what. I decide things like how to find, destroy, and kill Phillip Jenkins without starting a war.”
He leans back, eyeing my attire like it somehow makes me less threatening. I only grin broader. Finally, he mutters something under his breath.
He stands, and I skate along behind him as he starts walking toward the stairs.
“Axle! You going to introduce us to your little friend or what? She’s been here all day, and ain’t no one told me her name,” some big guy calls out, his beard touching his chest as he strokes it.
I’m not fond of that leering look he has.