I glance around, confirming no one is near as I roam a grassy area behind La Lune Noire, designated for employees. “I’m still at the resort.”
The clacking of his fingers on keys halts. “Are they holding you?”
There’s a group of employees having lunch closer to the building, laughing and carrying on. Happy. The sight severs me, ripping me in half—one part wanting to bolt, the other wishing Icould stay forever. I don’t think either hope is within my reach. And yet it isn’t an outright depiction of imprisonment.
“No. It’s complicated. I … I haven’t slept or eaten. I’m a mess, Tripp. I’ve been vomiting for days. This checking in once a week really sucks.”
Axel has either been busy or avoiding me, not that I’m anxious to see him. I don’t know what to make of the blend of incongruent emotions he provokes in me. Anger, fear, lust, comfort, and maybe a bit of awe. Since our return from downtown on my first official workday, I’ve translated a host of boring documents. Each evening, I go back to my suite and work out until I devolve into a nauseous, shaky mess. Even my bones feel like they’re walking on death row.
“Zara, what the hell is going on there? Are you hurt? Why the fuck didn’t you call the emergency line?”
Tripp’s shock is warranted. That was far more vulnerability than I would traditionally extend, but I’ve never felt this forlorn.
“It’s not …” I swallow all the dread plaguing me, feeling so foolish. “I’m not sure he knows—”
“Who? Start at the beginning.” He practically coos that, treating me like an asset who’s on the verge of a mental breakdown.
Maybe I am.
I drop my head, leery that someone might read my lips on the name. “Axel Noire. It’s still not clear if he knows I’m Dad’s daughter, but in a resort full of people who do what we do, he’s convinced I’m here on assignment. And he … Tripp, this guy makes me feel like a novice again. I’m so out of my fucking league.”
“You are never out of your league. You master every situation we put you in. You always have. But,” he sings that with a thread of amusement, “a little humbling couldn’t hurt. You can’t always be the best. And since you’re talking to me, I thinkyou’re probably just freaking out. You need to get your head on straight.”
Irritation sizzles beneath my skin. “Since we’re talking life or death, aiming to always be the best is a wise goal. The only goal.”
“All I meant was, these are growing pains. You’re used to missions where you’re a shadow. You slip in and out without notice. And you’re brilliant. But that’s a sprint. And you’re fast. This takes endurance.” He chuckles. It’s condescending, even if he doesn’t intend it to be. “Nothing you’ve said so far is a true distress signal. Long jobs have hiccups. I’d say you just aren’t used to the marathon.”
“This isn’t funny,” I snarl. “He took me into the city.”
His humor morphs to concern. “You let him change your location?”
I wouldn’t traditionally do that without alerting them, but I was … duped. I fell for the sapphire eyes, the stoic demeanor, the jaw cut from granite, and the magnetic touch, beckoning me closer. It’s mortifying.
“I wavered, but he’s been nice. I don’t know.” A sigh squeaks out of me. I’m so off my game here. Maybe I was even before I came, but there is no point in sharing that. “I didn’t really have a choice. Anyway, we had lunch and explored the city. We were having a good time. Next thing I knew, he was spewing all this stuff about how there’d been a hit out on him the same day I showed up and how my arrival was suspicious. I argued back, got a little pissed. I wasn’t too worried because we were in the open. I trusted him and feared him, all at once. But then he … whistled.”
“Whistled?” Tripp parrots, and it’s as if the world stills, like it did when Axel and I were on the Riverwalk.
A shiver trickles down my spine. The birds fly in slow motion. Their warning cheeps are drowned by the rustling trees, the resounding bass from a loudspeaker, and the far-off prattling ofthe employees gathering on the elaborate brick patio. Signs of life.
“Yeah.” I string my fingers through my hair, remembering. “And at the sound, everyone as far as I could see froze. Cops, musicians, tourists. They were all there for him, ready to shoot me.”
“Fuck,” he growls, his frantic pecking resuming. At least now, he’s catching up. “But he didn’t hurt you?”
“No.” I shake my head even though he can’t see it. “He gave me a choice. I could leave right then or come back and play by his rules. I chose to come back.”
“Okay,” he mocks. “That was a choice.”
My spirit stirs, like it did that day when I was nine. “Not a good choice.”
“Then why did you make it?” he barks. “What is going on with you? And why the hell would he give you a choice if he suspected anything duplicitous toward him?”
He should’ve killed me.
There’s no easy way to explain where my mind was on that riverfront. It was busy and chaotic, searching for an escape route and reasons and something else I can’t quite name. I wanted answers about Mom. I like it here, maybe more than I’ve ever liked anywhere. I hate to fail. And the thought of saying goodbye to Axel was daunting. He was threatening me and freeing me at once. In that moment, I was desperate to keep holding on to him. It didn’t make sense.
My reasoning for asking if he’d want more with me wasn’t fully fleshed out. It was, in part, a tactic to see if that was an angle I could use, but there was an undeniable fervor inside me—a rush of excitement that maybe the electricity crackling between us was something worth gripping. It caught me off guard as much as it did him. His words told me he could never want me, but his eyes and his body screamed that he wantedme more than anyone ever had. Every cell of my being craved knowing what it would feel like to have him hurdle that line.
Tripp won’t appreciate any of that, so I stick to the real catalyst for how sick I’ve been.
