With frustration reeling from her eyes, she yanks my hands and throws them up into the air. I'm not interested in playing this game, so I drop my hands back down to my sides. Of course, as I should have known, she doesn’t give up. Harley’s hands reach for my shoulders and she tries to sway me around as if we were at a seventh-grade dance.
The warmth of her hands burns through the thin fabric of my shirt and I'm unwillingly losing a sense of control with her. "Here," she says, laughing as if she’s truly enjoying herself. Guilt is hovering over me like a dark cloud, knowing I’m most likely going to destroy her life. "Dancing won't kill you. I promise." The anger that had been rising through me fades as I focus on her smile, the freckles lining her nose, and those eyes that used to look at me with passion while she was explaining whatever the hell was going on in the class we shared. She has no clue who I am, but I'm more positive than ever that she is Isabelle.
There were so many times during the weeks of that class that I wanted to ask her out, but she was on a different level than me. She was out of my league. Plus, if she found out why I was in that class, she would have changed her seat, so I kept my mouth shut and responded with simple answers when she chose to make small talk or say a thought out loud. Her desire to learn was a turn-on for some reason, especially since I initially planned to ignore everything being taught. Isabelle was the one who made me want to learn more about psychology—the human mind and its intricate capabilities, but she didn’t know that class was just the beginning for me. I craved more knowledge after that course and continued to dive into the subject matter by taking similar classes in rehab. Though, at that time, I didn’t know the skills I was learning would eventually be the key to clearing my name from criminal charges.
If she is Isabelle, that’s the best reason to turn off any memories of her before I let them get the best of me. I have to stay focused on the end goal.
When I come back to my senses, realizing I'm still being pulled around by her, I shrug out of her grip. "Look, I don't dance ... especially with my employees."
Harley couldn't care less about anything I’m saying as she continues to dance around in circles as if she’s having the fucking time of her life.
"Dude, stop being such a dud," Everett says to me, pushing past me. "If the girl wants to dance, let her dance."
I'm about three seconds away from losing my damn shit. Everett takes the dance floor by storm and grabs Harley, pulling her to the center of the crowd as they dance like fools for the rest of the song—and the one after that. The rage growing within me isn't going to subside; and I need to get the hell out of this place.
As I make my way through the group of people, I watch Everett's hands slide down Harley's waist, locking around her hips as they move together in unison, grinding to the music.
I grab the back of Everett's shirt and yank him away from Harley and toward the front door.
"Dude, what the hell is your problem?" Everett shouts, straightening the seams of his shirt over his shoulders after I nearly ripped it off him..
"Are you out of your fucking mind?" I ask him.
"You need to lighten up for five minutes. We'll get this all sorted out. Don't worry that pretty little face of yours," Everett says, pinching his fingers around my chin.
"What's the problem?" Harley asks, breathlessly.
I point a finger at her and grit my teeth. "You need to sober up."
She takes a long look at me, dragging her glare from my head down to my toes. "Yeah, and you need to relax," she says.
I take her by the elbow and drag her toward the door, cornering her at the entrance. "If I'm hiring you to work with us, you must act responsible at all times. Do you understand?"
"I don't remember signing a contract agreeing to be responsible twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week," she argues.
She didn't sign any kind of contract because she isn't my goddamn employee.
"Then leave," I tell her, knowing she has nowhere to go.
"Fine," she rebuts. She's bluffing. "I'll go find a nice park bench."
"Harley," I bark, shaking my head in disbelief.
"What's the problem, Axel?"
"Nothing," I tell her. "Go ahead and keep dancing with Everett. I don't give a shit." I really shouldn't give a shit, but I was hoping my alcohol-induced coercion would extract answers from her tonight—answers I'm getting gun-shy about.
Instead of running back off toward Everett, she takes another second to stare me down. "Yeah, except you do care, and I'm not sure why." She folds her arms over her chest and looks around the bar. "Don't go thinking I'm not aware of what kind of bum I am. I know I'm not worth fighting over, so obviously, there's something else you want from me, and you're welcome to let me in on your secret agenda whenever you're ready."
13
Harley
The lights in the bar are blinking, so it must be closing time. I spin around, looking for Axel or Everett. Everett went to the restroom about five minutes ago, and I know Axel is still acting pissy somewhere around here, but everyone is making a beeline for the exit. "Ready?" Axel's voice echoes in my ear. "You look a little lost, but I suppose I would feel that way too after drinking my weight in alcohol."
"Very funny," I tell him, feeling a crackle in my voice. Axel's hand grasps my upper arm and he tugs me toward the exit again. He hasn't been shy about wanting to leave for the past hour, but why drag us here in the first place if he's just going to be a sour ass and make everyone leave the second we start having fun? I don’t get it.
I'm still looking around for Everett, but the place is almost cleared out and I still don't see him anywhere. "Where's Everett?"
"Don't worry about it," Axel snaps.
"Well, is he okay?"
"Yeah, Harley, he's fine," he says. As we continue walking out to the front curb, I notice a black SUV, parked, with hazard lights blinking. "Get in."
"How about a please or something like that?" I scoff. "I'm getting tired of his shitty attitude. I didn't agree to be your puppet for free room and board yesterday."
"Please, Harley, would you slide across the leather seat?"
Now that he's asked nicely, I hop in, finding Everett already in the vehicle. His head is resting on the back of the seat and his eyes are closed. "Are you okay?" I ask Everett with a chuckle as I poke his dimple.
He grins and laughs through a snort. "Yeah," he mutters his response but keeps his eyes closed. He's done, but cheerful, unlike Axel, who slides in on the other side of me, completely disgruntled and displeased with our behavior. How fun is he?
"You know, the hotel is only three blocks away," I tell Axel.
"Do you want to carry Everett home?" he asks.
"No," I say, trying to hide the humor I’m finding in the situation. I didn't think Everett was as drunk as he clearly is. I mean, it’s not like I'm sober, but I could have made it the three blocks, I think.
We head in the opposite direction of the hotel, navigating through the downtown streets of Boston and into a residential area, which I assume is where Everett lives.
"Wait here," Axel tells me before hopping out of the SUV.
He jogs around to the other side and drags Everett out. Maybe he was right. Everett is hardly coherent as Axel pulls him in through his apartment doors.
Well, this is awkward. The driver rests his hands on the steering wheel, causing the cuffs of his pressed, white shirt to rise above his wrists. It looks like he has the same tattoos as Everett and Axel, but what would I know, being half in the bag and all. Still, it makes me a little uncomfortable that these three are apparently in some kind of gang.
It feels like twenty minutes passes by before Axel returns and slides back into the SUV. Once situated, he rests his arm on the door and stares out into the street with a contemplative glare in his eyes.
"Go ahead and take us back," Axel says to the driver.
"No problem," the man replies.
"Is there going to be an issue having you on board?" Axel asks without breaking his stare from out the window.