Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 67966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
The scent was clean, herbal, and beneath it a raw, masculine musk that made Axel’s throat tighten.
He wanted to twist around, to see, but his body refused to give up the comfort of the embrace.
He whispered into the steady heartbeat under his cheek, “Thorn?”
The voice rumbled low against his hair. “He’s fine. The guy must have good karma or something because the bullet went clean through. No surgery, no muscle damage. He’ll be home tomorrow.”
Axel sagged in relief, thanking the stars above, his lungs finally able to expand.
Then came the dry, sardonic add-on, “You promised me a safe haven. But so far, you’ve been held at gunpoint, I got pistol-whipped, your landlord was shot, and another man was killed by a half-naked, mean-looking cop who’d been lurking outside.”
Axel froze. Recognition crashed through him.
“Waylan,” he whispered.
“Yeah.”
“Oh gods, please don’t leave. It’s not like this…ever. This is a safe place, I swear it.”
A soft chuckle rumbled inside the chest pressed against him.
“I know. And besides”—Waylan kissed the top of his head, his voice dropping low and serious—“it’d take the National Guard to move me from your side.”
Axel eased back, blinking through the haze before he nearly toppled off the bed.
Waylan looked nothing like the bulky, ragged man from Skid Row.
His skin was scrubbed clean and warm. The overgrown, shaggy hair was pulled back it a tight ponytail, revealing sharp cheekbones and a strong jaw shaded with a neat copper beard. His mustache was clean, his beard groomed, and beneath it all, his mouth—by the gods, that mouth—curved into a smile so radiant it stole Axel’s breath.
He’d always known Waylan’s inner light was blinding, but seeing it gleaming outward was almost too much to gaze at.
Axel’s soul rejoiced as he drank him in. Waylan’s smile was the purest sunshine and his aura rivaled the blackout curtains in his bedroom.
They stared in silence for a long moment until Axel couldn’t wait another heartbeat. He leaned forward, sliding his hand to cradle Waylan’s jaw, and pressed their lips together in a kiss that was soft at first, reverent…then deeper, tongues tangling and tasting.
He clutched at Waylan with desperate hunger, and in that raw surrender, Axel felt the universe peel back its curtain, showing him the truth he’d been searching for all his life.
The heart and soul that’d been made only for him.
Waylan
Waylan hadn’t expected his chest to crack so violently when Axel had gone limp in his arms.
Protecting him had been instinct, not a choice. In that instant, with a gun pointed their way, he’d realized just how much he already cared for Axel.
After Axel passed out, Waylan hadn’t let anyone else carry him. His arms had ached, and his head had throbbed, but he’d refused to put him down.
A man with startling blue eyes, named Lincoln, guided him up way too many fucking stairs to Axel’s condo. He’d promised to watch Axel like a hawk until he returned, while another young man—Casey—showed Waylan to his room so he could get cleaned up.
Casey had been warm, kind, with a trusting demeanor. But wherever Casey went, there was a tall, older man at his shoulder—serious, hovering, protective in a way Waylan envied and admired.
Clearly, in Belladonna, love meant something tangible.
The mansion itself unsettled him at first.
It was too big, too grand, too foreign for a man who slept in tents, on cracked sidewalks, and cold sand.
But everywhere he turned within its walls, he was treated with kindness. He’d been given an extra blanket, food brought to the room where he sat with Axel, and most importantly, there’d been no probing questions asked about how he’d ended up on Skid Row.
And then there was Thorn. The man whose name carried weight among all the others.
Waylan had watched Thorn, bleeding, shot, still throwing himself in front of his lover as if his life was worth nothing compared to Lucas’s.
It had shaken Waylan to the core. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had been willing to take a blow for him, let alone a bullet.
For the first time in years, he wasn’t afraid. Not of them.
Axel had promised him that Belladonna was a haven for the broken. He’d scoffed at first—everyone was broken where he came from, and no one gave a damn.
But here, he felt something different. He’d seen it in their eyes, in the way they clung to one another, fought for one another.
Now, lying awake in a bed far too soft, surrounded by silence instead of sirens, Waylan vowed to give hope and love…one more try.
Maybe, just maybe, Belladonna wasn’t just a mansion. Perhaps it was exactly what Axel said it was: a place where men learned how to start again.
For the first time in years…he was going to try.
End of Season Three Episode Two
Season Finale
Belladonna Mansion
Virginia Beach Oceanfront
Grand Foyer
March 7th, 11:05 p.m.
Two and a half weeks later…