CHAPTER 2 Ghosts in the Dark
Axle's POV
The numbers on the screen blur together. Spreadsheets, forecasts, quarterly reports, I stare at them, willing them to mean something. But they don't. They haven't, not for a while now.
A sharp knock slices through the silence.
Before I can say a word, the door flies open.
"Sir… I'm sorry, I tried to stop her…" my assistant stammers behind the whirlwind that is my mother.
"Stop apologizing, Meredith. I have every right to see my son," she snaps, heels clicking across the marble floor like gunshots.
I wave Meredith off with a tight nod. She retreats, flustered. I don't blame her. My mother's presence is a storm no one wants to get caught in.
"What do you want, Mother?" I ask, leaning back in my chair. My voice is flat. I don't have the energy for this.
"I've called you. Ten times."
"I've been working."
She scoffs. "Don't give me that. You ignored the dinner with the Sterlings two nights ago. Do you think we can afford to insult them like this?"
I press my fingertips to my temple. "I didn't feel like going."
"You didn't feel like it?" Her tone is sharp. "Axle, this marriage alliance is crucial. The Knights and the Sterlings…"
"God, will you stop?" I explode before I can stop myself. I stand so fast my chair scrapes against the floor. "Can you hear yourself? You're talking about marrying me off like a pawn in a business deal months after I lost my wife!"
She flinches but recovers quickly. "I'm doing what's best for you. For Liam. You think hiding in this office and clinging to Katrina's ghost is helping anyone?"
My jaw clenches. "Don't. Say. Her. Name."
Silence crashes between us.
I stare at the city skyline through my floor-to-ceiling windows, but all I see is red.
"Katrina has been gone almost two years," she continues, softer now. "And all you do is bury yourself in this glass tower. You've forgotten how to live."
"I remember just fine." My voice is steel. "She was light. And laughter. And chaos. And I lost her. So no, I don't give a damn about the Sterlings or your strategic mergers."
She opens her mouth to argue, but I'm already grabbing my keys off the desk. "We're done here."
"Axle…"
I didn't wait. I slam the door on her words.
I drive. No destination, no direction. Just me, the hum of the engine, and a storm roaring inside my chest.
Trina's face won't leave my mind. Her smile, her voice, the way she called me "Ax" when she wanted something. And the way she looked at Liam like he was her whole world.
I grip the steering wheel tighter.
I pull off the main road and into a darker part of town, somewhere the cameras won't follow. Somewhere I can breathe without seeing my name in headlines the next morning.
A neon sign flickers ahead: OASIS. The letters buzz like they're on the verge of burning out.
Perfect.
I step inside, the thrum of bass pulsing in my chest. It smells like sweat, alcohol, and desperation, just what I need.
No one here knows me. No one here expects me to smile, or pretend I've moved on.
I slide into a seat by the bar, signal for something strong. The whiskey burns down my throat like I deserve it glass after glass.
And then I see her.
Dancing.
No, not dancing…moving like sin wrapped in silk. Like she owns the music, commands the air, and every flicker of light is drawn to her curves.
Her hips sway with a slow, deliberate rhythm, each roll smooth and suggestive, like she's teasing the universe. Her arms float above her head, fingers twirling through the dark as her spine arches with a sensual grace that makes my throat dry.
The short black dress she wears doesn't just cling to her body, it worships her, tracing the outline of her hips, the soft swell of her breasts, the long length of her legs.
Her hair tumbles down her back in dark, wild waves, whipping around her as she spins, and the way she tosses her head, like she's laughing at gravity sets something loose in me.
Her movements are slow, hypnotic, dripping with heat and purpose, like foreplay set to bass. She's not dancing for anyone. She's dancing for herself and that makes it even more unbearable to watch.
She glows in the dim light alive, untouchable, untamed.
My breath catches.
She looks like Katrina.
No. She doesn't just look like her.
She is her.
Or perhaps the alcohol's playing tricks on me. Maybe grief is. But in this haze, I don't care. For one night, I can pretend the universe didn't rip her away from me.
Before I know it, my feet move on their own. I'm walking across the dance floor, past bodies grinding and lights flashing, straight to the ghost I can't stop seeing.
She doesn't notice me until I'm close enough to touch.
Then, like some twisted cosmic pull, she turns. Our eyes meet.
And for a split second, my heart forgets how to beat.
There's confusion in her gaze. A flicker of pain. But neither of us speaks.
I reach out, hesitantly.
She doesn't pull away.
The music swells.
Then she moves closer, her body aligning with mine like she was meant to be here all along. Her hips roll against me, slow and deliberate.
It's not Trina. I know it's not.
But right now, I don't care.
Our hands find each other in the dark. Her body presses into mine, warm and alive. The scent of vanilla clings to her skin. Her head tips back as she dances against me, and something tightens in my chest.
I lower my head to her ear and call out the only name in my half drunk mind. "Katrina?" I ask, barely above a whisper.
She doesn't answer.
She turns instead.
And suddenly, her lips are on mine.
I don't know who moves first. Maybe it's her. Maybe it's me.
But the second our mouths meet, it's like fire. Hot, consuming, desperate.
I'm kissing Katrina's ghost.
But God help me, I can't stop.