While peeling my clothes off the floor, a feel a fleeting sense of awkwardness come over me, and I don't know what to say to Axel after that. We hardly know each other, and I don't typically sleep with men I don't know, especially those I’m kind of working for.

I pull my pants up and reach for my bra hanging off the nightstand, but I’m caught in a daze as I stop to watch him pull up his pants and weave his belt through the loops. He's been wearing suits and clothes that sort of cover what's beneath, which is a flawless canvas of muscles and intricately designed tattoos. He's kind of perfect, besides the whole convicted psychopath thing.

"Dr. Phillips was my psychologist and rehab mentor," he says. "You were in your masters’ program, and I was not even enrolled in your university, but it was part of my treatment to attend some of his classes." While rage begins to rise back through my gut, I try to keep calm, knowing his explanation is far from over. I fasten my bra and pull my shirt on. "I never wanted a psych career. I was just avoiding a life sentence in prison."

I have no clue how to wrap my head around anything he is saying. "A life sentence? What? What did you do?" Other than commit homicide, obviously.

"Nothing. I did nothing," he says. "I was set up. That's all there is to it."

How interesting. He was set up. I was set up. It seems a little too coincidental to me.

"Well, I don't remember you from class," I tell him, trying to catch my breath before I speak again. "So, what, you really think we were in the same class?" Some of my earlier college classes I took were filled with more than a hundred students sometimes, but not typically throughout my masters’ program.

"We sat beside each other for an entire semester," Axel tells me. He's lying. I would have remembered him. I think. "My hair was longer, and I had a beard and glasses." Still not ringing a bell. I attended school for four years and took more classes than I can count. However, with all the thousands of students who attended my school, he was watching me—he remembers me.

I'm pretty sure I'm about to be murdered.

"We made small talk every day," he says. "You introduced yourself on the first day, telling me how excited you were for that particular class we were in. At the time, I was wondering what person could be that excited about a Cognitive Neuropsychology class, but you had this wild passion in your eyes when you started talking about the shit I had no clue about. It was impressive and sparked a desire within me to learn more."

I'm struggling to remember this, but I do kind of recall talking to a guy in that class since we sat in the same seats the whole semester. I remember we had assigned seating for some reason, but that guy didn’t look like Axel, and I feel like I'd remember his name. If my memory serves me right, the guy sitting next to me in that particular class was scruffy, with overgrown hair and always in sweats—never quite interested in what Mason was teaching.

The lost look on my face provokes Axel to reach into his back pocket. He pulls out a worn, brown leather wallet and flips it open. Searching through his cards, he slides one out from the back and hands it over to me. It's a Boston University student ID. I examine it, instantly remembering the man he’s claiming to have once been. I remember now. How could I forget? We didn't just talk every day—we were friends. We'd stay after class some days and talk about the theories we were learning about, even though I remember wondering if he was truly as interested as I was. "I remember you, but your name wasn’t Axel." He went by Pierce I think. It didn’t ring a bell before now.

"It’s not uncommon to use your last name," he says. "Plus, I don’t think you should be one to talk about names at the moment, huh?"

"You changed a lot," I tell him in observance of his executive look—clean shaven, short hair, at least forty pounds slighter—and muscles, lots of those. I look back and forth between his face and the ID, noticing the similarities, one by one. The kind eyes I remember looking at when we talked. The green color is the same, but there’s a hardness within those eyes now. He's unfriendly, rather than always smiling and being goofy as I remember him. He takes the ID out of my hand, and I watch as relief settles through him. Axel sits down on the edge of my bed and buttons his shirt back up. "I had a thing for you," he admits.

"Me?" I laugh. I never paid much attention to guys those last couple years of classes. The research papers and exams were so heavy, they took over my life.

"A hot, smart chick who gave me the motivation to want to do something with my life. You were kind of unforgettable." I'm listening to what he's saying, but my confused and fragile mind trips and falls over the part where he called me hot.

"I guess I don't need to ask what happened to you, but how did you end up like this?" Is all I can manage to ask. "I liked you better then." It’s the truth.

"It's a long story," he mumbles. "And you? What happened to you?"

"It's a long story," I mirror his reply.

"Well, I like you better now," he says. My stomach feels hollow, and my pulse quickens, causing me to stand from the bed. "When I brought you into this, it was because I needed you—your skills. I had read many papers written by Dr. Phillips over the years, and he was constantly mentioning your name when it came to developments within the research he was conducting. I knew Dr. Phillips well, and I know he didn't speak highly of anyone. You were the only one, which confirmed my beliefs on where you were headed in your career. Then, when he went to prison, some people speculated you were gone, like the other apprentices you were working with, but I knew you were smart enough to escape the limelight. It was the exact moment the student became the teacher—it was the exact moment you became more important than you may ever realize."

"It's just a psych degree," I tell him, continuing to pace. The gig is up. He knows who I am, but I’m not buying his reasons for needing me.

"Your skills are untouchable, Isabelle. Your passion turned into success, and it’s a drive we need." He stands up, pulling me to him. "I've witnessed what you're capable of. You may think you're doing something bad, but we're the good guys. We're protecting this country from things they should never know—from turmoil, fear, and destruction."

"Who is we?" I ask. Considering this is the most words I've heard come from Axel's mouth since I met him, I want to believe what he's saying is sincere, but then again, everything surrounding my life is a lie.

"Me, whatever."

"Axel, who do you work for?"

"Myself. I do contract work. People do it all the time."

"Who are you contracting for?"

"I can’t tell you that. I signed a non-disclosure agreement. I’m sorry. I’m sure you know all about those agreements and how important they are." I signed too damn many of those; although, I’m sure they’re all void now, considering Mason is behind bars.

"No. I don't want to be beaten just because I have a useful skill," I remind him. Did he forget why I left this morning?

"I can train you," he says. I close my eyes and want to shake my head. I want to tell him no. "You can trust me." His hand cups my shoulder, then his fingers trace down the length of my arm before touching the bracelet on my wrist. The sensation of the knotted weave moving against my skin makes me jump with fear.

I pull away from his grip. "I can trust you? Just because you say so? No, it doesn’t work that way, Axel. I can’t trust anyone. My life is constantly in jeopardy. Do you not understand that? The only reason I knocked on the door of your staged job offer location is because I was starving and scared to sleep at a shelter, or on the street if the shelter was filled. Besides that, how do you suggest I trust a man who had been following me, stalking, and waiting for the exact right moment to dive in and snatch me up for your own use."

"Fine, don’t trust me, but I can keep you off the street, okay?" he argues.

"Why are you always so angry?"

"I'm not angry," he argues.

"Bull!"

"If it's any consolation, I've been a hell of a lot less angry since you agreed to work with us. Well, most of the time," he says, giving me a hint of a smile.

"That's a little scary," I tell him, making my way over to the window, needing a break from the conversation and the question of whether I want to stay.

He gives me a minute as I press my forehead up against the cool glass while I stare out into sapphire swirls within the bay. What other options do I have? I couldn’t find a job I’d be safe at, or that offered enough money to keep me off the street. I was out of options, and I’d be right back there if I walked away from this potentially catastrophic trap I willingly dove headfirst into.

Heavy hands rest on my shoulders, and the proximity of his warmth fogs my head a little bit more. "Stay," he whispers into my ear.

The word sends a shiver down my spine and other places that are still tingling from his touch. With the relentlessly growing ache in my chest, I succumb to an agreement. "Okay," I reply. My response is based on a survival instinct and a lack of options, but to him, this will probably just be a notch on his bedpost.

His hands fall from my shoulders, and he takes my arm, turning me to face him. My gaze sets on his chest, and I refuse to look up at whatever expression he may be trying to show me. "Good," he says.

"We shouldn't have done what we just did," I tell him.

"So ... " he sighs, sounding pleased with himself. "I shouldn't do this either." A finger slides beneath my chin, urging me to glance up at the lustful look I desperately need to avoid. He leans down, prolonging the seconds of silent apprehension with less than an inch worth of space between our lips. With his eyes locked on mine and the slightest of smiles carved into his mouth, I lose my restraint, becoming a different kind of prisoner against my will. The only control I’m left with is taking in the air that’s tainted with his cologne, so I hold my breath.

Axel steals all that’s left of me as he pins my body to the window with his solidity. His hand works through my hair and his body becomes heavy against mine as the chill from the window seeps deep into my skin. His other hand finds my cheek, and the gentleness of his touch doesn't match the rest of his movements. This kiss is nothing like the last two. This one isn't out of frustration, it's built from a memory and an intended purpose.

I’ve had no connection with my prior life—my parents or friends—and therefore, no one has given a shit about me for so long that the feeling of being wanted by someone causes a confusing desire. When Axel parts his lips from mine, his gaze softens as he twists a loose strand of my hair behind my ear. "I wanted to do that every day during those three months of classes. Every single day, Isabelle. You made me want to become the man I am today, and it means more than I can explain to you."

I swallow hard, trying to take in this other side of Axel. "Why didn't you ask me out or say something during that time?" I liked him then too, but I thought we just had a common interest, which seemed like nothing more than an ordinary landscape for our short-lived friendship.

"You were out of my league," he mutters.

"I still am," I say, grinning. "Sometimes, it’s worth taking the shot though, right?"

"Yes, you are, and I realize now, I should have taken the chance then." Axel backs up and gives me some space so I can catch the breaths I’ve lost over the last minute.

"Your phone is lighting up on the desk," I tell him as the colorful display catches my attention.

The moment between us is over, and Axel grabs his phone, answering it without missing the second buzz. "Yeah, man. I—ah—I just got Harley back to the hotel." There's silence as I watch Axel squint an eye closed and look up to the ceiling. "You're in the hotel?" He squeezes his fingers against his temples and squeezes his eyes shut. "We're in her room, yeah." Axel ends the call and tosses the phone onto the bed. "Everett's on his way up."

"Oh, okay." Should I be bothered by this?

"Your face is flushed. He's going to take one look at you and know," he says.

"He's going to know what?" I question.

"That I just had the best sex I’ve ever had with the chick Everett hasn't shut up about for the past week." Well, this should end well. I'm guessing the least of my worries is the martial arts training they both want to offer me. I should be more concerned that they’re both evidently very good at martial arts.

I walk past Axel and close myself inside of the bathroom. What am I doing? Why am I still doing it? I have to make this stop. This is stupid and dangerous. I turn the sink on and lean forward to splash water onto my face. There's already a knock on the door, and within a matter of seconds a conversation grows from within the room. I can't make out what they're saying, but I think there's laughter. I face my nearly unrecognizable reflection and note the obvious red coloring on my cheeks—that well-fucked look hasn't faded, but probably because of the looping memories from the last half hour still playing in my head.

I splash my face with more cold water from the faucet and try to switch my thoughts to something less appealing … like convicts, interrogation, brainwashing, and suicide.

I’m going to hell.

After a long two minutes of imagining what hell might look like, my complexion has returned to the pasty white hue I’m used to. I look unfazed enough to step out of the bathroom.

"Hey," I’m greeted with only one foot out of the bathroom. "How do you feel about traveling?" Everett asks me with a wide grin. "Oh, and I'm glad you're sticking around."

"Travel?" I question. "Where would we be going?"

"D.C.," Axel says. "We need to meet up with someone."

Flying may be an issue for me, considering Isabelle Hammel is wanted. My fake ID may work with the bars, cops, and state prisons, but TSA has the governmental scanners that check for a chip I don’t have in my nearly perfect fake ID. "Um," I stall.

"We have a private jet," Axel adds in. Of course you do.

"What about the martial arts training?" I ask like it’s important. It’s a way to distract and stall me from running. In any case, I don't want to go to D.C. After what I learned from Mason earlier today—that’s the worst place for me to be.

"You won't need training for what we need to do in D.C., but we will be tending to that when we get back," Axel says.

"You're scared of flying, aren't you?" Everett says, teasingly.

I raise a brow and open the closet I'm next to. "It's not that."

"It's a quick trip," Axel says.

"Um, I don't think I should go," I tell them.

"It will be fine," Axel continues.

"I don't think you understand," I begin, but then realize Everett wasn’t here for our conversation over the last hour. "Never mind."

"But, I do, and you're safe with us." I have spent the last couple years trusting no one, and now I'm expected to toss that aside and put my faith in them, knowing how close I’m walking to the edge. I've been hiding from the world for a reason.

"Everett knows who you are," Axel says. Even though I still haven't orally admitted to it, he remembers me from class, and I'm not sure there is a way to persuade him otherwise.

"Great, then you both know how dangerous D.C. is for me."

"You'll be okay," Axel says.

"Tell me who you work for … or I'm not going."

Axel looks at Everett, and Everett shrugs. "Your call, man."

"We're mercenaries."

"Oh my God, you're fucking with me right now, aren't you? Mercenaries for the government," I tell them, not bothering to ask.

"You don’t have to worry. You are Harley outside of this room. We've hired you to be on our team," Axel says. "We need you, like I said."

"No, I just—I should never have fallen for this shit. Your ‘someone’ that you have to see … he or she is after me, aren’t they?"

Axel reaches for me and grabs my arms, holding me in front of him. "You're safe, and you’re Harley, not Isabelle. That's all that matters. You don't have to talk to anyone. We just need to retrieve some assignments. This has nothing to do with you. Okay?" I look into his eyes, hoping to see whether his words are a lie or the truth, but he's as good at this as I am, and I see nothing but a straight-edge stare in return.

I could run from them, but it’s useless. They have me now, and I need to cooperate until I can safely remove myself from this situation. Hopefully, they aren’t dumb enough to think they’re getting any more information from me than they’ve already managed to obtain; although, I can’t help but consider how much easier my life would be if I gave up, like I threatened Mason earlier. Would I be thrown into prison too, for being an accessory to Mason’s doings? It’s the only fear stopping me from handing everything over. Allowing life to play out is pretty much the only choice I have at this point.

I grab my bag and fill it with the clothes I have and grab my cosmetics out of the bathroom, tossing them into the bag too. "Wow, that was fast. Looks like Axel sweet talked you pretty good, huh?" He laughs. Neither Axel nor I, are laughing though, which may be more of a giveaway than if we just laughed along with him.

"Don't question me, or I'll change my mind again," I tell him, exhaling with aggravation after I turn away from them.

"Meet us downstairs in an hour," Axel says. He walks past me as if we’re no more than strangers passing on the street. "Everett, are you coming?"

"Nah, I'll keep Harley company," he says.

Axel gives me a quick look, and I can only imagine what's going through his head. "I need your help, Everett," he says. "Let's go." Everett rolls his eyes and follows Axel out the door.