Falling for Hadley: A Novel by Jessica Sorensen
“That depends on who’s asking?” I manage to say in a fairly even voice, although my throat is drier than Londyn’s brownies.
His face remains stoic as he studies me. “Are you asking me to introduce myself?”
I shrug. “You haven’t yet, so maybe you should. I mean, if you really want to know my name, then I should probably know yours first. Otherwise, you’re just some strange dude asking for my name, and I never give strangers my name.”
Everyone in the room is staring at me, some of their lips twitching in irritation, while others look fuming mad. Liam, though, looks mildly amused, so I deem him my favorite. Well, at least amongst all the creepy people in this room.
“Axel Maeiriellie.” He gives a dramatic pause. “Does that change your mind on giving me your name?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. It depends on who you are, Axel Maeiriellie, and what you’re planning to do with this Hadley Harlyton.” I cross my legs and overlap my hands around my knees, mostly to keep my legs from shaking. “So, how about we start with that, and then I’ll decide?”
Holy effing, I’m about to piss my pants. My heart is thrashing in my chest so forcefully I swear it’s trying to escape. Usually, I call the thing a stupid dumbass, but I think it might be thinking smartly this time around.
With his eyes trained on me, he shifts back and rests his elbow against the countertop behind him. “You know, usually when someone talks to me like that, I stop the conversation before they can even finish.”
My palms dampen with sweat. “Yet, you didn’t do that.”
“I know.” He rubs his lips together, his gaze searing into me. “I’m trying to figure out why.”
“Because, while I’m feisty and opinionated, I’m also a bit amusing and endearing?” I suggest with hope. “At least, that’s what some people say.”
“But those people aren’t me,” he says, the epitome of calm.
“I know,” I reply just as calmly. “But it’s the only way I know how to act. I mean, I could be fake and pretend to be scared shitless of you, but what sort of way would that be to go out? Pretending I’m some weak coward when I’m not.” I shrug. “No thanks.”
“So, you think I’m going to kill you?” he questions with a trace of a smile.
I lift a shoulder. “I don’t know. Maybe, I guess.”
“And you’re not scared at all?”
“If I was, why would I tell you? It’s what you want, right? And since you’re about to end me, I really don’t want to give you what you want.” Vomit burns the back of my throat.
“You’re nothing like your father,” he states with a grin.
The sudden burst of emotion radiating from him throws me off for a snap of an instant.
“Okay …?” Confusion seeps through my tone. “Is that a good thing?”
“You tell me?” He watches me closely.
“Well, considering you probably don’t like my father very much right now, I’m going to have to go with a yes.”
“And what if I did like your father?” he wonders. “Then what’d be your answer?”
I feel like I’m being tested and not exactly sure how to pass, I just answer honestly. “I’d say no.”
He says nothing, shucking off his jacket and handing it to the man beside him. Then he rolls up his sleeves, taking his sweet time. In the background, the redhead has stopped beating Austin, apparently done punishing him. Well, either that or Austin is passed out on the floor. I can’t see from where I’m sitting, so I’m unsure.
“You’re insane. Do you know that?” Amelia whispers with a huge grin.
“Okay …” I slant away from her because her insane grinning is making me super uneasy. Plus, it’s weird that she’s sitting right beside me, yet her father doesn’t even seem aware that she’s here.
“Just relax.” She places a hand on my leg. “I think this is going to work.”
“What is …?” I start to ask, but then Axel slips on a pair of brass knuckles.
I’m not certain if I feel relieved he took out the brass knuckles or not. It could be worse. He could’ve taken out his gun.
“What do you know about me, Hadley Harlyton?” Axel asks as he paces the floor in front of me with his hands tucked behind his back.
I fight back a gulp. “Do you want me to answer that honestly?”
“You’ve been so honest up to this point and I haven’t hurt you yet, so what do you think?” He stops in front of me, waiting.
I swallow hard. “I’ve heard that you’re corrupt, that you run illegal gambling sites, that you hate Mr. Porterson, and that you’re kind of insane.”
“Kind of insane?” he muses thoughtfully. “And what’s your assessment on that so far? Do you think I’d pass a sanity test?”
I shrug. “That all depends on what sort of a psychopath you are.”
His brows lower. Totally not the answer he was expecting.
He motions at me. “Please explain.”
I uncross my legs and grip the back of the sofa. “If you’re a smart nutjob, you could probably lie and pass the test with flying colors. But if you’re stupid, you’ll fail.”
“And do you think I’m stupid?” he asks.
I’m smart enough to know there’s only one right answer to his question. “No. If you were, you wouldn’t have a room full of people who I’m assuming will do just about anything you ask.”
He stares me down for a slamming heart race of a second then sharply claps his hands, startling me so badly my bladder threatens to reveal that my cool act is total bullshit.
“Bravo,” he says while clapping. “You’ve answered that question better than anyone else. And I’ve asked it a lot.”
“Well, it’s the truth.” I give a nonchalant shrug, vomit threatening to force its way up my throat. If I puke right now, he’s not going to be so impressed with me anymore.
“Usually, people are crying by now, too,” he adds, lowering his hands to his side.
“I’m not really a crier,” I admit honestly. “Besides, if I started crying now, all that’d happen is I’d end up with swollen eyes, a headache, and a snotty nose, and what good will that do me?”
“Spoken like a Maeiriellie.” His gaze bores into mine. “Who taught you that?”
“Taught me what?” I ask. “How not to cry?”
“How not to feel.”
That’s not what I’m doing …
Is it?
No, I feel.
I felt for five minutes last night when I bawled my eyes out on the kitchen floor. But I’m not about to tell this dude that.
“I guess it’s just a gift.”
“A very good one.” He drags his brass-covered knuckles along the palm of his hand. “But the question is: is that enough?”
Silences stretches by, the room’s so quiet I can hear my own heart beating in my chest and Austin’s shallow breathing flowing from the kitchen. Axel is waiting for me to ask. I don’t want to. I fear the answer. But I can’t let my fear own me now.
“Is what enough?” I dare ask, the slightest tremble in my tone.
Please don’t notice.
A grin curls at his lips. “If I can use that to my benefit or not.”
I’m not sure if I want him to be able to or not.
“My first initial impression is yes.” He sinks down onto the edge of an end table. “However, I was made aware earlier today that you also struck a deal with August.”
August? Who the hell is that? My brows furrow, but then it clicks.
I press my lips together and take a preparing inhale through my nose. “I had to.”
“Did you?” he questions. “Because, from my experience, only the weak ever get forced into doing something they don’t want to do.”
“Perhaps,” I agree. “Unless they’re forced to because the forcer threatened something they care about.”
“Caring makes hearts weak, though, Hadley,” he tells me. “If you were strong, you’d understand that.”
He appears slightly taken aback, mildly irked, and somehow, at the same time, kind of intrigued. “Do explain your theory.”
“It’s not a theory,” I correct. “Caring about stuff is what keeps us moving forward, keeps us going. If I didn’t care about all the things I care about, then I wouldn’t be here. Just like if you didn’t care about something, you wouldn’t be here either.”
His expression is unreadable. “If that’s the case, the thing I care about that brought me here is purely revenge and protecting my name and business.”
“Okay, but you still care about them,” I point out. “Everyone has something they care about. It’s part of life.”
“And what is it you care about?” he wonders.
I tuck my hands underneath my legs and shake my head. “If I told you, then that means I don’t really care about them.”
“And why’s that?”
“Because we protect the things we care about. Just like you’re doing now with your business and family name.”
“Perhaps.” He fiddles with the brass knuckles on his hand, sliding them up and down his fingers. “But if I’m going to truly protect my name and business right now, that means I have to punish you.” He rises to his feet and the people crowding the room start to close in on me.
This is it.
This is the last thing I’m going to see before I die.
Axel holds up his hand and everyone freezes. “Don’t. I haven’t made the command yet.”
They all trade a baffled look, but no one dares speak.
Axel removes his brass knuckles, but I don’t breathe freely yet.
“You’re an interesting character, Hadley Harlyton.” He slips the brass knuckles into the back pocket of his slacks.
“Yeah, I’ve been told that before,” I dare say. “Many times, in fact.”
“I bet.” He crosses his arms and, with his sleeves rolled up, I get a glimpse of the same burn mark currently hidden underneath the bandage on my wrist. The Porterson’s family crest. He must have been branded with it when he worked for August. “But what I really need to know right now is what you’re good at besides being interesting. Because, while you’re entertaining, I can’t see any use for you that would help pay your dad’s debt to me.”
Use for me? Like he wants me to work for him, too?
No, I can’t work for two mobsters. I’d lose my ever-loving mind and probably eventually get killed. Sure, I’m tough, but I have some sanity left.
Then again, what’s the other alternative? Because I really doubt I’m just going to be let out of here if I don’t convince him I’m awesomely useful.
“Entertaining can be useful, Daddy,” Amelia chimes in, sliding off the sofa and lowering her feet the floor. “In the right circumstances.”
Axel’s gaze sharpens as he glances at his daughter. “Why are you even here, Amelia? I’ve been wondering that since I walked in the door.”
“I came on behalf of Hadley,” Amelia explains, inching toward him. “Please don’t be mad, but there’s a few pieces of the story you’re missing.”
Axel looks bored and annoyed. “This isn’t a storybook, Amelia. How many times do I have to tell you that?”
“I promise I don’t think it is anymore,” she swears, sketching an X across her chest with her fingertip. “I swear on my heart.”
Anymore? Does that mean she used to think we were living in a storybook?
“I’ve told you to stop saying that shit,” Axel says. “It makes you sound like a child.”
“Sorry, Dad.” She lowers her hand to her side and wrings her hands in front of her. “But if you’ll just hear me out, I think you might reconsider punishing Hadley.”
Axel stares her down with such hatred I actually pity her. “Very well.”
“Thank you, Daddy.” Amelia rushes toward him, stands on her tiptoes, and whispers something to him.
As she does, Axel’s attention zeroes in on me, his expression undecipherable, but nonetheless, still unnerving. They remain that way for a while, with Amelia whispering who knows what to him and him simply staring at me. No one in the damn room so much as makes a noise except for Austin groaning. I almost get up to go check on him, but my gut instinct begs me to stay put.
Once Amelia is finished whispering, she steps back and turns to me with a grin on her face. Then she walks back to where I’m sitting and takes a seat beside me, close enough that our shoulders touch and I can smell the scent of her perfume. Cherries with a splash of vanilla.
Cherries and vanilla …
Blurry memories surface again.
“You want something to eat?” a girl asks, and the sound of her voice makes me cringe. “I’ve got some cherries.”
“Don’t feed her that,” a boy replies, and a calm sweeps through me. “She’s got to be starving by now.”
“Oh, Blaise, you’re always so sweet,” the girl says through a cheerful squeak.
I blink from the memory.
Blaise.
Blaise?
What the hell was that?
What happened to me?
I want to force my mind back to the past, force myself to remember, but Axel speaks and draws me back to reality.
“Tell me, Hadley.” He steps toward me with his hands in his pockets. “How much are you aware of the mess your dad’s gotten you into?”
“I know a bit,” is all I say, way off my game as fragments of memories swirl through my brain. I try to make sense of it, of what happened to me, but they’re all voices and dark shadows, nothing I can interpret.
“You understand that he double-crossed me when he chose to work for me and August?” he asks, and I nod. “What about the bags of money and drugs he stole from me?”
I shove the images in my mind aside and tell myself to focus, before I don’t have any memories at all other than taking my last breath. “I may know of a bag.”
“Only one?” he questions.
I nod. “That’s all that I’m aware of.”
He exchanges a silent, unreadable look with the redhead then focuses back on me. “And do you know where that bag is now? Or perhaps where your father is?” He holds up his palm before I can answer. “And think very carefully about everything your father has done to you before you answer that.”
“I don’t need to think about it,” I assure him. “I know what my father’s done, and if I knew where he was, trust me, I’d tell you and August and anyone else looking for him.”
“You’d hand him over so easily?” he doubts. “Amelia despises me and even she’d offer herself up to be tortured before she’d stab me in the back like that.”
Yeah, because she’s scared to death of you. “My father stabbed me in the back when he took off and left me here to deal with this shit.” I rise to my feet, and the redhead starts to step toward me, drawing a knife. But Axel holds up a hand in her direction.
“She’s fine.” He turns to me. “Go ahead and finish what you were saying. I find it interesting to hear what it takes for a girl to stab her father in the back.”
“I’m not stabbing him in the back.” My temper rings in my tone, and I curl my hands into fist, stabbing my fingernails into my palms. “He deserves everything headed his way for bailing on me and my sisters and leaving us with this mess. He’s a coward and a bastard and every other asshole-ish word that exists. And if he just did it to me, I might let it slide, but he got my sisters taken away and put their lives in danger.” My composed façade is crumbling into a pile of dust.
Get your shit together, Hadley. Don’t lose your cool.
“So, let me get this straight,” he says. “You believe your sisters are more important than you?”
No, no, no, I’ve screwed this all up.
“No,” I lie. “That’s not what I’m saying.”
“Then, what are you saying?”
“That I’m pissed off at my dad.”
“And that you care about your sist
I want to punch him in the face, but yeah, I also want to keep my hand. “Of course I care about them. They’re my sisters. And I’ll do anything to protect them.” My nails cut deep into my palms, blood seeping out. “Even if it means I have to take on some emotionless mobster dude.” My breath is trembling from my lips, my entire body shaking. I’m so riled up and scared, and honestly, I want to cry. But I won’t. I’ll stand here right in front of him and keep going until he either agrees to stay away from my sisters or puts an end to me.
He smashes his lips together for a beat, and then busts up laughing. “You’re so feisty. It’s …” He shakes his head, laughter still tickling his voice. “How is it that one of the biggest cowards I’ve ever known created you?”
“Most people learn everything from their parents.” I remove my fingernails from my palms. If I make it through this, I’m going to have five crescent shaped cuts in each of them. “I just chose to learn what not to do from mine. Or well, my dad.”
His laughter fizzles. “And what about your mother?”
My pulse pounds deafeningly. “What about her?”
He carries his gaze. “What did you learn from her?”
He said did, which means he knows she died. How? Did my dad tell him?
“How to be strong,” I say. “And how to protect everything I care about.”
He nods understandingly. “She sounds like a smart woman.”
All I can do is nod.
He rubs his hand across his lips, fleetingly examining me before turning around, walking back to the counter, and pouring himself a drink.
After he downs the vodka, he sets the glass down and faces me again. “I’m about to do something I rarely do, Hadley. I want you to remember that and remember this.” He takes measured steps toward me. “There are no second chances with me. You’re a rare and only exception to this. You are to tell no one, especially August Porterson. If you continue to work with him, I won’t stop you. I understand you believe you don’t have another choice.”
The way he says it makes me wonder if I do. But how? If I do, he’ll hurt my sisters.