Cabin of Axes - Bea Paige Page 0,11

with ebon eyebrows that match his black wavy hair.

“Stay away from me,” I hiss, finding my voice and some fight when I bare my teeth at him. His grey eyes flash with challenge as he sits on the corner of my bed and scrapes a hand over his stubbled cheek.

“I don’t think that’s going to be a possibility. You’re in our house after all.”

“Back off, Mathieson,” Franklin says, gripping my tormentor’s shoulder in warning before glancing at me and acknowledging my fear, even if he doesn’t do or say much to soothe it.

Mathieson nods, then throws a tight look my way before standing and moving away from me. With my back pressed against the wall, and my arms wrapped tightly around my legs, I take a good look at the three men. They’re all similar in height, only a few inches between them. Franklin is slightly taller than the other two, but not as broad as Berrin. They’re all wearing similar plaid shirts just in differing shades, and jeans with leather work boots that are well worn. All they need now is an axe, and they’d look exactly how you’d imagine a lumberjack would. Both Franklin and Berrin wear beards and Mathieson has a stubble that shadows his features. All of them are handsome, just like Cassidy had described, but that doesn’t mean a thing. Just because they’re wrapped up in a pretty package, doesn’t mean to say they’re not beasts beneath it all.

“W-what do you want from me?” I stammer, focusing on Franklin who, despite his threat, seems to be the one with the most humanity in his gaze, or at least he’s the one who has more control of his urges.

Urges?

My skin flushes with heat as that rogue thought enters my head. I don’t get time to figure out what that means because Franklin interrupts my thoughts with a question of his own.

“Why don’t you start by telling us how you ended up breaking into our home?” Franklin asks, sitting down on the end of my bed whilst the other two make themselves comfortable elsewhere in the room. Berrin leans against the far wall watching me with amusement in his eyes, as though me being kept trapped here in the basement is completely normal. Mathieson chooses to sit on the floor, with his back against the staircase. Both of them are scrutinising me in a way that makes me feel naked, bare. I hug my knees to my chest, trying to comfort myself.

“I didn’t break in. I used a key.” Franklin raises his eyebrows, but doesn’t interrupt. “I found it in the statue by your front door.”

Berrin chuckles, the rumble deep and guttural. His hazel eyes flash with amusement. “Looks like we need a new hiding place for the spare,” he remarks.

“But how did you end up here, sweetheart?”

The way he says sweetheart is both tempting and frightening, just like honey dripping off a hive surrounded by bees. You want a taste but know you risk being stung if you do. My skin prickles under his scrutiny and a shiver tracks down my spine at his sheer masculinity. I’m on edge, not just because of my fear, but because of his presence, their presence, and how that makes me feel. I’m afraid, sure. Uncomfortable, definitely. Alive… absolutely. I feel alive in a way that should repulse me. My head might be telling me to fear these men, but my instincts have other ideas. If I was an animal, I’d roll over on my back and show them my belly. Part of me wants to do that right now, wants to submit. How messed up is that? None of this is making sense and only convinces me that I know these men and they know me, and if that’s the case, why are they pretending that they don’t?

Frowning, I concentrate on Franklin and not Mathieson, whose gaze is burning my skin. He’s so intense. “Because I found your headed paper in my jacket…”

“Okay, so you walked here? I know you didn’t drive, there’s no car parked out front,” Franklin deduces.

“I took a cab.”

“Right.” He slides a hand through his hair then fixes his hazel gaze on me.

“What’s your name?” he asks, looking at me intently.

“I don’t know. I don’t remember anything about me. I came because of that note. I came here hoping you’d be able to help.”

“You’ve no idea who you are?”

“That’s right. I’ve no recollection of anything about myself prior to a week ago. I don’t know