Read An Excerpt From 'Axe and Grind' by Taylor Hutton

In this decadently dark romance, a virtual dating experiment spins into a deadly web of obsession, greed, love, and passion.

Intrigued? Well read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Axe and Grind by Taylor Hutton, which releases on January 6th 2026.

Josie Greene has always been a glass half-full kind of girl. But after a messy breakup, she’s broke, betrayed, and barely getting by. Even her trusted tarot cards point to chaos in her future. And they’re right: Axe MacKenzie needs her help.

As part of the tech CEO’s latest covert mission, Axe has been developing a simulator to create any user’s “Perfect Match,” and bubbly Josie is the ideal woman to test his product. When the gorgeous, reclusive billionaire makes her an offer—fake date him so he can launch his groundbreaking AI dating app—Josie’s in no position to refuse.

But Axe’s two worlds collide as the criminal underworld corrupts their experimental fling. What started as steamy role-play quickly spirals into a very real threat, leaving both Josie and Axe no choice but to uncover their well-buried pasts. With her life on the line, Josie will have to trust the man who has created the ultimate virtual illusion—and who might be hiding the most sinister truths of all…

EXCERPT

“Hey, Red. Haunt here often?”

I can feel Freddy’s creepy gaze on me before I even look up. His beat-up hat dangles from his razor fingers. He’s objectively unattractive, but it’s his eyes that really make me shrink into my seat. Why does being a woman alone at a party feel like being a sitting duck? My arms are crossed, legs are crossed—I’m practically screaming leave me the fuck alone. Yet somehow, this guy still thinks he’s got a shot. That, or he wants to fillet me.

“My date is coming back any minute,” I tell Freddy. “So yeah, no. Not doing much haunting.”

“Is your ‘date’ the hottie in the black velvet? Because, damn, I’d happily be the third.”

Ugh. “Sorry, dude. I’m just really not feeling it,” I say. Freddy is way too tall, especially now that he’s looming over me while I sit.

I decide to stand up, which creates a whole other weird vibe in our body language standoff.

“Oh, come on,” he continues, stepping closer. His breath is as strong as it is bad. Pickles and mustard and a hard blast of cheap rum. I can’t step back, because the chair is already pressing against my calves. I could sit down again, but that feels like defeat. “We both know you don’t have a boyfriend. Girls who have boyfriends don’t dress like that.”

What the fuck is that supposed to mean? I look around, hoping for eye contact with anyone who can rescue me in case this guy gets handsy. Zero people.

“I . . . I do have a boyfriend. A fiancé, actually. Sorry,” I say. My second sorry in two minutes. Also, I’m deeply wishing I could pluck my engagement ring out of Bryan’s chicken-fried steak. A ring on my finger would have hinted that there was a large, buff man coming to my rescue—when in reality, Bryan was a delicate five feet five and got winded carrying groceries. That sensitive topic is also why I haven’t bought a pair of high heels in years. I can’t believe I let that guy dictate my shoe game.

“Come on. We could find better ways to entertain each other somewhere private. Be my partner in crime, Red?”

He’s too physically intimidating to be funny. He has at least fifty pounds on me and a knife hand that’s rubber but could probably still do some damage if he’s provoked.

“Look,” I say firmly. “I’m not feeling great.” I’m not kidding— my sudden shakiness and prickling sweat make me even more nervous. Am I having a diabetic emergency?

Please, God, not now.

He smirks like he hasn’t heard a word I said. I start to move, quick and unsteady, toward the first door I spot—not sure if I’m shaky from low blood sugar or straight-up fear—but he cuts me off, his body starfishing to fill the entire door, blocking me from reaching the handle. Fuuuuuck.

“Let’s not play games,” he says.

“Agree. Game over,” I tell him. Then I knee him in the balls as I yank open the door, enjoying his baby squeal of pain as I slam it behind me. I find myself in the small stairwell that leads to the back exit of the asylum, where the noise outside tells me it’s packed. Good way to lose this loser. I’ll need to tell Honor where to meet me. Last thing I want is for her to end up alone with this jerk. He knows we’re together, and I’m sure he’ll be out for revenge.

Breathing deep—you are okay, Josie, no attack—I step out into the cold air and am surprised to find a total vibe change in the yard.

It’s less horror, more horrible Halloween party.

Morticia the DJ is enthroned on an LED-embedded platform stage, and the writhing bodies below all seem connected in one pulsating disco delirium on a temporary dance floor. I blink, dazed. It’s a futuristic fantasy; gamers and coders and techies are either dancing or lounging on giant pillows. I push my way past a group of neon-painted dancers and a couple making out on a beanbag. The air feels thick and hazy and weirdly warm, probably thanks to the fog machines and outdoor heaters and not an indication I’m about to faint. Right?

I should really find something to eat.

I feel Freddy’s rubbery grip on my arm before I see his face. Panic floods my system, and I swing around, but he’s quicker this time. His expression is a twisted mask of rage.

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“You think you can just walk away from me like that, you bitch?” His voice is a low growl, and he yanks me closer, causing me to lose my balance. I try to scream, but the sound is swallowed by the pounding music. I struggle against his hold.

“I’ll do worse,” I gasp, pulling away and making a frantic dash toward the bar. Honor and I were supposed to take a self-defense class at the Y last month, but we kept flaking. Too late for that now. I stumble through the crowd, my heart beating double time. Everything around me warps—neon lights cast twisted shadows that feel like old, half-forgotten nightmares.

Suddenly, I’m back in Miracle Solutions Hospital, small and vulnerable. Dr. Don looms over me, his face obscured by bright lights and a surgical mask, a witness to all my worst trauma. An- tiseptic fills my nose, there’s a distant beeping of heart monitors. I’m a child, terrified and alone, each shadow a potential threat. The overwhelming fear from those days surges through me, blurring my vision, making it hard to breathe.

I reach the bar and grasp its edge, the cool surface grounding me momentarily in the present. The bartender shoots me a concerned look, but before I can ask for help, a rough hand clamps down on my shoulder. I whip around, and Freddy’s furious face is right there, inches from mine.

For a split second, in my dazed state, past and present blur together, and he morphs into Dr. Don, with his pale eyes, greasy shoulder-length gray hair, sweaty hands, and pitying smile. Dr. Don was the stuff of my nightmares—perfect for this House of Horrors—but he was one hundred percent real.

For a second, I can’t tell where I am—and then Freddy’s voice jolts me back to the present.

“Let’s find somewhere we can talk, babe.” His hand roughly grabs my wrist, his fingers locking me in like a vise, and I feel my bag drop. To anyone in the crowd, it might look like we’re dancing— the way he’s got his arm around my waist, his smile wide like it’s all in good fun as he swiftly hauls me toward the asylum.

But nobody’s looking, not even the bartender.

“Stop!” My words are swallowed by the pounding dance music and oblivious crowd. My heels scrape against the floor, my entire body resists, but Freddy is stronger.

He pulls me back inside through the door and down a dark hallway, pinning me against the wall hard enough to knock the wind out of me.

“Finally, some privacy,” his says, and the fact that his voice is so calm, almost relaxed, is somehow worse. “All I want to do is get to know you better.”

When I open my mouth to scream, his hand clamps down on it. And that’s when it hits me—this may be a fake House of Horrors, but I’m in real danger.