Chapter 17
Phoenix
It’s time to shut this down. Should’ve already done it but I have the perfect opportunity now.
Myles wouldn’t stop boasting about his recent visit to the cell. “Ivy came right up to the bars… And after, she looked at me like I was her goddamn hero… practically begged me to stay,” he’d laughed smugly.
He’s gone to check the perimeter now, swagger in every step, grinning like a dog with a bone.
Unfortunately, Zane overheard Myles gloating. It was obvious Zane was feeling guilty when he decided to spend the night hunting. He blames himself for pushing Ivy into Myles’s arms.
When he’s spiralling, Zane disappears into the forest with his ghosts. Always comes back with blood on his hands, in a better mood, and with a decent haul of meat.
But it leaves me alone, unable to stop thinking about her. It’s fucking pathetic. I can’t stop picturing her curled under that blanket. Fragile. So breakable.
And if I’m honest—how beguiling she was, even half hidden beneath all those baggy clothes. Lips soft and plump. Freckles like a dusting of ash.
What the hell is it about her?
Is it the fragility? The illusion of innocence in a world that's rotted everything else away. Whatever it is, it’s bullshit.
The two most hardened men I know are shaken over her. One girl. That’s all it takes?
Ivy.
Myles let that little piece of intel slip while he was showboating.
Maybe I will go see her again.
I want to scare her. Let her meet the devil before she offers her soul again. Remind her who’s in charge. Maybe even end this whole problem before it spreads.
The hallway feels different when I'm walking with intent, but her strategic deals whisper in the corners of my mind.
Pushing the holding room door open, I lean against the frame, arms crossed, eyes sharp.
She's awake this time, sitting cross-legged on the bed, swallowed in that oversized hoodie, the hem reaching mid-thigh on her bare legs.
Her head turns before I speak, and our eyes meet.
No flinching. No fear. Just... watchfulness.
Huh.
Ivy doesn't scramble for the blanket or try to cover herself. Spine straight, she tilts her chin, ever so slightly. She doesn't look like the kind of girl who even survives this world. And yet, somehow, she has.
She's not comfortable, but she's not the same broken, trembling thing Zane described. Her body is smaller than I remember, and that dainty little form shouldn't look so enticing... but it does.
Ivy, the little stray.
I arch a brow. “Doesn't that sweater get hot during the day?”
She nods once. Calm. “It does.”
That answer throws me off more than if she’d screamed. She didn't hesitate. There was no panic in her voice.
Stepping further inside, I let the door click shut behind me. My boots echo against the tile, but she doesn't react to the sound, just keeps watching me. That stare is unnerving.
“Thought so.” I gesture to the hoodie. “I could bring you a shirt.”
“You have women's clothing?” she asks, hopeful.
“No.” I shake my head slightly. “It won't fit you. But it'll be better than that hoodie.”
There's a beat of silence as she looks like she's trying to figure out the trap in my offer.
Smart girl.
She already knows how this works.
Crouching by the bars, I rest my arms across my thighs. “It costs us, you know,” I say, rubbing my jaw. “To keep you fed. Sheltered. Protected. Eventually, you'll need to show us that you're worth the risk. That you can offer something back.”
Letting the words linger, I allow my eyes to trail over her legs again. She's not trying to seduce me, not deliberately, like Zane described. But she doesn't need to. It's just the soft quietness, the contrast to the chaos we live in.
My mouth starts to water.
What is happening to me? I’m way off script. Offering to bring her new clothes? Stealing glances at her legs? This is bad.
She gives the faintest nod, and I hate how satisfying that feels.
“I don't know what your game is, little stray,” I mutter. “But you've stirred up enough shit in this place without saying a damn word.”
Ivy’s eyes widen a little, big but still calm, with a hint of remorse. The tension in her shoulders betrays her. Carrying the kind of guilt that wants a chance at forgiveness.
My lips curl in a smirk, because that's useful.
I've found her weak spot... much quicker than Myles did.
Pushing up to my feet, I see her stiffen slightly, before I take a step toward her door.
“I'm not letting you go,” I say dryly as I unlock her cell. “Just ten minutes. To stretch your legs.”
This wasn’t part of the plan. But I can’t stop.
She doesn't move when I open the door. Just shakes her head faintly. “Myles… he won’t like—”
“Myles doesn't run this place,” I cut in. “I do. And if it's easier for you, we don't have to tell him… could be our little secret.”
Her eyes narrow slightly. The hesitation is there, written all over her body.
But I'm patient.
Eventually, she rises cautiously and walks to the edge of the cell before waiting a beat, as if she’s about to cross a literal line in the sand. Then she steps forward, bare feet meeting the tile.
She inhales deeply, as if the air is different outside the cell. Her body shifts, spine straightening.
Those legs look longer out here, even in that damn sweater. Let’s be honest, especially in it.
She looks lighter. Free.
And I can’t tear my eyes away. I was supposed to scare her. Not… stare.
But she’s radiant.
I watch her walk to the windows, stretching her arms over her head. The hoodie lifts with her movement, enough to tease the curve of her ass. Plump, round, soft… made to be touched.
My tongue darts out to lick my lips before I realise it.
God help me. What the fuck am I doing?
Staying by the cell door, I lean back against the wall, arms crossed.
She glances back at me, as if suddenly remembering I'm still in the room, a flush climbing up her cheeks. I just raise an eyebrow.
Ivy keeps moving, walking slowly around the holding room like she's testing the floor.
Her hands run along the edge of one of the old desks, fingers tracing the dust. She's cautious, but not scared.
Fuck. I think she’s starting to trust us.
It's stupid how much that thought does to me.
Every time she shifts, I catch flashes of skin. Her inner thighs, smooth long legs, her slender neck behind her hair. Even the dip of her waist when she stretches calls to me, looking like the perfect grip for my hands.
She shouldn't be so beautiful. Not in this world. Not after whatever hell she's had to survive these past six years.
But she is. And I can't stop fucking watching her.
“Is this how it works?” she asks, voice carrying a hint of amusement. “You let me out and just... stare at me?”
Shit. Caught.
Scoffing, I push off the wall and step into the room with her. “I'm just making sure you don't bolt. Don't flatter yourself.”
The corner of her mouth twitches, suppressing a smile, as if she knows I'm lying.
“You know,” I say, circling her, deliberately putting her back on edge, “you've caused more drama in this place than anyone we've ever taken in.”
Not that we've ever taken anyone in, but she doesn't need to know that.
Ivy levels me with a glare. “I didn't exactly ask to be taken in.”
“Didn't fight that hard either.”
A flicker of heat flashes across her eyes, brow furrowing faintly.
A little fire? She's not as meek as I thought. Interesting…
I do love brats. That’s why playing with Myles has entertained me for so many years.
She walks back to the edge of the desk and leans against it, crossing her long legs at the ankles.
There's a shift in her demeanour, as if she's aware of what her body is doing to me. Aware of my awareness.
Fuck.
Running a hand over my jaw, I try to hide the way it clenches.
She's not doing anything overt. Nothing seductive or outright manipulative. But she knows exactly what she’s doing, and I still want to touch her bad.
My dick keeps reminding me he wants it too, throbbing in my pants like I’m denying him.
Gaze dropping to her legs instinctively, my eyes trace the curve of her thighs, throat tightening. I can’t stop picturing what she'd look like without that sweater, my face buried between those thighs. Soft moans in my ear.
I wonder if she's wearing any underwear.
The next words leave my mouth before I can stop them.
“What would you do if I asked for the same thing you offered Zane? Like you did for Myles?” I venture—clearly having lost my mind.
Her eyes widen, then she looks down at her hands.
The silence stretches, and I can feel her heartbeat from here. It echoes in me. Makes my skin buzz.
When I close the distance, her breath hitches and she backs up against the desk.
I stop right in front of her, so close I can see the way her lashes fan on her freckled cheeks when she blinks.
Goddamn, she's pretty.
Too pretty.
Raising my brow, I silently push her to answer. But God, I want to kiss her. I want to pull that hoodie up and find out if she does have anything on underneath. To see if she'd even let me.
Ivy chews on her lips nervously before giving me a small nod. Her hands grip the edge of the desk as if she’s bracing for a blow that isn’t coming.
She looks too small in this place. Like a ghost haunting the walls.
My eyes drag over her slowly, enjoying the fact that my gaze seems to be making her uncomfortable now.
Ivy is a problem I can’t fucking solve. A fracture in my discipline.
I hate this. I hate her. For what she’s doing to me.
“You think I don’t see what you’re doing? This little scared act. I know what women like you do to men like us,” I growl. “You crawl into our heads, make us forget who we are. Who we need to be.”
Ivy swallows and whispers, “I haven’t done anything.”
“Exactly,” I snarl, taking a step back, needing to put some space between us. “You haven’t. And I can’t stop thinking about you anyway.”
She sucks in a sharp breath, as if she wasn’t expecting that. Standing there with her chin lifted, almost enough to look brave.
And something inside me fractures all over again.
“You want to stay with us?” I question. “You want food, safety, protection?”
Her blue eyes meet mine as she nods.
“Then earn it,” I sneer, voice gritty and full of the frustration she draws out of me.
Her throat works, voice softening. “How?”
I shouldn’t be doing this. I know better.
“Don’t play dumb,” I murmur, stepping closer. “You know how this world works.”
Where is the controlled Phoenix that walked into this room? When did I decide to take this route?
Her breath stutters, but she doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch. That makes it worse.
She just nods again. And it crumbles something in me.
My hand’s already reaching out, fingers grazing her jaw. Her skin is too soft against my tough hands. But I try to keep my grip gentle—lying to myself about the kind of man I am.
“I don’t like you,” I murmur, as if I’m not already breaking all my rules for her. “But I can’t stay away any longer,” I admit breathlessly.
Ivy doesn't flinch away from me. Instead, she leans into my hand. And I swear, I can hear the roaring of a crowd, cheering me on.
And that's almost enough to shatter what’s left of my splintering self-restraint.
But I stop. Hand frozen mid-motion. My jaw clenches.
No. What am I doing? This isn’t control. This is collapse.
I step back, as if I'm walking away from the edge of a cliff. “I'll bring you a shirt tomorrow, and let you out to stretch again,” I say, voice rough.
Instead of walking away from this whole mess, I’m planning a fucking schedule?
Crossing the room, I hold her cell door open, nodding for her to step inside before she says another word. She follows without question.
Oh… she's obedient. Submissive maybe?
My dominant side roars, dick pulsing. Demanding to order her around some more.
Deny, deny, deny. I can’t afford that kind of thought.
She pauses at the cell door for a second. Our eyes meet one last time, and it's not fear I see there.
It's curiosity. Maybe even... interest.
And that? That's going to fucking haunt me.