Chapter 5
Phoenix
We’re not done, little girl.
I sit without speaking and watch as all four of my exhausted, overwhelmed Titans have more bullshit piled on top of them.
My phone is hot in my hands, my fingers clutched around it so hard they ache.
Some silly little part of me believes that if I hold it tightly enough, the messages I just received won’t spill out and make everything so much worse.
I know I need to tell them, but after the ridiculous ultimatum their parents just gave them? It’s too much, even for them.
If they're right—and their parents are doing this to ensure any fallout lands on them and not on their parents or the hotel—it's a whole new level of fucked up. My father was an asshole and neglectful. Hell, he was abusive. But he would never intentionally throw me to the sharks.
Or maybe he would, and the pond he swam in was just too small for this level of betrayal. What he did was rank enough.
The memory of my dad still tastes like pennies in my mouth, sour and coppery from biting my cheek against everything I wish I could say and never will. My jaw goes tight at the inadvertent reminder. It still rises up when I least anticipate it, inconvenient ash.
One by one, the guys trail away to their separate rooms, until it’s me alone with Conrad. I wait for his cue. I don’t want to leave him, but I don’t want to fight, either, and the earlier cut still stings.
He watches me just as warily, until finally he sighs.
"All right, princess," Conrad says as he rises from the table and stretches his back, weariness in every line. I still don’t know if it’s an endearment or insult. He offers his hand, and I take it, allowing him to pull me up.
"Let's go to bed. We'll get a few hours of sleep, then we'll figure shit out. All of us."
“Me too?”
He levels me with a heated look. “It’s your little reports that started all of this.”
“I didn’t say anything,” I argue. “My reports to your father were—”
“Detailed, clearly,” he scoffs and grabs the back of my neck, leading me through the suite to his room. “Lucky for you I need sleep, and since I clearly can't trust you to be out of my sight, you will be spending the night in my bed.”
“Fine,” I finally say, not letting him see anything but indifference.
In his room, I expect him to fall on me immediately, to take his anger and frustration out on my body the only way he knows how. He doesn’t.
Instead he turns his back on me and gets ready. I don’t bother pretending I’m not watching the way the muscles in his back flex as he strips off his T-shirt. I don’t even bother to look away as he leaves the door open and steps into the shower.
“Stop watching me and get some sleep, Phoenix.”
“I’m not—”
“I wasn’t asking. Turn around and go to sleep, or I will add some fresh stripes to your already bruised ass.”
Conrad Masterson does many things…making idle treats is not one of them.
With a huff of annoyance, I strip down to just Storm’s T-shirt and my panties and wriggle beneath the comforter.
He’s right—I am tired. His mattress is the perfect fit, and I should be able to melt into it and fall asleep immediately.
But I can't.
I try to close my eyes. My body is heavy with fatigue, but my brain refuses to shut off. Every time I blink, the day rethreads itself—hallway, door, table…her bloodless lips.
Someone got in here and killed Sarah.
Are we safe?
What if they come back?
What did they do with Sarah's body? I didn't hear anyone leave.
So many questions—and so much guilt. Conrad said he wouldn't keep me in the dark anymore. I don't believe him. But that's okay. I'm not being honest, either.
The secrets are stacking like chips on a poker table.
Turning on my side, so my back is to the bathroom door, I swipe open the text thread that’s been haunting me.
One after another, the texts started coming in during the guys’ meeting with their parents. They didn’t see. No one noticed my reaction.
But I have a feeling it’s not going to be long before this is as impossible to hide as the Pedo and Baldy.
Unknown
I know what you did.
And after I left that little gift for you in the suite. Tsk. Tsk.
I had a lot invested in those men. They were well trained, and they all brought in a profit.
I'm going to add the expense to your tab, but I’ll be fair about it. After all, they weren't too valuable if they couldn't even take down some snotty little rich boys.
Let's say one million per man. Should be easy enough.
We’re not done, little girl. I’m going to get what’s owed to me.
You will pay your debt to me one way or another, even if I have to take down every single one of your little Titans to get what's mine. Check your email.
Do I tell them? My thumb hovers over Atticus's name for a few seconds… I could just forward them. Let Atticus and the others deal with all of it. Conrad would blame me for this like everything else, but he’s going to do that, anyway.
I end up clicking the email icon instead.
Subject: Legacy Obligations — Account RC-4471
Dear Ms. Jones,
As successor-in-interest to certain novated instruments dated March 17 of this year, we write regarding legacy obligations executed by R. Jones. Please contact our office to confirm delivery of the collateral schedule.
Sincerely,
Viceroy Capital Recoveries, LLC
Legacy obligations…what the hell did Dad himself get into?
My first reaction is to write it off as a spam email, but there are no links to click. Nothing but an attached and encrypted PDF for me to access.
Which means it can only be related to the increasingly creepy texts about my father’s debt and the pit that I’ve dragged all of us into.
I need to handle it myself. I’ve already dragged my shit to their doorstep, and I can’t ask Conrad to take on any more of my problems. Not when he’s already about as likely to murder me as he is to keep me by his side.
I slide the phone under my pillow and try to stuff my anxiety away just as easily.
Conrad comes back into the room a few minutes later, a towel slung low on his hips, providing just the distraction I need. A line of water runs from his collarbone to the edge of the cotton terry cloth. My eyes track its progress despite my annoyance with him.
"Don't look at me like that, princess. I need to sleep, and you…" he says, “you are here because I can’t trust you, not because I want to fuck you.”
"What if I don't want to rest?" I ask, guilt gnawing. I need to do something.
I'm too much trouble, too much hassle. Maybe if I remind him why he wants me—why he's doing all of this—he won't realize I’m worthless. He won’t make me leave when he learns the truth.
From out of nowhere, my dad’s voice echoes in my head. Earn your keep. Make yourself useful. It was something he used to say when he held his hand out for the rent money every month.
I sit up and pull Storm's shirt off, leaving myself naked in Conrad's bed. Maybe I just need him to turn my mind off. If I'm consumed with him, I'm not thinking about how I'm still keeping secrets.
Still betraying him even though it’s been years since I left him.
His gaze travels up my body slowly. His tongue drags over his lower lip. I know he's tempted. But he only shakes his head and slides under the covers, just out of reach.
I shift to my knees, start to crawl down the bed so I can at least use my mouth—
"Princess, if you try to touch me again, I will have another girl up here riding my cock just to force you to watch while she gets what you want so badly.
" He pulls me back up, his back to my chest, and wraps himself around me.
There is no heat in his voice, but his words still send tears to my eyes.
"Go to fucking sleep. Or else, Phoenix. I mean it.”
The truth is devastating.
I wasn't good enough for him then—and I'm not good enough now.
The old scar is torn open and I feel sixteen again, standing outside the door after I told him goodbye and listening for footsteps that never came.
Waiting for him to cross the floor and convince me that he wanted me.
Convince me that I was enough, silence all those voices telling me otherwise.
He never did.
And even though I should keep my mouth shut, I can't help but say the words that have been clawing at my heart since that night so long ago.
“I’m so sorry, Conrad,” I whisper, the words barely a breath of sound. “I never meant to hurt you. I just wanted to save you from the trash that’s my life.”
There’s no response. Conrad's breathing evens out, his arm a heavy weight across my waist. I think I feel his fingers flex a tiny bit, but I can’t be sure.
I wait a little while, then ease the phone from under the pillow and slide from the bed. The mattress sighs, and I hold my breath like it might snitch on me. When Conrad doesn’t stir, I tug Storm's shirt back on and pad barefoot to the kitchen.
The under-cabinet lights glow low, making the granite countertops gleam. Maverick is there, perched on the counter in sweats and a hoodie, a stack of black chips at his side. He's rolling one over his knuckles, then palming it, making it disappear and reappear like it's shy.
I hesitate on the threshold.
"You should be asleep," I say.
"So should you." He flicks the chip; it lands upright, spinning. "Sleep is for people without bullshit made-up quarterly targets and dead bodies to think about."
I huff a laugh before I can stop it. He grins like he's been fishing for that sound. The grin is his usual lacquered charm, but his eyes aren't smiling.
His eyes are real.
“I’d bet more money than most people make in a year that you didn’t drink enough water today,” he says suddenly. He hops off the counter, opens the fridge, pulls two waters, and passes me one. "You okay?"
I twist the cap and take a long pull, oddly charmed by the gesture. “Define okay."
"Let’s see. You’re not bleeding. Not bolting. Not ghosting me when I try to make you laugh." His mouth tilts. "Two out of three isn't bad."