Chapter 8 Storm
Storm
I’d just as soon stab these people in the eye as speak to them, but Atticus wouldn't fucking let me bring my knives with me.
"You don’t need your knives at a goddamn party.
If you brought them, the next thing you know, you’ll be throwing them at the ice sculpture because you’re ready to murder an actual guest. We have to show we’re mature and can actually handle this.
I don't want to have to deal with the police when you stab some dirty old man for looking at Phoenix the wrong way. "
Atticus needs to get some fucking sleep. When he’s tired, his nagging ramps up to a ten, and I don't remember making him my wife.
But, he has a point, so I play the part I was born into.
I talk, I laugh, and I drink—but every bit of it’s a hollow performance.
We aren't having fun. We're mastering the roles we’re expected to play.
The parts expected of men of our age and status.
Ice clinks in our glasses, the jokes land two beats late, our smiles are just a fraction too polished.
Yet none of the idiots around us see through the facade.
It’s nothing new. It's just the part I hate most about being a Titan and the part I’ve managed, for the most part, to avoid.
The social circle jerk.
The mindless ass-kissing from men who want in on our business, the endless flirting from their wives angling for our beds. Even Maverick looks like he’s over it, and he’s always claimed it was fun.
I have always found it to be beyond tedious—it skates the edge of my tolerance for people and being…well, tolerant.
Even taking their wives back to my bed or some dark corner to let them suck my cock always makes my skin crawl. I didn't want to fuck them. I wanted to destroy them, and more importantly, their husbands.
I want to take them apart and see if there’s anything real beneath the Botox and silicone they love more than their families.
Con and the others have always understood this about me. They’ve filled in the gaps I’ve left, smiled when I couldn’t, talked and laughed and socialized when I refused.
If we’re going to make this quarter work, though, I can’t hide like I usually do.
Even if the only part of the night I actually enjoy is watching our girl.
Phoenix stands out—how can she not, with that hair, that body, and the subtle, unconscious glow that she possesses? She’s like the sun and the moon all at once, warming everyone around her even as she draws them in to their destruction.
Even while glowing so bright, I can see her truth, the darkness behind her eyes, the way her laughter is just as hollow as ours, and her smile…fake. Her eyes dart to the corners, like she’s watching for shadows, waiting for the enemy to spring a trap at any second.
I don't blame her. Honestly, I don’t.
But I would destroy my life in order to protect this woman. She may not understand that now, but she will. They all will.
Soon, the world will see Phoenix for exactly who and what she is.
Everything.
Our families are so obsessed with mythology, being the Titans that they’ve created…it’s no surprise that I see Phoenix as the primordial being that created everything.
She holds the power to destroy the empire our families have built. With one word, she could decimate our legacy.
When I tell myself that she’s everything, I’m not joking.
She smiles, and people who would've looked past her a week ago lean in to devour her presence. Her gaze sweeps the room and misses nothing. Her spine quietly mirrors a woman’s highbrow posture.
Her mouth remembers VIP names. When an older woman loses a hand at the poker table, Phoenix is right there, a soft word on her lips, and the woman's smile comes back like a light switched on.
She plays this game like she was born to it.
She jumps with mock enthusiasm that would seem real to anyone else when her number hits on roulette.
Then she goes pale when Atticus tells her how much she's won.
She even tries to leave the money or give it to Maverick since he gave her the chips.
He won't take her winnings, and if he did I'd steal them back.
My little angel isn't comfortable with luxury yet. Money makes her flinch. I’m going to change that.
Not for the first time, I wonder if I dreamed her up.
My gaze shifts to Con. If I did, though, I’m not alone. We’re all captivated, even if some of us hide it better than others.
I want to take her away from here, but I can't. Not yet. But I don't like the way old men watch her ass as she walks by or the way they speak to her tits.
When one brazen asshole puts his hand on her lower back just to let it fall to her ass, I’m ready to remove the offending appendage. But Maverick corrects him and then has him tossed out.
Maverick just saved the bastard's life.
The second our obligations are met, we head upstairs. Phoenix steps into the elevator, slides to the back, and closes her eyes, her body slumping against the paneled wall.
I cut in front of the others, pull her off the wall, and against my chest where she belongs. "You okay, Angel?"
Her eyes stay closed, and she shakes her head.
"Tired?" I ask.
She nods, murmuring a low hum. "And my feet are killing me. Whoever invented stilettos is a fucking sadist."
"Since when are you afraid of a little pain?" I tease, and a smile pulls at her lips. “They make your ass look stunning, by the way.”
"Different kind of pain," she mutters, pressing her cheek against my lapel.
"I don't think she slept much this morning," Conrad says, arms crossing as he gives her a disappointed look. Atticus puts a finger to his lips, his gaze flicking upward.
Mine follows to land on a black glass bubble watching from the ceiling, and I nod.
Not safe to talk here.
We nod and let the tension settle over the box, spacious for an elevator but cramped with all of us in it. The illuminated floor numbers climb, too slowly for comfort, as we all stand quietly and watch them ticking by.
I can't help wondering who's watching us—and why. What amusement could we possibly offer?
When we reach the penthouse, I scoop Phoenix into my arms before anyone else can claim the privilege and carry her to my room. She's asleep before I get there.
Atticus slants a look at me as I brush past him. “We need to work out a schedule,” he mutters.
“Knock yourself out,” I return. “She’s mine tonight.”
“Get her settled and then come back. We need to talk about a few things.”
I flick on the tiny bedside lamp but leave the rest of the room in shadow.
Beyond the open drapes, Savannah’s lights scatter across the grid like glittering lightning bugs.
The river runs dark through the middle, a wide black ribbon swallowing the shore’s reflections.
I always loved the look of the river at night.
The void in the flickers of light...it felt relatable.
I set Phoenix on the edge of the bed and lean her against my chest, then ease the beaded dress over her head and drape it on the chair—just in case she likes it.
It’s a pretty dress. It would look better if it were a heap of rags that I’d cut off her body, but she’s asleep and there’s bullshit to handle.
Careful not to wake her, I work one of my T-shirts over her head and then slide her beneath the covers.
I already know that I’m greedy when it comes to Phoenix. Claiming her. Keeping her in my bed most nights. But I honestly don’t care because I already know she belongs with us.
In the low bedside light, her hairsprayed updo gleams, and the makeup sits too heavily on her face. I frown, fetch a warm washcloth and the makeup remover that I know she likes, and wipe gently until her freckles come back and her mouth softens without the lipstick's garish red.
Sleeping, her face should be clean, angelic.
I try to be gentle as I wipe it away. My hand looks too big and…strong…against the delicate bone structure of her face. My moves are slow and with a surgeon's precision.
I loosen her hair, combing my fingers through the strands until it spills across the pillow like spun honey.
Finally satisfied, I step back.
She's a goddess in anything, but I prefer her like this. Her beauty doesn't need help. And there's something about her in my T-shirt that's so fucking satisfying. If it were up to me, she would wear only my shirts or nothing at all. But the others may take issue with that.
I want more than anything to stretch out beside her, pull her in, bury my face in her hair, and sleep. Then wake up in a few hours and feast on her pretty pussy, making her scream my name as I taste nirvana between her legs. But I can't.
The other Titans are waiting.
"Sleep tight, angel. I'll be back soon. Then that pussy is mine."
Her eyes don't open, but she hums in the back of her throat.
I leave her there, chest aching with a strange tightness as I close the door. I draw in a deep breath and put my shoulders back, then walk into the dining room where the others wait, their coats off, ties undone, the table our war room again.
We shift to crisis mode fast. It’s late and we have a shit ton to accomplish. By unspoken agreement, there’s no time for wallowing or whiskey.
"We're not getting cut off," Conrad says flatly from his spot at the head of the table, his CEO mask locked firmly in place. "We make this quarter work. No matter what. I refuse to let my father manipulate me or imply I'm not worthy because of his arbitrary moving goalposts."
"Agreed. We need to execute some of our plans," Atticus says, rubbing his temple. "Real ones. Cost savings. Operational strategy. Fifteen percent is unreasonable. I don't even know if it's possible without cutting a ton of operational expenses."
"It isn't, not without a miracle, and that’s why they picked it. We’re going to have to hit it from different angles," Maverick says, collapsing into a chair. "More than just new clients—you’re right that we’re going to have to cut costs, re-evaluate everything. No pennies left on the table."
"I'll go through personnel," I offer. "We can tighten schedules…fire deadweight. Most of the staff is afraid of me. They won't cause too much drama."
Of course, I volunteer for the bloodletting. It makes the others uncomfortable, but I love a good culling when it’s warranted. It reminds the staff that my bite is far more deadly than my bark.
And I’ve already got one of the first ones up for the chopping block in mind. The maid who tried to undermine Phoenix’s value when Mav and I were disposing of Sarah’s body.
"I'll take care of promotions," Maverick adds. "Discounted vacation packages. Press. Give them a reason to come—hell, a dozen reasons. Increase guest flow, lift revenue across the resort, spa, and casino."
I can practically see the dozens of ideas flickering to life in his head. It makes sense. Maverick is the one with the relationships in the communities. He’s the life of the party and the one everyone wants to be around.
"Do it," Conrad says, eyes flicking to his tablet. "I'll renegotiate distributor contracts. Get better terms on supply chain and food service."
Atticus opens his laptop, already typing. "I'll run the numbers. The books will have to be airtight."
And just like that, we become the machine we were always meant to be. Well-oiled and running towards the same goal. We can do this. We have the know-how. We just haven’t had the opportunity to put any of our knowledge into practice yet.
Firing people should be simple enough. Our logs are meticulous, and it shouldn't take much to find those who are less than helpful.
I watch Con from across the table and see what he’s trying desperately not to reveal—he's carrying this…all of us…like it's his penance to pay.
The next morning, I'm up before anyone else.
Phoenix is still passed out in my bed, worn out from the way I slid between her thighs after coming up with a plan.
I let her sleep and dress quietly before slipping out.
For a fraction of a second, I consider waking her up by tongue fucking her pussy, or maybe tracing patterns on her skin with the tip of my blade. Circles around her nipples, then a slow line down to her cunt. Have her wake up wet and panting for my cock.
It's tempting, so damn tempting. But I have too much shit to do. We all do.
I don’t waste time with breakfast, just grab an energy drink and a protein bar and head down to the fourth floor, where all the HR offices are. My brain is already buzzing with a list of shit to get done.
I'd love to walk in and just choose half the staff to fire, but that would cause more issues than it'd solve. First, we would be short-staffed, and then people would be quitting left and right just to prove a point or stand misguided by friends who don’t deserve their loyalty.
Next thing you know, Maverick would be checking people in, Con would be cleaning rooms, and Atticus would have to bartend.
I hit the HR manager first. Not because of her age or her looks, but because I know for a fact that she’s the perfect example of a person who needs to be fired.
She wasn't hired because of her business degree or her strong ethical code.
She was hired because she likes to swallow Atticus’s father's cock and isn’t afraid of using her knowledge of business to her advantage. If I didn’t hate her on principle, I’d admire her ruthlessness.
Everyone in Savannah seems to know about her extracurricular activities. The funny part is that she spends just as much time on her knees serving Mrs. Vale, as well.
I don't bother knocking. I just barge in to find her playing solitaire instead of doing what she gets paid six figures a year to do.
"Oh my god, Mr. Carrow, what can I do for you?" She asks, leaning over her desk, showing off her admittedly impressive cleavage in an attempt to use her assets to her advantage.
"You're fired. Get your shit and get out."
Immediately, the fake smile falls from her lips. "You can't do that."
"I can and I did. Get out."
"No, you need cause and—"
"And you have been stealing time from the company. You haven't worked a full day in months, and you used your company card for over fifty thousand dollars…this month alone. Leave now, or this gets ugly. And I don’t mean that I’ll bring law enforcement into this."
She scoffs, like her relationship with the Vales will keep her in her position.
I give her a flat expression while I consider exactly what I’m going to do with Phoenix later. It’s time I bring the knives out, I think.
I’ve been feeling the pressure building more and more with every passing day, and it’s time to let some of it out. I think Phoenix needs to see all the sides of me.