Chapter 10 Phoenix
Phoenix
From: Phoenix Jones
To: Mr. Masterson
RE: The boys are clocking obscene hours and keeping their heads down: Atticus buried in systems, Conrad shouldering leadership, Maverick smiling through the grind; nothing you’d call “trouble,” just work.
Unknown
You’re running out of time, little girl.
The call comes in first at 7:23 a.m., Unknown Caller flashing across my screen, and then line after line of texts before I’ve barely blinked awake.
I don’t answer it. I know who it is, and I have nothing to say to them. It’s the same area code that keeps calling and sending threatening messages. I haven’t answered any of their calls, and I have no intention of doing so.
There’s no point.
The call goes to voicemail, and when that notification pops up, I delete it with a swipe of my forefinger. It doesn’t matter, though. The texts follow a few seconds later, anyway.
Unknown
How are you planning on paying your debt, princess? Not even the Titans have that much between the couch cushions.
You can still give me your body as collateral. I’m sure you’ll be able to work it off in a few decades. I saw the footage of the way you eat cock, and how much of an angel you are when you can’t say no.
I have to admit, that’s the first time I’ve ever watched someone get gangbanged on a table, kitten. I can’t wait to make you mine, little girl.
My stomach turns. He was watching the night I tried to prove that I could be enough for all of them. That was supposed to be private, intimate. Something just between me and the Titans, and this bastard watching took that from me. From them.
That he got off while he watched us makes me want to puke.
Unknown
You’re going to love the cage I put you in, firebird. You won’t be able to escape. I can’t wait for you to accept it.
The clock is ticking. Don’t disappoint me anymore. Get your ass to the dock before I lose my patience.
I close out the messages and scrub my face with my hands. I need to confess to the Titans, show them what I’ve been hiding. They need to know; they have a right to know.
I just can’t convince myself to put this burden on them. They already have so much weighing them down, and I can’t add to that. This is my fault. Mine. I and my skeevy father brought this on them, and all I want is to be what sends it away.
Storm’s side of the bed is already cold. He got up before the ass crack of dawn, taking Zeus with him even though he pretends to hate my dog.
I just couldn't force myself to join them.
Instead, I stayed in bed. Restless. Unable to close my eyes. Unwilling to let myself forget the truth.
I’m only here because I’m convenient, because I’m making myself useful.
Those damn words of my father’s are running through my head on loop at this point.
Earn your keep. Make yourself useful.
Every night I sleep next to one of the Titans. Every single one of them sleeps with an arm or a leg slung over me, making me feel safe and somehow caged at the same time. Like they know I’m one disaster away from fleeing.
Without fail, I try to sleep in their arms. But every night I end up lying there, staring at the ceiling and wondering when this is all going to come crashing down around me.
When will they see how worthless I really am? That I’m not adding anything to their lives.
I’m draining their cocks, and that’s it.
When are they going to realize that I am not good enough? That the pain I’m causing outweighs the pleasure I give them.
Well, Con knows. He keeps reminding me that I’m worthless—a part of him is doing all of this solely to punish me. But the others, they’ll figure it out soon.
And I don’t want to be here when the way Storm watches me shifts. When the lust in his eyes fades to apathy.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed, muscles protesting.
Until that happens, I need to shake off this melancholy that’s seized hold of me over the past week or two.
I need to do something…anything. The guys have been busting their asses, trying to hold on to their lives as they know them.
I’ve been sitting here playing zombie, waiting for shit to happen to me.
That’s not me.
Storm says I belong to them, and maybe I do. But they belong to me just as much; they always have, and I need to take care of them.
I head into the bathroom and twist the taps to get started on a shower.
I can at least be useful to them. I’ll earn my keep while I’m here.
When I’m dressed, the first one I check on is Atticus. He’s still in his office with his shoulders hunched, his gaze moving between three monitors as his fingers fly over the keys.
“Good morning, Kitten,” he says, without looking up from the screen. “You smell delicious.”
“Did you sleep?”
“Yes—”
“Please don’t lie to me,” I say.
His fingers pause over the keyboard for a split second, and he arches an eyebrow in my direction as if to say excuse me? “I took a few power naps. I’m okay.”
He isn’t, but I know what he means. I’m not okay, either. None of this is okay.
“When was the last time you ate?”
“I’m not hungry,” he answers automatically. “I have to get this done.”
“That isn’t what I asked.” I step into the room and put my hands on his shoulders for a moment, squeezing, then lean down to wrap my arms around his upper body and rest my head on him, breathing in his scent.
There are only slight hints of his cologne now, just the barest whisper, but I can smell his soap and the warm, comforting scent that is all him.
“I—I don’t really remember,” he admits.
“If I make you a light breakfast, will you eat it for me?”
“Kitten, I don’t need you to take care of me.”
The words sting a little, and I straighten, tucking the hurt away.
“I wouldn’t dare, Atticus. You’re pushing yourself to the limit, and I’m just trying to help take one thing off your mind by making sure you’re eating.
The same fucking way you’d be watching out for me if the situation was reversed. ”
“You’re right.” He leans back in the chair and slides his eyes closed, and I reach tentatively out once again, stroking his back and shoulders. His hand comes up and brackets mine in place against his chest, holding me there.
The room is silent save for the hum of the monitors, and I hold my breath, stroking my thumb back and forth against his skin beneath his hand.
“So you’ll eat?” I whisper after a moment. “For me?”
He nods.
“I’ll even bring it to you.” I hesitate a second longer, then kiss his cheek and head into the little kitchen where the breakfast cart was left.
I make him a plate of something simple—a few slices of bacon, an egg, and a waffle that I cut into strips and then a little bowl of syrup.
I’d love to make him back away from the monitors and eat at the table, but I know he won’t. So I make sure he can keep one hand on the keyboard.
Atticus’ fingers are flying over the keyboard again when I walk back in, and I know that while I don’t have his eyes on me, I have his attention.
The man in front of me doesn’t miss a beat.
“No coffee?” he asks.
“No. I brought you mint tea instead because it’s supposed to help with focus without making it impossible to sleep.”
His lips twist for a moment like he’s trying to come up with a reason to hate the idea of mint tea. Then he nods. “Thank you, kitten.”
Biting my lip, I move to leave him to it.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
His eyes are still on the monitors.
“Um.” I pause, trying to figure out what I could have done wrong. “To check on the others.”
“Come here.”
He turns, giving me his entire focus, and it’s enough to have heat building in my core. Slowly, his eyes travel from the top of my head to my feet.
While he watches, I take a deep breath and step forward, only for him to reach out grasp my fingers. Once he has me by the hand, he tugs gently until I’m standing between his spread legs.
He starts to kiss me, I can’t even process how quickly he was able to maneuver me.
“You’re perfection, kitten.” His words hit me in my whole chest. “I mean it. Thank you for caring.”
Then, just like it never happened in the first place, Atticus releases me and turns back to the bank of monitors. After a moment, I turn and walk away.
Next on my internal list is Maverick. He’s downstairs at the main pool deck, a Bluetooth headset in his ear as he paces by the crystal clear water in a suit.
His hair is messy, like it was styled to lay in waves that just touch his shoulders, but he’s spent the last several hours shoving his hand through it and messing it up.
It looks good on him, but I know he doesn’t think so.
“Hey, Mav,” I say, moving to stand in front of him.
“Morning, firebird.” He grabs me by the back of my neck, pulling me towards him so he can slam a claiming kiss on me. It’s not until he lets me go that I notice the other men at the pool watching.
“You okay?” I ask.
He runs a hand through his hair, tussling the burnished waves even more. “No. Yes. Fuck, I don’t know. I’m not built for this.”
I frown and put my hands on his shoulders to stop him from pacing. “Built for what?”
“This.” He waves a hand toward the lobby ,a poker chip dancing between his fingers. “All of these contracts, profit projections, RO-fucking-I statements. All of it. It’s not me. It’s not something I can do.”
“You’re looking at it wrong, Mav.” I tell him. It doesn’t take a genius to understand how they work. “Con handles the numbers and the contracts. It’s what he’s good at. He and Atticus are the brains. You and Storm? You’re the heart,” I remind him.
He scoffs and looks away. I grab his chin and force him to look at me.
“Con’s contracts mean nothing if no one is here giving you their money. You’re the reason people want to come back. You’ve always been the one to bring the people to the party, you make sure they have fun. That’s just as vital as Atticus’s numbers, Storm’s intensity, and Conrad’s...control.”