Chapter 18 Phoenix
Phoenix
From: Phoenix Jones
To: Mr. Masterson
RE: We had a brief disturbance tied to two impaired guests; the Titans cooperated, moved fast, and kept the floor calm while PR and security smoothed the edges. Everyone remained professional and the resort’s exposure stayed minimal.
Sarah.
Her name hangs in the air like smoke, choking me, making it hard to breathe. The cops have said it three times now, each repetition slower, heavier—as if the syllables alone will drive one of us mad with guilt and make someone confess.
They aren’t looking at Conrad or Atticus. They aren’t even looking at Storm, who stands in the corner, arms crossed, glaring at the uniforms.
They aren’t looking at me.
Their focus is entirely on Maverick. They watch him like they already know he’s guilty. Like they think he’s dangerous.
A killer.
It’s breaking my heart.
Maverick still kneels, wrists bound behind his back, the thin shine of the cuffs biting into his skin. From where I stand, I catch the angry flush creeping over his cheekbones, the faint tick in his jaw each time the shorter cop opens his mouth.
He’s beyond pissed, but his chest rises in a slow, steady count that I recognize, one that reminds me of an echoing, stainless steel kitchen and enough cheesecake to make my stomach hurt.
“I told you that you need to release him.” I may not be able to physically get to Maverick right now, but I’ll be damned if these idiots keep me from protecting him any way I can. “Conrad. Get the lawyers here now.”
The carpet under him is thick, plush, and expensive, but he holds himself so rigidly it might as well be concrete. His fingers curl against the small of his back, slow and deliberate, like he’s keeping track of each one so he doesn’t accidentally misplace them.
It takes me a moment, but I recognize that technique, too. It’s the same tapping one I use when the nightmares wake me and I don’t want to wake anyone.
He’s on the edge, and it’s my fault. Again.
Every few seconds, his gaze flicks to the hallway behind me. He wants to make sure I’m here, and okay, without drawing attention to me, while the rest of him eases into a quiet that can only last so long before it shatters.
I know, because I recognize it.
Atticus catches my arm and keeps me at his side before I can go to Maverick. I understand why, but I hate him a little for it.
The shorter cop crouches a little in front of Maverick, closing the distance to make it personal.
His voice drops too low for me to hear, but I see the cruelty in his smile, and I see the way Maverick answers with nothing more than a grinding of his teeth, his fingers tightening behind him, his biceps flexing—eyes forward, mouth shut.
I don’t know if the cop is trying to make Maverick break or to make one of the others charge in, but it won’t work.
My heart hammers, and my mouth dries, but I can’t look away.
Maverick doesn’t answer. The others don’t move.
That stillness is what scares me most.
Maverick isn’t the kind to hide what he’s feeling.
He’s all big gestures and easy grins…until he isn’t.
He wears irritation and anger as easily as joy.
But now—nothing. Even his face has gone neutral in a way that doesn’t look like him.
If not for the red creeping up his neck and into the tops of his ears, I’d think he hasn’t heard a word.
I want to move. I want to step between them. But I’ve learned enough from Atticus and Conrad to know when putting myself in the middle only makes it worse. Even if I forget, Atticus’s hand on my arm reminds me—maybe warns me.
Conrad finally cuts through the static by stepping forward. The controlled sharpness in his voice slices the room.
“Our lawyers will answer any further questions,” he says. “And they’ll be very interested to hear how one of the Titans was unlawfully restrained in his own home, like Phoenix said. This abuse of power won’t go unanswered. Expect several orders in the coming days.”
The tall cop leans on the wall, pretending to relax, and laughs. “File whatever you like. We have a warrant. Your daddy can’t buy you out of this.”
“And we have legal representation,” Conrad replies, every word crisp enough to cut. “Direct your inquiries to them from now on. You didn’t show a warrant, didn’t arrest Maverick, and didn’t do anything that would be deemed as appropriate.”
It should end there. The authority in Conrad’s voice leaves no room to argue. For half a second, I think it worked.
The shorter cop—the one getting off on putting Maverick down—looks at me. His beady eyes slide right through me. He says something else to Maverick, too soft to catch, but I see Maverick’s reaction: teeth bared, a hard pull against the cuffs.
The cop doesn’t even notice. His eyes stay on me, and it isn’t the way I catch men looking at me.
There’s no lust. No curiosity. Only calculation, and somehow, that’s more frightening than any other possibility.
He’s measuring me, assigning a value.
I want to shrink behind Atticus, but I don’t. I can’t move.
He closes the distance and grabs my free hand and squeezes until I have to bite back a sound.
“Get the fuck away from her,” Maverick growls. At the same time, Storm steps forward, his knife flipping through his fingers, and Atticus shifts to block both the cop and Storm—putting himself between us.
The short cop doesn’t notice, but the tall one does; his gun comes out—not pointed, not yet.
“I need to ask the girl a few questions. In private.”
“Like hell you do. Questions for her go through our lawyer,” Atticus says.
“What’s wrong? Don’t want your little pet telling secrets?” the cop hisses. “We’ve had reports from concerned citizens saying this pretty little doll is going to end up like her friend, Sarah.”
“Reports from whom?” Storm asks.
“Doesn’t matter. We need to perform a wellness check, and that includes speaking to her alone. If you’ve got a problem, I can take her—and the big one—down to the station.”
My first instinct is to yank free. The second is to glance at Conrad. He gives the smallest shake of his head. Not the moment to escalate.
“It’s fine,” I say, even and light. I know this dance. Comply, let him have his little power trip, and he’ll leave.
“I don’t want you alone with him,” Conrad says.
“It’ll be fine,” I say, pulling my hand from Atticus’s grip. “We can go to the kitchen.”
“See? This girl’s obedient. Show me the kitchen, princess. Maybe I’ll let you make me a sandwich when we’re done.” He laughs. I ignore him and lead the way. The door stays cracked behind us. The others are close if I yell.
We stop by the windows. Sunlight spills across the tile between us, but it doesn’t feel warm. A cold shock runs down my spine as he leans against the wall and studies me.
He doesn’t take out a notepad. He doesn’t ask safety questions. He just flicks his gaze over my face like he’s cataloguing parts.
“You know,” he says finally, voice pitched low so it won’t carry, “for someone your age, you’ve got one hell of a debt-to-income ratio.”
My mind blanks for half a second. “…Excuse me?”
“That kind of debt,” he goes on casually, as if he’s talking interest rates, not blood. “It gets heavy. Especially when it’s not the kind you see in a bank ledger. Just because you don’t see the interest tallying doesn’t mean it isn’t. It continues to accrue.”
Princess. I keep my face neutral even as my pulse kicks. “I don’t know what you’re referring to.”
His mouth curves, but it’s not a smile. He’s amused I’m bothering to pretend.
“Yes, you do. I can see it on your face. I know you didn’t start the tab, but it’s yours all the same, just because you happened to sit down at that table for a minute, ya know?
Here’s the thing about certain loans—you don’t get to pick who comes to collect.
And you…you’re well protected right now.
Surrounded by big men with big reputations, sucking their big cocks so they keep you safe with their big wallets. ”
Steel runs under his lazy drawl. I run my tongue across my upper teeth. “You sound a little size-obsessed,” I manage to choke out.
His face goes hard for a moment before it smooths out.
Something that could be mistaken for a rusty laugh wheezes out.
“Cute,” he mutters. “Real cute. Here’s the thing.
” He leans in, just enough that his breath grazes my temple.
“People get distracted. People get taken out of the picture. Your debtors are watching. They will be paid what they’re owed. ”
My fingers twitch against my thigh. “What exactly are you saying?”
He tilts his head, disappointed he has to spell it out. “I’m saying you might want to start answering your phone when you’re summoned before someone puts you at the bottom of a river. And you know what? Not even your Titans will be able to fish you out.”
Cold rolls through me, steals the vitality from every muscle and fiber in my body. I believe him. This entire performance isn’t about missing girls or my men. It’s a demonstration: it doesn’t matter how many calls go unanswered—they can still reach out and touch me.
I glance past him. Through the crack in the door I catch Maverick—still kneeling, still cuffed, still coiled to shatter.
One dirty cop can do more than touch me. He doesn’t even have to come for me directly. He can go for them. All of them.
That terrifies me more than the thought of my body dumped at the bottom of any river or left in a cold alley.
“Why are you doing this?” I take a shaky step back and hit the wall. I’m trapped, and the sick smile on his face says he knows it.
“Because I can,” he says, grinning until my knees want to buckle.
A growl attracts my gaze to the cracked door. Zeus stands on the threshold, fur bristling on the ridge of his spine, teeth bared. I click my fingers and scoop him up when he comes to me without hesitation, using the motion to hide the tremble in my fingers.