Chapter 31 Phoenix
Phoenix
From: Phoenix Jones
To: Mr. Masterson
RE: There was a brief situation with a guest and an employee conducting the personal sale of illegal injectables.
Your son and the other Titans were proactive in figuring out what was happening (it was quite the mystery.) That has been taken care of and you will be happy to hear that the boys have tightened procedures, and everything is going well.
I think they are rising admirably to the challenge you have issued.
The guilt eats me alive.
Up to this point, I could make my silence make sense.
They barred the doors, kept the strategy to themselves, treated me like a problem to manage—not a partner in this shit.
And the bet? If I’m nothing more than a scoreboard to them, a way for them to relieve stress with manipulating me, why would I cough up the one thing that could ruin me? That could end this little game they’ve got.
Except now they’ve opened the door, pulled out a chair, and looked me in the eye. They’re talking to me, listening—and I’m still choking on the truth.
The words sit on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t get them out. The lies and the silence strangle me.
Not when Storm looks at me like I’m the only light he’s ever seen. Not when Maverick watches me with his eyes open and vulnerable—after we cleared the air last night, after the marathon sex, after the cuddles and the whispers until we fell asleep.
I fold myself into the corner of the couch, arms wrapped tight around my ribs like I can make myself smaller—like shrinking could make my secrets less damning.
Atticus vibrates with that sharp, restless focus, already pulling the threads of every problem into patterns only he sees. Conrad stays stone-steady, leaning against the table like a pillar.
They don’t know. They can’t. Not yet. I haven’t had enough time with them. I can’t do this.
The panic keeps rising.
But the secret’s poison, and I know it’ll never be enough time. Better to tell them now than to let them discover the truth on their own. I can at least end things with some semblance of dignity…on my own terms.
Right?
My stomach twists as my mind replays the video—the grainy footage of Storm and Maverick beating a man until he doesn’t get back up. The dirty cop’s threats. The early-morning calls and texts reminding me of my debt.
If I tell them, they’ll see me as the reason everything has been burning down around them. They’ll know I brought this here. I’m the catalyst that fucked their entire world.
“Phoenix.” Conrad’s voice cuts clean through the noise in my head. I look up and get caught in his stare. He doesn’t blink. He doesn’t soften.
“Tell us,” Atticus says, calm but sharp. “Whatever it is, we need all possible information to make the right choice. No more pieces missing. No more lies.”
My throat closes. For a heartbeat I consider lying again, consider shoving it deeper—but the weight of all their eyes presses down until I can’t carry it anymore.
“I—” My voice cracks. I swallow, try again. “I should’ve told you sooner.”
Conrad straightens. Storm goes utterly still, the knife he’s been spinning freezing mid-twirl.
“There’s this cop,” I whisper. “He’s dirty—really dirty.
The one who cuffed Maverick. When he took me in the kitchen it wasn’t to do any wellness interview.
He knows things about you. About me. I think he works for the man who holds my debt.
He’s been threatening me—spelling out what happens if I don’t… ”
Someone curses, but I don’t know who. I’m too busy squeezing my eyes closed. I can’t look at them, can’t see the disgust I know will be written on their faces. I shake my head and dig my nails into my arms until it hurts.
“And there’s more…there’s a video.”
Maverick tips my chin to meet his gaze. His jaw is tight, eyes flat. “What video?”
I can’t say it out loud. I stand on unsteady legs, go to Maverick’s room for my phone, pull up the message, press play, and set it on the table.
The room fills with the wet thud of fists on flesh, a groan, a scream cut short. I don’t want to watch, but I force myself to do so. Grainy footage of Storm and Maverick covered in blood and rage—killing a man for me.
I can’t look at them. I can’t bear the hurt or anger or betrayal I expect to find in their eyes, so I stare at the carpet until the pattern blurs with tears.
“They have proof,” I breathe. “Proof of murder—and they can use it to destroy you. They sent it as a warning of what will happen if I don’t pay.
Which means they know exactly who I am to you.
And the price…they keep raising the price.
It’s not the original amount anymore. It’s some crazy number now—he added so much money for every man you killed for me. ”
Silence. It presses on my chest until it burns.
“He’s saying that he’s going to claim me. That I belong to him.”
Every second stretches too long, and I still can’t breathe. Not until they say something.
I brace for the impact. This is where they realize I’m the one who isn’t good enough. This is where they tell me I should’ve said something sooner, where they punish me by pushing me out.
This is the moment they decide I’m not worth the risk.
Storm moves first. The solid thump of his boots across the hardwood makes me flinch. He moves slowly, knife in hand. For half a second, fear coils tight and stupid in my stomach.
He doesn’t look at me. He stalks past, cocks his arm, and lets the blade fly.
The hit is so loud in the quiet that I jump and barely swallow a yelp.
Steel buries itself in the doorframe almost to the hilt. It’s vibration is the only sound besides my hammering heart.
Storm says nothing. He stands there with his chest heaving and his eyes burning with a fury I can’t blame him for.
Because he’s right to be pissed.
I don’t blame him.