13. Phoenix
Phoenix
The next morning I’m making my breakfast in the kitchen and contemplating the state of my gameplay when two of the regular maids come up to empty the trash and drop off fresh linens.
“Oh my God—this is where you’ve been?” Sarah looks me up and down.
“Yeah. They moved me here for a while, to be the suite’s dedicated maid.” I shrug like it’s no big deal. None of the Titans will wake until at least ten a.m. so I’m not in my micro dress uniform yet. Hopefully, I can just play this off like extra duty.
“Oh.” Sarah’s brows skyrocket to her hairline. “That sounds…fun.”
“It’s just work. Same old, same old.” I shrug my shoulders noncommittally, but I know Sarah isn’t the type to leave without either giving or getting some gossip. I don’t plan on giving her anything, which means I’m going to have to ask her.
I paste a bright smile on my face and take a sip of my coffee. “Sooo…anything interesting going on downstairs? It’s honestly so boring up here.”
My ploy works. Sarah’s eyes get big, and she lets the trash bag in her hand fall against her hip. “Oh my God, so fucking much is happening. We’re all in a tizzy. Do you remember Rachel?”
I frown. “No?” I don’t think I know a Rachel.
“Sure you do. She’s only been working a couple months, but she has long dark hair and is super pretty with those big, freakishly blue eyes?”
Images of the girl Maverick was with last night flips through my head. Rachel. The second I put the name and the face together, I see her: her long hair braided and coiled into a bun, in her resort housekeeping uniform as she pushes a cart.
I nod and take another sip of coffee. “Oh yeah, her. What about her? ”
“Well, she didn’t show up for her shift this morning. and we figured she was just going to be late, or another no-call/no-show…which has been happening a lot lately…” She pauses for dramatic effect, giving me an arch look.
“Right,” I say, trying to urge her on.
“Well, Richard, the shift manager downstairs is taking no-call/no-shows pretty seriously now. At least that’s what he says.
So he went to go check on her—between you and me, I think he just wanted an excuse to go to her house, maybe hoping that she’d apologize for being late with a blowjob—he’s just so skeevy… But anyway, did I tell you about?—”
I hold up a hand to stop her forward momentum, my brain hurting as I try to follow her various tangents. “Wait, what happened when he went to Rachel’s house?” I ask.
Focus , sweetie.
“Oh right, well, she wasn’t there, but her car was, and the place was trashed. Richard looked all around for her, and then he found her body in her own trunk. ”
“Oh my God, really?” I drop into a seat at a table, setting the coffee mug down carefully in front of me. My hands are shaking, and I slide them beneath the table so she can’t see them.
Should I tell her Rachel was here last night? Did Maverick do something to her? He is strong, and it’s no secret that he likes it rough. Could he have pushed too far and actually hurt her?
Do I need to report this to Conrad’s father? Or maybe his assistant?—
“Oh, and apparently there are these shady guys hanging around outside. Richard had security run them off a few times, but they keep coming back.”
“Really?” I ask, only half paying attention, my mind still on Rachel.
“Yeah, I saw them the other day. They’re creepy looking…definitely not the kind the manager wants hanging around. One of them has one of those nineteen-seventies porn star moustaches… You know, the kind that make you think the guy shouldn’t be allowed in a school?” She laughs a little.
Har-har. “Pedo-Stash,” I mutter under my breath .
“Omg, yes! It’s a pedo-stash. You are sooo funny,” Sarah gushes. She lingers, unloading her cart. “So what’s it like up here? Do you think they’ll need any more help? Like when you’re off or something?”
I am saved from answering by two naked women coming out of Con’s room, and one fully dressed woman leaving Storm’s.
“I don’t know. I’ll ask. But you might want to head out…” Rising, I cup Sarah’s elbow in my hand and guide her toward the door. “The guys don’t enjoy seeing the staff around after they’re supposed to leave. They’re very private. That’s why they have their own dedicated team.”
“Oh, no. It’s okay, really, Maverick and I have history?—”
“Maverick has history with half of the women that work in this resort.” I say, maybe a little too cruelly, but I need to get her out of this room.
She makes a huffing noise and turns on her heel as if I offended her. I probably did. I push the button for the elevator and wave as the doors close on her sulky expression .
I also might have just saved her life, so she’s welcome.
Storm is the first of the guys to emerge from his room. He stops in the middle of the kitchen with that same knife still in his hand as he tosses it end-over-end, somehow managing to catch the hilt each time. He looks me up and down, raising a single dark blond eyebrow.
“You know, if Con or Maverick sees you in that?—”
“Con and Maverick will not be awake for hours still. I just wanted to be comfortable while I had my breakfast. It’s so hard to tidy up in heels. I’ll go change.” I try to move past him, but his hand darts out and grabs my wrist, stopping me.
“It’s fine for now,” he says, his intense blue eyes locking on mine. I can’t look away, his gaze holding me more captive than his hand on my wrist. It’s like he sees right through me, sees every secret hiding and considers it his mission to unearth them, one by one.
His scrutiny makes the breath seize in my throat.
It’s funny. Out of all the Titans, Maverick gets the most female attention because he’s the biggest. He’s also the most outgoing. The charmer, with a cheeky smile hinting at the fun waiting to be had.
Conrad is nearly as popular, that pure alpha male energy he exudes drawing women of all ages and backgrounds. They want his bad-tempered authority, have this innate need to please him or conquer him, as the case may be.
Atticus is quieter and more reserved, but possesses his own kind of magnetism.
He’s always perfectly groomed, his hair cut tight to his head and his clothing buttoned and creased with precision.
Women look at Atticus and want to know what he’s like when he unleashes that tight control he maintains all the time.
When he focuses it on a woman instead of his environment.
Most of the attention gravitates to them, while women shy away from Storm, and yet…he’s the most strikingly handsome out of the four.
His looks are unusual…eye-catching. He has natural platinum hair—almost silver in tone—but the chronic scruff on his jaw and his eyebrows are dark.
The eyes beneath those brows are a pale shade of crystalline blue, an unearthly, haunting shade.
Pair that with his sharp, aristocratic bone st ructure and a tall, leanly-muscled body, and he belongs on a runway.
And yet, there’s something about him that’s more than just sexy. A sense of danger clings to him, a kind that isn’t as obvious as Maverick’s strength or as in-your-face as Conrad’s attitude.
Storm’s appeal is subtle, cold, and seductive.
The knife he holds in his other hand catches the light again as it arches up and descends, the hilt landing neatly in his palm without requiring so much as a glance from Storm. I look from the knife back to his face, my breath returning with a gasp I can’t restrain.
Since coming here, I’ve had fantasies involving all the men. All of them are kinky; all of them are fun—except the ones with Storm. Those fantasies speak to something much darker and deeper inside me.
Secret desires I pretend not to have, because I’m a good girl.
“Who were you talking to earlier?” he asks.
With difficulty, I find my voice. “A maid. She brought up new towels and linens. I was going to put the fresh stuff in your rooms once everybody was awake.”
“You don’t have to do that. We have maids for that.”
“I am a maid,” I return with a tight smile, trying to ignore the way his hand is still gripping my arm, the way his thumb is tracing little circles on the delicate skin of the inside of my wrist. How is such an innocent touch so distracting?
“No, right now you’re not our maid. You’re our…” He pauses, like he’s trying to find the right word to describe what I’m supposed to be to them.
“Babysitter?” I offer, meaning it as a joke.
His eyes narrow, and his grip tightens infinitesimally. “More like our toy. So come, little toy. Let me play with you for a while.”
His tone is flat. But there’s something behind it—like he hates the word even as he says it. Like he doesn’t actually want me to become what they expect.
My heart gives a hard thump as he tugs me away from the table, and I expect him to lead me into his room or something. I don’t know if it’s with excitement or fear.
Instead of heading to his room, though, he leads me over to the couch and pulls me down to sit on the floor next to him, using the couch as a backrest.
Why does he sit on the floor most of the time? The stray thought runs through my mind and then disappears again when Storm speaks.
“Why are you here, angel?”
“Angel?” I ask, ignoring his question.
He tilts his head, still studying me with that unnerving stare.
“Yes. Every time I see you, you seem to have this…radiance…around you. Clean. Pure. And yet you’re…
bold. Not afraid of me like a lot of the other hotel staff.
You also don’t look at me like I’m some kind of monster sent to fulfill your serial killer fetish. ”
I swallow, sorting through his statements. I extract the most harmless one. “So a lot of women have serial killer fetishes?”
He looks at me for a moment, then nods. “I blame Booktok. ”