25. Phoenix
Phoenix
I needed that more than I thought was possible.
Not the sex—though God knows it was devastating—but the break. The release. The crack in both of us that let something hot and dark and reckless pour through.
I hadn’t meant to push him. Not like that. Not with the things I said. But when he cornered me, pressing for truths I couldn’t give him, everything inside me snapped. The good girl act, the compliant facade—I set it all on fire just to watch him burn.
And he did.
But I burned with him.
My body still trembles from the aftershocks.
My thighs ache where they’d clamped around him, my skin marked by his touch in places only he’s ever seen.
It’s not the first time he’s touched me like that.
Not even close. We were each other’s firsts—two reckless kids in one of his family’s hotel rooms, fumbling and breathless and a little terrified of being caught.
That memory had haunted me more than once over the years.
Con’s touch. Maverick’s eyes on us. The heat of it.
The way he’d looked at me afterward, like I was the only real thing in a world built on pretend—until I’d broken his heart.
That moment was ours, before my cowardice came between us.
Before he learned to use people and I learned to hide.
Today felt nothing like that.
And yet, somewhere in today’s rawness, in its edge, in its fury—we found something both familiar and different. Something that didn’t just scrape against old scars but carved out new ones.
It wasn’t about pleasure. Not really. It was about power. About control. About daring each other to go further than we should have .
Still, the way his body moved against mine, the way he filled me so completely—it stole every breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. I’ve never been stretched like that. Never felt so fully claimed, every nerve ending lit up like a goddamn bonfire. My legs gave out before he even left the room.
He looked angry when he did. Not just frustrated. Wounded. Like he’d lost something he hadn’t meant to give away.
And maybe I did too.
I soak in the tub, the scent of vanilla bubbles wrapping around me. My muscles scream in the best possible way, and there’s no way I won’t be sore tomorrow, but my mind won’t quiet. I replay every second—every glare, every command, every thrust—and something inside me shudders.
Not in fear. In recognition. Whatever this is between us, it’s dangerous. It’s destructive.
But for the first time in weeks, I feel alive.
I take my time soaking, sinking low beneath the bubbles as the warmth seeps into my bones.
It isn’t until the water turns tepid, my skin wrinkled and flushed, that I finally pull the drain.
Even then, I sit there for a moment, watching the spiral of soapy water disappear, before turning the taps and refilling the tub.
The second soak isn’t for my muscles—it’s for my mind.
The Titans know.
Somehow, some way, they figured out I’ve been poking around.
That I’ve been trying to connect them to Rachel’s death and to the other staff members who vanished without a trace.
They might not know the full scope of it yet, but they know enough to have called me out. Enough for Con to demand answers.
And still I gave him none.
A part of me wants to go to them now—to come clean. To tell them everything. About the mobsters. About the debt my father left behind. About how he decided to eat a bullet and how I’ve been drowning in silence and blood ever since. About the threat still hanging over my head like a loaded gun.
But reality slaps that fantasy clean out of me.
What would they do with that information? Con, Storm, Atticus, Maverick—they’re not my saviors. They’re not knights in shining anything. They’re kings of this kingdom, and I’m still the outsider waiting for the gallows to drop.
I can’t even picture it. Storm wrapping me in a warm embrace, whispering, we’ll take care of it, Phoenix. We’ll make it all go away.
More likely? Storm would stare me down with those cold, calculating eyes and ask why the fuck I brought my baggage into their house. Maverick would crack some cruel joke about loyalty. Atticus wouldn’t say a word—he’d just watch, weigh, and judge.
And Con? Con would be the worst. Not because he’d mock me, but because he might not . Because I don’t think I could handle him looking at me with pity.
If they knew I signed a deal with the devil just to stay afloat, that I agreed to watch them in exchange for safety, they’d never see me the same. If they saw it as betrayal—and how could they not?—then what happens to me?
Best-case scenario? They fire me. From the minder job. From my housekeeper job. From every thread I’ve managed to stitch into this fragile life. And I’m left out in the cold, with no protection, no paycheck, and a target on my back.
Worst case? If they really are involved in what I think they are—if they really did have something to do with Rachel’s death—then maybe I don’t get fired.
Maybe I just disappear.
A soft shiver runs through me despite the heat. Not from fear, exactly, but from the overwhelming impossibility of choice. I’m caught in a maze where every exit is a trap.
Eventually, the water cools again. I rise from the bath slowly, every movement sore, the ache between my thighs a sharp, delicious reminder of what I did this morning. Of who I did it with.
I towel off and pad into the adjoining bathroom, fingers fumbling for the bottle of painkillers tucked behind a row of half-used serums. I dry-swallow two before moving toward the closet.
Business as usual. That’s all I can do. That’s all I have right now.
Because until something shifts—until one of the pieces on this board makes a move—I can’t risk revealing mine.
When I get out to the living room, Maverick is sprawled across one of the velvet armchairs, playing blackjack with a few hostesses and the female dealer he was chatting up yesterday.
The girls are giggling, drinks in hand, and chips scattered across the table in front of them.
The whole room feels like a party I wasn’t invited to.
“Firebird,” he calls, lifting his glass. “Come be my lucky charm.”
“I thought I was your lucky charm,” one of the girls pouts, leaning into him with a sugary whine.
Maverick rolls his eyes. “Yeah? Well, I’m losing, so you’re a shit lucky charm.” He waves her off with the flick of a wrist.
The girl makes a dramatic huff and stomps off, hips swaying in frustration. He doesn’t even blink.
I hesitate, but then walk over and slide into her vacant seat. The dealer glances at me and asks if I want in.
Maverick tosses a pile of chips in front of me—at least fifteen thousand dollars by my quick mental math.
“I guess so,” I murmur, flashing a smile. My fingers brush the chips, trying not to feel the weight of what they represent.
I know how to play cards. I learned from my father during one of the rare quiet spells between his yelling fits. Blackjack was his favorite. He said it taught discipline. The only quality time we had was spent at the kitchen table, a deck of cards between us and too many unspoken things in the air.
But I don’t play for money.
I saw how gambling rotted his insides, how it made him reckless and desperate. I promised myself I’d never follow that path. Still, I let my fingers dance over the chips like they’re nothing more than tokens in a game I’m not truly part of. They aren’t money. They’re just decoration. Distractions.
We play for a while, laughter and flirtation circling the table. Then one of the girls—tiny dress riding up to reveal a flash of ass—stretches and slinks back into her seat .
“Don’t you work downstairs?” she asks, giving me a sideways look.
“I did,” I say, tapping the table for another card. “Now I work up here.”
“Oh.” Her voice lilts. “Did you hear about Gary?”
“Who the fuck is Gary?” Maverick asks, uninterested.
“The dealer we had yesterday,” I say before he can scowl at her for interrupting his game. Of course he didn’t remember his name—he barely sees people he can’t screw or command.
The girl nods, sipping her drink. “Well, apparently he didn’t show up for his shift today. His wife keeps calling the office. He never came home.”
A chill creeps down my spine. “Really?”
“Yeah. Just vanished. No one’s seen him since.”
Maverick snorts. “Probably ran off with one of the waitresses. Happens all the time.”
The hand ends. My heart’s no longer in the game.
“I need a break,” I say, pushing back from the table .
One of the girls jumps up, declaring she has to pee, and Maverick heads toward the bar to pour himself another drink. I intercept him before he can disappear.
I grab his hand. “Come with me.”
He raises an eyebrow but lets me tug him down the hallway.
“What are you doing, little Firebird?” he asks with a lazy smirk. “Gonna beg me to satisfy you now that Con’s finished?”
I don’t bite. I slam the door behind us.
“Did you do it?”
He frowns. “Do what?”
“The dealer,” I say flatly, crossing my arms. “Gary. The one at our table yesterday. He’s missing. That doesn’t feel like a coincidence.”
Maverick looks at me like I’ve grown two heads. “You’re serious?”
“Don’t pretend it’s nothing. It’s not just Gary. It’s Rachel. And half a dozen other employees. All women…people…who worked here. Who were arou nd you and the other Titans. And now they’re gone.”
His brow lifts, but it’s not mocking. It’s calculating.
“People quit all the time,” he says. “Turnover’s normal in hospitality.”
“Not like this,” I snap. “Gary had a family. He didn’t just vanish.”
“Maybe that’s exactly why he left. Family’s not always a reason to stay, Phoenix.”
My hands tremble with the effort to keep them still. “Don’t lie to me.”
“Who says I am?” His tone sharpens. “Is this some kind of sex game? You starting a fight so you can have angry sex with me too? See how I measure up to Con?”
“No,” I growl. “I’m trying to understand why people around you guys keep disappearing and no one’s talking about it. Rachel’s dead. The others are missing. And now Gary. I don’t believe in that many coincidences.”
He steps forward, arms braced on either side of the doorframe, caging me in. His voice drops low and dangerous.
“What the fuck are you doing, Phoenix?”
“I’m trying to figure out what the hell is going on.
” My breath comes fast. “You did something bad enough to get expelled from school. Your parents hired someone to babysit you. I don’t know what you’re involved in, Maverick—but I know I’m caught in the middle of it, and I don’t know where the line is.
I don’t know how close I can get before I end up just like them. ”
There’s a beat of silence.
Then: “You do not get to accuse me of that shit.” His voice is quiet. Sharp as broken glass. “You have no idea what we did.”
“That’s the problem,” I whisper. “I don’t. And that terrifies me.”
He turns away, jaw clenched so tight I can see the muscle twitch.
“Those women you’re so worried about?” he says bitterly.
“They weren’t here to work. They were here to latch on.
To fuck a Titan and hope we’d make them our queen.
Some even tried to record it. Blackmail us.
When it didn’t work, they left. Or got fired.
Or vanished into the world like they were never here. ”
“That’s not true.”
“You don’t know what’s true,” he snaps, eyes blazing now. “You’re just the latest girl to get in over her head.”
I flinch. He sees it.
And it bothers him.
“I liked you,” he says, softer now. “Still do. But if you want to accuse me of murder, you better have more than paranoia and a bad mood.”
His hand rises, tangling in my hair. He tilts my chin up.
“And if you’re starting a fight because you want to fuck the anger out of your system, I’ll oblige. But you’re going to have to beg.”
Something inside me turns cold. I shove him back.
“Fuck you, Maverick.”
And I storm out before the guilt or the confusion can catch up with me.
Outside, the Savannah sun punches me in the face with its heat. I didn’t even grab my purse. I just needed to move. Think. Breathe.
My heels clack against the pavement as I circle the block, trying to slow my racing thoughts.
Was I wrong? Am I paranoid? Or are they gaslighting me? What the hell am I doing?
I’m so lost in it, I don’t hear the footsteps.
Not until I’m grabbed by the hair and slammed into the alley wall behind a building. A blade presses cold against my throat.
Pedo-stash leans in, breath sour and voice like gravel.
“You’ve kept us waiting long enough, you stupid bitch.”