Chapter 31 Phoenix #2
“Yep, and I’m not done, my friend. Andrew’s official cause of death was from the puncture wound to his head.
You know who else got stabbed in the side of the dead?
The body that Andrew was doing an autopsy on the day he got murdered.
Crazy Carl. Andrew’s autopsy notes suggest a pair of blue-handled scissors were used. ”
“Same on the chickens?”
“Yep. Hell of coincidence, huh? I’m not done, though. Crazy Carl was one of the guys Rose had called the cops on for sitting outside her office building all day, watching her through the windows.”
My eyes rounded as I looked at him.
“Yep. Both Andrew and Crazy Carl had a personal, romantic interest in Dr. Floris. Both Andrew and Crazy Carl were murdered and stabbed with scissors. Along with a bunch of chickens, of course.”
I stilled, my thoughts racing at breakneck speed.
He leaned in. “There are connections here, each leading to Rose. Your therapist is the common thread here, Phoenix.”
I scoffed. “Are you saying you think she did it? Went nuts in a chicken coop then killed her client and Andrew? Give me a break.”
“Calm down, dude. And it’s my job to make those kind of assumptions, and if you can’t handle an objective conversation about this, there’s the door. I’m just saying you can’t ignore the connection.”
“She didn’t kill Andrew, Jagg. I was with her that afternoon.”
“I believe you. But the fact of the matter remains. And if she isn’t our killer, then someone appears to be killing the men who take an interest in her.”
“An obsessed pervert.”
“A madman.”
My gut clenched.
He continued, “And I’d watch my back if I were you.”
The noise of the bar faded into a low buzz as my brain spun.
Eyeing me, Jagg leaned back and took another sip of whiskey.
I turned fully to him. “If you know something else, tell me now, man. Right now.”
His eyes narrowed. “Rose Floris has got a locked file with the department of family and protective services. Something happened when she was a kid. Something big. Someone adopted her, homeschooled her, kept her out of the public, but those details are locked up, too. She left Berry Springs at seventeen for college, came back eight months ago, and all of a sudden, two men who took an interest in her are murdered. The woman has secrets, Phoenix. And if you’re not going to find out what they are, then I will. ”
I pushed away from the bar and stood.
“Where you going?” Jagg leaned forward.
Gage and Ax both stopped mid-conversation and turned toward me.
Ignoring them, I started to cross the room when the front door opened, a gust of wind accompanying a dark silhouette.
A blast of adrenaline shot through my veins as I looked at the one and only, Josh Davis.
Our eyes locked. Everything stopped as we stalked toward each other, the chatter, the music, everything faded into tunnel vision.
I felt my brothers behind me as I neared the guy who’d spread my personal business around town and also slept with my Rose Flower.
Control your environment, Rose’s voice, louder this time.
“Keep walking, Feen,” Ax growled at my back as Gage flanked Josh from the side.
Stop, Phoenix. Don’t do it. A new voice slipped into my head. My own.
I barreled my shoulder into Josh as we passed. The impact sent him stumbling backward, arms flailing, and just like that—hell ignited.
Ax’s arms locked around me like steel bands, dragging me back before my fists could do what my brain had already committed to. Gage and Jagg didn’t move—ready to dive into whatever hell was about to break loose.
As my brother dragged me outside, the crowd’s voices began to register—
“What the hell is wrong with that guy?”
“Haven’t you heard? Dude’s gone crazy. Like, legit mental problems.”
And the final kick to the ribs: a peel of laughter followed by, “Someone give that guy his damn meds.”
The buzz of humiliation prickled hot across my skin as Ax wrestled me outside. I ripped my arm from his grip the second we hit the night air.
It was cold—biting—and the door slammed shut behind us, sealing in the crowd’s judgment and leaving only the electric hum of the electric lights and the echo of my own rage.
I stomped across the gravel lot, jaw clenched, breath heaving. I made a beeline for Spirit, who stood saddled and waiting, her breath misting in the cold air. God, I missed my Harley. It was the first time—ever—I felt embarrassed.
And I fucking hated it.
Ax stayed a half-step behind me, just close enough in case I spun around and decided to finish what I’d started.
Control your environment…
Control your environment…
Control your damn environment.
My eyes landed on a gleaming apple-red Rolls Royce parked in the handicapped spot. Of course. Who else would drive a spotless, six-figure luxury car to a honky-tonk dive bar and park in the handicapped spot?
Josh Davis. In all his narcissistic glory.
I snapped.
I dropped to one knee, yanked the Ka-BAR from my boot, and stalked toward the car.
“Phoenix, no—don’t—”
Ax’s voice was behind me, panicked, but it was too late.
I sent the blade deep into the tire with a clean, satisfying thunk. The air hissed out in a high-pitched whine, as if the car itself was screaming.
“Dammit, Feen,” Ax muttered.
I sheathed the blade without a word, flipped Spirit’s reins over her back, and swung onto the saddle.
“Where you going?” he asked.
I gave the reins a sharp tug, but Ax caught the bridle before I could ride off. “You need to go home, brother.”
“Let go, brother.”
We locked eyes.
Something shifted in his face—worry maybe, maybe understanding—but he released the bridle.
“Go home, Feen,” he said quietly. “Home.”
I kicked Spirit into motion, the wind slicing across my face like knives. We moved fast, hooves pounding across gravel.
We both knew I wasn’t going home.