Chapter 37 Phoenix
PHOENIX
The cabin comes into view and my heart stops.
There's a car parked outside. A sleek black BMW. I know that car. It belongs to Marcus.
Maybe it's nothing and he just came to talk. Maybe Jade let him in and they're sitting by the fire, having a civilized conversation about the deal that fell apart.
Maybe.
But my father's voicemail echoes in my head. He's not stable, son. I've heard things.
I kill the engine. The cabin looks peaceful. Firelight glowing through the windows. Smoke curling from the chimney.
So why is my heart pounding like this?
I get out of the car, my boots crunching on the snow. The silence is absolute. No voices. No movement. Just the wind in the trees and my own ragged breathing.
I'm halfway to the porch when I hear it.
A scream. Muffled. Broken.
But unmistakably her.
Everything after that happens on instinct. I don't think. Don't plan. I just run. The porch steps blur beneath my feet. My shoulder hits the door and the lock splinters, the frame cracking as it crashes inward.
The scene in front of me doesn't make sense at first. My brain refuses to process it.
Jade is on the floor in front of the fireplace.
Face down. Her sweater is torn, exposing the bare skin of her back.
Her leggings are pulled down around her ankles.
Her wrists are bound behind her with something.
Her face is wet with tears, her eyes wide with terror, and there's blood smeared across her cheek.
Marcus is standing over her, his belt undone, his hand fisted in her hair.
Standing over her.
About to—
Everything goes red.
I don't remember crossing the room. Don't remember making the decision to move. One second I'm in the doorway, the next I have Marcus by the throat and I'm slamming him into the wall so hard the whole cabin shakes.
His head cracks against the wood. His eyes go wide with shock. He didn't hear me coming, didn't expect me back so soon, thought he had time to finish what he started.
He was wrong.
"Phoenix—" he chokes out. "Wait—"
I don't wait.
My fist connects with his face and I feel something crunch. His nose, maybe. I don't care. I hit him again. And again. And again. Each impact sends blood spraying across the wall, across my hands, across my shirt.
He tries to fight back, shove me off, and to block my blows. But I'm beyond reason. I’m filled with white-hot rage.
He touched her.
I slam him into the wall again.
He is hurting her.
My fist connects with his ribs, his stomach, his face.
He has her on the floor, bound and helpless, and he was going to—
I can't even finish the thought.
"Phoenix!"
Jade's voice cuts through the haze.
"Phoenix, stop! You're going to kill him!"
Good.
Marcus slides down the wall, leaving a smear of blood on the wood. He's barely conscious now, his face a ruined mess of red and purple, his breath coming in wet, gurgling gasps. He holds up one hand in a feeble attempt to defend himself.
"Please," he slurs through broken teeth. "Please, I wasn't going to—she wanted—"
I grab him by the collar and haul him up, then throw him to the floor. He lands hard, coughing, spitting blood, trying to crawl away from me.
He's not getting away.
I follow him, my boots heavy on the wooden floor. He's dragging himself toward the door, leaving a trail of blood, whimpering with every movement. Pathetic. He was so confident when he had a bound woman beneath him. So powerful when his victim couldn't fight back.
Look at him now.
"Phoenix." Jade's voice again, closer this time, but I can't look at her. Can't take my eyes off the man who hurt her. "Phoenix, please—"
The fire poker is leaning against the stone hearth, right where it always is. My hand closes around the iron handle and it feels right.
I stand over Marcus's broken body. He's trying to speak, trying to form words through the blood filling his mouth, but all that comes out is a wet, choking sound.
"You touched her," I say. My voice doesn't sound like mine. It's cold, empty and dead.
"Phoenix—" He coughs, spraying red across the floor. "I'm sorry—I wasn't thinking—please—"
"You touched what's mine."
I raise the poker.
"No—wait—PLEASE—"
I bring it down.
The impact reverberates up my arm—a sickening thud that I feel in my bones. Marcus's body jerks, a strangled scream tearing from his throat.
I raise the poker again.
"Phoenix, don't—"
I bring it down. Harder this time.
His screams stop. His body twitches, then goes still.
I raise the poker one more time.
And I bring it down with everything I have.
Silence.
The only sound is my own breathing—ragged, harsh, animalistic. I'm standing over Marcus's body with the poker still clutched in my hand, my chest heaving, my entire body trembling with adrenaline and rage and something else. Something darker.
I look down at what I've done.
His face is unrecognizable. A pulpy mess of blood and bone and tissue. His skull is caved in on one side, the wound glistening wetly in the firelight. His eyes are open but they're not seeing anything. Not anymore.
I killed him.
The poker slips from my fingers and clatters to the floor. My hands are shaking. They're covered in his blood, and it's warm and sticky between my fingers.
I killed a man.
I wait for the horror to hit. The guilt. The revulsion at what I've done.
It doesn't come.
All I feel is satisfaction.
He deserved it and worse. If I could kill him again, I would. I'd kill him slower. Make him suffer more. Make him feel even a fraction of the terror he made Jade feel.
Jade.
I turn away from the body and find her huddled against the wall, her knees pulled up to her chest, her bound hands still trapped behind her back. She's staring at me with wide, shell-shocked eyes. Her cheeks are streaked with tears and blood.
I go to her. Drop to my knees in front of her. My hands are still shaking as I reach for her wrists.
"Hold still," I murmur. "I'm going to get this off."
The zip tie is tight, cutting into her skin, and I don't have anything to cut it with. I look around frantically, then remember the knife block in the kitchen. I force myself to stand, to walk across the room, to grab a knife and bring it back to her.
"Hold still," I say again, and she does, trembling but trusting me.
I slip the blade beneath the plastic and cut. The zip tie falls away, and I see the angry red welts it's left on her wrists. I'm going to be sick.
She brings her hands around to her front, rubbing her wrists, and that's when I see how badly she's shaking. Her whole body is vibrating with shock, her teeth chattering, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
"Jade." I cup her face in my bloody, murderer's hands, and tilt her head up to look at me. "Did he—? Jade, did he—?"
I can't finish the question. Can't force the words out past the knot in my throat.
"No." She's sobbing now, the word barely audible. "No. You stopped him. You got here in time."
The relief that floods through me is so intense I nearly collapse. I pull her against my chest and hold her as tightly as I dare, my arms wrapped around her trembling body, my face buried in her hair.
"I'm sorry," I choke out. "I'm so sorry. I should have been here. I should have never left you alone. I'm sorry, Jade. I'm so fucking sorry."
She's crying too hard to respond. Her fingers clutch at my shirt—at the blood-soaked fabric—and she holds on like I'm the only thing keeping her from drowning.
Maybe I am.
I don't know how long we stay like that. Minutes. Hours. Time has lost all meaning. I just hold her and let her cry and try to convince myself that she's okay and safe now.
Eventually, her sobs quiet to hiccups, then to shaky breaths. She pulls back just enough to look at my face.
"Phoenix." Her voice is raw, wrecked. "You killed him."
I glance over my shoulder at the body on the floor. At the blood pooling beneath it, spreading across the wood in a dark, glistening tide. At the fire poker lying beside him, the iron stained red.
"Yes," I say. "I did."
I wait for her to recoil and to look at me with horror and disgust. I just beat a man to death with my bare hands and a fire poker. I murdered him. Brutally. Savagely. Without hesitation or mercy.
She should be terrified of me.
Instead, she leans forward and presses her forehead against mine.
"Thank you," she whispers.
I close my eyes and breathe her in. She's alive and here. She's mine.
And I would kill a thousand men to keep her that way.