So I took the opportunity to shove him back.
What ensued was him pinning my wrists above my head and nearly head-butting me. “Stay calm before I give you a reason to scream.”
“In pleasure?” I teased, trying to gain an advantage even if it was sexual. It was the only thing I had to work with. He had a gun. I had my body.
“You’re a child,” he spat. “Like you could hold my interest.”
I leaned in and whispered against his lips, “I already do.”
He backed away like I’d just shot him in the face and swore into the blackness.
“So, what’s your name, soldier?” I finally asked when he was done swearing.
“Phoenix.”
“Like the bird?”
“Like the ash.”
“The bird rises from the ashes…”
“Yeah, too bad the story ends there.”
“Huh?”
“What happens after the bird rises?” His voice was hoarse. “I’ll let you in on a little secret.” He leaned in so close to me I could smell his spicy cologne. “It does everything it can to keep from falling.”
“So don’t fall.”
“Then stop tempting me to jump.”
That was it. Our first conversation. After that, Phoenix had given me a wide berth, and I never could decipher what he’d meant. At first I’d thought he was attracted to me, but the more I got to know him, the more I realized that the guy was clearly indifferent to all females. All humanity.
I punched my pillow and turned on my side.
The clock said 1:30 a.m. Great. I was officially going to look like crap in the morning. I had one more day of classes before the freshman class trip. I may have told my brother I was going rather than asked, but whatever. He wanted me to live my life. I was going to live it. And that started with meeting boys who weren’t named Phoenix and gaining a kiss from someone who actually liked me.
“Whatever.” I scrambled from my bed and made my way down to the kitchen to get a glass of juice. Brilliant light spilled through the doorway, and I entered to find Phoenix sprawled across the table, papers scattered all over the place. It looked like chaos had taken up permanent residence.
I pulled the juice from the fridge, poured myself a glass, and watched Phoenix sleep.
Like a total loser.
He looked so peaceful, like he didn’t hate the world or hate his position within it.
I tapped my fingernails against the glass in my hand, tempted to wake him up almost as much as I was tempted to watch his beautiful face. He was breathtaking, the type of hot that girls gossiped about. Strong jaw, full lips, perfect face. Damn, the man looked like he didn’t have a scar on him. But I’d seen his back; they were just hidden, expertly so, as if someone had beaten him every day of his life only to make sure nobody ever found out.
I cleared my throat.
He didn’t move.
Setting the glass down, I walked over to him and poked him in the shoulder with one of the pens lying on the table.
He jerked awake.
And instead of yelling at me or cursing, he simply pointed a gun at my head.
I jolted back.
“Bee?” He set the gun down. “Damn it, don’t sneak up on me.”
“Then don’t moan my name in your sleep!”
His face paled. “I was saying your name?”
I grinned as a surge of triumph washed over me. “Guess you’ll never know. By the way, we have school tomorrow, so you should probably go to bed.”
“Sleep.” He pushed away from the table and stood, his body cracking as if he was ancient rather than in his early twenties. “Right.”
“I could always keep you company,” I offered. “Like we used to—”
“Hell, no!” He stomped right past me, nearly knocking me against the granite countertop. “Go to sleep, Bee.”
“Right.” I swallowed, all excitement from his earlier reaction flew out the window. “Night, Phoenix.”
The only sound left was that of his footsteps banging on the stairway and the slow drip from the faucet.
I sank onto the chair he’d just vacated and glanced at the paperwork in front of me.
It looked like gibberish. Lots of numbers, names, contacts, off-shore accounts. Really, none of my business.
I pushed some of the pictures around; my fingers hovered over one of a girl who’d been badly beaten.
She looked familiar.
After a quick glance at the doorway to make sure Phoenix wasn’t coming back, I picked up the picture.
Trace Rooks, now Trace Abandonato.
She looked horrific.
I put the picture down and picked up the next one. Bruises lined her ribcage.
Was this what Phoenix was protecting me from? Some sick bastard getting his hands on me or using me against my own brother?
With a shudder, I picked up the final picture; a sticky note was attached to it. “Fingerprint match with Phoenix De Lange — watch list.”
Gasping, I dropped the picture back onto the table.
“So,” a hoarse voice said from the doorway. “Now you know… Those invitations you keep throwing out may as well be labeled monster. I highly doubt you want that anywhere near your bed. Sleep, Bee.”
Phoenix grabbed a bottle of water from the table and left the room.
He did that?
To Trace?
But why? Why would he hurt a girl? A woman? And how did Nixon let him live? A tremor of unease wracked my body.
I lay down knowing full well sleep would elude me, not because I wasn’t tired. I was exhausted. But images of Phoenix hurting Trace seemed to be the only thing my brain would focus on.