“Jesus, Phoenix. That’s fucking murder.”

  “I helped them on their way, and you know it. They were already killing themselves; I just sped up the process. How they even survived as long as they did was beyond me.”

  I should care. It should hurt that they’re dead and that it was his hands that ended them. But it doesn't, and the truth is, they probably deserved it.

  “Have you killed anyone else?”

  “No,” he says, those silver eyes never leaving mine. “But I stopped one guy who followed you into that alley off Twelfth Street—you were twenty, wearing this beautiful red dress that made my hands itch to touch you. Another tried to slip something into your drink at that shitty bar you celebrated your twenty-fifth birthday in. You were laughing with your friends, and he was watching you from the corner of the room, waiting for you to turn your back. He walked out of there with his life, but he lost almost all his teeth.” He drags in a breath, nostrils flaring, like the next part still burns under his skin. “And there was this real piece of shit who waited outside your gym every night for a week. He watched you from his car as you walked out with your phone in your hand and your ponytail swinging, so I handled it and made sure he’d never attempt to touch you or another woman, period.”

  How the hell can I even argue with that when the truth is, I’d do the same without blinking? Anyone who hunts women, hurts them, or touches them without consent deserves to be thrown off a fucking cliff. Predators like that don’t need courtrooms. They need body bags.

  “I’ve never hurt someone who didn’t deserve it, Shannen,” he says quietly, like he’s trying to convince himself just as much as me. “That’s not who I am. But the ones who prey on innocent people? I’ll play the executioner, no hesitation, or I’ll ruin their lives beyond repair.” He trails off, brushing my hair from my face, the red strands curling around his fingers. “Please don’t be scared of me, baby. Hate me, hit me, fucking scream at me if you need to; I can take all of it. I deserve all of it. But don’t ever look at me like I’m something you need to run from because I would never hurt you. Not you. I know you don’t believe me, not after everything, and I know I’ve given you every reason to doubt me, but I would never harm a single hair on your beautiful, maddening, perfect head. You’re the only thing in this fucked-up world I’ve ever wanted to protect, and I refuse to fail you again.”

  He pulls away from me like it physically hurts him to stay too close, dragging his hands through his hair as he stalks across the room like a man pacing the edges of his own personal hell. He reaches for the bottle of whiskey and returns to me, the mattress dipping under his weight as he settles beside me again.

  “You’re going to need this.”

  I glare up at him. “What the hell do you expect me to do with that? I’m flat on my damn back.”

  “Open your mouth.”

  I do it, expecting him to tip the bottle like a sane person. But Phoenix isn’t sane. He’s obsession poured into a man’s body, made of every dark, forbidden thing I shouldn’t want. He climbs back over me, his weight pressing me into the mattress. Never looking away, he takes a mouthful of whiskey. He grabs my jaw, fingers firm and possessive, and lets the whiskey pour from his mouth into mine.

  Slow.

  Hot.

  Intimate.

  It’s not even about the drink. It’s the claim, and God help me, it works.

  My thighs squeeze together on instinct, heat flooding low in my belly. The confessions, the devotion, the raw need—all of it is doing things to me it absolutely shouldn’t. Phoenix might be a virgin, but I know he’d ruin me. He’s the kind of man who would learn me with his hands, his mouth, and his whole body. And I know that once he figured me out, I wouldn’t survive him.

  “More?” he rasps, and I nod, my lips parting for him like I’m silently begging.

  He lets the liquid spill into my mouth again, slower this time, eyes on mine, just daring me to break first when he finally sets the bottle down beside us. His hand stays wrapped around my jaw, thumb brushing my skin in soft strokes as I swallow.

  “You’re not going to like this next part.”

  “I haven’t liked any of it.”

  “This is different, Shannen.” I go silent as panic surges up my throat. “I’ve been inside your apartment almost every day since I moved in below you.”

  My mouth opens, but nothing comes out at first. “No,” I finally manage. “No, you haven’t.”

  “I have.” His voice is like stone, not carrying an ounce of shame or remorse. “Every night, after I tapped into the cameras and saw you asleep, I came to you. You never knew. I was right there, inches away, breathing you in. Watching you. Touching you…”

  I jerk upright—at least, as much as I can, considering I’m still tied to the fucking bed. Adrenaline slams into my system, and for one second, I swear I could rip him apart with my bare hands because if he’s touched me, if he’s violated me…

  I know he sees the exact moment my mind spirals to the darkest place possible when his expression turns to panic.

  “Fuck, Shannen, what do you think I am?” He’s glaring at me like I’ve just slapped him. “You think I’d force you and take what wasn’t given? No. Not like that. Never like that. But I’ve watched you when you thought you were alone. When your thighs were spread and your fingers disappeared between them. When your lips parted and you whispered my name in the dark. I know I should’ve looked away, but god, you’re not just beautiful when you come, you’re fucking transcendent.”

  His eyes drag over my face like he’s memorizing every single reaction. “You don’t even know what you do to me. You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to fall to my knees and beg for you. Not just to fuck you, but to belong to you.” I stare up at him, completely frozen, and I can see in his eyes that it’s killing him to keep his distance. “I know what undoes you and what you need, and I’ll give you all of it. Every filthy, depraved, beautiful fucking thing your dark little heart wants. I’ll crawl inside your fantasies until you can’t tell where they end and I begin, but only when you ask for it.”

  Silence crashes down on us like a hammer.

  Crushing. Deafening. Absolute.

  And then I explode.

  I thrash, kick, and lose my shit like a fucking psycho as rage tears through me until I’m half screaming.

  “What the fuck, Phoenix? What the fuck—what the hell is wrong with you?!”

  “Get it out of your system,” he says quietly. “I’ll be right here when you’re done.”

  Chapter 10

  Phoenix

  Breathe, Phoenix.

  It’s just another guy, just another warm body in her bed, another temporary mistake she’ll regret the second the door shuts behind him.

  He means nothing.

  He’s nothing.

  He’s not you.

  The laughter from upstairs died out a while ago, and now I’m left in the dark with my phone in hand, camera angled at Shannen’s bed. I watch again as some worthless nobody touches what’s mine, never knowing how close he is to the edge of it being the last day of his life if he so much as does something she doesn’t allow.

  She doesn’t know it yet, but she belongs to me in a way no one else ever could.

  In a way that defies reason, distance, and time.

  And if it takes another six years of hiding in the dark—of watching her fill the emptiness with strangers while pretending she’s not broken without me—then so be it.

  Because eventually, she’ll remember.

  Eventually, she’ll realize, and when that happens, there won’t be any more pretending. No more running. No more names she can’t even remember.

  Only me.

  Only us.

  The way it was always meant to be.

  This dick’s name is Joshua. Fucking Joshua. Sounds like a moron, looks like an all-American, khaki-wearing, protein-shake-chugging, ex-jock piece of shit who probably still jerks off to memories of his high school girlfriend.

  It’s pathetic, really, and hilarious, considering she’s always said she hated guys like that, and yet here she is, letting him peel her clothes off. But I know her better than anyone. I know the way her eyes glaze over when she disconnects. The way her hands go slack, like she’s not even in her body anymore. She goes through the motions, chasing something she’ll never find with him. Hell, I knew it the moment they met tonight. He was never going to be the one to give her what she needs.

  Did he just fucking flex?

  You’ve got to be kidding me.

  I hate watching her with anyone. I hate the way they breathe near her, touch her, and pretend to know what to do with her. But him? This clown? Out of every dick in the universe, she's decided to let this cocky little fuck between her legs?

  But then I see the way her whole vibe shifts. She clocked the flex, saw him for the joke he is, and that’s it. Thank fuck. She’s off the bed, panties and bra still clinging to that gorgeous body.

  God, I could kiss her right now.

  This loser doesn’t deserve to see her naked.

  “Joshua, I’m sorry… I just have to—can you give me a minute?” she says, voice sweet but distant, already halfway to the bathroom.

  I sit up, watching her go. I switch the camera, giving her enough privacy not to be a complete monster—some things even I won’t watch. But when I see her pull out her phone and fire off a text, I already know what’s coming, and I can’t help but smile at the way my girl’s about to get rid of this fuckwit while he’s still out there, clueless as hell, probably fluffing his dick and thinking he’s about to get lucky.

  Less than two minutes later, Shannen’s back in the bedroom, and that prick Joshua has the audacity to kiss her. And all I can think about is ripping out that tongue, the one that’s got no damn right being on my girl, and wrapping it up like a chew toy for his dogs.

  He’s got two dogs. I found that out when he wouldn’t shut the hell up, showing Shannen picture after picture like she gave a damn. Fun fact? She’s a cat person. But this asshole wouldn’t know that, would he? Too busy wagging his own tail and panting after her like a mutt in heat.

  Her phone starts ringing, and she quickly grabs it, answering before the second ring.

  I already know it’s Lianna.

  The way she bullshits her way through the next thirty seconds has me so proud… and relieved. Because even if I put myself through this hell willingly, even if I deserve every second of it, it doesn’t make it any easier to watch.

  And then comes the real headache: figuring out what to do with the guy. It turns into this exhausting spiral of emotion, time, and damage-control bullshit. A mess I didn’t ask for but one I’ll clean up all the same.

  Because he’s not supposed to be touching her.

  No one is.

  “Of course you can come over,” she says, looking at the jerk-off like she’s actually sorry. “See you soon.” The phone hits the nightstand, and she’s moving, scooping his shirt from the floor and tossing it his way. “I’m sorry. My best friend needs me.”

  “Oh. I mean… Can I stay too? I’m sure she’ll sleep at some point,” he offers, leaning in. She dodges the kiss. Dodges it. God, I love her, even when she’s driving me straight into an early grave.

  “I can’t. Sorry.”

  “Okay, well… Can I call you?”

  “Sure, we’ll arrange something.”

  Yeah. They’re not arranging shit.

  Twenty minutes later, she’s alone in her apartment, door locked, windows shut, tucked away like the good girl she is. But locks don’t keep me out. They never have, and as soon as she’s asleep, I’ll be there.

  I watch her sink back into the mattress, bra and panties still hugging every inch of that flawless body. I lean forward, getting as close to the screen as I can, twisting my rings just to distract myself from the way my cock aches at the sight of her. She drags her hands through that wild red hair, her body stretching out, and I see it—she’s turned on, more than she’s been all night. She’s built herself a hell of a life and has everything she could ever want. She's a powerhouse in her own right. But all I want is to strip every ounce of that power away, tear it off with my teeth, and make her beg for it.

  I want to dominate her so thoroughly that she forgets what control ever felt like. I want to take her in my hand, bend her to my will, and give her everything I know she fucking craves—a man strong enough to own her body and her mind. One who won’t ask permission. One who’ll claim her, break her down to nothing, and build her back into something that breathes me, craves me, and lives only to want me.

  I’ve never even had a girl touch me. Never been close to a pussy. But fuck, I’d give up everything just to spend eternity learning her body, choking her with one hand and gripping her soul with the other, while she moans my name into the dark.

  I watch her reach behind her back, fingers unclipping her bra, peeling it off, and letting it fall to the floor. Even though I’ve seen her do this a hundred times—hell, maybe more—it still hits me like the first time. Maybe I should look away and give her that moment, but fuck that. One day, it’ll be my hands on her, my mouth worshipping every inch, and she’ll know what it means to be truly, relentlessly wanted.

  “Come on, baby. Show me how you like it.” I watch, cock rock-hard in my pants, as her fingers slip inside her underwear.

  My hand is already in my sweats, yanking them down so I can wrap my fist around my dick, every muscle tight with anticipation. I always wait for her to start—something about knowing we’re getting off together, watching her come apart while I lose it right with her. It’s romantic in the dirtiest, most fucked-up way, and I love it.

  But tonight, there’s something different. She’s more into it—hungrier, breathless, greedier—her need pouring off her in waves. When she finally pulls her panties down, that pink lace sliding over her ankles, and spreads those gorgeous thighs, I can’t look away. All I see is her sweet, wet little cunt glistening and perfect. I’d give anything to taste her right now. I’d drop to my knees, tongue first, and worship her until she’s trembling so hard she forgets the world exists.

  Fuck, that’s a beautiful pussy.

  I don’t have anything to compare it to, and I don’t care. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

  “Touch it, pretty girl. Rub that clit the way I know you love.”

  I’ll do it for her one day. I’ll wring every last orgasm out of her, no matter the time or place.

  She starts circling that swollen nub, dipping inside herself, then back to rubbing, all while I stroke my cock—slow at first, then faster, up and down, up and down. It’s fucking hypnotic. Precum leaks freely, and I slick myself with it as I watch her writhe on the bed, heat radiating off her in waves. She’s getting close, fast, and I speed up, refusing to let her come without me. That’s not how we do this. When she falls, I fall with her.

  She moans, and fuck, she sounds like an angel.

  “Oh god, right there.” She gasps, and my sanity splinters because she never speaks during this.

  She starts rubbing faster, fingers moving in frantic circles, and I’m caught between keeping pace or slowing down because there’s a chance she’ll say something I don’t want to hear. Something that’ll split me open and leave me with nothing but my hard cock and a shattered heart.

  The second her hand clamps around her throat, I know she’s about to come.

  My breath punches out of me, and I decide to stop thinking. I fuck my fist harder and faster, heat spiraling up my spine, boiling in my blood as my orgasm builds.

  “Come on, baby, come for me… Keep rubbing that little clit. Don’t stop.”

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” She moans.

  Her back arches, fingers moving in wild, desperate circles. Her nipples are hard, her body is trembling, and I can’t take my eyes off her. Every inch of her is screaming for release, and I’m right there with her, seconds away.

  “Phoenix,” she cries, and my whole world stops.

  Everything goes still except my hand.

  Did I hear that?

  Or am I so far gone that I imagined it?

  “Say it again,” I growl. “Call out to me, baby. I’m right here. Let me hear you.”

  “Oh god, Phoenix… Fuck me.”

  And that’s it—detonation.

  My control obliterates, my body wrecks itself at the sound of my name dripping from her filthy, perfect mouth, and I come harder than I ever have in my life.

  The growl that rips from deep in my chest isn’t human—it’s animalistic, primal—and her cries make every pulse of my release hit harder, thicker, like my body can’t stop giving her everything.

  I don’t even bother cleaning the cum off my skin before I’m tearing through the cabinets like a fucking maniac, desperate hands shoving shit aside until I finally find my tattoo gun buried in the back. My hands shake as I set it up, her image still glowing on my phone screen beside me—hair messy and eyes glazed, as if she doesn’t even know what planet she’s on.

  She said my name like it meant something.

  It meant everything.

  The gun buzzes to life in my hand, drowning out the rational voice screaming at me to stop.

  But I can’t stop.

  I won’t stop.

  I don’t want to think about anything except the way Phoenix sounded rolling off her tongue.

  I want to remember because memories fade, but ink doesn’t lie, and my skin will make sure I never forget.

  Dropping into the chair, I stretch my arm flat across the cold table and press the needle to my skin just below my left wrist, dragging a single black line across my flesh in one clean stroke.

  One line.

  One mark.

  For her voice and the way she said my name tonight—breathless, broken, beautiful. Blood wells up, mixing with ink, sealing the memory into me where it belongs.

  Where she's mine.

  I’m what she wanted. No, I’m what she wants.

  And now I know. Deep in my bones, in the most fucked-up corners of my mind, I know with absolute certainty that when the day comes—when I finally crawl out of the shadows and step into her light—there’s nothing we can’t face. Nothing we can’t burn through. Because after all this time, it’s me she calls for.

 

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