Phoenix (The Colton Cousins Book 1)

by Rebecca Rennick

  “The Family Accords. They’re a set of rules that all the families have to abide by.”

  “And if you don’t?”

  Smart girl. Asking the right questions. She knows now there are consequences. She’s not as innocent as she would like us to think.

  “If someone were to break one of the accords, it could start a war between the families. If it’s something small, they could just be reprimanded, disowned, punished. Or if it’s something more, they could be completely removed altogether, if necessary. If there’s an issue between two family members that can’t be resolved, they can take it to the council for a ruling without breaking an accord.”

  “So, they’re kind of important then?”

  “Yes, they are. They keep the families in line. Keep the Syndicate running smoothly. They’re the only set of rules that matter to us.” I haven’t spoken this frankly with anyone outside the family before. Nor have I ever told a practical stranger all the inner workings of the Syndicate. Even some of our lower members don’t know so much about things like the accords. But my mouth just won’t shut the fuck up, and I keep answering her questions.

  “What’s the most important rule?”

  “No member of a head family can kill another member of a head family. At least, not in cold blood. If a fight breaks out and something happens, it can be seen as justified or accidental. But we can’t take out a hit or simply kill whoever we please.”

  “That makes sense. If you could just kill someone you didn’t like or disagreed with you, everything could fall apart easily. Everyone would just take everyone else out, and in the end, there wouldn’t be anyone in the Syndicate at all.” Shrugging it off like it was a totally relatable issue. I’d never met someone who understood and accepted all this so easily. This girl really is something else.

  “Yes, exactly. But it also allows those protected by the accords to test the limits sometimes. Thankfully severe ass beatings are acceptable, as long as no one dies.” This, I deliver with hidden elation. Reminiscing about the fucking glorious beating we gave Braxton that broke half a dozen bones and left him with more than a couple scars. Hearing the snap of his bones as I broke his arm was so satisfying.

  A calm silence falls between us as she chews on her finger, absorbing all that I’ve told her. Her goddamn adorable nose scrunching up as it all processes in her pretty little head. Turning her eyes to me, full of wonder. I know she’s going to ask more questions.

  “Why are you telling me all this?” God. Her voice is so sweet and innocent. And those large eyes looking up at me with so much in them. What do I tell her? Do I tell her it’s because I want to keep her away from Braxton and all to myself? Would it matter? Probably not. So I give her the other reason I’m blabbing like a teen in a confessional.

  “Because you need to know. You’re living with two Colton’s and working at a council member’s bar. You need to be informed. Especially if you’re going to continue to get close with my cousins.” I don’t say that she needs to know because she’s getting close to me. That I want to know if I can bring her into my world—if she can handle it—if I can keep her. This is the first time I’ve let myself think it could be possible. Maybe it would be okay if she understood and held her own. Maybe she could be safe in my world, being informed and armed. Why am I kidding myself? No one’s safe in our world. Not even us. But I was born into this. She wasn’t.

  “Faust is a council member?” Clover’s question shakes me out of my own head.

  “Yes, along with my Aunt Pearl.”

  She just nods thoughtfully. I can see everything running through her mind. It takes her a good ten minutes of quiet ruminating before she sighs and seems to come to some conclusion. A small smile crosses her lips. She’s accepted it all, accepted the Syndicate, accepted the violence, accepted what we do, accepted me.

  Then her smile turns to a concerned frown.

  “How is your shoulder? Does it hurt?” I hadn’t even noticed I was rubbing it. I guess it is a little sore.

  “Sore, but manageable. Nothing I can’t handle. Don’t worry about me, sweet cheeks. I’ll be fine.”

  “Maybe I should check it. To make sure it’s healing properly.”

  I really didn’t have a chance to say no. Clover had stood and walked around to my side of the table. Even if I did tell her no, she was still going to force me to, anyway.

  “Okay,” I agree. Might as well give her what she wants. And if that means she touches me again, I am a very willing participant.

  Doing as I’m told, I strip off my shirt and can hear the audible breath Clover sucks in when she catches sight of me shirtless. I remain seated, allowing her better access to the wound on my shoulder. I’ve cleaned it and re-bandaged it since she stitched me up that night. But I can’t really get a good look at it to check its healing.

  I can’t see Clover, but I can feel her. Feel her presence as she moves behind me, then those soft small hands slide across my skin. The chills start where her fingertips touch, running straight down my spine and around to my cock. Damn, she feels good. I want her to touch much more than just my shoulder and a lot farther south to where the mother of all boners has taken up residence in my pants.

  Her fingers move across my skin, and I don’t think she’s just checking my stitches. Especially when they reach my spine and gently run down a few vertebrae. My stitches are definitely not there. Naughty little girl. Then she splays her hand flat on my back muscles, just below my shoulder blade. Unintentionally, all the muscles in my body tense at once under her heat. I hear her muffle a tiny moan. She likes my muscles, and I like her touching them. One muscle, in particular, would love for her to rub her hand down it. My cock twitches and stiffens to granite, thinking about having her small hand wrapped tightly around it. Sliding from tip to base and back again.

  I find myself closing my eyes to picture it—Clover, on her knees—those big round eyes staring up at me from under thick lashes. Her sweet pink lips parting—that wicked tongue slipping out and licking the head of my cock. Ah, fuck. My cock fights to get free at the image, the material of my pants the only thing keeping it from slapping my stomach. I’m gonna need to get laid again soon. If her touch turns me on this much, my self-control will snap and shatter sooner rather than later. Giving me all the motivation I need to take her how I want. Hard and fast.

  “Looks like it’s healing well.” Her voice is soft and heady as she almost murmurs directly in my ear. I have to bite my lip to keep from groaning out loud and clear my throat. Hopefully, she can’t see the massive rock-hard statue in my pants. Just in case, I shift forward in my seat, so it’s hidden under the table. I don’t mind her seeing it. I mean, it is fucking impressive, but I don’t feel like being an ass at this exact moment. Which is rare for me.

  “Thanks, glad to hear it.” Thankfully, my words come out somewhat level and normal.

  “You’re welcome,” She says as she returns to her side of the table, sitting down directly in front of me. There’s a visible redness creeping up her throat that she tries to hide with her hand. Trying to keep my eyes off her neck and chest, I focus on her eyes—big mistake. Her eyes are half hooded, and the blue of her irises has darkened at least two shades. Fuck, she’s beautiful. To top it off, she smiles nervously, and the whole package just about incinerates my entire body. The feelings not only slipping into my pants, but into my veins. Pumping and spreading like a virus with no cure.

  What is wrong with me? Why does this pipsqueak stir my insides and set them on fire? This is definitely not good. It’s going to get me in so much trouble, and I need to keep away from her. Pop would kill me if I fucked shit up with his new favorite bartender. Which I know I would. I don’t do relationships. No matter how drawn I am to her, I’d fuck her once, it would be fan-fucking-tastic, and then I’d get bored and move on. Clover doesn’t look like the type of girl that would necessarily be down with that. She’s not easy or slutty. I can tell by how she works the bar. Flirty, but not overly suggestive
. Just enough to get them interested, enough to tip well, and possibly be a repeat customer. But nothing more. She never drinks on the job, and she never keeps the numbers guys write on bar napkins. She doesn’t want a quick, easy bang. She’s a repeat, and I don’t do repeats. Not only because I suck at relationships, but because it’s hard to bring someone born outside this world into its dark depths.

  I’m going to have to take care of this soon. Or my restraint might fail, and then I’ll be in seriously deep shit.

  Chapter 15

  Clover

  N ix was finally warming up to me. At least, I think so. He gave me the sketchbook and pencils. He also said I could use his markers and paint if I wanted to. He’s still a douche, but a much more pleasant and bearable one. At least he’s no longer trying to get me fired, finally accepting my position at the bar. Probably because his dad loves me and Nix respects his father too much to go against him.

  I’ve been sketching in the book every day since he gave it to me. I haven’t felt this inspired in, shit, it’s been years. Being poor and depressed doesn’t really inspire me to create. Some people use it as fuel to the fire, but to me, it’s like a bucket of cold water. Puts my fire right out. Being high doesn’t help either. At least, I’ve been able to move on from that. Mostly. Sometimes the urges are still there, and it’s a bitch to fight them, but I do. Living my new life and getting back into my art has been the biggest deterrent. Happy people usually don’t need drugs. So I’ve been trying to keep happy. If that’s possible.

  It was also a nice surprise to have Nix sit down and explain the Syndicate and the families to me. I get the feeling he doesn’t do that for a lot of people. And getting to touch his solid muscled body again to check his wound was a bonus to the day. It took a lot of willpower to not rub my hands over his entire back and around to his chest. His body is so damn tempting. Those tattoos call to me every time I see them, begging me to lick them from wrist to wrist.

  For a tattoo artist, I honestly expected him to have his whole body covered. As far as I’ve seen, though, he only had his arms, shoulders, and part of his neck, and the one leg, that I have yet to get a good look at since that first night I met him in his room. Nothing on his back or chest. Which leaves a clear view of his golden tanned skin. Boy doesn’t have a single hair anywhere except a light, happy trail directly down from his belly button. I wonder if he waxes or is naturally that smooth. There’s plenty of old healed scars, though—all just slight discolorations in his otherwise perfect skin. They do nothing to discourage me from admiring him, though. If anything, they add to his appeal.

  Forcing my mind to move on from Nix’s perfectly sculpted body, tomorrow is finally my day off. I’m going over to Rosie’s apartment that she shares with her sister Lily so they can tell me all about the cousins. Maybe then I won’t get completely confused and ask ten thousand questions whenever they start talking about Seb, Zander, and Hunter, and whoever the hell else. Why are there so many of them, anyway? Don’t their parents know one or two is plenty? None of this five and six kids bullshit. It’s making it a lot harder for me to keep everyone straight.

  Last night I grabbed a few yellow and orange markers to color in the sunflowers and bees on my honeybee girl. After I started my laundry this morning, I return to coloring in the fuzzy bumblebees. Now I hear the buzz of the washer go off and stand to switch my load to the dryer.

  Getting off my cloud bed, I don’t bother with pants. Nix has seen my panties plenty by now, and Beau doesn’t really care. So, I walk down the hall in my overworn sleep shirt and into the laundry room. Thanking the designers for putting it on the second floor. It would be a pain if I had to go up and down the stairs to switch it.

  Pulling the wet clothes from the washer, I load them into the dryer and stop when I hold up a very large pair of jeans that are most certainly not mine. They are most definitely men’s jeans, though. Dammit, Nix. This is the third time he’s tossed his clothes in the wash with mine after I’ve started them. I think he does it, so he doesn’t have to bother switching them to the dryer because I always end up doing it. I’m too nice sometimes. For a moment, I contemplate leaving them soaking wet sitting on top of the dryer. Then my stupid moral karma compass makes me add them to the dryer with my clothes.

  Mom always said you get out of the world what you put into it. I thoroughly believe in karma and don’t want to risk putting any more negativity out into the universe. I can use all the good I can get. But oh, is he going to hear an earful from me. Maybe I’ll threaten to do something to his clothes if he does it again. Yeah, like cut holes in the crotch and armpits. Or I could tie-dye them. That could just be fun in general to do.

  Leaving the laundry room, I stomp down the hall toward Nix’s master bedroom.

  “Nix?” I call out, lacing my voice with as much anger and irritation as I can. I’m not really that mad, but I’m going to make him think that I am. I don’t hear a response as I approach his door, so I call again.

  “Nix?!” No answer. I know he’s in there. I haven’t heard or seen him leave yet.

  “Oh, Prince Charming? I know you’re in there. Answer me.” Banging my fist on the door for emphasis.

  “Just a minute.” His voice is strained and raspy. What is he doing in there? Don’t care, but he’s not going to be doing it for long. I bang on the door again and call loudly.

  “Look, we need to have a serious conversation about this bad laundry habit of yours. I’m not your fucking maid. I won’t wash your shit for you.”

  Still, no response. What the fuck, man? I lean in and turn my ear to the door. All I hear is heavy breathing and a slight rustle of clothing. Is he getting dressed? Was he in the shower? I would not mind seeing him dripping wet and in a towel.

  “Nix? Did you hear me?”

  “Yeah.” Again, his voice is deep and raspy.

  “Are you gonna open the door?”

  “Two seconds.”

  Really? Like I haven’t already been waiting out here long enough. It doesn’t take this long to put on some sweatpants. He didn’t seem to care about me seeing him partially naked before. Why now? After counting two Mississippi, I bang on the door again.

  “Okay, you can come in now,” He calls out. I turn the handle and open the door wide, stepping in.

  “Finally. You know I’m not your damn maid, you can do…” My words are lost as my eyes settle on Nix sitting in the armchair in the corner of the room. He’s shirtless again and staring at me with those gorgeous hazel eyes.

  But that’s not what catches the words in my throat. Catching sight of the blonde on her knees in between his thighs is what tilts my world on its axis. Nix’s hand is tangled in her long platinum hair, and her head is bobbing up and down rhythmically. I can see the bright red painted nails on the girl sliding up his thunder thighs.

  Is he seriously getting a blow job right now? When did this chick even get here?

  I can’t move. My heart races a mile a minute—my brain screams—Turn! Run!. Feet glued to the floor, my body freezes, taking in the entirety of what I have just walked in on. Nix is watching me. He’s not even paying attention to the women sucking his cock like a popsicle on the fourth of July. His eyes remain locked on me and mine on him. Why can’t I look away? Just turn and leave, Clover. You don’t want to see this. My body doesn’t listen. And in some sick way, I do want to see this.

  Nix’s jaw ticks, and his fingers dig into the woman’s hair. A deep throaty growl escapes his lips as I can see all the muscles in his abs tighten, and he holds the woman still on his lap. Those hazel eyes of his blaze at me as he comes into her mouth without ever breaking eye contact with me.

  Fucking hell, he’s sexy, and watching him come makes my panties wet and my pussy throb. I can feel my nipples harden under my shirt, and all I want to do is rip that bitch off his cock, throw her out the door, and straddle him. I want to be the one making him come. I want to be the one making him lose control. I want him to make me lose control. Shit.


  It’s at that realization that my body finally responds to my brain’s command and starts to move.

  “I’m sorry,” I manage to whisper out as I flee the room. Flee the overwhelming desire for the smart-ass man, flee the unwanted jealousy of the blonde woman who gets to have him. I am so goddamn confused. I’m turned on, mad, and miserable all at once.

  I make it back to my room in three seconds flat. Slamming the door behind me, pressing my back to it to stabilize me. It doesn’t last long as my legs crumple beneath me, and I slide to the ground. I can’t breathe. Although I’m sucking in breath after breath, I feel like I’m suffocating. I can’t get enough oxygen, and I feel lightheaded. I close my eyes and drop my head back to the door behind me with a thud. Squeezing my eyes tighter, I feel a cool tear roll down my cheek.

  Why am I crying? What the hell is wrong with me? I shouldn’t be upset. He isn’t anything to me. We aren’t together. I don’t even know if we’re friends. He’s my boss’s son and my friend’s cousin, that’s it. He can screw whom ever he pleases.

  Then why does my heart hurt like he’s supposed to belong to me? That’s just stupid. Nix will never belong to anybody. Especially me. I knew he was a man-whore when I moved in. So why does it surprise me to find him with some chick’s mouth wrapped around his cock? It shouldn’t be. There’ll be many more in the future. I’ll just have to get used to it. Get used to this churning in my gut when I see him with another woman. Get used to utter disappointment that I’m not who he wants. He’ll never want me. I’m just the pint-sized roommate that he likes to argue with. He doesn’t care about me. I am nothing to him, and he is nothing to me. I just have to keep reminding myself of that.

  It’ll be hard, and it’ll suck a lot. Especially if I have to see anything like that again. Why did he let me walk in on that? He could have just told me to go away. All he had to do was say he had someone in there with him, and I would have left. Possibly even left the house. But he didn’t. He made me stand there and wait and then come in to see him with her. It was his way of showing me what he is and who he really wants. Anyone but me. I was stupid to think him anything but the man-whore he is.