by Mason, V. F.
I pick it up and extend my hand to him. “I don’t need it. I have my own, and besides, I have no one to call.” Try as I might, I can’t keep the bitterness out of my tone, and I hate myself for it. This is not how I want to spend the rest of my life. In resentment toward those who hurt me and not trust anyone. Second chances are given to us for a reason. Shouldn’t I use them then, instead of dwelling on the past?
At least I will do my best once we catch this unsub obsessed with us.
Zachary chuckles, finding something super amusing in my reply, and strolls to the door, not even looking in my direction. “Accept my phone, Phoenix. There are battles worth fighting for, and this is not it.” He cracks opens the door, his fingers on the handle as he glances over his shoulder at me. “Trust me on that.”
“I can never trust you, Zachary,” I tell him, finding this whole situation ridiculous, but he only shrugs, unfazed about my feelings.
As if I should’ve expected anything but.
“Too bad. Because in this current hell we’re living in, I’m the only person you can trust.”
“Why?”
“Because our lives are on the line. We should protect each other at all costs, don’t you think?” With this bomb, he shuts the door behind him while I drop onto the edge of the bed, exhaling heavily.
What did you get yourself into, Phoenix?
Did I really just agree to stay at the devil’s playground, ready to deal with him in his domain no matter the consequences?
What’s worse is… that I feel so empty inside. I’m afraid there will come a time when I won’t even hate him anymore.
Love and hate share the same amplitude of emotional charge, so maybe that’s why it’s so easy to cross those invisible lines.
However, they have one more thing in common too.
As long as you love or hate someone, you are forever attached to them in a way that you are never truly free.
Your thoughts, your choices, your joy and sadness belong to them as they depend on them.
Sebastian no longer has that power; I let go of him on that hospital bed.
Zachary though…
My hate burns so strongly inside me one might mistake it for passion that demands an outcome transforming into lust.
Lust that has no boundaries, common sense, or morals, and it won’t do.
I will break these manacles wrapped around my wrists that chain me to the monster, freeing myself from his dungeon so that he won’t ever get a part of me again.
Zachary King.
My greatest nightmare and ironically the only ally I have right now who can help me end this hell that I’ve been living in for four years.
Zachary
The ice clacks inside the glass as I pour myself another shot of whiskey and go back to the chair in my office on the first floor. The owls hoot in the distance, alerting me to the late hour, not that I give a fuck about it.
Taking a larger sip, I let the liquid burn my throat while it travels through me, warming me from the blasting wind coming from an open window.
I pick up several folders on my desk with all the employees I’ve fired in the last five years, flipping through them but not finding anything that sticks out.
Usually, I don’t have any drama attached to such cases; the policy is really easy. If your work is excellent and serves the company’s purpose, you are set for life along with several bonuses. However, just one screw-up will make you pack your stuff, get your month’s-worth of salary, and then get the fuck out of my company, because nothing short of excellent will do for me.
I’m clear on all these points from the very beginning and during the contract-signing stage, so I never have any issues.
A loud sigh followed by a sneeze echoes in the room, and I glance on my laptop where Zeke looks back at me, almost snoozing his ass off on the couch. “There is nothing, Zach. I’ve searched. All these people have good jobs and a stable family life.”
“Yeah, well, you’d be surprised how many ‘perfect’ people are capable of crimes.”
Whenever we think about serial killers, in most cases, some creepy guy who wears dirty clothes, lives in a basement, and barely has any social skills comes to mind. We expect to be afraid of them the minute our eyes land on them or expect something suspicious just from their appearance.
We think they have an evil laugh, smell disgusting, and are probably poor guys who feel wronged in this world.
Well, there are cases like those, of course, but a lot of times, these people who are capable of hideous crimes are perfect family men or women, leading their lives under everyone’s nose, having friends and loved ones who trust them.
You might have a barbecue with them every Sunday and not know that he might chop up his victims every month, getting off on their screams and cries for help.
When one investigates crimes, he cannot put labels on anyone and expect for the serial killer to stick out like a sore thumb. No, they are masters of manipulation, deceit, and cover, knowing far more about human psychology than most of us. They know how to blend in and, in this, never fear their cover being blown or their victims to suspect anything.
Serial killers are not fools led by their desires to kill, where everything and everyone will do.
No, they are smart, and in such, I have to play this dangerous game carefully, thoughtfully, and void of any emotional attachments.
After all, whoever he is, he doesn’t have any; that much is clear.
When dealing with a psychopath… think like a psychopath.
Zeke yawns, mumbling through it. “It might be true, but we’ve got nothing. Why do you even think it’s someone you fired?”
“The agents think it’s personal.”
Zeke barks a laugh. “Hate to break it to you, man, but you have a lot of enemies. I think people you fired are the least of your worries.”
Closing the last folder, I throw them on the floor and drum my fingers on the desk, considering his words, but my gut just doesn’t agree with it.
Granted, a lot of people hate me and would love for me to die in agony while they take away my company or connections, eliminating me from the business world, but why bother with such an elaborate plan like killing my wife?
No, all these people would have gone after me. Besides, I’m a ruthless businessman, never played it dirty, so this amount of disdain doesn’t fit the crime.
“Dig deeper. Make sure these are all the names. There has to be an answer here.”
“Zach.”
“A rich man didn’t do it, Zeke. This crime reeks of the desire to hurt me in the worst imaginable way and strip me of everything human for how hard I decided to punish Phoenix for the crime she didn’t commit.” My jaw tics while my fists clench, furry washing over me in a wave at just the reminder of her earlier hysterical outburst in the FBI office.
Not because of her words or the scratches on my cheek that sting like a bitch; I welcome them. No, it’s the unbearable pain that poured from her so much I could physically feel it.
I have never admitted it to myself, but I would have never touched her if I knew about her pregnancy. These emotions were weak, and she, in my mind, didn’t deserve my compassion. I hid my guilt in more anger and resentment, but I took care of her child.
The doctors in prison had no recourse but to save her anyway. In a way, helping Emmaline was my atonement for the crime.
However, the moment my eyes landed on her as she was lying in the incubator barely breathing, her tiny hand sticking out from it, and I touched it… I knew I was a goner.
This little, innocent creature needed me as much as I did her, and I think that thanks to her I stayed sane.
I’m a monster indeed just as Phoenix calls me, yet I will never apologize for what I’ve done.
Zeke clears his throat, pulling me back from my dark thoughts, and he huffs in exasperation. “Okay, I’m gonna search one last time. Anything else? I’d really like to go to sleep.”
“That’s it.” Withou
t saying goodbye, I end the connection and lean back in my chair, needing to go to fucking sleep, yet not finding the desire to do so.
Noah’s words before we left headquarters come to my mind, unsettling me even more.
“He is losing control fast. His killings have escalated twice from last year, and now he leaves messages for Phoenix? This is a bad sign. He’s trying to connect with her. This whole thing with Rafe happened only because he wants her to know he watches over her. If he did it for his own gratification, the guy would have been dead. He is emotionally attached to her for now. But his emotions will change in the blink of an eye the minute he knows she doesn’t share his affections.” Noah hooks his thumbs in the pockets of his slacks. “And this will be her death sentence.”
Resting my arm on the roof of the car, I ask him, digesting this information, “Do you think if we prompt him to lose even more control, he’ll become more reckless?”
Noah frowns. “Depends on what happens. His recklessness, though, won’t mean it’s easy to catch him. He isn’t stupid.”
“But it will unsettle him enough to make a wrong move, which might allow us to catch him. Or shift the variables of his equation.”
The sound of something crashing echoes through the walls, and I shoot from my chair, opening the desk drawer and taking out my gun then flipping off the safety swiftly.
Another crash, and I swing the door open, running toward the kitchen where the sound comes from. I see a bright light, and realization dawns on me a second before I dash inside and see Phoenix kneeling over the various pans scattered on the floor.
She mutters, “Crap!” but then freezes as her head slowly rises and her chocolate eyes land on me, mild annoyance reflecting back at me from them. But then they widen when she spots the gun in my hand. “What in the hell do you need that for?”
I put the safety back in place, dropping it with a loud clatter on the table. “I heard a sound. My staff is asleep at this time of night, so I came to look.”
The corner of her mouth lifts up. “You thought I was a serial killer.” An amused chuckle slips past her lips, melodic in its nature, and so different from the hollow ones I’ve heard before. I wonder what it takes to hear her full-on laughter. It probably sounds like beautiful music that a person might get addicted to. “I don’t think the kitchen would have been a place he’d go for.”
“I’d prefer not to take any chances.”
With this, her smile is gone as if she remembered I’m her enemy, and she starts to pick up all the pans. “My body is exhausted, yet I can’t fall asleep, so I thought I’d have some milk.” She avoids my gaze, quickly putting everything in place and choosing a small saucepan, adjusting it on the stove.
What a beautiful lie.
I walk to the refrigerator, snatch the milk, and give it to her.
“Do you want one?”
“Yeah, why not.” I fucking hate milk ever since one of my nannies forced me to drink it, but I’ll take any olive branch she’ll give me.
For this to work, we can’t be on opposite sides of the fence.
As she pours a generous amount into the pan and turns on the stove, leaning on the counter, I ask her, “It’s the nightmares, isn’t it?”
She tenses, flipping her dark hair back, and only then it fucking dawns on me she is wearing the black nightgown that sticks to her like a second skin, trailing to her feet and emphasizing every curve of her body.
Based on her previous photos, she has lost some weight, but still, it doesn’t diminish her beauty or the richness of her dark locks that cascade down her spine in silky waves.
The scent of shampoo mixed with lavender floats in the air, pulling me toward her, but I keep my distance, not wanting to crowd her.
My body might want Phoenix, with a lust so strong nothing but madness can explain it. Only God knows why—there is never a shortage of willing women.
Or maybe that’s the whole lust at first sight that everyone talks about? I’ve never experienced that in my life, so I have nothing to compare it to.
Even with my Angelica, desire came gradually as I got to know her, because she was nothing like the women I usually went for.
One way or the other, Phoenix will be mine and grace my bed.
Patience is not one of my virtues, but I can execute it for her sake.
“You know what? I don’t think I want milk anymore,” she announces, spinning around, ready to dart to the door, but I stop her, blocking her exit and trapping her between my chest and the kitchen counter.
Plastering both my hands behind her, I lean closer as our breaths mingle. She gasps, pushing at me. “Get off me, Zach.” I stay unmovable, noticing how her pulse beats in her neck and wanting to bite on it and taste her skin on my tongue. “Get away from me.”
“Why is it so hard to stay in my company?” I ask instead, and she blinks in surprise before shaking her head in disbelief.
“You have the nerve to ask me that? After everything you put me through? I hate you, Zach,” she repeats with heat coating her voice, yet I don’t miss how sweat breaks on her skin, a little drop sliding from her neck to her collarbone, disappearing under the nightgown.
“That you do. Why else?”
“There is no other reason.” She pushes harsher, hitting me in my six-pack, but once again, I don’t even budge. “Get off me, Zach, or I swear I’m going to scream.”
“No one will hear you. The staff has a separate house, and my daughter sleeps with the nanny upstairs. Why can’t you stand being in my company, Phoenix?”
“Because!” she screams and pushes at me again, and this time I step back as she breathes heavily, her chest rising and falling while she gazes at me furiously, magnificent in her beauty. “Because should be enough for you to back off.”
I pull her into me, our chests pressing against each other, but before she can dart away from me, I thread my fingers in her hair and arch her head back then whisper against her mouth, “Because of this, right?” And with that, I slam my mouth on hers, connecting us in a kiss.
One single kiss.
Yet it forever shifts the balance in our relationship and opens up possibilities I thought I’d never want again.
Phoenix
The minute his mouth touches mine, I still, too stunned from the electricity zapping through me and sending prickles down my spine, causing a gasp to slip past my lips.
His masculine scent envelops me, blurring everything around me as he presses us closer together. He angles my head, licking over my mouth before pushing his tongue between my lips, and that’s when I snap out of the momentary shock and haze he has imprisoned me in.
I push him off me, hard. Since he doesn’t expect it, he steps back and I slap him on the cheek, the sound reverberating around the room. My palm bounces back, leaving an angry red imprint on his skin, drawing attention to the various scratch marks I left there earlier.
My chest rises and falls, our heavy breathing filling the space as we both stare at one another. His eyes are unreadable while mortification travels all over me, but that’s not what scares me.
No, what scares me is the fact that my body buzzes with anticipation, his touch reminding it how it missed this primary, basic need and how it apparently doesn’t care who this man is to me.
I want to run away from the lust forming in the pit of my stomach and burning everything in its wake, demanding I succumb to its need, not caring about Zachary or his deeds.
Only about the fact that my body wants him. The weird, indescribable pull I feel toward him tugs me in his direction, whispering promises of oblivion and pleasure it has been deprived of for so long.
Oh my God. You have lost your mind. How can you react to this man or even think about it?
All the self-loathing in my mind can’t stop me though, when he steps toward me. In a second, I’m in his arms, his hands gripping my hips painfully as he raises me up and places me on the cold kitchen counter before stepping between my legs, mashing our mouths together
again, and a sigh of relief escapes me.
There is no going back now, and for a moment in time, I can only focus on the sensations awakening every cell in my body, instead of the grief and internal battle screaming at me about my past.
I hate Zachary King with all my being and will never stop, but if he can give me reprieve from the agony eating at me every single second of my life, I will welcome it and won’t judge myself too harshly.
At least in this moment.
I just want to forget about everything and experience something besides the pain slashing my body in two—to feel the touch of a strong man’s hands on me, reminding me that I might have been frozen in time for four years… but I’m not dead.
Is it such a sin to just once do something bad in this life if it has the power to soothe the internal wounds, however brief this medicine might be?
No one ever thinks they will be weak against the force of nature; people have the tendency to believe they would be stronger in certain circumstances, and I know for a fact it’s bullshit.
We know nothing about ourselves until we end up in the situation we try to judge.
So instead of pushing him away, I open my mouth for him, deciding to silence all the voices in my head screaming at me to stop this madness that might or most probably will consume me in the future and give Zachary an ace he could use against me.
In this moment, nothing exists but this man’s body and what it can do to me; he has no name or face that rings a bell in my mind, begging me to listen to his pleas.
The minute our tongues brush against each other, we moan and goose bumps break on my skin. He deepens the kiss, tilting me back until I’m angling my head to meet every glide of his tongue, the hot, passionate kiss vanishing all traces of guilt away and replacing them with a need so strong I can’t stop tightening my thighs around him. My nails scratch the back of his head as I open my lips wider to deepen the kiss even more… if it’s possible.
His palms slide up and down my hips, gripping me harshly beneath the silk, and I gasp into his mouth as his hands move lower to hike the hem of my nightgown up, up, up. When I feel the cold counter under the bare skin of my thighs, I snatch my mouth away, gulping for air.
