Phoenix (Flames & Ashes Book 1)

by Carolyn Anthony

  They told me about him, of course, but thought it best I didn’t meet him. I’d never been able to thank the man who’d saved my life. The man who’d kept me alive when all I’d wanted to do was let go. All I remembered about the attack before the nightmares and flashbacks had started was wanting to die, and strange phrases I didn’t remember knowing before the attack.

  Now I knew why those distinct German phrases kept running through my head on and off, and I’d eventually been driven to look them up. In that moment, I was fourteen again, looking up at the man I’d thought an angel on the night I should have died.

  “Lieutenant Regin . . . ” I shook my head up at him. “That’s all they would tell me.”

  He cupped my cheek with a warm, comforting hand. “They’re parents who had lived out their worst nightmare. They allowed me to check on you while you were in the induced coma. I had a few meals at the hospital with them. Your parents are strong and loving people. We became relatively close over the months you were in the hospital.” He rested one hand on my shoulder and spoke in a calm voice, “The last time I saw your parents, before they moved to California, they said you didn’t remember anything. I was thankful. They knew what an impact your case had on me, so they allowed me to check on you from time to time. The last time I spoke with your father was about ten years ago and he said you still hadn’t remembered anything. So when did you start remembering?”

  “Two years ago, but in fragments.”

  He shook his head, his eyes never leaving mine. “It took this long . . . ” he said in a low and poignant voice.

  “I never understood why they didn’t let me meet you.” My parents were good people. So I couldn’t make sense of why they’d keep me from meeting the man who saved me.

  “Reminders. You didn’t remember anything about the attack or afterwards and they didn’t want to chance you being triggered. They wanted a new life for you.” He took a deep breath. “So did I. Your case . . . Your case, Valentina, was the one that led us to him. I led that team.”

  All the air rushed from my lungs. “You’re the one who shot him,” I whispered.

  You killed the monster.

  “I am.”

  I slammed into him again, hugging him so tight I couldn’t breathe. “Thank you,” I murmured into his shirt. “Thank you.” I was a broken record, but the words just kept spilling from my mouth.

  “Don’t thank me, honey. Some people deserve killing.” His normally warm tone had turned to ice.

  I found it comforting. And at last I settled. “Lieutenant Regin? Not Reginhardt?”

  His warm smile came back and brightened his hazel eyes. Jaxxon’s eyes.

  Max nodded. “Reginhardt got shortened to Regin at work. It’s a cop thing.”

  I inhaled quick and glanced at the door behind him as I chewed on my bottom lip. He’d known it was me. Jesus! Max had recognized me. My eyes flew to his.

  “I didn’t say much to Jaxxon,” he assured, and I exhaled. “It’s your life, your story. Who you trust with it is up to you.”

  “I—I . . . thank you.” Nothing could have meant more to me. He’d known who I was the entire time and hadn’t said anything to his own son? A fresh round of tears flooded my eyes and I swiped at them. “I don’t normally cry, Max, but it’s been a rough month.”

  He winked. “I’m guessing it’s been a rough few years with everything coming back to you now. Nothing wrong with tears now and then. There’s a time to be vulnerable and a time to trust.” He stared down at me and put a hand on my shoulder. “Tell my son.” Moving to my side, he dug his keys out of his pocket before meeting my gaze once again. “He’s a stubborn ass, but he loves you.”

  I hugged Max one last time, so grateful I could at last thank him. There was so much I felt like I needed to say—tell him he anchored me to life. But I think he knew. “I came here to tell him, but I think I might be too late.” I glanced at Jaxxon’s open door. “I’m not a coward, Max, but I was the last time I saw Jaxxon. I ran when I should have trusted him.” I squeezed him one last time and pulled away.

  He grabbed my hands. “I’ve never met someone as young as you were, having endured what you did, with such a strong will to live—

  “Because of you! You kept me alive. Kept me here,” I insisted. “It was you.”

  “No. The will to live can only come from within. The same with courage. You’re allowed to make mistakes, honey. You’re human. Being brave enough to fix them, that’s true strength.” Motioning to the front door, he nodded to me. “Compared to what you’ve been through, this is easy. Jaxxon may be an ass at times, but he’s reasonable, and he loves you. Now go, meine Kleine—atme, Valentina.”

  “What do I tell him?” I asked. “Isn’t he going to wonder where you are?”

  At that, he laughed. “I think he’d much rather you walk back into that house than me. Goodbye, honey.”

  “Max!” Now that I’d met him, knew him, I didn’t want to lose him. Jaxxon could justifiably throw me the hell out of his house in the next few minutes. I rubbed my chest, unable to stop the pressure building. Now was the time. I was as close to ready as I was going to get, but if it went south, I didn’t want to lose the man who’d helped save me.

  “For now, Valentina. Goodbye for now. Get it out. Once and for all. Time to let go.”

  I nodded and turned away from the man who kept me alive so long ago to face the one who’d given me life twenty-five years later.

  44

  Jaxxon

  “Dad!” I shouted through my empty house.

  When I got no response, I pushed out of my chair in the den and stalked into the living room toward the front door. “Pop!”

  Expecting to see my father, I stopped dead between my living room and my front door when I spotted the silhouette shivering against the dull light of the streetlamps.

  She was the last person I expected. But there was no mistaking Valentina. She stood outside my door, her arms wrapped tight around her chest, shaking like she’d been in the middle of a snowstorm. She appeared so small.

  I cautiously approached her, as if trying not to scare a wounded animal, because she looked ready to bolt any second.

  When I reached the door, I lifted a hand over the top of the frame and leaned into it. “What are you doing here, Valentina?” I asked as calmly as I could.

  There was just enough light that when she looked at me, the streaks running down her face were like an anvil crushing my chest. When she cried, I wanted to break shit, because she wasn’t a crier by nature. If she was crying, intense shit was coming from somewhere deep.

  On a long inhale, she lifted her head to meet my gaze. “May—may I speak with you for a minute?”

  The formal language she used as a shield when she got nervous was in full force. Everything inside me wanted to yank her into my arms, but I had to see where her head was at. I moved aside and offered her my hand, which she took. “Someone better tell me what the fuck’s going on, baby.”

  She nodded and stared up at me with those big eyes. The insecurity and fear behind them were like a fist squeezing my heart.

  I guided her through the front of the house and down into the family room, taking a seat in my chair.

  Instead of sitting on the couch, she looked down at the coffee table directly in front of me and then back. “May I?”

  “Yeah, sit.” I leaned back studying her. She’d lost weight and looked paler than usual.

  Settling on the top of the table, her knees between my legs, she looked down at her interlocked hands, as if digging for the courage to say what she needed to get out.

  When the shaking in her shoulders traveled down to her chest and then into her arms, I leaned over and pulled a blanket off the top of the couch and fanned it around her, clutching the sides together in front of her. I gave her a small squeeze and leaned closer. “Easy, Valentina. I’m listening. Talk.”

  When she finally lifted her bloodshot eyes to mine, there was fear behind them, but also an
ironclad resolve to tell me whatever she’d decided I needed to know. The determination was crystal fucking clear.

  I let a small grin slide across my mouth. She was one tough woman to come face me like this after the way she’d bailed last time. I’d hear her out.

  With a deep breath, she settled and scooted forward on the table. “A long time ago, I met your father, sort of.”

  I kept my expression stoic, not wanting to react one way or another and have her stop talking. “How’s that?”

  “Randall Blancherd.” Her eyes stayed glued to my face. Waiting.

  Blancherd. Blancherd . . . The fuck?!

  “The serial killer my dad shot?” My gut turned and my adrenaline spiked.

  With a small tilt of her head, she nodded. “I grew up in Bellingham, Washington.”

  Fuck me. She’d lived a town away?

  “As I mentioned that night at dinner with your family, I moved to California when I was fifteen. I just didn’t mention where I’d grown up.” Her voice was soft, but steady. “I started swimming when I was five. I was good at it.” A thin, sad smile crossed her full mouth. “January 1992, I’d just turned fourteen, and three from our team were training for Olympic trials to qualify for Barcelona later that summer.”

  I shook my head and leaned closer to her. “I remember hearing the hype that we had hopefuls just a town over. You were one of them?”

  She nodded. “I was. On Saturdays, we’d run the back trails in the woods before we got in the water. I sprained my ankle and didn’t want the others to get in trouble, so I sent them ahead. I took a shortcut to a small road we regularly ran. It was maybe half a mile from the pool. When I crossed the road, I heard a sound, an ear-piercing cry . . . a dog.” Tilting her head, she raised a hand to her ear and closed her eyes. “Sometimes, at night, I can still hear her cry. It was so . . . eerie and pained. I couldn’t just stand there . . . ”

  Tears tracked down her blanched face.

  I wiped them away with my thumb, unable to get rid of the knife-like piercing sensation going on in my chest or the arctic chill running down my spine. “Of course you’d do that.” She was more comfortable around animals than people.

  A faraway look glazed over her eyes. “She was in so much pain,” she whispered. “I finally got her into my arms. I tried to soothe her. I hobbled away from the truck. She yelped with every step. I was trying to be so careful.”

  Her voice cracked. She met my eyes and my fucking heart convulsed. “He—he grabbed me from behind. Jerked an arm around my neck, so hard, so fast. He yanked me backwards off my feet and I lost my grip on her. I dropped the dog on the ground.” Her chest jumped with the pain racking her body. “He covered my mouth and nose with a cloth and I blacked out.”

  The red haze that had become my vision got brighter with every word out of her mouth. My hands grew numb gripping the arms of the chair. I had a sick feeling I was about to get one of the worst gut checks of my life. I couldn’t stop this. I couldn’t fix this. I knew what was coming would be inconceivable, and all I could think of was that I’d thrown her out of my fucking house.

  I moved in tight, wrapping my hands under her knees and pulling her closer to me. I did it partly to comfort her, to keep her talking, and mostly to stop myself from smashing every fucking object within my reach out of guilt, out of how much life fucked with the innocent, and because I couldn’t take away her pain.

  I nodded for her to continue, because at this point, I didn’t trust my voice.

  45

  Valentina

  It was like pieces of a tragic and contorted puzzle falling into place. While Annie and Dr. Rhodes knew the small extent of what I remembered, I now had a holistic vision of the entire attack. What I was about to tell Jaxxon would be as close to complete as I could get it at this point.

  I anticipated the sound of cracking wood right before he reached for me; he’d gripped the arms of his chair so hard his knuckles had turned white. The veins in his forearms bulged, the skin on his biceps stretched taut, and a seething rage emanated from him. And I hadn’t gotten started.

  The deep breath I sucked in did nothing to ease my concern that this was too much to burden him with. But then he nodded for me to continue.

  “Tell me.” He lifted a hand and ran it over his lips and beard before settling it back behind my knee. “All of it, sweetheart. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

  He can’t hurt you anymore. He’s dead. Bury the monster.

  I laid my fingers over the top of his wrists, just needing to touch some part of him. “I woke up to black. He kept me in a dilapidated shed. The stench—it was so musty. Stale, like hard-boiled eggs that had been in the refrigerator too long, or food that had rotted over weeks. I remember jerking my head to the side to throw up. When I turned, my cheek slammed against metal. He’d ball gagged me.” I squeezed my eyes shut before opening them to continue.

  Jaxxon’s chest heaved in a quick, steady rhythm. He yanked me closer, keeping one hand fastened under my knee and lifting the other to rub his temples with his thumb and middle finger. His eyes stayed locked to mine. “It’s okay, baby. Don’t worry about me. Go.”

  I nodded and wedged my fingers inside his hands again. The pressure of his fingers against mine, the sheer power of him surrounding me made it easier to speak, “My wrists and ankles were chained to the table, and he’d only left on my bra and underwear.”

  “How long? How long did he have you?”

  The question was so low I strained to hear him. “They’d told me I’d been gone for a week.”

  I searched his face, which had gone even whiter. “Jaxx, are you okay?”

  “Liebste, please . . . please don’t ask if I’m okay. Just keep talking.”

  I put a hand on his cheek and he pushed his face into it before moving away. I swallowed hard; my mouth had become so dry my lips stuck together. “He kept me drugged. There were times I was coherent—at least I’ve seen that in the flashbacks, the nightmares. Sometimes he was there. In the room. I—I could hear him. The noises. Vile, disgusting grunts coming from somewhere in the small space, but he didn’t touch me. He’d give me water once in a while. Never food.”

  “Jesus Christ.” Jaxxon leaned forward, lifting me onto his thighs so I straddled him, but he kept me far enough away so he could still see my face. “Gotta give me the rest from here.”

  “It’s—this is better. Thank you.” His touch, the sheer power of him was a comfort. “The last night . . . The night he . . . ”

  Oh my God, how do I say this? How do I explain this without him overthinking it?

  The grip on my arms tightened. “He tried to kill you,” he finished for me. “What did he fucking—” He roared, before closing his eyes and looking away from me for a second. “Sorry, baby. What set him off?”

  Reaching out, I touched his face. “He didn’t rape me,” I said, but nodded. “He tried. He was impotent. I was fourteen. I knew what he was trying to do. He shot me up with some kind of paralytic. Everything slowed down, blurred to moving shadows, and I couldn’t move. My body didn’t work. He yanked me to the end of the table, trying—trying to force himself inside me.” My voice cracked and I held onto Jaxx like a lifeline. “He couldn’t get . . . hard. He became enraged. That’s when he beat me.”

  When Jaxxon’s eyes became damp, the dam broke and tears flowed down my cheeks in streams. “Oh, my fuck . . . Baby . . . ” He leaned one elbow on the arm of the chair and covered his mouth, nodding for me to keep going.

  “When he couldn’t—couldn’t perform,” I continued, “he bit me in different places. He beat me and pushed me to the side of the table. He—he gripped my mouth—

  “Motherfucker!” Jaxxon exploded, nearly coming out of the chair, before settling back and resting his forehead against mine. “Fuck! Sorry. It’s okay. I’m sorry.” He ran his hands over the back of my head, cradling it, before dropping to my biceps. “Tell me.”

  “He wedged my mouth open, and—and shoved himself inside
.”

  Jaxxon closed his eyes, and his grip grew so tight my arms were losing circulation. As if catching himself, he loosened his hold, but he kept his hands on me.

  “I choked and gagged. I spit, trying to jerk my head away, but he held me still. He was so strong, Jaxxon, so . . . He was physically huge. The—the only thing I could think to do was bite him. I knew what he’d do. I knew he’d kill me. And I didn’t care. I wanted to die.”

  “Jesus. You were a baby. So fucking young.” Pulling my face to his, he kissed my forehead and held me a minute before he pulled back. “The rest.”

  “He flew into a rage. The slash of a blade is, at first, ice-cold. Freezing. He stabbed deep into my abdomen over and over, slashed my thigh, my forearms. The three stab wounds, the puncture wounds. They’re the worst—the deepest.” I glanced up at him. “The slashing wounds with the exception of the big one on my thigh and one bite mark have all faded.”

  “He bit you hard enough to fucking scar?” he thundered. “Twenty-five years later?” When I could only nod, he crushed me to his chest, his strong arms locking me to his warm, safe body. We sat that way for so long, neither of us speaking.

  I leaned my head on his shoulder and spoke from there, “I passed out during the worst of it. The next time I came to, I was rolling down some kind of slope in nothing but darkness. They said it was a ravine. He’d wrapped me in hard plastic and a scratchy blanket. I was in and out of consciousness, but then I heard it. A dog barking. Far off, at first, but then closer and I blacked out. I had flashes of consciousness in the ambulance with lights so white, so blinding, I couldn’t see anything. They’d taken me out of the plastic, and covered me with soft, warm blankets, gave me something for the pain, to sedate me, but before I lost consciousness I heard someone, saw their face for a split-second.” I leaned back. “It was your father. My parents told me an officer Regin led the unit and was first on scene with his brother’s K-9 team. Max was in the ambulance with me. He kept saying, ‘stay with me, bleib bei mir,’ and telling me to ‘breathe, atme’. It’s why I know those German phrases. I wanted to die. He kept me alive. I am here because of him.