39
ROSE
After breakfast, we’d gone back to my house where Phoenix treated me to his own version of homemade dessert. An hour later, I’d left him there to work on my security system while I went into the office to close out the week. And by security system, I mean renovation. The guy had a slew of people, including his brothers, scheduled to bring something, or install something, or update something, over the course of the day. Phoenix promised that by the end of the weekend, my home would be Fort Knox. And I had no doubt it would be because one thing I knew about Phoenix was that if he was passionate about something, he did it with gusto.
Hello, barely being able to walk.
The man was incredible.
I was on cloud nine when I pulled into the office, riding the high of a perfect morning, a perfect man, and an even more perfect night. But the sky didn’t share my mood. It hung low with dark, churning clouds, a thick, gray blanket pressing down on the sleepy town of Berry Springs. Mist clung to the windshield in heavy droplets, and the air waslaced with static—the kind of air that made your skin tingle with unease.
The radio hadn’t shut up all morning. Warnings. Watches. The strongest storm system of the season, they said. Tornadoes, downed trees, power outages. I’d already told myself I’d leave early, not just to beat the weather, but to make sure Phoenix wasn’t halfway done installing bulletproof windows and steel reinforcements on my front door.
Still, even through the haze of storm clouds and nerves, I felt light. Peaceful. My rain boots hit the pavement with a confident thud, the hem of my puffer coat swaying as I approached the building. My body ached in the best way, the soreness between my thighs a reminder of how thoroughly Phoenix Steele had claimed me.
I smiled to myself as I unlocked the office door.
The smile vanished the moment I stepped inside.
The lights flicked on, revealing a stillness that felt… wrong. Too quiet. No Zoey behind the front desk. No clack of her acrylic nails on her keyboard. No Cameron. No music through the office speakers, no movement. The faint hum of the HVAC unit was the only sound, and even that felt muted. Off.
Something wasn’t right.
The air was stale. Heavier somehow. And stunk like old coffee and sour take-out boxes.
I scanned the room. A single cup sat on the desk, rimmed with red lipstick.
Zoey’s.
A memory flickered.
“Whose week is it to take out the trash?”
“Mine. Sorry, kind of got distracted this morning hearing about another murder…”
Zoey must have forgotten to take out the trash. If she kept this up, Theo would fire her.
I stepped deeper into the office. Every movement I made felt too loud. Too sharp. Like I was being watched.
Wanting to do Zoey a favor, I grabbed the lipstick-stained cup, and the trash bag below her desk, and headed toward the back patio.
As I walked down the short, dark hallway, a chill crept down my spine. Something wasn’t right. I couldn’t place it, but I felt it. Like prey stepping into a trap it didn’t know it was in—until it was too late.
The door creaked as I pushed it open, stepping into the biting wind. The storm had shifted. The air was colder, meaner. The sky churned overhead.
I reached the trash can, lifted the lid—and froze.
A blue handle peeked out from beneath the garbage.
My stomach dropped.
No. No, it couldn’t be.
I leaned in, my heart pounding in my throat. With a trembling hand, I grabbed a nearby stick and used it to shift the top layer of trash aside.
My breath caught.
Scissors.
