"He'll kill you." The words tear out of me. "When Phoenix finds out what you did, he'll kill you.”
Something flickers across Marcus's face. Doubt? Fear? But whatever it is, it vanishes as quickly as it appears, replaced by something harder. Colder. Resolved.
"He'll have to find me first." His hand reaches for the waistband of my leggings. "And by the time he does, I'll be long gone and you'll just be the hysterical girl making accusations no one will believe.”
His fingers hook into the elastic.
"No—" I twist violently, bucking against him, but with my hands bound behind my back, I have nothing. No leverage. No way to fight. "Please, God, no?—“
He yanks my leggings down over my hips, my thighs, the fabric burning against my skin. The cold air hits my bare legs and I've never felt so exposed, so vulnerable, so completely powerless.
This is happening. This is really happening.
I squeeze my eyes shut and try to go somewhere else. Try to float up out of my body, detach from what's being done tome. I think of Phoenix. Of his arms around me. Of the way he whispers my name in the dark. I try to hold onto that, to wrap it around myself like armor.
But I can't escape. I'm here. Face down on the floor. Half-naked. Helpless.
"Please." I'm sobbing into the rug, the words torn from somewhere deep inside me, jagged and broken. "Please don't do this. I'll do anything. I won't tell anyone. Just please—please stop?—“
His weight shifts off me and I hear him stand. Hear him moving behind me where I can't see. The not knowing is almost worse than anything else.
I hear the clink of his belt buckle.
I hear the rasp of leather sliding through the loops.
Then his hand fists in my hair, yanking my head back, and his other hand clamps over my mouth. His palm is clammy against my lips. I can smell his sweat, his cologne, the copper tang of blood from the scratches on his face.
"Shh." His voice is almost gentle, and that's the worst part. The tenderness. Like he's comforting a child. "Don't make this harder than it needs to be.”
I bite down. Hard. As hard as I can.
His blood floods my mouth, hot and metallic.
Marcus screams and rips his hand away. "You fucking bitch?—“
His fist slams into my stomach.
The air explodes out of me. I can't breathe. Can't think. Can't do anything but curl into myself, gasping, choking, the world shrinking to nothing but the white-hot pain radiating through my abdomen. I try to scream but there's no air left in my lungs. Just a broken wheeze. Just silence when I need sound the most.
Marcus grabs my hair again, wrenching my head back.
"Try that again," he snarls, his breath hot against my ear, "and I'll make this so much worse for you.”
Tears stream down my face. I'm still gasping, still trying to pull air into my lungs, my body refusing to cooperate. Black spots dance at the edges of my vision.
37
PHOENIX
The cabin comes into view and my heart stops.
There's a car parked outside. A sleek black BMW. I know that car. It belongs to Marcus.
Maybe it's nothing and he just came to talk. Maybe Jade let him in and they're sitting by the fire, having a civilized conversation about the deal that fell apart.
Maybe.
But my father's voicemail echoes in my head.He's not stable, son. I've heard things.
