JADE
I'm still on the floor, my back against the wall, my wrists throbbing where the zip tie cut into my skin. Phoenix is kneeling in front of me, his hands covered in blood, his chest heaving, his eyes wild with something I've never seen before.
Behind him, Marcus's body lies in a spreading pool of red.
I should be horrified. I should be screaming, crying, falling apart. A man was just beaten to death in front of me.
But all I feel is relief and that I wish I could have done it myself.
It's over. Marcus can't hurt me anymore.
Phoenix's hands are shaking as he reaches for my face. He stops just before touching me, staring at his blood-soaked fingers like he's just realized what they've done.
He struggles to ask me if Marcus had raped me. He doesn’t say that word but I know that’s what he means. I reassure him that he stopped him just in time.
Something breaks in his expression. Relief and anguish and something darker, all warring for dominance. He pulls his hands back, clenching them into fists at his sides.
For a long moment, we just look at each other. Him kneeling in front of me, covered in blood. Me slumped against the wall,half-naked and trembling. A dead man cooling on the floor behind us. It should be horrifying. It should send me running.
Instead, I lean forward and press my lips to his.
The kiss is soft at first. Tentative. A question neither of us knows how to ask out loud. His breath catches, his whole body going still, like he's afraid to move. Afraid to break whatever fragile thing is happening between us.
Then something shifts.
My hands fist in his blood-soaked shirt and I pull him closer, harder, desperate for more. The kiss turns urgent, almost violent—teeth and tongue and the metallic taste of Marcus's blood still on his skin. I don't care. I need this. Need him. I need to feel something other than the horror that's trying to claw its way up my throat.
He groans against my mouth and his hands come up to grip my face, smearing red across my cheeks. He kisses me like he's drowning and I'm air. Like he almost lost me and now he'll never let go.
I want him.
Despite everything that just happened. Despite the body on the floor. Despite the blood. Despite all of it.
Maybe because of it.
He pulls back, breathing hard, his forehead pressed against mine.
"Jade." His voice is wrecked. "We shouldn't—you just went through?—“
"I need you." My voice cracks. "Please. I need to feel you. I need to feel something that isn't him."
He searches my face, looking for doubt, for hesitation, for any sign that I don't mean it. He won't find one.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes." I pull at his shirt, desperate to get it off him, to get his skin against mine. "Please, Phoenix. Please."
Something shifts in his expression. The hesitation melts away, replaced by a fierce tenderness that makes my chest ache.
"Okay," he murmurs. "Okay. I've got you."
He lifts me off the floor like I weigh nothing, carrying me away from the blood and the body and the horror. He lays me down on the bed, his body covering mine.
I should feel trapped. After what just happened, I should panic at being pinned down.
But this is Phoenix. This is safety and home.
He's gentle in a way he's never been before. Every touch is careful, reverent, like he's afraid I'll break. He peels off my torn sweater and kisses the skin beneath, his lips tracing a path across my collarbone, my shoulders, the swell of my breasts.
