Page 9 of Raw & Reckless

I nod miserably.

“Jesus fucking… I failed you.”

“You didn’t fail me,” I say, tilting my head to the side to look at him, only to instantly wince against a sharp spike of pain. I hadn't realized just how sore and stiff my entire neck and shoulder muscles were from my brother’s attack.

Phoenix’s expression softens with agonizing tenderness. He carefully tucks a few stray strands of my black hair behind my ear, his rough, calloused fingers whispering down my jawline before hovering over my neck. With gentle, slow movements, he traces the dark, ugly bruises already forming around my throat.

“You’ve been through so much tonight, Moonflower,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing a tear from my cheek.

Despite the throbbing pain radiating down my neck now that the adrenaline has worn off, my cheeks heat up at his pet name. I look up at him through my lashes, suddenly curious. “Why do you call me that?”

I’m utterly stunned by the soft, almost vulnerable look that overtakes his normally hard, chiseled features.

“I’ll tell you once you’re set up in bed,” he replies, resting his forehead against mine for a brief second. “You need rest and water right now.”

I nod, too exhausted to argue, and let him guide me down the hallway to the second bedroom. It’s clean and simple, but the bed piled high with blankets looks like heaven. Phoenix pulls back the covers, urging me to sit, and then does something that makes my eyes water with fresh tears. Phoenix kneels down in front of me on the floor and carefully unties my sneakers, slipping them off my feet. The selflessness of his actions undoes me. No one has ever taken care of me like this.

“Get comfortable, okay?” he murmurs, standing up. “I’ll be right back.”

I crawl beneath the covers, letting out a long, shuddering groan at how soft and warm the mattress is. A few minutes later, Phoenix returns carrying a makeshift ice pack alongside a glass of water and a bottle of Aspirin.

He sits on the edge of the mattress, handing me the water and pills, then instructs me to hold the cold washcloth against my throat, showing me how to gently shift it to the sore spots.

As I press the cold cloth to my skin, his eyes drift down my body, tracking my arms. They instantly flash when they reach my right wrist.

I know exactly what he’s looking at. Scrawled across my skin is his phone number, surrounded by a nasty ring of swollen, angry red skin where my brother violently yanked me backward by the arm earlier that evening.

“Am I the reason he did this?” His voice is barely a whisper, thick with self-loathing. I can sense that he is absolutely destroyed at the thought of any harm falling on me, let alone something triggered by his presence in my life.

I shake my head, reaching out with my free hand to cup his rugged cheek. He blinks, clearly as surprised by the bold move as I am.

“None of this was your fault,” I tell him, my voice steady despite my fatigue. “My brother has been overprotective and controlling for far too long. He’s never been physically violent before tonight, but it showed me the terrifying truth. For all his talk about keeping me safe, I was in just as much danger with his violent temper bottled up inside that house.”

Phoenix lets out a heavy, conflicted sigh, though I can already tell he’s going to keep beating himself up over it regardless of what I say.

A profound, bone-deep wave of exhaustion rolls through me, making my eyelids flutter heavily as my muscles finally unwind for the first time in my life. Phoenix leans in and presses a soft, lingering kiss to my forehead. “Rest up, Layla.”

He starts to turn toward the door, but my eyes fly open and I instantly push myself up on my elbows. “Stay?”

Phoenix pauses in the doorway, his massive, broad shoulders silhouetted against the warm light spilling from the hallway. I watch in silence as he turns back around, walks over to the other side of the bed and kicks off his boots. My tattooed savior strips off his leather jacket, leaving him in a simple t-shirt and dark jeans. He crawls in beside me, gently adjusting the cold washcloth over my bruises before his hand moves up to stroke soothingly through my hair.

We are lying face-to-face on the pillows. As much as I want to stay awake and drink in every second of this unreal moment, the tide of sleep is taking me under. I feel the radiating heat of his close proximity, relaxing deeper and deeper with each tender brush of his fingers. It’s the very last thing I remember before slipping into a deep, dreamless darkness.

A few hours later, I jolt awake in the dark.

Disoriented and terrified, the panic of being in a stranger’s bed hits me like a physical blow. For a split second, my sleep-addled brain screams that I’ve been kidnapped by a monster.

“Hey, hey. I’ve got you. You’re safe,” a deep, rumbling voice murmurs right beside me.

Phoenix’s large, comforting hand rests on my shoulder, gently coaxing me back down against the pillows. He is lying on his back with one arm open wide. Without a second thought, I scramble across the mattress and snuggle right up against him, resting my head squarely over his steady, beating heart.

“I’m right here,” he whispers into my hair, his lips brushing my scalp. “Nothing is going to harm you. Especially not him.”

My automatic, deeply ingrained defense mechanism flares up, and I murmur a defense of my brother against my better judgment. “It wasn’t always like this… my brother loves me. He just had a really rough life, having to move home at twenty-five to come back and raise me after our parents died.”

Phoenix listens while I tell him about all the things my brother has done over the years to protect me. However, when I say them out loud, they sound less and less like loving gestures.

“Layla,” he says softly, his fingers tracing slow circles on my bare arm. “When your brother pulled you out of school, when he homeschooled you behind locked doors... was that really to keep you safe, or was it to keep you isolated?”