Page 31 of Burn for Me

‘We both have our scars. Mine may not be as big, but it isn’t pretty.’ My stitches itched at the mention of my wound, and I pressed a hand against my hoodie over the spot where I’d been shot by the man I thought I loved.

He slipped his hand up, and peeled the mask away from his face.

I fought the urge to gasp at his mouth, where the skin was melted together, only a tiny space on the far left open. His eyes lowered, clearly waiting for my repulsion.

‘You should never have to hide,’ I said, placing the diary on the wooden bedside table. For the first moment he’d taken me, I understood in part why. He lived a life hidden away because of the scars he’d had inflicted on him. Inside and out.

And that knowledge could help me.

I didn’t doubt he was still dangerous. That he wanted more than a companion. Perhaps, though, he would have a softer side I could appeal to to gain my freedom. Even if it meant submitting to him in the meantime.

Phoenix reached over and turned out the lamp, surrounding us in darkness. An arm wrapped my waist and pulled me down onto the bed, holding me tight to Phoenix’s chest.

His nose buried into my hair, making me wince.

DON’T PITY ME, he wrote on my neck with his other hand.

And just like that, I realised underestimating himwouldn’t help me at all. Did I think he’d let me just read in bed without pushing himself on me?

One hand slid up my hoodie, cupping one of my breasts as he groaned softly into my neck. Squeezing my eyes closed, I waited for him to use me, fear making my skin prick up.

Then his grip loosened, his fingers slackening against my nipple. His breathing slowed and his arm grew heavy over my waist.

Phoenix fell asleep, holding me like a fucking teddy bear.

For a moment, knowing he was asleep, I let myself indulge in the feeling of a large, muscled man pressed against my back. I closed my eyes and imagined Massimo hadn’t betrayed me. That he’d loved me like I’d longed for him too. That I was a thousand miles away and wrapped up in real love.

SEVENTEEN

Laura

The sickly strawberry taste cloyed against my tongue, the granular texture making me want to puke. How the hell did Phoenix suffer through drinking the shakes all the time? I’d only been having them for what? Ten days or so? Two weeks? God, I was losing track.

I let my mind wander back to the last time I’d seen my house: my family bathed in red and being consumed by orange. Did the police even know I was missing? Did anyone care?

Had Massimo played the devastated fiance? Fooled the world into thinking one of his enemies had taken his beloved woman from him? Or had he simply shrugged and not even given into the pretence that he cared?

Another sip of the wretched liquid fuelled the injustice and anger flowing through me.

Phoenix never drank his shakes in front of me. I’d only see his empty glass to know he consumed anything at all. Howmany he drank a day to keep his well-muscled body toned, I had no idea.

The way those thick arms had felt holding me against him while he slept washed over me. Warm. Safe. Protective. Yet, he was anything but those things. Phoenix was the enemy. Another Massimo.

Reminding myself was becoming a full time job.

Phoenix stood at the sink, humming to himself as he washed the dishes, his mask still securely around his mouth and nose. Even having shown me the scars inflicted upon him, he preferred to keep it covered.

The third mouthful of the shake came with a lump of unmixed powder exploding against my tongue with its saccharine dry dust. The anger I’d been trying to hide came bubbling up, and I stood, launching the glass at Phoenix. Pinkish liquid splattered up the wall and across the kitchen, shards of glass dispersing amongst the goop.

Phoenix startled, his soapy hands dripping water all over the floor as he turned to survey the mess.

‘I can’t take any more of that shit,’ I said through my teeth, my nostrils flaring with each of my short, furious breaths. ‘It’s disgusting. I’d rather go and eat the fucking grass with the ponies.’

His brow quirked up at that, and with the memory of him forcing me to clean the boat windows with my tongue still fresh, I wouldn’t put it past him to mete out that as punishment.

‘‘I need real food.’

Picking up a dish towel, he dried his hands, all the while scanning the mess in the room. Pink shake dripped from the roof, splashing against the floor with a rhythmic tapping.

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