Page 77 of Burn for Me

‘A warehouse in Sherbourne Wharf,’ the injured man panted. ‘Need to text the code to the number for when.’

We’d already secured the man’s phone.

‘What is the code?’ Phoenix asked. Placing the gun against the man’s chest when he hesitated.

‘R-r-rabbit… for… dinner,’ he stuttered. ‘Send it to the one marked Graham.’

Phoenix stood back, taking the phone from his pocket, leaning forward to use the mans thumb to unlock it. He scrolled through, before typing for a moment. We waited, the man blubbering in his chair, foamy blood gushing from his stomach with every laboured breath.

The phone chimed, and Phoenix grinned. ‘At least he’s learned not to lie.’

Phoenix slid the phone back into his pocket before grabbing a set of shears from the ledge next to the seat where he’d placed the flare gun. He wrestled it around the man’s thumb.

‘You said you’d put me out of my misery,’ the man said, his whole body shuddering.

‘I will. But I’ll need this, for the phone.’

A sickening crunch filled my ears moments before another sorrowful wail filled the air. The thumb hit the deck, rolling toward me as the boat lurched.

I wanted to puke, real fucking bad.

‘Catch it,’ Phoenix said, dropping the shears, but too late to catch the rolling digit.

Leaning down, I stopped the bloody stump of a finger, scooping it up, my face twisting in horror.

‘Good girl,’ Phoenix said, his face breaking into a smile.

I shuddered, closing my hand around the thumb and trying desperately to imagine it to be anything else. Another wave of vomit threatened me, and I struggled to fight it down.

With the flare gun back in hand, Phoenix stood behind the man, hauling his head roughly back. He forced the flare gun into the man’s mouth, right down past his teeth.

‘Next life, try to pick the right sides,’ he said gruffly.

Tears slid down the man’s face, blood bubbling from his stomach with each tortured breath. Phoenix cocked the flare gun, and my knees turned to jelly.

The man’s body stiffened as the gun went off, his eyes bugging out of his head. Phoenix let go of him, and I watched as blood and sparks came sputtering out of his gaping mouth. Smoke billowed from his maw, like a dragon had taken residence in his stomach.

Strangled cries hit me, before foamy blood poured from his mouth like lava.

He thrashed, his arms cutting against the ropes, tearing through his own flesh as he burned up from the inside out.

I’d seen all I could take.

Running into the cabin, I tossed the thumb in the sink and ran down to the bedroom, burying myself beneath the duvet.

Killing was wrong.

So why did I feel so proud that Phoenix had tortured the man to protect me?

Why did I love that he killed the men who dared touch me?

I should have been disgusted. Terrified.

The sight of the man dying had horrified me, but it had also left me feeling something else.

Cherished.

FORTY

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