Page 26 of Love Set Free

“Jackson, sweetheart. We need to go,” I remind him, keeping my voice soft and gentle, but also imbuing it with some of the urgency I need him to feel along with me.

He nods his understanding but takes the time to pull his shoes on over his bare feet before awkwardly and stiffly standing up.

And finally…finally…I get my first good look at Jackson. All of him, not just a face narrowly glimpsed through a hole and obscured by shadows.

Some of what I see, I already knew—the angular sharpness of his bone structure, the narrow, close-set, pale blue eyes, the oversized nose. But now I can truly take in the matching overly large ears, that jut out comically through the wayward tangle of his shaggy, unkempt hair, the scruffy, tangled fuzz of what is almost a beard gracing a sharp, strong jaw, and how the stark simplicity of the lines of his face are echoed in the long spindliness of his torso and limbs.

Taken all together, Jackson’s appearance is one of mismatched parts. A strange mishmash of genetic inheritance resulting in a man uniquely homely and gawky.

He is the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.

And he’s mine. I see him—all of him—and my eyes, my heart, my mind, my soul claim him as mine.

Chapter Sixteen

Jackson

“Holy shit!” I know time is of the essence and Phoenix and I need to get the hell out of wherever it is we are, like, pronto. But… “What the fuck happened to Rodriguez?” I ask, more than a little freaked the fuck out. “Is she… Holy shit, she looks dead. Is she dead? What the fuck, Phee?”

I had not been aware that my voice could reach that particular range of screechy, but there’s absolutely no missing the shock and panic in the rapid-fire questions I sling at Phoenix.

“Er…yeah. Don’t suppose we can talk about that later?”

The casual dismissal throws me for a second, until I glance at Phoenix and notice the studious way he’s not looking at the body in the room, giving it a wide berth, despite my question. Not having a whole bunch of experience being the presence of dead bodies before, there’s no denying that that is exactly what Rodriguez now is—dead.

My gaze is drawn back to the unmoving lump that used to be one of our captors, despite not really wanting to look at it again. It’s a macabre compulsion, and one I’m not very proud of.

I’d heard the sounds of a physical fight or struggle, but without being able to see what was going on, now I’m only left with guesses. Did… Is Rodriguez dead because Phoenix killed her? Was there someone else in the room with them? Did one of the others fight with Rodriguez, kill her, and then flee, Phoenix then taking advantage of what happened to get me out? Or is there more to Phoenix Wilding than I assumed? Is he capable of killing someone?

Frankly, I find I don’t care all that much.

I’d been around my captors long enough to work out that each and every one of the people holding Phoenix and I are dangerous. If something happened between Rodriguez and one of the others that resulted in her death, I wouldn’t be all that surprised. And if Phoenix was the one who did it…

So be it.

I’m certainly not one to cast stones. My soul is hardly blemish free. Especially in light of some of the rather dubious decisions I’ve made lately and where they led me. And it’s not as though I probably wouldn’t have done the same if it had been me in Phoenix’s shoes.

Self-defense or strategic elimination… If it was Phoenix who killed Rodriguez, again, so be it, no matter the reason why or how it came about.

“Naw, Phee, it’s okay,” I tell him. “Nothing to talk about unless you want to. Just wasn’t something I expected to see, is all.” Phoenix’s shoulders sag, seemingly relieved that I’m letting the topic go. “You’re right, we should get going. Is…” I don’t hear any sounds coming from outside this odd bedroom only fit for ghosts. Trusting that Phoenix knows better than I do, I ask, “Where are the other three? Do we know if the coast is clear?”

“Hmm. I heard them arguing earlier before…well, before. Sounded like Brazilian Guy…uh, Silva? The guy who’s been ‘feeding’ us?” I nod at Phoenix, acknowledging he got the nameright and encouraging him to continue. “Well, from what they were saying, it sounds like Silva vanished into thin air instead of meeting up with us at our new, luxurious, secondary, temporary home. So, I doubt he’s out there now. And Blond Guy was not too happy about that, I can tell you. I think he went to track Silva down while Tattooed American Guy did whatever needs to be set up for the ransom drop and kidnappee transfer.”

“Blond…” I mutter to myself. But it only takes a second for me to work out that that must be the nickname Phoenix mentally bestowed on Mueller. Which must make Tattooed American Guy… “He’s Canadian,” I tell Phoenix. “I think. Jones? Tattooed American Guy? I think he’s actually Canadian,” I repeat in response to Phoenix’s confused expression.

That expression morphs into one of gaping disbelief. “Does it matter?”

In my life, most people tend to give me no thought whatsoever, but I’m also used to annoyance, mocking superiority, and disgust. Those last few tend to be related more to my lack of education, funds, and general poverty-driven appearance than anything else, though. And I tried not to let the ignorance and preconceptions of others get to me too much. But the scorn lacing Phoenix’s sharp question? That hurt.

Or maybe I’m just imagining what I heard. Phoenix’s hand feels sweet and gentle as he tenderly grips my arm and tugs me toward him. And his dark eyes look strained with impatience rather than disdain when they meet mine.

“What matters is that I think there’s no one out there, on the other side of this door,” Phoenix says. “But I’m not sure how long that’s going to last. So we really need to go.Now.“ Phoenix’s hand shakes as he places it on the doorknob. With the way he has his body angled so that he’s between me and the door, I’m not sure he meant for me to see that. And I really don’t think hemeant for me to hear him quietly mutter, “While we still can,” before he took a deep breath and turned the knob.

Chapter Seventeen

Phoenix

I can hardly believe where we are. In fact, it feels like if I were to reach out to touch the walls around us, they’d dissolve into mist like a cruel mirage. But somehow, here we are, occupying a set of chairs brought into the lobby of the U.S. Consulate for us.

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