Page 118 of House Rules
We sail twenty miles out, into deep water. The yacht rocks beneath my feet, the ocean black and endless. Amorphous shapes circle beyond the deck lights, curious, then frenzied when the first pieces of blood and bone hit the water.
We strip wallets, shred IDs, chum the water with flesh. Clothes, tarp—we shred everything. The smell of bleach and blood burns my nostrils.
It’s almost ten before we’re done scrubbing. My knuckles ache. Every muscle hums with the residue of adrenaline.
Seized with the sudden need to look at Phoenix, make sure she’s okay, I duck down into the cabin where we stashed her. She’s curled on a narrow bunk, knees to her chest, damp hair clinging to her face. A blanket is wrapped tight around her like she’s holding herself together.
She looks up at me, eyes still too wide. “Are you…done?”
“For now,” I say, stepping closer until my knees bump the bunk. I can smell the soap from the yacht’s tiny shower, sharp against the faint scent of fear still clinging to her.
Her throat bobs. “You were fast.”
“You’re welcome.” I lean down, bracing a hand on the wall beside her head. “Next time, you don’t run. Or I won’t be.”
Her lips part, but no words come out. I leave her there, blanket pulled tighter, and head back up to finish the work.
“I’m so sorry,” she says to my back.
“You’re not yet,” I tell her. “But you’re going to be.”
37
Phoenix
All of themare completely naked, glaring at me. I don’t blame them for being mad. I’m mad at myself. How could I have been so stupid? How can I tell them I’m sorry—that I will never do something that reckless again—that anytime I have some harebrained idea about trying to save them, I’ll run it by Atticus first so he can tell me no?
I open my mouth, ready to say something, when Storm reaches out for me, tangling his hands in my wet hair and pulling me to him in a fierce, crushing hug.
“Thank God you’re okay,” he says, his voice breaking just slightly before he seals hismouth over mine. His lips taste like salt and adrenaline, like relief so raw it almost shakes.
Then suddenly Con is there too, pulling me from Storm’s arms so he can kiss me himself, his big hands skimming over my body like he’s checking for damage, cataloging every inch.
“Don’t you ever scare us like that again, Firebird,” Maverick murmurs against my shoulder, his mouth warm, his tone sharp. Atticus is watching, a look of contemplation painted across his features.
He pushes Con back just enough to claim me himself.
“You will be punished for this later. But right now, I’m just so fucking grateful you’re okay and the threat is gone,” he says, voice low, almost reverent. Relief crashes through me, and I push up onto my tiptoes to kiss him.
Con doesn’t wait. He scoops me up, carrying me toward the top deck.
For a moment, I’m afraid I’m going to see blood, bodies—proof of the violence that brought us here—but there’s nothing. Nothing out of place.
It looks like a party yacht for a few rich college guys. The only thing remotely disturbing is the ripple of dorsal fins far in the distance. I know exactly what’s circling out there, and why, and the knowledge prickles cold along my spine.
Con carries me to the observation deck where Atticus once traced constellations for me. He lays me down on a thick quilt.
“Don’t you ever do something that dumb again,” he says, kissing my neck, moving lower until his mouth closes over one taut nipple.
I bury my fingers in his hair, needing to feel him as desperately as he needs to feel me. Storm takes the other side of me, and I reach for him, pulling him into a kiss that starts as relief and quickly turns hungry as his hand cups my other breast.
Atticus kneels at my head and devours my mouth while hands—Maverick’s—spread my legs and push them over broad shoulders.
“We’re going to go easy on you right now, little Firebird,” Maverick murmurs, his voice wicked and tender all at once. “This won’t be about pain. This is about pleasure…and about reminding you you’re alive.”
His thumbs part me, and then his tongue slides inside, dragging a broken moan from my throat into Atticus’s kiss.
“You have permission to come as many times as you want,” Con says, his teeth catching lightly on my nipple, just enough sting to make me jolt.
