Page 97 of House Rules
The one I’m afraid to hear the answer to.
“What are you going to do with me?”
30
Con
There’sno word for what I’m feeling. Rage doesn’t cover it. Not when my vision is white-hot, and my jaw aches from clenching too hard to keep from saying something I can’t take back.
The worst part is, I don’t even know why I’m so fucking pissed off.
Actually, that’s a lie.
I know why I’m pissed off. It’s because, for the first time, I didn’t see it coming. If any of the other girls we’ve ever brought up here did this shit, I wouldn’t be surprised. We’d take care of it. Because that’s what we do. We’d buy her off, or deal with the low-rent mob and send a message saying that the Titans are not to be fucked with.
But it wasn’t some random girl that did this. It was Phoenix.
I didn’t think she had it in her to do something so fucking devious.
Though now that I think about it, I don’t know why I didn’t put this together sooner. I found the fucking papers in her goddamn room, and I was just so hard up for her, I didn’t put two and two together.
Of course, I knew she was up to some shit.
But Jesus Christ—spying on us for the fucking mob?
Today was just batshit fucking crazy. Every time I look up, it gets fucking weirder.
Phoenix has more tears running down her face, silently shaking in fear as she watches all of us. She just asked what we were going to do with her? I have no idea. What the fuck can we do with her?
Does she think we’re going to kill her?
Of course she thinks we’re going to kill her. She thinks we’ve been killing staff left and right—but only the ones that we fuck.
Does she think Maverick gets so rough that he just bludgeons women to death with his dick?
Or does she think Storm actually cuts them, chops them up into little pieces like the serial killer he pretends to be, and then we use them to chum the waters when we’re out on our fucking yacht?
Maybe if I had known about this earlier, we would’ve just written her off as another disappointment. But we can’t do that now—because we’re all in too deep with her.
I want to go to her and strangle her. Or comfort her. Both options are tempting.
I don’t even remember when I started needing her. When I stopped seeing her as a mark and started counting how often she looked at me instead of them. But I fucking noticed. And now I hate her for it.
Wonders of all wonders, it’s actually Storm who gets up and pulls her into his arms and holds her, giving her the comfort I’m not strong enough to give.
It’s the psychopath with his fucking arms aroundmygirl, telling her it’s going to be okay, that we’re not going to fucking hurt her.
He shouldn’t make promises I have no intention of keeping.
When I figure out what the fuck to do about this, she’s getting punished.
Not with ropes or rules. Not with anything she'd expect. I want her sobbing my name, begging for forgiveness with her mouth full of regret—and me.
I will not be kind, and I will not be gentle. I am going to come up with shit that will have even Atticus and his twisted fucking games in awe.
There’s so much rage and adrenaline coursing through my veins.
I need to get up.
