Page 120 of Double Down
Phoenix sits quiet, her hands resting in her lap, shoulders tight. Too tight. Like she’s holding her breath.
Her hands look relaxed, but upon closer inspection I see her fingers are tapping—thumb to middle, thumb to ring, thumb to index—soft, precise, a three-count that resets when her breathhitches. I clock the cadence: four beats, pause, two beats, pause, then a single staccato tap she uses like a period.
Her left knee twitches once every four seconds, not enough to shake the cushion, just enough to bleed off a little energy. Her gaze skims anything that throws back a faint reflection—the window, the lacquered table edge, the black glass of Atticus’s tablet—never lingering, always moving.
She looks calm if you don’t know her, but I do. That tap is her tell. She’s checking for eyes.
I watch her for a moment. Could this have something to do with whatever secret she’s keeping? Or does she simply not like the idea of a video of us all together being out there somewhere?
“So what?” Maverick asks. “Karen Langford’s just a distraction? She screams about Botox while somebody crawls through our walls?”
“Could be connected. Could be totally separate things,” Atticus says. “Doesn’t matter. They had eyes inside. That means they have us.”
I pace the length of the suite, blade flashing, the weight familiar. My mind runs outcomes like cards in a dealer’s hand. “Here’s how I see it. We’ve got two plays.”
I raise the knife, point it at the ceiling, carving the choices into the air.
“One: we lean hard on Karen in the physical sense. Put a gun to her head or a knife to her throat—I don’t care. Make her cough up where she got the drugs, who stuck a needle in her face, who’s dealing inside our walls. Trace it back and nip it in the bud, quiet-like. The downside? Whoever’s watching us has a front-row seat to whatever we choose to do. We run the risk of walking right into their trap without even knowing whose trap it is.”
I turn the blade in my hand and aim the point down now, tapping it against my thigh. “Two: we pay her off. Give her a golden leash and hope she struts away satisfied. Maybe it buys us some time. Maybe it tells her we’re an easy target, and she doubles down.”
I swing-snap the knife shut with a click that echoes. My gaze drags across all of them. “Bleed her or feed her. Those are the lanes. Or the third and my vote. I can just kill her.”
Three ideas, but okay.
Maverick slumps back against the couch, a drink sweating in his hand. “I hate both ideas.”
Conrad’s jaw locks so tight it’s a wonder his teeth don’t crack. “Paying her emboldens her. Threat risks exposure. Neither ends cleanly.”
“Clean’s a fairy tale,” I tell him. “We live in the dirt and mud, and the shit is piling up.”
“There’s more,” Phoenix says softly. But the edge in her voice cuts deeper than mine ever could.
My eyes snap to hers. She isn’t looking at me, not really—more like through me. Past me. Like she’s somewhere else entirely.
I know that vacant look. I wear it every time I want to be anywhere else.
The tension in her shoulders, the way her hands twist, I have never seen her so…scared. She knows something. I can feel it crawling under my skin.
“Storm isn’t wrong,” Atticus sighs, not even looking at her. “The threat will get answers, but with risk. Payoff buys us time, but I think it will definitely embolden her. Neither solves the fact that we’re compromised. Someone actually has cameras in our walls. That has to be a bigger priority than Karen Langford.”
I flick the blade open and closed again, letting the rhythm keep me from exploding. “Whoever’s behind it knows everything. Every fight, every word, every plan. Every weakness.” My mouth curves into a grin with no humor. “Almost makes me want to put on a show. Give them something to watch. Let them think they’re winning. Then slit their throat while they’re clapping.”
“Storm.” Phoenix’s voice is steady now.
I stop mid-step, knife still turning between my fingers. “What?”
She draws in a slow breath, her lashes fluttering like she’s bracing for impact. When her eyes lift, they lock straight onto mine, unflinching.
“There’s more,” she says again. “A lot more.”
The air in the room drops a few degrees.
Conrad frowns. He sets his phone face-down on the table, giving her his attention. “What are you talking about?”
My fingers curl tight around the knife until my knuckles ache. I’m not sure what I’m bracing for… the truth, betrayal, maybe both.
I need to hear it.
