Page 85 of Double Down
“Did you really think they could save you?” A familiar voice laughs. It’s southern, but not the sultry, polished drawl of my Titans, with its drawn-out, liquid vowels. Not like the one that always reminded me of Matthew McConaughey in that movieA Time to Kill, all butter and sex and slow sin.
This one is a harsh, nasal twang that scrapes my nerves raw, the laugh rasping cruel in my ears like crawdads and cheap beer.
My heart hammers in my ears as I fight for air.
“How long do you think they’ll look for you? How long until they replace you with another girl? A pretty, refined woman who’s good enough for them. One who won’t lie to them or drag death and bad men to their door.”
“Please,” I try to whisper, but the man’s grip tightens, cutting off the word and everything else.
“You’re going to pay your daddy’s debt, the only way a little whore like you can.”
There’s aBANGand the hands around my throat vanish, and instead all I see is my dad’s face—the awful, empty, carved-out cavity of his head—stuffed with bloody dollar bills.
Blood money.
One of the bills floats to the ground, propelled by the force of his tongue as he whispers, “rent’s due, little girl. Time to pay the rent.”
But wait—that’s not my dad’s voice. It’s Sarah’s. “Pay them, Phoenix. Time to pay the piper. Pay them with your body, pay them with your blood…”
A bark sounds, sharp and insistent, and the fingers on my throat squeeze once again.Zeus.My gaze finds the little dog growling and trembling in the corner as invisible hands choke me?—
—I bolt upright, clawing at my neck, my fingers tangling in the fingers—no. No, in the necklace Atticus gave me. Nothing else is there. No hands. No bruising grip.
I sink back against the pillow, panting. It takes a few long minutes before I can breathe normally again. A low whine sounds, and a cold nose snuffles against my hand. I lift my head a few inches to see Zeus at my side, nuzzling into my palm as his limpid brown eyes peer up at me with far too much awareness.
Sighing out a shaky breath, I roll my hand over and scratch his head. It’s funny how animals justknowwhen something’s wrong. Sometimes before you, even.
But I’m safe. All is well. I’m in the penthouse, in Atticus’s bed.
I reach out and run my other hand across the sheets, but his side is cool. Empty. I don’t know when he left, but it’s been a while.
Paper crinkles as I rise, pulling my attention to a piece of paper on his pillow.
Emergency. Stay put, or else. Do not leave this suite.
I roll my eyes. Who knows how long he’ll be gone? He has until I’m out of the shower, and then I’m finding my own coffee and apple fritters. Zeus needs to do his business, and I need the caffeine to settle my nerves after that nightmare. The man after me, Dad, Sarah…even Zeus. It’s all twisted together in an awful, tangled mess that I can’t sort and I can’t escape from. My chest burns with acid just thinking about it.
So I won’t think about it.
When I step out of the shower, clean and smelling of Atticus’s body wash, I consider dressing for the day for all of thirty seconds before pulling on one of Atticus’s shirts instead. It smells like him—clean, woodsy, intoxicating.
I love wearing all of the guys’ shirts.
Semi-dressed, I head into the penthouse to find the others.
The silence is wrong. Not empty—weighted. Charged. Like a storm holding its breath.
Conrad’s room is empty. It’s already nine, though, so he’s probably in his office he’s now claimed for his own, dominating the Titan-Wynn universe. Storm’s door is shut, with no movement from beyond. Which leaves?—
Maverick in the living room.
He stands at the window, his shoulders tight enough to snap, staring down at the city below like he could burn holes through glass. His jaw is set, a vein jumping in his neck. One hand is fisted against his thigh; the other taps his phone like he’s threatening it.
“Mav?”
He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t look at me.
“Maverick?”
