Page 11 of Double Down
“I fucked her.” He admits. “She’s the one I was with when Phoenix was hiding in the closet.”
“A performance, then.” Maverick frowns. “Someone we’ve all been with at one point, maybe? But then, who’s the real audience? Clearly, they’re not trying to paint Phoenix as the guilty party. Us, though, they aren’t shy about throwing into the lion’s den.”
I don’t have an answer. For once, the pattern refuses to show itself to me.
What I do know is that this isn’t just about making us look guilty. There were easier ways to do that. This is about making us doubt our control. They want to prove they’re a bigger threat than we are.
And honestly…they just may be.
3
Storm
Any other manwould have an issue leaving a dead body with his friends to take care of a woman. Me? I’d rather be here with her than cleaning up a corpse.
Even if Phoenix hasn't said a word in over ten minutes.
She sits silent on the couch, staring into nothing. It's like she's not even here. Physically, yes. Mentally, she's gone somewhere else—somewhere I can't reach.
I have to try anyway. “Angel?”
Her gaze slides past me without acknowledging my presence.
An unsettling knot tightens in my gut. Her breathing remains even, if shallow, and my chest pulls tight in answer. I can’t help feeling like it's my job to pull her back to the land of the living.
Maybe it’s because she brought me back earlier.
I don't have a plan, so I sit beside her and tug her into my arms. Maybe this is enough. Maybe I just have to be here for her, the way I only ever wanted someone to be there for me. I’ll just hold steady, be warm…and I won’t be the first to let go.
I run a finger through a strand of her hair, pushing it behind her ear. She’s such a tough little badass.
She flinches a little, turning her cheek so that it’s harder for me to make that physical contact.
She’s so tough, but damaged too. Her response doesn’t completely surprise me. What she saw…what she’s been through tonight…it’s a lot. It’s not just the body on the dining room table, although that alone would be enough to send anyone into shock. She was also attacked hours ago.
And then she watched me—watched all of us—kill for her.
Afterward, as if that wasn't enough, she stood by as we chummed the ocean with their blood and bones like it was any other day on the ocean.
I didn't want her to see that, but she refused to let anything happen without her present.
Just like she insisted on being part of whatever we did to solve this, too. Instead, Conrad shut the door in her face.
She hasn't spoken since.
I know she's upset and she has every right to be. I can handle screaming, crying, throwing things, blaming me—blame would be easy. I'd welcome that.
But silence? I don't know what to do with silence.
Silence from Phoenix is like sitting in the eye of a hurricane. The storm is raging around us, ready to suck us in and wreak havoc.
She's never been quiet a moment in her life, always quick to overexplain, especially when she's nervous. She borders onbabbling. Her words fill space the way other people pace the floor.
I have the uncomfortable sense that she’s slipping away in the silence she’s wrapping around herself.
“Phoenix…”
She's stiff in my arms, her long, toned legs tossed over my lap, fists balled at her sides. Her jaw is tight, like she's holding herself together by sheer determination at this point. Her warm honey hair is a mess, windswept from the yacht, and a hint of sunburn tops her cheeks and breasts.
