Page 22 of Vows & Violence
“Vale said something,” I tell her, voice low. “Right before he threw me. About you. And the key.”
Her jaw tightens. “I know.”
“Was he talking about the spiral?” I ask.
She doesn’t answer. Just breathes out slowly, like the air hurts to hold in. “I think… it’s part of me now. Maybe it always was.”
And that? That chills me more than anything else tonight.
I glance back at the fire swallowing the chapel. “He’s not dead, is he?”
“No,” she says. “He’s just getting started.” A beat of silence.
Poison calls out, “We ride in five!”
The MC is already moving. No time for reflection. No time to breathe.
Phoenix steps away from me, shoulders squared, face carved from stone.
I want to hold her, but I don’t. Because I don’t think she’d let me. Because she’s already riding toward the next war.
The ride back is quiet. No music. No trash talk. Just the low rumble of bikes and the crackle of my busted ribs every time we hit a bump.
Phoenix rides ahead of me, her silhouette lit by the moon and the tail light glow of Poison’s Harley. She doesn’t look back once. Doesn’t have to. I’m behind her like gravity. Like a ghost who won’t fade.
The swamp peels away as we hit the road, and the shadows feel a little less sharp. But my mind’s still in that chapel. With Vale. With the way Phoenix moved, like something ancient had its hands inside her bones.
The Sanctum’s gone, but that spiral he burned into her? That’s still there. I can feel it pulsing in the space between us.
By the time we pull into the safehouse, everyone’s moving on autopilot. Weapons are stashed. Blood wiped. Doors checked twice. Tabs patches up Wendigo in the kitchen while Poison paces like she’s still riding high on adrenaline.
But I only see Phoenix. She walks toward her room like she doesn’t care if the walls collapse behind her, and I follow. Inside, she shuts the door but doesn’t turn around. She hangs her cut on a hook, then her blade hits the floor. Her Glock on the nightstand. One by one, the pieces of her armor fall away. But she doesn’t speak.
I step behind her so close that the heat off her skin sinks into mine.
“You’re shaking,” I say.
“I’m breathing,” she answers.
“Barely.”
Her voice drops. “I thought he killed you.”
I reach out and wrap my arms around her waist. She stiffens, just for a breath, then sinks into me. Her head tips back against my shoulder, and I kiss the top of it like a prayer. Like she’s holy and I’m already damned.
“I’m here,” I whisper. “I’m still here.”
She turns in my arms. No armor now. Just Phoenix. Raw. Rattled. Radiant.
“You won’t always be,” she says. “Neither will I.”
“Then let’s not waste tonight.”
She crashes into me like a wave breaking on the shore. Lips hungry, hands gripping the hem of my shirt, dragging me toward the bed like it’s the only place we’ve ever belonged.
Our clothes hit the floor in silence. No games. No teasing. Just skin on skin and the sound of two people trying to memorize each other before the war takes everything.
I move over her slowly, like I’m not sure she’ll let me stay. But her hands lock around my back, nails digging in like she needs me deeper. Closer. Inside and unshakable.
