by Mason, V. F.
So deciding not to run away from it anymore, to be honest it’s so exhausting guarding myself all the time, I catch her nose between my fingers and twist it from side to side. “Someone woke me up.”
She bursts out laughing and presses her hand to her chest. “Me!” she screams and then says, “Daddy told me to.” She drops her voice to a whisper. “But I waited before doing it. It lasted forever!” She sighs dramatically. “I couldn’t wait any longer.”
“That’s okay, sweetie.” I should have known she would only do something like that by Zachary’s order, and it doesn’t surprise me much.
But then I almost jump out of bed when I remember I probably don’t have any clothes on. How am I going to explain that to a child? What the hell is Zach doing anyway? Does he have a habit of introducing his bed partners to his daughter?
Only then do I notice, glancing under the blanket, that I’m wearing a clean dress, and I even have panties on.
Zachary must’ve put it all on me when he woke up. And I slept through the whole thing. How in the hell is that possible?
I barely resist groaning into the pillow just thinking about his gloating face knowing he wore me out so much that I passed out from exhaustion.
Emmaline’s one more poke into my cheek snaps me back to present. “Daddy is calling you for breakfast.”
“Is he now?” I start to wonder if they have some kind of strict regimen here where they won’t let you do shit until you have breakfast?
Or generally it’s eaten when he so wishes? So any other time you can’t cook anything in the kitchen because it’s forbidden?
“Yep. So we have to hurry.” She leans closer and kisses me soundly on the cheek. “Good morning, Phoenix!” With this, she crawls out and rushes out of the room.
Shaking my head in amusement, I throw away the blanket and swing my legs to the floor, stretching my arms wide before padding to the bathroom. I quickly brush my teeth and pin my hair on top of my head as it gets in my face too much.
Sighing in relief that this time there are no fresh hickeys on my neck, I go downstairs mainly due to Emmaline, because the child came all this way to get me.
Otherwise, Zachary could suck it. I may have accepted that I’m unable to resist him in the sexual sense, but I’ve never promised obedience, even with the truce.
Flying down the stairs, I walk toward the kitchen, my feet soundless on the marble, and I hear a loud giggle once again.
How awesome it must be to be a three-year-old; everything makes you happy, and the world is full of possibilities. Or maybe it’s only the case when a child is surrounded with love?
I don’t remember myself laughing so much during my childhood.
“Again, Daddy?” she asks, and I see her sitting by the table, her ankles crossed as she swings them back and forth with her hands clasped together.
“No more, baby girl, until you put some food in your stomach.” His husky voice washes over me, reminding me of how he whispered illicit words to me last night, and I dig my nails into my palms, willing myself to snap out of it.
The desire for him can show its ugly, betraying head during the night, giving me reprieve from the nightmares, but during the day, I have to be myself and keep my distance, not letting it affect our investigation and mutual goal.
To catch the sick unsub who thinks our lives are his playground, and he can move us around like rag dolls, commanding us to do despicable deeds at his heart’s desire.
Zachary comes into view, placing a plate full of eggs and toast on the side in front of Emmaline and gives her a light kiss on the top of her head. “Eat your breakfast.”
She pouts. “But what about waffles?”
“You’ll get waffles once you eat this.”
She opens her mouth to protest but then grins at him, resting her chin on her hand, and sighs. “I love you, Daddy.” No way will Zachary not cave under such cuteness. The man played tea party in a tiny chair, for God’s sake.
However, I blink in surprise when he ruffles her hair and says, “I love you too, sweetie. You are still gonna eat eggs if you want waffles.”
They face off for some time, and then Emmaline mutters, “Okay.” And she digs her fork into the plate, quickly shoveling the eggs inside her mouth.
She waves at me, and Zach turns his head in my direction, his green eyes showcased by the sunlight, but I don’t miss how he scans his gaze over me, a satisfied smile curving his mouth along with the possessive flash in his orbs.
Inwardly growling in frustration and having no one but myself to blame for his cockiness, I announce, “You called me for breakfast. Here I am, sir.” I salute him, sarcasm coating my voice, and then I look around to greet Patience, only she is nowhere in sight.
Zachary guesses my thoughts as he goes to the stove, throwing over his shoulder. “She’s running late, should be here soon. She had to visit her sister last night.” He cracks two eggs in the pan and then asks, “Do you have any specific preferences?”
“No,” I reply absently, taken aback by the picture greeting me as he’s the one cooking breakfast for everyone. He’s wearing low sweatpants along with a white T-shirt that is almost see-through, so every ripple of his muscles is visible to my eyes.
While he is cooking by the stove, I see a bowl with a brownish-white mass in it and a waffle machine on the other counter, plugged into the outlet so it can heat up before he starts preparing them.
Zachary King cooking in his kitchen? Am I still dreaming or just woke up in a different dimension?
“I’d close that mouth if I were you.”
I snap it shut, and instantly annoyance zaps through me at how right he was once again.
“Well, you’ll have to excuse me for my shock. It’s not every day I see—”
“A man cook?”
“Oh, I’ve seen that plenty.” It’s on the tip of my tongue to mention how Sebastian is great at it and always spoiled my ass with some new recipes, but by how he half turns to me with warning in his gaze, I decide not to.
Of course, whatever we have doesn’t equal a relationship, but throwing my past in his face is a low blow. Not to mention I don’t want to know anything about his women either.
Ever.
Oddly enough, the idea of him with someone else drives me mad, which is such a contrast to when I think about his late wife. Jealousy is absent then, and instead, there is a deep sadness for a woman who lost her life so young due to someone’s insanity.
“I learned how to cook when Mom got sick.”
My heart pangs painfully at this. “You didn’t have servants?”
“Mom loved to cook herself, so that’s what we did when she couldn’t leave the house to attend all those important functions as a King.” He picks up the pan and puts the eggs on the plate nearby before turning off the stove and going back to the table and placing it on the opposite side of Emmaline who eats silently, her eyes darting between us. “Sit.”
I do as he says, mainly because of the way his voice changes whenever he mentions his mother, so it must be hard for him to share about it.
Deciding to break the tension, because Emmaline shifts uncomfortably, not understanding why Daddy’s mood suddenly soured, I tease, “I also can’t have waffles if I don’t eat my eggs?”
He grabs his own plate and sits at the head of the table, with me and Emmaline on either side of him. “No one can.” He digs his fork in. “Otherwise, what’s the point of me forbidding it from Emmaline?” He changes the subject, and thank God for that. “Did you sleep well?”
I quickly shove eggs into my mouth and nod, chewing long so I won’t have to give a verbal reply, and he smirks, finding it freaking hilarious.
Emmaline taps loudly on the plate, scooping up the last bite of egg, and swallows it. “All done, Daddy. Now can I have the waffles?”
He taps on her nose with his finger. “In a few minutes.”
“Can I draw, then? I want to draw something for Phoenix.” She smiles at me. “A little gif
t.”
My insides warm at this, finding her acceptance beautiful, because this child doesn’t know anything about me and doesn’t form judgments about my character.
A rare gift indeed when I knew nothing but scorn over the past four years.
Even with the truth uncovered now, I’ll always be this Phoenix who went through hell and back and still drove the car that killed Angelica King.
“You can.”
She squeals and rushes off to the living room after smacking a kiss on his cheek, and Zach explains, “She has a play area in the common room. I never have guests or host parties, so all this wasted space seemed stupid.”
“You give her freedom to roam around the house.”
“I don’t want her to feel enclosed within four walls. It might suffocate her.”
A flashback from the prison plays in my mind when they locked me up for twenty-four hours in a solitary cell with no light after some fights with one of the inmates who kept on poking me.
Usually, I took it all silently, not wanting to get in trouble just because someone showed off their so-called dominating skills and chose me as their target. It’s easier to kick someone who’s already lying on the floor, right?
However, her words still ring in my ears to this day, and after them, I snapped, wrapping my hands around her throat and choking her so long it’s a miracle she stayed alive.
No wonder your baby died. Who would want a bitch like you for a mother?
Zachary places his hand above mine and pulls me back to present, his gaze filled with worry. “Are you all right?”
Clearing my throat, I munch on the toast and reply, “Yes. Just a memory took me off guard when you mentioned four walls.”
Silence falls on the table after that, and my heartbeat speeds up, either from the earlier flashback or the closeness of Zachary who still continues to stare at me while I eat, but then he asks, “Will you ever share what happened with you there?”
Despite knowing better, a bitter chuckle slips past my lips. “Why? You didn’t get enough reports on that?”
His hold on me tightens, and then he swiftly removes it, his jaw clenching as he runs his fingers through his hair before exhaling loudly. “I deserve that. I fucking deserve that. But I never ordered you to be hurt after that one time.”
This information might as well have been a bomb dropped on me, as it has the same effect.
I freeze, the fork clanging loudly on the plate when it falls from my hand, and I blink at him.
What? How is this possible?
The first attack was one of the harshest and vicious ones on me, but the rest that followed weren’t sunshine and roses either. And the word on the street was that someone paid a hefty sum each time, so the abuse continued; they could have pretty much been set for life with the amount of money they were getting.
Unless the unsub…
However, I don’t have time to dwell or ask more questions to clarify the situation based on this information as Zach’s phone rings. He takes it out of his pocket, frowning as he answers. “Yes?” He listens to whatever is said to him, and then, “Yes, let them in.” At my questioning gaze, he announces, “The FBI is here.”
Zachary
The clock ticks loudly in the living room as we settle on the couch opposite two chairs occupied by Noah and Ella silently watching us, not missing any details.
And judging by Ella’s frown, she doesn’t understand how Phoenix is so calm in my presence after what transpired back in the office.
I bet she notices the sexual tension between us too; aren’t they criminal psychologists? Not sure how all the shrinks work, but apparently some have the ability to guess everything about you just by body language.
I don’t give two shits one way or the other. I’ve claimed Phoenix as mine and don’t give a damn who has a problem with it.
Phoenix shifts uncomfortably once again, her leg tapping the floor, and by how rigid her spine is, I understand she is a nervous wreck in anticipation of what they have to say.
Her face became all pale when I told her they were here, almost as if I announced that death itself had arrived to claim her soul and drag her to the underworld.
Fed up with the prolonged silence, I break it with my harsh, cutting voice. “So are we gonna sit around quietly or will you tell us why you’re here?”
Noah and Ella share a look, and finally the man speaks up. “How safe is this place for this discussion?”
“There are no cameras or bugs in here, if that’s what you’re asking.” I rub my chin with the back of my hand. “I got it checked a few days ago, thinking the fucker might want to spy. Don’t take those kind of chances with my child.” I could never be sure what this asshole gets off on, and if I ever found Emmaline’s videos or pictures at his place or him flaunting them around for blackmail… I’d lose my shit.
Noah nods. “Understandable. And how about your staff? Do you trust them all?”
“Inside the house, we have only the nanny who has been in my family for the last thirty-five years.” Along with feds, Patience arrived too, so I told her to go upstairs with Emmaline and not come down until I called for her.
The last thing my daughter needs is to hear or stumble on some grizzly details that would result in nightmares or fear filling her tiny form, not letting her live in her happy bubble.
As long as I’m near, nothing scares my little girl.
Or Phoenix for that matter, however, it’s not something I can voice, since the woman is convinced our affair and sexual chemistry are based on frustration and other bullshit her psychiatrist mind has decided to justify all this with in her head.
Which is true, except our connection started twenty-five years ago and just now burst into flames, so she might act like an ostrich hiding her head in the sand and not see what the fuck is going on, but it doesn’t mean nothing is happening.
I’ve had plenty of no-strings-attached sex, and what I share with Phoenix can never be called that.
I heard how women are so afraid of manwhores, claiming these kind of men who are used to getting sex wherever with whoever, would never settle down, and who avoid love like the plague, too afraid to commit to anyone.
What a fucking lie, at least in my experience.
The people who are afraid to commit are those who already loved once, and it destroyed them to a point where love becomes the greatest risk.
Love has the power to heal everything inside us, give new meaning to the world around us, while the person who understands you the most stays by your side.
However, losing love has the power to strip you from the person you once knew and, in place of that, create a very vicious creature ready to tear anyone and anything down.
What I did to Phoenix after Angelica’s death proves this statement.
Noah clears his throat, his brow raising at me as if guessing my mind was elsewhere, and at my nod, he finally starts to speak. “Last night, Rafe Baker was found dead in his hospital bed. Air was injected into his vein, causing an air embolus that went to the heart, and he died within a minute based on the report.”
A cry of distress slips from Phoenix. She covers her mouth with her palm and tears form in her eyes. “No,” she whispers and looks at me, shaking her head. “Sara’s brother.” Without thinking, I pull her to me, creating a cocoon of protection around her as she ducks under my arm, her body trembling all over. “He’s dead because of me.”
“No,” I reply sternly, tightening my hold on her, and open my mouth to reassure her before the guilt swallows her whole and blind her to rational arguments, when Ella’s voice cuts into the misery.
“Or so we thought anyway.” We both freeze, Phoenix barely breathing in my arms from this weird statement, and dread fills me at this.
Whatever they have to say will bring more chaos in our lives and tangle this fucking web of deceit to a point it will be impossible to unknot.
She takes a tablet from her leather case and places it on the coffee table betw
een us. “Phoenix, please look at this man. Do you know him?”
She twists in my arm and blinks, studying the picture of a smiling blond man waving at us with the ocean behind him. “No, it’s the first time I’m seeing him.”
“We thought as much.” Noah swipes to the right to show the guy, this time standing with a young woman as they kiss with the sunset beaming on them. “This is the real Rafe Baker and his girlfriend, Alexis. They are currently enjoying their vacation in Hawaii.” Phoenix jerks in my arms, wiping away her tears and sitting up straight but still not avoiding my embrace, so I make no move to free her. “They won this trip just a day before you were released from prison. How convenient, right?”
“I don’t understand,” Phoenix says with confusion in her voice. “How can that be Rafe?”
Ella pitches in, swiping to another photo displaying a good neighborhood with several suburban houses next to it and a green field with kids running around. “This is Sara’s real house where she grew up. After their parents died, Rafe just stayed there. We contacted him about it; he was shocked, of course. Since he promised Sara to take care of you, he planned to decline the prize and come get you. According to him though, on the same day, he received a message from Sara that you weren’t going to need his help.” Another swipe, and sure as fuck, there’s the message.
Phoenix blinks and then blinks again, before stammering, “So-so the Rafe that came to me—”
“Worked with the unsub. His real name is Brady, a very smart kid from an abusive household.” Noah clasps his hands. “He dropped out the same year you were convicted. We suspect that’s when he and the unsub met, which led to his decision. Based on the information we have about him from his professors, he was extremely gifted, so they were sad to see him go. This also explains the degree of skill shown in all these cases with manipulating the cars’ operating systems and hacking into them.”
All this information clicks in my head, connecting the invisible dots, and the beast inside me roars at the fact that I hadn’t double-checked the guy.
I hug Phoenix closer to me, hating the idea of this fucker, whoever he was, this close to her, even if he can’t do anything to her now. “And the apartment?” I hear Phoenix ask and glance down at her in the crook of my arms, but she looks at Ella. “Those were Sara’s clothes. Her room.”