Little Phoenix (The Census Book 1)

by Willow Dean

  A gasp escapes me as he tightens his grip. His disgusting hot breath fans across my shoulder and into my face, making me shiver in disgust.

  “Quiet, Little Phoenix or I will make this a lot more unpleasant than it has to be,” he grunts. The mention of my call sign has me freezing motionless.

  How does he know?! Only my parents ever knew that. I didn’t even tell Gem!

  Dismissing it with a shake of my head, I focus on trying to make his life as difficult as possible.

  Even with my back to him, I can imagine the sublime smile that’s spreading across his butt-ass ugly face right now, no doubt triggered by the thought of my suffering.

  “Screw you, you disfigured meat sack. Do your worst,” I spit, putting as much fire into my words as I can as I thrust my head back into his face.

  The only response I get is the trickle of hot, sticky liquid dripping down the back of my neck. Sick satisfaction thrums in my veins for all of a couple of seconds before his wet, coarse tongue licks his own blood off the back of my neck, coaxing a shudder of disgust from me.

  Looks like Meat Man enjoys his own pain just as much as he enjoys inflicting it on others.

  “Mmmmm, you will regret saying that. You haven’t experienced true pain until you enter my domain, Little Phoenix. I can’t wait to get a taste of your blood. I bet it tastes even sweeter than my blood on your skin,” he moans in grim ecstasy.

  As if his presence isn’t bad enough, his words send a trickle of fear and utter revulsion down my spine. My stomach doesn’t even have the chance to revolt before his vice like grip tightens more than I thought humanly possible.

  Several ribs crack audibly and my eyes feel like they are about to pop out of my skull. Still, I deny him his entertainment.

  Gritting my teeth, I fail miserably at taking a strangled breath, yet I manage to swallow the screams that try to rip from my throat. I refuse to shout out, even though my whole being yells in protest for the torture to end.

  I know his type. It’s the type that thrives on soul-destroying misery and desolation, and I vow to never willingly provide him the pleasure he so violently seeks.

  Stars flash across my vision as I feel my consciousness slipping. Letting myself go limp in his arms, I hang there uselessly, hoping that the darkness will take me sooner rather than later. Funnily enough, the psychotic meat sack unwittingly delivers my silent plea.

  “I will make sure that you are bestowed the pleasure of drowning in your own blood after you plead for mercy. Keeping you on the edge of consciousness until you are screaming my name and begging for the relief that will never come. You know nothing of pain, Little Phoenix. Nothing!”

  If I were more aware of my body right now, I would roll my eyes at how cliché he sounds. As it stands, the universe graces me with a small amount of mercy as his roar is the last thing I hear before he slams me head first into a tree.

  Momentarily engulfed in excruciating pain, the deaths of my family don’t seem that far off.

  The darkness sweeps in close behind their waning memory, enveloping and soothing me in its welcoming embrace.

  9 Mila

  Cool. Dark. Silence.

  Where am I? Who am I? What am I?

  All my senses are muted. No emotions. No movement. No color. Just existence.

  Imagine being submerged in a bath of ice under the blanket of the darkest of nights.

  Except without sensation. There is no coldness. There is no pain. Simply safety and comfort.

  Why am I here? Where is here?

  Try as I might, nothing makes sense. Nothing needs to make sense though, does it? This can’t be a bad place if there is no pain.

  Floating in this dark space for what feels like eternity, my senses slowly start to return. Bit by bit, it feels like I’m being laid down on a soft cloud, warm and snuggly as a mixture of different aromas attack my senses. Except, I can’t place any of them.

  An unfamiliar and deep rumbling voice cuts through the silence of my new surroundings, edged with a tinge of harshness and rigidity.

  Whoever it belongs to, sounds as though they are trying to speak in hushed tones, yet the natural sharpness of his voice booms around the empty space and causes my muscles to tense.

  My nerve endings light up in recognition as his voice resonates with something inside me. Something instinctual.

  “She needs someone here with her when she wakes up. Someone she knows. She won’t be able to take things in at first and there may be some memory loss, so we need to be cautious.”

  A different voice replies back. This one, is a lot softer and kinder than the first. Melodic and filled with understanding, his voice soothes my lingering anxiety.

  I instantly know that this man would care for me as if I was his own.

  “I will get the boys to sit with her. She only met some of them the other night, but I don’t think she is close to many other people. Not who knows her situation anyway. I will fill them in and make sure they approach this carefully.”

  The first voice replies with a tone laced with authority. “Fine, but she can’t know, Lachlan. Make sure the boys know the bare minimum and keep it at that. Inform me when she’s awake.”

  Lachlan? Where have I heard that name before?

  “Trick, she-” The softly spoken man, who I can only deduce is Lachlan, can barely get his words out before he’s promptly cut off by Mr. Authoritative.

  “Please don’t argue with me, Lachy. She can’t know. Not yet.” A hint of regret and sadness softens the edges of his harsh voice.

  The voices stop as their footsteps retreat. I try to move or do something to get their attention. To ask them what is going on. To help me, but it’s no use. My body won’t respond to anything I ask it to do.

  Exhaustion sweeps in as a warm wave of bliss washes over me from head to toe. All of the questions I have float straight out of my mind. Allowing me to just exist. To drift in the peaceful, endless abyss.

  The place where I belong. The place where I am safe.

  Soft breathing interrupts my blissful slumber. I would have said it was Gem, except she doesn’t usually snore this delicately. She sounds more like a freight train than a sleeping babe.

  Smooth and gentle hands encase my own at my side, giving me all the information I need.

  She’s seriously trying that trick again?!

  Gem loves playing pranks on me whilst I sleep. Apparently I can be quite vocal about my sexual fantasies when snoozing.

  More times than I can count, she ’s pretended to be asleep and tried to coerce my half-awake self to interact with her during one of my ‘episodes’ as she calls them.

  She’ll usually hold my hand or stroke my face, doing her best to get me to react in my sleep, all whilst filming me. She finds it hilarious. It makes for good bribing material too.

  Testing the waters, I squeeze her hand gently in an attempt to try and get her to react so that I can pull a fast one on her this time.

  The instant I move, her breathing changes and her grip tightens. She must have laid her head at my side as I feel it lift off the bed.

  Keeping my eyes shut a little longer, I wait to see what she plans to do. Opening my senses up as I lay there waiting, I notice a soft beeping noise.

  Strange. I don’t remember having anything in my room that makes a noise like that.

  Her soft hand strokes my face and moves a strand of my hair behind my ear, distracting me from my thoughts.

  Before I can react, a soft, deep voice that’s tinged with concern, and that definitely does not belong to Gem, breaks through the near silence.

  “Mila? It’s okay, Sunshine. You’re safe.”

  My eyes fly open, only to stare straight up into a dazzling set of emerald green eyes framed by fiery red hair and a set of squared, dark rimmed glasses. The dark circles under his eyes don’t detract from his good looks in the slightest.

  In keeping with his sleep-deprived look, he has a slightly unkempt five o’clock shadow. Wearing a tight gree
n t-shirt and dark brown khaki shorts, he sits in a chair to my left.

  The bed is inclined into a semi-reclined position so I can observe everything at ease without having to move. Taking in the rest of my surroundings, the only colors I spot are white and grey.

  Everything is clinical. Spotless. Sterile.

  Towards the right hand side of the room, a washbasin sits on the wall opposite the bed I’m laid in. A few chairs are scattered around my bedside and to the left, there’s a door just past the end of my bed. Another door is set back into the wall on my right and has a shower symbol on it.

  Well I guess we know which door is which then, huh?!

  Whirring quietly and giving off the occasional beep, sits a machine that is attached securely to a stand next to the bed.

  Wincing at the thought of the clinical smell of detergent, I’m pleasantly surprised when I inhale a hint of a few different colognes instead.

  It’s impossible to separate them as they all seem to blend together to create a heady mixture of flowers, smoke and earthy scents.

  It takes me another minute or so to realize that I’m in a hospital gown and attached to the machine by various tubes.

  Something soft and comforting is secured around my head, chest and stomach, making me conscious of the niggling sensation in my ribs and left temple. Gradually getting worse, it starts to make me feel restless.

  It’s not quite pain, but it’s not a comfortable sensation either. My entire body feels heavy and my head feels like it’s jam-packed full of cotton wool.

  Looking back at the man who is now standing by my bedside, I realize he’s talking to someone on the phone. Before I can even process anything else, two other men who look vaguely familiar come rushing into the room, stopping just shy of the end of my bed.

  They remain still, casting cautious eyes over me in silence, almost as if they’re waiting for me to make the first move.

  I should be scared at the prospect of being in the same room as three strange men. An unfamiliar room at that. Yet, there’s something about them that provides me with reassurance.

  An underlying sense of familiarity, safety and contentment that accompanies them and their massive frames as they tower over me.

  Both of the new comers are taller than the average male my age and it makes me wonder just what their mothers are feeding them.

  Sweet baby Jesus, look at the muscles on them too!

  The slightly shorter one of the two has midnight black hair and crystal blue eyes that look almost like swirling pools of ice under the artificial light. Somehow, I know that under natural light they darken to a striking cobalt blue.

  Don’t ask me how. I just do.

  Decorated with a couple of days of stubble, his face is angular and all sharps lines. The bright industrial lights glint off the metal bar that pierces his left eyebrow and another on the opposing side of his lip.

  Displaying a look of disinterest, his shoulders are relaxed as he lazily rests his hands in the pockets of his dark blue jeans. His muscular chest strains at the fabric of his black leather jacket and white tee as he regards me with a look full of concern and relief.

  As soon as he notices my less than subtle perusal, the emotions drop off his face like melting wax. A stony façade erects just as quickly as he tries to cloak himself in that bad boy, don’t mess with me vibe.

  It’s cute really. He may not realize it, but he ain’t fooling me. It’s obvious that a big softy lies directly underneath that gruff exterior.

  My focus switches to the man standing by his side as he takes a tentative step forward.

  Standing a couple of inches taller, he’s even bigger in stature than the hottie at his side. Although he’s not quite body building size, he’s big enough to pack a punch and still be nimble on his feet.

  Sporting a casual look, he wears light blue ripped jeans with a white shirt and a soft brown bomber jacket. A bed of messy dark brown and golden curls sits atop his head. Each strand stands slightly on end, as if he’s been anxiously raking his hands through it.

  Although the soft lines of his face hint at him being more of a college biker-wannabe, he has a full face of facial hair. Sweet hazel brown eyes lock onto mine and I’m momentarily lost in his gaze.

  It feels like I know all three of these men, yet I can’t recall a single one of them. The fact that I’m still none the wiser as to where I am only adds to my confusion.

  A tender stroke to my cheek pulls me out of the trance I was in. Turning towards the offered hand, I lean into it for comfort as I’m met with sad green eyes. I can’t help but run my finger along the frown lines in his forehead.

  “Why are you so sad?” My voice cracks as I tilt my head in confusion. “Don’t be sad. You need to smile. You look good when you smile,” my voice is barely a whisper, but it still reaches him.

  Smiling at him gently, I get a rush of happiness when his frown dissolves and gives way to an uncertain smile. Even though it is somewhat forced, it’s a start at least.

  “Mila, do you know who we are?”

  Yeah…I have absolutely no idea, but having three hotties at my bedside can’t be bad though. Right?!

  At his inquisitive look, I realize I haven’t yet answered his question. Shaking my head slowly, I wince at the pulling sensation along my hairline.

  “Do you know where you are right now, Mila?” He enquires carefully, seemingly unsure as to whether the question will spook me.

  Giving another small shake of my head, I can’t help but feel like I’ve forgotten something. Something important. Yet, every time I try to remember what it is, my thoughts evade my grip. It’s like trying to catch a fish in water with your bare hands.

  Fucking hard!

  Tall, dark and handsome in the leather jacket speaks up next, taking me by surprise. Concentrating so hard on Sparks next to me, I completely forgot about the other two in the room.

  Before you say it, yes…Sparks. It may be a little corny, but it suits him perfectly. His eyes remind me of the vivid colors of fireworks, whilst his hair is the color of burning embers.

  “Lila, what is the last thing you remember?” I cock my head, trying to get a grasp on my memories to find out why that nickname sounds so familiar.

  The big guy nudges him with his elbow and hisses quietly in his ear, trying to chastise him without me hearing. Too bad I’m awesome at lip reading and can easily make out what he is saying.

  “Shut up before you do any more damage! She doesn’t even remember who we are. We need to take this slow, for her sake.”

  Both of them regard me with cautious looks. Usually I would question their secrecy, but my mind is playing catch up right now and it’s not particularly concerned. In fact, it’s more concerned about the muscles upon muscles they all seem to have.

  As you can tell, whatever drugs are likely running through my system right now are addling my ability to function properly.

  It’s definitely not all the eye candy that I have congregating around my bed that’s messing with my head.

  Nope. Not. At. All.

  “Mila,” Sparks says in amusement. He beams knowingly at me as I turn to face him.

  Whoopsies! Someone got caught spying.

  Winking at him, he gives a small chuckle as I smile back cheekily. There’s something about him that’s so warm and comforting. It’s like his whole presence exists just to put people at ease.

  Clearing his throat, he turns to fully face me with a look of mild concern.

  “Mila, this may be hard for you, but I want you to try and stay calm after you hear what I have to say. We will answer any questions you have for us afterwards. Can you do that for me?”

  I nod in agreement, even as my insides twist. His words and actions may be comforting, however, when someone tells you to stay calm, they never have anything good to say.

  Examining the room, I discreetly identify all the exits and anything that could be useful as a weapon. Just in case.

  Sparks notices my anxiety and
gently grasps my chin, bringing my attention back to him.

  “Mila, I promise you that no harm will come to you whilst you are here with us. We just have to be very careful of your health and wellbeing at the moment, that’s all,” he admits soothingly.

  Hesitantly, I nod again, waiting patiently for him to continue.

  “Okay, first things first…my name is Jax. This is Rick,” he motions to the wannabe biker and then to tall, dark and handsome, “and that is Austin. You know Rick from college and you met me and Austin at a party at our house just recently.”

  Funny, I don’t remember a college party or the guy he called Rick. In fact, I don’t even remember going to college.

  Or do I?

  Jax recognizes the confusion on my face and quickly continues.

  “You had an accident not too long ago and you hit your head pretty hard. You’ve been in a coma for a while and it’s not unusual for you to be experiencing some memory loss at this stage. Your memories should come back to you in time though and that’s what we are here for. To help you with your recovery.”

  His words filter in slowly as I get distracted by his thumb rubbing gentle circles on the back of my hand, which I didn’t even know he had a hold of until now.

  It’s hard to tell whether he’s doing it for his comfort or mine. Regardless, it’s calming and I can feel myself relaxing a little more as my gaze returns to his.

  I frown as a thought crosses my mind.

  Attempting to speak, I try to talk louder this time, but my voice refuses to work. My throat feels scratchy, causing me to cough each time I try to get a word out.

  The guy he called Rick, strides across the room and hands me a glass of water. He must have removed his jacket whilst Jax was talking to me as he’s now only in a white shirt.

  Call me a perv all you like, but it’s extremely difficult not to notice the flex of his biceps as they strain against the material of his shirt, especially when he holds the glass out in front of me, in offering.

  Smiling up to him, I nod in thanks as he brings the glass to my lips, my arms so weak that I can barely lift them. I take big gulps at first until he urges me to slow down when I coax him to tip the glass further.