“What?” Phoenix yells. “You’d better fucking tell me the truth now, DeLuca, or I’ll rip your fucking head off, too.”

“Nix, think about what you’re doing. You know you can’t win from me.”

Phoenix stands in front of him so close they’re up in each other’s face, shouting. “Watch me.”

“Fuck you,” DeLuca says. “Look, I’m sorry we got you into this mess.”

“Damn right, it’s your fault. You brought him here in the first place.”

“He was supposed to help me with this job.”

“What job?” Phoenix sneers.

He glances at me, and suddenly I feel very exposed. “Killing her.”

An itch goes through my body, circling around until goosebumps cover my skin. The mask that I’ve worn all these years has been shattered as despair slips through my pores, covering my body with dirty sweat.

I suddenly get the urge to jump into the shower to wash the jitters off.

“YOU CAME HERE TO KILL HER?” Phoenix’s voice is off the charts loud.

“Dude, calm down,” DeLuca says.

“I AM NOT CALMING DOWN!” Phoenix is breathing like a bull again, and I have no clue what to do. Should I go there and try to help? I don’t know the guy, or the other one … but something about the anger in Phoenix’s voice tells me this DeLuca guy actually means something to him. Which says a lot.

“She’s on your fucking hit list? That’s why you came here?” Phoenix yells.

“We got the job; I can’t help it. I didn’t know she was the girl from your story until I saw the house, and by then, I knew it was too late. Drago had already gone over the fence. I couldn’t stop him.”

“And you fucking went along with it without telling me?” Phoenix pushes him until he’s up against the wall.

“What else was I supposed to do?” DeLuca says. “I had to do it. They wouldn’t accept me back in if I didn’t complete the job.”

“Who gives a shit about the organization?! She’s mine, and I told you that I was going to do this alone!” Phoenix screams, grabbing his collar and shoving him up the wall.

“You said you were going to kill her. I thought she was already dead, dude. I didn’t think we even had a chance of success.”

“So, what, you thought it was okay to let that fucker just roam the house? You knew he was going to search for her. You fucking knew he wanted to kill her, and you let him get away. You fucking let him do your dirty work for you.”

“It’s not like that. I honestly didn’t think she’d still be alive,” he says, swallowing, holding up his hands. “I mean it. It’s the truth. I know you, Nix. You wouldn’t keep any victim alive. Ever.”

“Except me,” I mutter.

Both of them now look at me as if I’m a complete loon. I blush, but not because they stare at me … it’s because he said Phoenix always kills his victims, and yet he didn’t kill me.

Yet.

Phoenix immediately returns his attention toward DeLuca. “I trusted you. You’ve got some fucking balls, dude.”

“I swear to fucking god, I didn’t mean to intrude. I just wanted to confirm her death with you so we could relay it to the organization and get it over with. I expected the job to be cancelled, so we could get another one.”

“And yet you forget to bring up that fact the moment you appear at the front doorstep,” Phoenix says. “I fucking trusted you; I took you with me, and this is how you repay me?”

“I’m sorry, dude. Really, I am. I know I should’ve acted differently, but I didn’t. We all make mistakes. Again, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“Damn right, it won’t,” Phoenix growls.

“Phoenix,” I say, stepping forward.

He swallows, glancing back at me. I see the regret in his eyes. I know he doesn’t want to kill his friend. After a few seconds, Phoenix lets him go, and he drops to the floor, grasping for his own throat.

“Get the fuck out,” Phoenix says without looking at him.

“Nix, please, let’s talk about this. It’s all a misunderstanding.”

“I don’t fucking want to talk to you.”

“But—”

“Get out!” Phoenix screams so loud that it makes DeLuca jolt up, and then run past him.

We briefly exchange looks before he storms down the stairs and out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

Phoenix is still breathing heavy, like he’s consumed by his own temper.

“You did the right thing,” I say softly.

“Don’t,” he says.

I look at the floor and wrap the curtain tighter around my body, clinging to what little warmth it provides.

Suddenly, Phoenix turns around, sighing as he comes to me. He picks me up from the floor, making me squeal and drop the curtain that was covering my body, but then I realize he’s carrying me toward my own room. Not the attic. Not the prison-like cage downstairs, but my real bedroom.

He opens the door and a thick vapor of smoke floating through the room makes me cough. Inside, it’s a mess, with clothes and items lying scattered on the carpet. My make-up stand is thrown upside down, the mirror is shattered, on the windowsill is an ashtray filled with old smokes, and the bed is kept untidy.

So this is where he’s been sleeping all this time when he left me alone in the cage. In my room. In my bed. On my pillow.

And as he brings me to my own bed, I can’t help but wonder if it smells like him now.

He places me down on the mattress and covers me with a blanket, gently patting me down as if he’s trying to soothe me.

“I’ll be right back,” he says. “Stay here.”

“I’m not going anywhere right now,” I mutter. “But where are you going?”

“Getting rid of the body.”

“Stay with me,” I say, grabbing his arm.

He stops for a moment. “I have to do this.”

“Why?”

“So you don’t have to see it,” he mumbles, looking at the door.

This makes me blush a little. Is he doing this for me? And even though this is about cleaning up a corpse, somehow I feel flattered.

“I’ll wait,” I say.

“Good.” There’s a hint of a smile on his face, and then he turns around and walks away, closing the door behind him. I hear him rummage around on the hallway, some sliding and pushing going on, and I’m guessing it’s because he’s moving the body. He’s probably trying to get rid of it as quickly as possible, although I’m not sure how long it takes to bury a body. He probably won’t do it right away but dragging the body downstairs must be tough already.

It takes him a few minutes to come back with bloodied hands and messy hair, which he flips to the side. His whole body is covered with sweat, and there are cuts and bruises all over his skin from the guy fighting him off. I look down at my own hands and the bruises all over my body, and they make me want to cry.

I’m a bumbling mess because of that guy assaulting me, and that never happens to me.

I shiver and pull the blanket up further.

Phoenix walks to the bathroom to the left, glancing at me for only a second, but the moment he does, he bites his lip. I can see the concern in his eyes, and it makes me want to pull the blanket up to my face and cover myself up. I don’t want him to see me like this. Weak. Vulnerable. I hate being any of those things but hating them won’t make the feelings go away.

The faucet turns on and sounds of water splashing onto the skin are audible. After a few minutes, Phoenix steps back out the door, his hands clean and his face pristine. Any sign of blood is gone. If he went out onto the street right now, nobody would be able to tell he just committed a murder.

And he doesn’t even seem to be fazed by it, baffling me completely.

He’s really something.

He walks toward me, and I crawl back further into the bed. I don’t know why, but I have the constant sense that I’m in danger. That I should run. That everything around me is a threat. Even him.

And he is. He locked me up. He imprisoned me in my own home and used me to his heart’s content, so I should be afraid. I guess it’s only natural to feel that way. The problem is that I don’t want to feel that way.