Bait(84)

Fuck.

My heart pounds even at the sight of his name. It’s in email form, but it’s there.

Phoenix Burning sent you a personal message. Reactivate your account?

How could I not?

A couple of clicks and I’m back in.

I’m grinning as I fire a message back to him.

So much for deleting my account. I played fair.

He replies in a beat.

Still want to meet the monster?

It makes me laugh out loud.

Always, I type back. I hope he bites.

I wait for another ping. It doesn’t take long.

You will be ready for me later. You will make sure the bottom door is unlocked.

I reply in a flash.

Is this before or after dinner? I’ve got to time the vegetables.

I hope he knows I’m joking.

Eight. Be ready.

So much for humour, but that doesn’t matter.

I’ll be ready, I say.

And I will be.





Phoenix



I almost forget about the shit with Jake as I enjoy the afternoon. It’s another glorious day with Cam in the pool, and even Serena joins us for a swim.

It would be perfect, if only Abigail was with us.

All in good time, so they say.

I’m strangely excited to see what she cooks. Thrilled at the prospect of a regular date like regular people.

Even if I do deviate from the chivalry to pound her dirty little asshole later.

I wear a black shirt over tight jeans. Make sure my hair is as just so as it ever gets. I’m no pink-shirted Jack, but I’ll do.

I’m ready to go just as soon as Cam settles off to sleep, but this evening, typically, he wants every story in the book.

He’s even willing to ask for it.

There’s no way I’d ever be able to say no to that.

“You look great,” Serena says as I finally get back downstairs. “Go get your girl.”

“You’ll like her,” I tell her. “I can’t wait to introduce you.”

“Just as long as she makes you happy.”

I love my little sister today as much as I’ve ever loved her in my life. She’s a solid rock in our river. An anchor through whatever shitty storms life throws our way.

I’ll never be able to thank her enough for what she’s done for Cam and me. I just hope she knows it.

I feel a pang of regret for Jake as I step out to my truck.

It’s so easy to forget these days that once upon a time it was the three of us against the world. It’s easy to forget how he was the one who set us up in business in the first place and took care of me as well as Serena just as soon as he was old enough.

Easy to forget all the shit he shouldered when we were too young to deal with any of it.

I send him a text message before I pull away. One final olive branch before I get my ass down to the lawyer in the morning.

Sort your life out, Jake. We’re still your fucking family. Put the money back, stop drinking and we’ll talk properly when you’re sober.

He can keep the picture of Mariana.

It’s the least I can do, and deep down I know it.

Serena’s question is a valid one.

How the fuck did it come to all this?

The answer is the same as it’s always been. Just as I said it last night.

Mariana.

That’s how the fuck it came to all this.

Serena could never see it, the appeal that one crazy woman had for two brothers. She didn’t understand the magic in the madness, the way that woman’s soul could shred you to pieces and keep you coming back for more.

I push all that aside for now.

I stop at the petrol station for a big bar of chocolate and grab some flowers while I’m at it.

And then I text my girlfriend, since that’s really what she is now.

Soon.





Abigail



Soon

That’s what the message says.

I can’t keep up with him. Pinging me here there and everywhere.

I laugh out loud when the knock comes at the door. His soon was quite a lot sooner than I expected.

More like now, in fact.

I’m grinning as I swing that door open, presenting my best chef smile in the heart-patterned apron I borrowed from Sarah.

But it’s not him.

My grin fades.

I recognise the man in front of me, and yet I don’t.

He’s tall. Dark eyes. Gaunt and wiry.

Strong.

My eyes widen.

They widen a whole lot more when he shunts me inside and closes the door behind him.

I’m backing away on instinct, the lasagne still cooking in the oven as the panic takes my breath.

There’s nowhere to run and I know it.

I try anyway.

I only make it as far as the kitchen doorway before he grabs me from behind. His bulk is familiar, but he stinks of whisky and something else. Diesel.

He reminds me of the seedy denim guy from the pub all those weeks ago.

And just like denim guy, his hand is straight between my legs, pressing his fingers so fucking hard against my clit that it aches.

I squeal when he clasps his hand over my mouth, but just like his brother, he’s pretty damn good at muffling it.