Page 24

PHOENIX

“Piece of shit truck,” I mutter for maybe the fifteenth time, slamming the hood closed. No matter how many times I check, the result is the same—we’re not going anywhere tonight.

The sun has almost disappeared now, casting everything in a purple twilight that makes the abandoned park look even more like something out of a damn horror movie.

Perfect fucking setting to get stranded.

And probably murdered.

By Maverick when he finds out I tried to kiss his sister.

Clover stands nearby, hugging herself against the rapidly cooling desert air. The temperature drops fast out here once the sun goes down, and she’s only wearing a thin T-shirt and shorts.

“We need to grab our stuff from the truck and find somewhere to settle in for the night,” I tell her, trying to sound more confident than I feel.

Truth is, I’m uneasy about spending the night here. Not just because of the isolation but because being alone with Clover feels increasingly…

… complicated.

“I’ve got a blanket in my duffel,” she offers. “And there are snacks in my bag and, of course, the leftovers from the diner.”

I nod, opening the truck door to grab our things. “I’ve got a flashlight in the glove box. And a sleeping bag behind the seat.” I don’t mention that it’s only one sleeping bag—a detail that’s suddenly very relevant.

We gather what we can, piling it into our arms, and I lead us toward what looks like the former ticket office. It’s one of the more intact buildings with walls on all sides and part of the roof still secure.

“Is this safe?” Clover asks, eyeing the structure skeptically.

“Safe enough for one night,” I answer, though I’m not entirely convinced. “Better than sleeping in the open.”

I use the flashlight to check for scorpions, snakes, or other unwelcome desert inhabitants before we settle in. The floor is dirty but dry, and one corner still has a wooden counter that will provide some protection from the elements.

“Home sweet home,” I say dryly, setting down our gear.

Clover laughs, but it’s a nervous sound. “Could be worse, I guess.”

“Yeah, it could be raining.”

She groans. “Oh God, don’t jinx us!”

Chuckling, I start arranging our meager supplies. The sleeping bag goes on the cleanest part of the floor. My jacket can serve as a pillow. Clover’s blanket will give us extra warmth if we need it.

If we need it.

That thought hangs in the air, unspoken but impossible to ignore.

Clover busies herself, going through her bag, pulling out her phone. “No service,” she says, frowning at the screen. “Of course.”

“I’ve got a satellite phone in the emergency kit,” I tell her. “But unless it’s a genuine emergency, we should save the battery. We can call for help in the morning.”

She nods, putting her phone away. “I guess Mav won’t miss one check-in.”

The mention of her brother sends a fresh wave of guilt through me. Here I am, stuck in a compromising situation with the girl I’m supposed to be protecting. The girl who’s absolutely off-limits for too many reasons to count.

“You hungry?” I ask, desperate to change the subject.

“Starving, actually.”

I pull out the bag from the jerky shop. “Alien jerky buffet it is.”

We sit side by side against the wall, sharing our bizarre feast of exotic jerky and the leftovers Clover had packed. The flashlight sits between us, casting long shadows across the room.

“This isn’t so bad,” she says after a while, taking a sip from her water bottle. “Kind of an adventure, right?”

I raise an eyebrow. “Being stranded in an abandoned water park in the middle of the desert is your idea of a good time?”

“Not exactly.” She laughs. “But it’s better than being back at the clubhouse right now, worrying about, well, everything. ”

Her voice catches on the last word, and I know she’s thinking about the same things I am—the Cartel and the danger everyone we care about is facing.

“They’ll be okay,” I say, trying to sound confident. “Your brother, my sister, they’re tough. The whole club is.”

“I know.” She picks at the label on her water bottle. “It’s just, the waiting and not knowing that kills me.”

“Yeah,” I agree. “Me too.”

We fall into silence again, the only sounds are our breathing and the occasional desert wind whistling through the broken windows. It’s getting colder now, and I notice Clover starting to shiver.

“Here,” I say, shrugging off my leather jacket and hand it to her. “Put this on.”

She hesitates but then takes it with a grateful smile. “Thanks.”

The jacket engulfs her, making her look even smaller, more vulnerable. Something protective and possessive stirs in me at the sight, and I quickly look away.

“We should try to get some rest,” I suggest. “Nothing else we can do until morning.”

Clover nods, but then a beep sounds, one different from the one always going off on her watch. She fumbles in her bag, pulling out a small kit I recognize as diabetes supplies.

“Shit,” she mutters, pulling out a small pen, then she pricks her finger, drawing blood, then goes about her checks.

“What’s wrong?” I ask as she turns off the alarm on her app.

“My blood sugar’s dropping.” She rummages through her bag. “I’ve got some glucose tablets in here somewhere, but—”

“Here,” I interrupt, reaching for the jerky bag. “This should help. Protein, sugar.”

She looks surprised. “How did you know that would help?” she asks.

I hand her a piece of the sweeter jerky. “My mom was diabetic. Type 2, but still, I learned to recognize the signs.”

“Your mom…” She takes the jerky, studying me with newfound curiosity. “You never talk about her.”

I shrug, uncomfortable with the sudden personal turn. “Not much to say.”

“Do you and Sadie still see her?”

“No.”

She waits for me to elaborate, but I don’t.

What am I supposed to say? That my mother was a drug addict who chose her next fix over her kids? That she’s probably dead somewhere, and I stopped looking for her years ago?

Clover seems to sense she’s hit a nerve. “Sorry. Not my business.”

I sigh, suddenly tired of all the walls I’ve built, all the things I keep hidden. “It’s fine. She wasn’t a great mom. Drugs, alcohol, the usual sad story. She disappeared when I was fifteen, left Sadie and me to fend for ourselves at the Serpents.”

Clover’s face softens with sympathy, which is exactly what I don’t want. “That’s why you’re so protective of Sadie.”

“Yeah, well. Someone had to be.”

She’s quiet for a moment, eating the jerky. “Is that why you joined the Serpents? To protect her?”

The question hits me like a punch to the gut.

No one’s ever asked me that directly before. Not even Sadie.

“Yeah,” I admit finally. “It got… complicated back home. Sadie had caught the attention of some really bad people. I thought if I prospected in like my father wanted, I could keep her safe.” I let out a bitter laugh. “Fucking ironic, right? I joined to protect her, and it just put her in more danger.”

“But you got her out,” Clover points out. “You both got out. That counts for something.”

I shake my head. “Not before I did some shit I can never take back.”

“Like what?” she asks straight out.

For a second, I consider telling her everything—the violence, the blood on my hands, the nightmares that still wake me up some nights.

But I can’t do it.

Can’t bear to see her look at me differently.

“Doesn’t matter now. It’s done.”

She watches me for a long moment, then says, “The tattoo on your chest. I’ve seen it peeking out sometimes. What is it?”

I blink, surprised by the change of subject. “Why do you want to know?”

She shrugs. “Just curious. Is it a Serpent thing?”

“No.” My hand automatically moves to my chest, where the date is inked in Roman numerals beneath a tiger with bright blue eyes. “It’s personal.”

“Everything with you is personal,” she says, but there’s no judgment in her voice. “You don’t have to tell me. I just thought maybe…”

“December 3, 1998,” I say suddenly, not sure why I’m telling her. “That’s what the Roman numerals mean.”

Her brow furrows in clear confusion. “That’s before you were born, right?”

She’s so fucking smart.

But I’ve started now, so I may as well keep going, even though it will open up a whole can of worms with Clover.

Letting out a long exhale, I run my fingers through my hair. “Fuck! Okay, here goes. So, my mother, Layla, she had another child before Sadie was born—”

“You guys have another sibling out there?” Clover interrupts, her eyes wide in excitement.

Shaking my head, her shoulders slump at the realization. “Oh,” she whispers, her hand sliding out to hold mine.

Somehow, that small gesture of comfort is enough to help me to keep going. “Uh, so, my older brother, he was born on December 3 rd , 1998.”

“It’s his birthday on your chest?” She clarifies.

I simply nod. “It is. He was three years old when he died. My mother was married and happy. She had a good life. A great life…” I tense, knowing what I am about to tell Clover next, but turn to look into her eyes when I do. “Mom’s family life was amazing, and she had a great relationship with her mother. And my grandmother was head over heels in love with Elvis. Her love was passed down to my mother, and it kind of became a generational thing.” Her eyes meet mine, and I don’t miss the way, even in the dim glow from the flashlights, that her eyes begin to well with tears. But I continue, “So, in 1968, my grandma saw Elvis’ comeback special on TV, and my mom talked about how my grandma would rave about it endlessly. But then, what was even more special, was the fact, that on the day of my brother’s birth, December 3 rd , 1998, it was the thirtieth anniversary of Elvis’ ’68 comeback special.” I let out a small laugh, shaking my head at how Mom would retell this story every time. “Mom said they had that special on in the delivery room, loud enough to cover her screaming through the labor pains, and she swears that my brother came out dancing along to “Blue Suede Shoes.” ”

Clover smiles brightly, the tears freefalling down her cheeks now as I reach out and gently swipe them from her cheeks. “I’m so, so, sorry. If I had known that Elvis was actually this important to you, I would have never, ever teased you about it, I swear—”

“Hey, stop.” I spin, forcing her to look at me. “I don’t know why, but you teasing me about it actually helps. Maybe because I’m just a fucked-up mess.”

She shakes her head. “I don’t think you are, not even a little bit.” Her gorgeous doe eyes stare up at me, so tempting, so alluring. Every single inch of me wants to lean forward right now and kiss her.

She seems to sense that I’m struggling at the moment, so she helps break it. “You said your mother was married before. What happened there?”

Back to the harsh sting of reality.

“My mother didn’t talk much about him to Sadie and me. I think it hurt too much knowing that she had this whole other life, and that when her husband, my older brother Aaron, and her mother died, then she found herself trapped with my father and the Serpents. It was just too hard to try to remember her life before.”

“Jesus, they all died. How?” Clover asks.

“Car accident. All of them were in the car, Mom included, but she was the only one to survive. It was just one of those horrible things where you’re in the wrong place at the wrong time. Her survivor guilt, plus the chronic pain she had left over from the accident, caused her to seek out ways to find illegal medication.”

Clover’s shoulders slump in understanding. “So, she went to the Serpents for drugs and then never left?”

Nodding, I exhale. “Yeah, my dad obviously took a liking to her, made her his Old Lady, though, to be fair, growing up, she was hardly around. I think because my father just wanted her so that he could get the kids he needed for the club. Once he’d had his fill of her, and she realized, she just went off looking for her next score to numb the pain.”

“That’s horrific, Phoenix. I… I don’t even know what to say.”

“It wasn’t all bad. There were times when she was around, and she was lucid… that was nice. She would tell Sadie and me about Aaron and how her life was before, lighting up like the damn Fourth of July. She gave Sadie this vinyl record once, of Elvis, of course. We were so young at the time, and we had no clue what a vinyl record even was, but she handwrote on the cover, ‘The King always comes back.’ It was one of the only times I remember her being present . Before everything went to shit.”

Clover hums under her breath like she is trying to put all the puzzle pieces together. “So then, what does the tiger represent?”

Rubbing the back of my neck, trying to ease my discomfort, I’ve already shared so much.

No point stopping now.

“It’s me. That’s how I want to see myself. I went to a really fucking dark place with the Serpents. Did shit I’m not proud of. When I got out, I needed to remember my mother’s words. That ‘ The King always comes back.’ That I could be more than what they made me. That I can prove myself to Defiance. To myself.” I look away, uncomfortable with how much I’ve shared. “It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” Clover says softly. “It’s beautiful, actually.”

Her kindness is worse than judgment.

It cuts through my defenses and leaves me feeling raw and exposed.

I stand abruptly, needing to create some distance between us, my heart racing so fucking hard, my breathing so fast I feel like I can’t catch it as she stares up at me with clear concern. Like a beacon of such pure innocence and hope that I am bound to destroy.

Fuck!

“I should check the perimeter, make sure we’re secure for the night.” I grab the flashlight and step outside, gulping in the cool desert air, thankful that it’s chilling my flushed skin. Stopping for a moment just outside the door, I lean against the wood, taking a moment to catch my breath.

“Get it together, man,” I whisper into the ether.

The night has fully descended now, the sky above ablaze with stars like I’ve never seen before—no city lights to dull their brilliance.

Under different circumstances, it might be breathtaking.

Movement catches my eye, and I spin, hand automatically reaching for the gun at my waistband. It’s just the fucking cat watching me from atop a nearby fence post. Its eyes reflect the flashlight beam, glowing eerily in the darkness.

“What are you looking at?” I grumble.

The cat blinks slowly, then jumps down and disappears into the shadows.

Huffing, I shake my head, watching it meander off. “Damn bad omen,” I whisper under my breath, then make a circuit of the building, checking for any potential dangers or unwelcome visitors. Everything’s quiet, just desert night sounds—the occasional rustle of wind through the abandoned structures, a distant coyote howl.

When I return, Clover has laid out the sleeping bag and is sitting on top of it, wrapped in her blanket and still wearing my leather jacket. She peers up as I enter, her face unreadable in the dim light.

“All clear?” she asks.

“Yeah. Just us and the bad omen.”

She grins. “You saw the cat again?”

I nod, setting the flashlight down. “Freaky little stalker.”

That makes her smile. “I’m going to put out some jerky for it. The poor guy is probably just hungry.”

“Actually, that’s probably a good idea. Keep the bastard happy, and he might send some good juju our way instead, the little fucker.”

She ignores my grumbling, setting a few pieces of jerky near the doorway before retreating back to the sleeping bag. “So, sleeping arrangements?” she asks, raising her brow questionably.

And there it is—the question I’ve been dreading.

“You take the sleeping bag,” I say immediately. “I’ll use your blanket.”

She frowns. “That’s not fair. You’ll freeze.”

“I’ve lived through much worse conditions. I’ll be fine.”

She scowls at me. “Phoenix, don’t be stupid. We can share the sleeping bag. It’s big enough.”

My heart rate spikes at the suggestion, my cock instantly giving me prior warning. “Not a good idea.”

“Why not? We’re both adults. We can handle sleeping next to each other for one night.”

That’s exactly what I’m afraid of—that I can’t handle it.

“Your brother would kill me,” I say instead.

She rolls her eyes. “My brother isn’t here. And what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” She pats the space beside her. “Come on. It’s getting cold, and neither of us wants to be miserable all night.”

I should refuse.

I should insist on taking the floor with just the blanket.

But the desert night is getting colder by the minute, and as if on cue, a howling wind races through the ticketing booth, sending a chill straight through my body, causing my skin to pebble with goose bumps. Clover raises her brow at me in a look of ‘see.’ And I huff, shaking my head in annoyance.

“Fine,” I concede, moving toward the sleeping bag. “But stay on your side.”

She smirks. “I’ll try to control myself.”

It’s not you I’m worried about.

Kicking off my boots, I slide in next to her, careful to keep as much space between us as possible in the confined quarters. We’re both still fully clothed, but somehow, this feels more intimate than anything I’ve done in a long time.

“Better?” she asks, her voice too close to my ear.

“Yeah,” I lie.

Better for my body temperature, maybe.

One hundred percent worse for my sanity.

We lie side by side, staring up at the partially collapsed ceiling. Through the gaps, I see stars twinkling in the black sky. The silence stretches between us, not exactly uncomfortable but charged with something I can’t—or won’t—name.

“Phoenix?” Clover’s voice is quiet in the darkness.

“Yeah?”

“Do you know what happens when all this is over?”

I turn to look at her. “When what is over?”

“After the Cartel. After Vegas. Just… after.”

It’s a question I’ve been avoiding since we left the clubhouse.

What happens when we go back— if we can go back?

What if there’s nothing to return to?

“Hard to know,” I admit. “It’s easier to focus on what’s in front of me.”

She shifts onto her side, facing me. “But you’ve gotta want things. For yourself, I mean. Not just for Sadie or the club. And I don’t mean a job this time like Hollywood movies for me or building things for you, I mean things like life things.”

I consider the question, and I’m surprised to find I don’t have an answer ready. “I don’t know. I’ve never had a life outside of being a Prospect, really. My life has always been living for a club. I’ve never had time to think about what things I would want for myself in life.”

“That’s sad,” she says, her voice somber.

“Is it?” I ask honestly.

“Yeah.” Her voice is soft but certain. “Everyone should have something they want just for themselves.”

I turn to face her. Our faces are now inches apart in the dim light. “What about you? What do you want? After all this?”

She considers for a moment. “I want to create things that matter. I want to travel. I want an adorable cat of my own.” The more she talks, the more animated and excited she is becoming. “I want to go to a karaoke bar and sing at the top of my lungs like no one is watching. I want to get married one day to a really great guy. I want to have sex…” she pauses, her eyes opening wide as I grin at how energetic she is, but she finds her confidence again and continues, “I want to have sex in a really crazy place that no one would expect from me. I want to stop being the fragile little sister that everyone has to protect all the time.” A small smile plays at her lips as she calms her tone to be a little more serious now. “I want to be the one doing the protecting, for once.”

I let out a small chuckle, raising my brow in surprise. “That is an extensive list. But you know, Clover, you’re stronger than you think,” I tell her. “Tougher too.”

“Am I?” Her face scrunches with her obvious doubt.

“Most people would be falling apart right now, stranded in the middle of nowhere. You’re acting like it’s just another epic adventure.”

Her smile widens with a shrug. “Maybe it is.”

I find myself studying her face in the dim light—the curve of her cheek, the way her eyes catch the faint glow from the flashlight. She’s beautiful in a way that makes my chest ache, and suddenly, I’m acutely aware of how close we are and how easy it would be to bridge the tiny gap between us. How her talk of sex in crazy places has already got my cock thinking in ways it really shouldn’t be.

“Clover,” I murmur, my voice rougher than I intended.

“Yes?” Her eyes meet mine, and I see something in them that mirrors what I’m feeling—a hunger, a curiosity, a daring.

“We shouldn’t,” I whisper, even as I lean closer.

“Probably not,” she agrees, not pulling away.

My hand moves to her face again, almost of its own accord, fingertips brushing her cheek. Her skin is so soft, warm despite the cold night air. She leans into my touch, her eyes never leaving mine.

“Your brother will definitely kill me,” I mutter.

“What happens on the road to Vegas,” she breathes, her chest heaving. The air between us is surging with electricity. I fight. Hard. But as her eyes stare into mine, and she bites down on her bottom lip, the last of my resolve crumbles, and every ounce of strength I have evaporates. I surge forward, my lips slamming against hers. She instantly rolls onto her back, taking me with her. She whimpers as I slide my tongue against hers, the delicious sound almost making me come on the spot.

Her fingers are digging into my back for dear life. We kiss frantically, and I can’t help it as my hips rock against her. She lets out the most animalistic moan, my cock rock hard as she presses her hips up into me. I deepen the kiss, needing to taste her. I’ve been needing this for so fucking long that I don’t know if I can stop at tasting her lips.

Breaking our kiss, I slide my tongue down her neck, my hand easing to her breast as she pants to catch her breath. “Fuck, Clo, I don’t know if I can stop,” I growl, dragging my teeth along her skin, the same time I rock my hard cock against her.

Her moans clearly tell me she wants the same thing. “Then don’t. God, don’t ever stop,” she whimpers when a sudden weight lands on top of my back, accompanied by a loud, indignant meow.

I jerk with the fright, rolling off Clover as the black cat settles itself comfortably in the small space between our bodies, yellow eyes staring at us judgmentally.

“What the—” I groan, trying to steady my racing heart.

Clover bursts into a fit of laughter. “I guess he decided to take you up on that jerky offer.”

The cat kneads the sleeping bag, purring loudly, completely oblivious to the moment it’s just interrupted.

Shaking my head, I roll onto my back as I scrub at my face in frustration. “Fucking cat,” I mutter, but I’m half-relieved, half-very-fucking-frustrated.

Whatever was about to happen—whatever line we were about to cross—has been postponed, at least for now.

Clover reaches out to stroke the cat, which accepts her attention with regal indifference. “I think I’ll call him Dracula,” she decides.

“Dracula? Why?”

“Because he appeared out of nowhere, in the dark, he’s fast as lightning, and he’s clearly got a taste for blood. Look what he did to your hand.”

I glance down to see a small scratch on my hand where the cat must have swiped me during its dramatic entrance. “Great. Rabies is exactly what this trip needs.”

She laughs again. “He doesn’t have rabies. He’s just, particular about who touches him.”

The cat, Dracula, apparently, continues to purr, now curling up against Clover’s side like he’s claimed her.

I glare at it, feeling ridiculous for being jealous of a stray cat.

“We should get some sleep,” I say, turning onto my back. “Long day tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Clover agrees, but I hear the smile in her voice. “Goodnight, Phoenix.”

“Goodnight, Clover.”

“Goodnight, Dracula,” she whispers, cuddling into her new best friend, then rolls over, her back to me.

I lie awake long after her breathing evens out into sleep, staring at the stars through the broken ceiling.

Trying not to think about how close I came to fucking her.

Trying not to imagine what might have happened if that damn cat hadn’t interrupted us.

Trying and failing miserably on both counts.