Chapter 6

SIX

Phoenix

T here wasn't a single part of me that didn't ache with exhaustion as I pulled up to the dock with the unconscious woman crudely fastened to me. The ride had taken hours longer than usual, between trying to avoid her falling and dragging me down with her, and my own tiredness clawing at my eyes.

I'd never been so happy to see Old Bess, my adapted fishing boat, bobbing a gentle greeting from her place on the water. It might not be the most conventional home, but it had been the only one I'd had since mine was decimated.

It was far more comfortable since I'd pushed my uncle overboard fifteen years ago.

Releasing the straps I'd used to join the woman to me, I slid her to the ground gently beside my bike and looked down at her comatose face. So pale. Was she dead? I'd be pissed if I'd carted a dead body halfway across the country.

Crouching down, I swept some of her toffee- coloured hair from her face before removing my gloves and pressing my fingers to her throat. Despite the hole in her chest, a faint yet steady thrum met me.

Exhaling slowly, I looked her over.

Blood crusted the front of what had once been an expensive dress—all sweet and white, and a far contrast to its current state. Why had Massimo wanted her dead, though?

My eyes flicked to my boat and then back to the woman. It had been a monumental fuckup to have taken her out of the house. It was against every single one of my rules. Regret nibbled away at my stomach.

How long would it be before an investigation found that one of the four corpses was an older male rather than a woman in her twenties? Would Massimo assume she'd got away, or would he come for me? I could only hope my fire was thorough enough to have left nothing but bones in a great pile of charred debris.

Standing up, I let out a groan as my back clicked. The sooner I got her aboard, the quicker I could get out to sea and get some sleep.

I'd worry about what I'd do with her after. If she survived the next few days.

Pulling her limp form into my arms, I headed aboard, smiling as the rusted, old exterior gave way to the pristine luxury inside. It was a tight squeeze walking down the wooden stairwell to my bedroom beneath the deck. She landed on the bed without a sound, her sooty, blood-splattered arm lolling to the side.

I should have put down some towels.

Working quickly, I loaded my bike on board and stored it in the locker behind the helm.

The sun crept over the horizon as I headed out to sea, the morning light painting the waves in a wash of red and gold.

Like an ocean of flames.

Beautiful.

B y noon the shore was nothing but a speck on the horizon, and I dragged my weary arse downstairs.

My new roomie was still out for the count, and still alive.

I needed to clean her wound and stitch her back up, but my eyes burned, struggling to stay open with each passing second. Trying to fix her now would almost certainly result in sloppy mistakes, and if I wanted to keep her, I'd have to be careful.

Keep her.

The very thought was dark and delicious.

Though I tried not to wallow in it, loneliness often clung to me like an angry little demon on my shoulder. Unfortunately for the woman, there was no opposing angel to fight her cause. I could keep her. No-one would know.

Even if the police had noticed she was missing, they'd never know to come for me. And Massimo knew nothing bar my bank details and my number, both of which were protected by multiple layers of security. He'd have a bugger of a time to track me down if he wanted to. Even then, I'd deny all knowledge of her.

It was perfect.

Finally, a gift from the universe just for me.

I knew it was wrong, but I didn't care enough to deny myself the pleasure that bubbled up inside of me.

The mattress dipped as I climbed onto the bed next to her and scrutinised her.

She was pretty and soft in a way that made me wish I could sink my teeth into her. The warmth of her body against mine was incredibly soothing. My arm instinctively found its place around her waist, pulling her closer to me.

She let out a little breath, and I watched eagerly, waiting to see if she'd open her eyes.

Nothing.

A smattering of freckles covered her nose, drawing my finger to them. I traced my way along her cheek before following the dried tear tracks that punctuated her sooty cheeks, marking a path down to her lips.

The impulse to press my fingers into her mouth was overwhelming.

Unhinged.

I knew I had to fight whatever urges stirred within me, but having this pretty, broken little thing in my bed was a heady temptation.

A yawn stole over me, and I rested my hand back down over her waist, the crispy red streaks of her dress rough against my fingers.

When I wake up , I thought, I'll clean her up and fix her .

Mend her like a broken toy that's been discarded. Stitch her up. If she survived, she'd become my most prized possession. I wouldn't be so careless with her.

My eyes fluttered shut as I teetered on the edge of sleep. I wanted to remove my lower face mask to stop the itching, however, if she woke, she might be even more frightened . So I'd hide my monstrous side—or sides—from her.

For now, at least.

Sighing, I breathed her in. She smelled like smoke and copper. As sleep finally claimed me, I smiled to myself, imagining what her soft, clean skin would smell like while she lay beside me.