Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-One

Lyric

The room's still dark, only the soft glow of the moon filtering through the curtains. Highway's breath is slow and steady beside me. His arm, a heavy band over my waist, pins me to the bed, safe but caged. Hunger gnaws at my stomach, a different kind of need. I slide his arm off with a careful touch, afraid to wake the beast.

His black T-shirt is on the floor. I pick it up and tug it over my head—it hangs loose. Highway's scent clings to it, and I breathe it in. In bare feet, I creep down the stairs, silent on the cool wooden planks. The kitchen awaits, shadowy and still.

With a flip of the switch, harsh light floods the space. I rummage through the refrigerator—bread, cheese, leftover chicken—and my stomach growls with approval.

I glance out the window, drawn by the flicker of flames. There's Jet, her silhouette illuminated by firelight. She sits among the women we snatched from hell's jaws, their faces ghostly in the dance of the fire. They're laughing, the sound distant but real. A semblance of freedom they're only now tasting.

Justice is there, too, a hulking shadow detached from the rest. He's close to Jet, close enough to feel her warmth. A protector or something more? Even from this distance, I can see the tension between them.

My hands are busy making a sandwich as I watch them. Quietly, I chew on the edge of my sandwich, but the taste is bland, so I open the refrigerator, pull out the mayonnaise, and lather it on one side of the bread.

I lean against the cool granite kitchen counter, sandwich in hand, eyes fixed on the world outside. Jet stands up and stretches. She throws her head back, and the firelight catches her face, transforming her. Gone is the tremor in her posture, the shadow of fear in her eyes.

She's reborn from the ashes, fierce and defiant.

The woman looks like a phoenix, rising and reshaping herself before our very eyes.

Jet laughs, a sound rich that's unburdened, and tosses her hair, dark strands glowing ember-red in the flickering light.

My gaze shifts, finding Justice. He's like a statue carved out of the night itself. But his eyes, they're alive, burning with a focus so intense it could set the world ablaze. And every ounce of that focus is riveted on Jet.

He doesn't blink or move. He watches her like she's the first and last thing he'll ever see, as if she hangs the moon just for him. A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. Justice, the hard-ass with a heart of molten gold, melted by a woman who clawed her way back from hell.

I take another bite of my sandwich—the mayonnaise was a good addition. I push away from the counter, feeling like a peeping tom. Their story isn't mine to watch.

"Peacock and phoenix," I mutter, taking a bite. I wipe crumbs off my fingers, thinking about how we all look for someone to anchor us in the storm. Maybe Justice has found his anchor. Maybe they've both found something worth clinging to.

With my T-shirt hanging off me like a banner of the life I've chosen, I turn away from the window. It's time to slip back into the quiet of the bedroom and Highway's arms. He's my harbor and safe haven in the night.

Casting one last look at Justice and Jet, I smile to myself because if anyone can handle a peacock, it's a woman reborn from flames.

THE END