19. Chapter 19 Phoenix

Chapter 19 Phoenix

T he sun beat down on the back of my neck as I stalked across the parking lot, the asphalt shimmering with heat mirages that made the world waver and blur at the edges. My blood was a roaring inferno in my veins, my heart a jackhammer against my ribs.

Storm. The name was acid on my tongue, a poison I couldn't spit out fast enough. She was here, at this seedy little dive bar on the outskirts of the city, and I was going to get some fucking answers.

The footage Rafe had shown us was burned into my brain, seared into my retinas like a brand. Storm and my father, thick as thieves, gloating over the destruction they'd wrought in Damon's life. In my life.

It made me sick. Made me want to claw my own skin off, just to rid myself of the taint of association, the stench of their betrayal .

But more than that, it made me furious. A bone-deep, soul-searing rage that consumed me from the inside out, leaving nothing but ashes and a grim, cold sense of purpose in its wake.

I shoved through the door of the bar, the cool, stale air a shock after the blistering heat outside. The interior was exactly what I'd expected - all peeling pleather and sticky floors, the occasional neon sign buzzing fitfully in the gloom.

And there, holding court at the center of it all like a clown queen in her circus... was Storm.

She was perched on a barstool, all sharp angles and cruel beauty, her ink-black hair gleaming under the dingy lights. A predator at rest, lazy and languid in her confidence.

But I saw the way she stiffened when I walked in, the almost imperceptible tightening of her shoulders beneath the skintight leather of her jacket. I saw the flicker of fear in her coal-black eyes, hastily masked but unmistakable.

Good. She should be afraid.

"Well, well," she drawled as I came to a stop in front of her, close enough to smell the whiskey on her breath and the expensive perfume on her skin. "If it isn't the prodigal daughter, come to slum it with the common folk. To what do I owe the pleasure, Phoenix?"

My smile was a slash of crimson in the smoky gloom, sharp enough to cut glass. "Oh, I think you know exactly why I'm here, Storm. Or should I say... Judas?"

She flinched, the movement so subtle I would have missed it if I hadn't been looking for it. But I was, and the flicker of unease that chased across her face was a heady rush, a dark thrill that sang in my blood .

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she said smoothly, but there was a tremor buried beneath the words, a hairline fracture in her diamond-hard facade.

I leaned in closer, my voice a venomous purr. "Don't you? So you're telling me you have no knowledge of the little scheme you and my father cooked up? The one where you slipped Damon drugs and watched him spiral, all so Cyrus could swoop in and steal his band out from under him?"

Storm's eyes widened, shock and fear and a glimmer of something that looked uncomfortably like guilt warring for dominance in their obsidian depths. But she rallied quickly, her expression smoothing out into a mask of bored disdain.

"I don't know what you think you know, little girl," she sneered, her gaze raking over me like I was something she'd scraped off the bottom of her shoe. "But you're way out of your depth here. Trust me, you don't want to go poking at this particular hornet's nest."

A harsh laugh tore from my throat, jagged and mirthless. "That's where you're wrong, Storm. I'm not just poking the nest - I'm burning the whole fucking thing to the ground. And you? You're going to help me do it."

She scoffed, tossing her hair over one shoulder in a move that was pure, calculated dismissal. "And why in the hell would I do that? In case you haven't noticed, I'm not exactly on your side here."

I smiled again, slow and dangerous. "Because if you don't, I'll make sure every dirty little secret you have gets splashed across the front page of every tabloid from here to Timbuktu. I'll ruin you, Storm. I'll turn your name to poison, make you so toxic that no one will touch you with a ten-foot pole."

I leaned in closer, my lips barely a breath from her ear. "And when I'm done? When you're nothing but a shriveled husk, bled dry of every ounce of influence and power? I'll gift-wrap what's left and hand-deliver you to the cops. I hear they're very interested in your connection to certain... unsavory characters."

Storm went still against me, her breath coming harsh and ragged. For a long, stretching moment, I thought she might lash out. Might rake her claws down my face or wrap her hands around my throat, consequences be damned.

But then, with a shudder that rippled through her like a seismic wave, she seemed to crumple in on herself. The fight drained from her eyes, leaving nothing but a dull, glassy resignation in its wake.

"What do you want to know?" she rasped, her voice a thready whisper.

Triumph surged through me, bright and vicious. But I tamped it down, schooling my features into a mask of cool detachment.

"Everything," I said simply, settling onto the stool beside her. "Start at the beginning and don't leave anything out. Because believe me, Storm... I'll know if you do."

And so, with a shaky exhale and a long, bracing swig of whiskey, she did. She told me about Cyrus's obsession with Coffin Cargo, his determination to bring Damon under his thumb at any cost. She told me about the elaborate web of favors and blackmail he'd used to make Storm his willing puppet, the threats and coercion that had kept her dancing to his twisted tune.

But most of all, she told me about the drugs. The way Cyrus had pressed the baggie into her hand with a smile like a knife slash, the cold glee in his eyes as he whispered his instructions in her ear. Storm's voice broke on the words, her hands trembling where they gripped her glass.

"I didn't want to do it," she whispered, staring down into the amber depths of her drink as if they held all the answers. "I know you probably won't believe me, but... I didn't want to hurt him. Not like that. "

I stared at her, at this woman who had been my so-called 'friend' for so long and felt a curious mix of pity and disgust churn in my gut. Because as much as I loathed her, as much as I wanted to see her brought to her knees... I understood her, in some twisted, fundamental way.

She was a survivor, just like me. A girl who had clawed her way up from nothing, who had learned early on that the world was a cruel, merciless place that would eat her alive if she didn't fight tooth and nail for her place in it.

And Cyrus? He was the embodiment of that cruelty, that mercilessness. A man who held all the power, all the cards, and who wouldn't hesitate to crush anyone who stood in his way.

So yeah, I understood why Storm had done what she did. Why she had let herself be used as a pawn in my father's sick little game.

It didn't make it right. It didn't absolve her of the choices she'd made, the lives she'd helped ruin.

But it made her human. Flawed and fucked up and broken in all the ways that mattered.

Just like the rest of us.

I reached out and laid my hand over hers, feeling the way she flinched at the contact. "Thank you," I said quietly, the words tasting strange on my tongue. "For telling me the truth."

Storm laughed, the sound brittle and harsh in the smoky air. "Don't thank me, Phoenix. I'm not doing this out of the goodness of my heart. I'm doing it because I'm scared shitless of what you'll do to me if I don't."

I shrugged, unrepentant. "Whatever your reasons, the end result is the same. You're going to help me take my father down, Storm. You're going to help me make him pay for every life he's ruined, every soul he's crushed beneath his heel."

She met my gaze, her eyes bleak and haunted. "And then what? What happens to me when this is all over?"

I smiled, the expression feeling strange and unfamiliar on my face. "That's up to you, I suppose. You can run, start over someplace where no one knows your name or your sins. Or you can stay and face the music, let the chips fall where they may."

Storm was silent for a long moment, her gaze faraway and pensive. "I'm tired of running," she said at last, her voice soft but shot through with a thread of steel. "I've been doing it my whole life, always looking over my shoulder, waiting for the past to catch up with me. I don't want to do it anymore."

I nodded, understanding blooming in my chest like a poisonous flower. "Then don't. Help me finish this, Storm. Help me bury Cyrus so deep he'll never see daylight again. And when it's over... you can finally stop running."

She held my gaze, searching my face for any hint of deception or ulterior motive. But there was none to find. For once in my life, I was being completely, brutally honest.

I needed Storm to take my father down. Needed her testimony, her insider knowledge of his dealings and machinations.

But more than that, I needed her to choose. To decide for herself which side of this battle she wanted to be on, once and for all.

Because as much as I hated to admit it, we were more alike than different, she and I. Two girls who had been broken and remade in the image of our abusers, our monsters.

The sun was setting by the time I made it back to my apartment, painting the sky in shades of blood and fire. My mind was reeling, my emotions a tangled knot in my chest.

Storm' s revelations had hit me like a sledgehammer, leaving me raw and reeling. The depth of my father's depravity, his casual cruelty and disregard for human life... it was staggering. Sickening.

And yet, some small, secret part of me wasn't surprised. Had known, on some deep, instinctual level, that he was capable of such things.

After all, this was the man who had raised me. The man who had molded me in his image, taught me to be hard and cold and ruthless.

The man who might have killed my mother.

The thought hit me like a punch to the gut, stealing my breath and sending me staggering. I braced myself against the wall of my building, my fingers digging into the rough brick as I fought to steady myself.

All these years, I had told myself that her death was an accident. A tragic, senseless waste of a life, but an accident nonetheless.

But now... now, I wasn't so sure.

Because if Cyrus was capable of destroying Damon, of ruining countless lives in his pursuit of power and control... then what else was he capable of? What other secrets lurked in the shadows of his past, waiting to be dragged into the light?

I needed answers. Needed them like I needed air, like I needed the steady thrum of my own heartbeat in my ears.

And there was only one person who could give them to me.

Marcus Wade.

My father's former business partner, the man who had disappeared without a trace after my mother's death. The man who had been like an uncle to me, who had bounced me on his knee and snuck me sweets when my parents weren't looking.

The man who knew Cyrus better than anyone, who had seen the darkness lurking behind his polished facade .

Thanks to Jax's tech wizardry, we'd finally tracked him down to a remote cabin in the Appalachian Mountains. Now, it was time to confront him face to face.

I pulled out my phone and dialed a number I knew by heart, my fingers trembling slightly as I listened to it ring.

"Hello?" The voice on the other end was wary, cautious. As if its owner knew, on some bone-deep level, that this call would change everything.

"Talia," I said, my own voice sounding strange and distant to my ears. "It's me. I need your help."

There was a beat of silence, a held breath. And then, softly:

"I'm on my way."

An hour later, we were huddled around my kitchen table, a pot of coffee cooling between us as we pored over maps and travel itineraries.

"Are you sure about this, Phoenix?" Talia asked, her brow furrowed with concern. "I mean, trekking out to the middle of nowhere to confront a guy who's been off the grid for years... it's not exactly a walk in the park."

I nodded, my jaw set with grim determination. "I'm sure, Tal. Marcus is the key to all of this. He's the only one who can tell us what really happened the night my mom died. And I'm not letting him slip away again."

Talia sighed, running a hand through her tousled curls. "Alright, alright. I'm with you, you know that. But what about Damon? Are you going to tell him about this little field trip?"

My heart clenched at the mention of his name, a bittersweet ache blooming in my chest. "I... I don't know," I admitted, my voice small and uncertain. "Part of me wants him there, wants his strength and support. But another part..."

"Is scared shitless of what you might find out," Talia finished for me, her eyes soft with understanding. "And you don't want him to see you fall apart if it all goes to hell."

I nodded, unable to speak around the lump in my throat. Talia reached across the table and squeezed my hand, her touch warm and grounding.

"For what it's worth," she said gently, "I think you should tell him. That boy would walk through fire for you, Phoenix. And something tells me you're going to need all the support you can get when you finally come face to face with Marcus."

I closed my eyes, letting her words wash over me. She was right, of course. Damon deserved to know, deserved the chance to stand by my side as I faced down the ghosts of my past.

But the thought of letting him see me like that - raw and vulnerable and possibly shattered beyond repair - it terrified me more than I cared to admit.

"I'll think about it," I said at last, opening my eyes to meet Talia's knowing gaze. "For now, let's focus on the logistics. We need to figure out how we're going to get to this cabin without tipping off Cyrus or any of his goons."

We spent the next few hours hammering out the details of our trip, plotting routes and contingency plans with the precision of seasoned war generals. By the time we finished, the sky outside had darkened to a velvety black, studded with stars that seemed to mock me with their cold, distant beauty.

Talia left with a final hug and a promise to be ready at dawn, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the growing sense of dread that coiled in my gut like a poisonous snake.

I paced the length of my living room, my bare feet silent on the plush carpet as I tried to calm the riot of emotions swirling in my chest. But it was no use. The weight of what I was about to do, of the truths I might uncover, pressed down on me like a physical thing, threatening to crush me beneath its unforgiving mass.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I grabbed my phone and hit the speed dial. It rang once, twice, three times before a familiar, gravelly voice answered.

"Phoenix?" Damon sounded worried, but alert despite the late hour. "Is everything okay?"

I closed my eyes, letting the sound of his voice wash over me like a balm. "No," I whispered, the word catching in my throat. "No, it's not. I... I need you, Damon. Can you come over?"

There was a beat of silence, and then the sound of rustling fabric, keys jingling. "I'm on my way," he said, his voice low and fierce. "Just hold on, baby. I'll be there in ten minutes."

The line went dead, and I let the phone slip from my nerveless fingers. I sank onto the couch, my legs suddenly unable to support my weight, and waited.

True to his word, Damon arrived in record time. I heard the rumble of his motorcycle in the parking lot, the heavy tread of his boots on the stairs. And then he was there, filling up my doorway with his broad shoulders and concerned gaze.

"Phoenix," he breathed, crossing the room in three long strides to gather me into his arms. "What happened? What's wrong?"

I buried my face in his chest, breathing in the familiar scent of leather and sandalwood and something uniquely, intoxicatingly Damon. For a moment, I let myself be held, let his strength seep into my bones and shore up the cracks in my armor.

But then reality came crashing back, and I pulled away with a shaky breath. "I'm sorry," I murmured, running a hand through my tangled hair. "I shouldn't have called so late, I just... I didn 't know who else to turn to."

Damon's eyes softened, his calloused fingers coming up to cup my cheek. "Hey, none of that. You can call me anytime, day or night. I'm here for you, Phoenix. Always."

The sincerity in his voice made my heart clench, a fresh wave of tears threatening to spill over. I blinked them back furiously, determined not to fall apart. Not yet.

"It's about Marcus," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "I've decided to go see him. In the Appalachians."

Damon nodded slowly, understanding dawning in his eyes. "That's a big step, Phoenix. Are you sure you're ready for this?"

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to meet his gaze. "I don't know if I'll ever be truly ready. But I need to do this, Damon. I need answers."

He pulled me close again, his arms a solid, comforting weight around me. "I get it, baby. And I'm here for you, whatever you need."

I took a deep, shuddering breath, inhaling his scent like it was oxygen. "That's the thing," I said, my voice muffled against his chest. "I... I want you to come with me. To the cabin, I mean. When I confront Marcus."

Damon didn't hesitate for a second. "Of course I'll come," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "You don't even have to ask, Phoenix. Wherever you go, whatever you face... I'm right there beside you. Always."

Relief flooded through me, so intense it made me dizzy. I sagged against him, letting out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. "Thank you," I whispered, the words woefully inadequate for the depth of my gratitude.

Damon just held me tighter, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. "When do we leave?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that I felt more than heard.

"Tomorrow at dawn," I replied, pulling back just enough to look up at him. "Talia's coming, too. We've got it all planned out, routes mapped and everything."

He nodded, a determined glint in his eye. "Alright. I'll be ready. But, Phoenix..." He paused, his gaze searching mine. "Whatever happens up there, whatever we find out... just know that it doesn't change who you are. You're still you - strong, brave, fucking incredible. And I love you. All of you."

The words hit me like a physical blow, stealing my breath and making my heart stutter in my chest. Because even after everything we'd been through, even knowing the darkness that lurked in my past and the demons that haunted my steps... he still loved me. Still saw me as someone worth fighting for.

Overwhelmed, I surged up on my tiptoes and captured his mouth in a fierce, desperate kiss. Damon responded instantly, his lips moving against mine with a hunger that matched my own. His hands tangled in my hair, angling my head to deepen the kiss as I clutched at his shoulders, trying to pull him closer, closer, until there was no space left between us.

When we finally broke apart, we were both panting, our foreheads pressed together as we struggled to catch our breath. "Stay," I whispered, the word a plea and a demand all at once. "Stay with me tonight. I don't... I don't want to be alone."

Damon's eyes darkened, his pupils blown wide with desire and something deeper, more profound. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice husky and strained. "I don't want to push you, Phoenix. If you're not ready- "

I cut him off with another kiss, this one softer but no less intense. "I'm sure," I breathed against his lips. "I need you, Damon. I need to feel something other than fear and anger and doubt. I need... I need you to make me forget, just for a little while."

A low growl rumbled in his chest, and then he was lifting me, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carried me toward the bedroom. "I've got you, baby," he murmured, his lips trailing fire down the column of my throat. "Let me take care of you. Let me love you."

And I did. I let him lay me out on the bed like an offering, let him worship every inch of my skin with hands and lips and tongue until I was trembling, desperate for more. I let him chase away the shadows with the heat of his touch, the intensity of his gaze as he moved inside me, our bodies coming together in a dance as old as time itself.

And when I finally shattered, crying out his name like a prayer, like salvation... I let myself believe, just for a moment, that everything would be okay. That no matter what truths awaited us in that cabin, no matter what demons we had to face... we would face them together.

Because I had Damon. I had his love, his strength, his unwavering faith in me and in us.

And maybe, just maybe, that would be enough.

As we lay tangled together in the aftermath, sweat cooling on our skin and hearts beating in perfect synchronicity, I felt a strange sense of calm settle over me. The fear was still there, lurking at the edges of my consciousness. But it no longer felt all-consuming, no longer threatened to drag me under.

Because I wasn't alone. Not anymore.

I had Damon, solid and warm beside me. I had Talia, fierce and loyal to a fault. I had the truth within my grasp, finally, after all these years of searching .

And whatever came next, whatever secrets Marcus held... I was ready to face it.

The trip to the Appalachians was a bust. Marcus's cabin stood empty, a hollow shell of broken dreams and faded memories. As I stood in the dusty living room, surrounded by cobwebs and the musty scent of abandonment, I felt something inside me snap.

"He's gone," I whispered, my voice cracking. "He's fucking gone, Damon. We came all this way for nothing."

Damon's arms encircled me from behind, his solid presence the only thing keeping me from flying apart at the seams. "We'll find him, Phoenix. This isn't over."

But it felt over. It felt like every door was slamming shut in my face, every lead turning to ash in my hands. The drive back to Miami was a blur of silent tears and barely contained rage.

By the time we reached the city, I was a powder keg ready to explode. "I'm going to confront Cyrus," I announced, my hands shaking as I reached for the car door handle. "I'm going to make that bastard tell me what he did to my mother, even if I have to beat it out of him."

"Phoenix, no." Damon's voice was firm, his grip on my arm unyielding. "You can't go off half-cocked like this. We need proof, solid evidence. If you confront Cyrus now, he'll just deny everything and we'll lose any chance we have of nailing him."

I wanted to argue, to rage against the unfairness of it all. But deep down, I knew he was right. So I let him lead me back to my apartment, let him hold me as I cried myself to sleep.

The next two days of Miami Mayhem passed in a haze. I went through the motions, plastering on a smile for the cameras and pretending everything was fine. But inside, I was dying. The weight of unanswered questions and bitter truths was like chasing a ghost - every time I thought I had him, he slipped through my fingers like smoke.

Until now.

I stared down at the email on my screen, my heart rabbiting against my ribs as I read and reread the words until they blurred before my stinging eyes. My heart nearly stopped when I saw the sender: Marcus Wade.

With trembling fingers, I opened the message.

"Phoenix," it began, the words blurring as tears filled my eyes. "I'm sorry for disappearing on you. I thought I was protecting you, but I see now that I was wrong. You deserve the truth, no matter how ugly it might be."

I scrolled down, my breath catching in my throat as I saw the attachment. A video file.

"This is the one thing that's haunted me since that night," Marcus continued. "I've carried this burden for years, torn between my loyalty to your father and my love for you and your mother. But I can't keep silent any longer. Watch this, Phoenix. And know that I'm so, so sorry."

With trembling fingers, I clicked on the link.

And the world as I knew it shattered into a million razor-sharp pieces.

The video was grainy, shot on an old security camera with a timestamp in the corner that dated it to the night my mother died. The night that had haunted my dreams and waking moments for so long, the night that had changed everything.

At first, there was nothing. Just an empty rooftop, the inky black of the night sky stretching out in all directions.

But then, movement. Two figures, stumbling onto the roof in a tangle of limbs and barely leashed violence.

Cyrus and my mother .

I watched, my heart in my throat, as they argued. As their voices rose and fell, the words indistinct but the meaning clear.

He was angry. Furious, his face contorted with a rage that was terrifying in its intensity.

And she...she was afraid. I could see it in the way she held herself, in the white-knuckled grip she had on the edge of the roof.

But there was defiance there, too. A steely resolve, a refusal to back down or be cowed by the monster looming over her.

And then...it happened.

One moment, they were standing there, locked in a battle of wills and words. And the next...

Cyrus's hands were on her throat. Squeezing, shaking, his fingers digging into her flesh with a brutal, merciless strength.

I watched, my mouth open in a silent scream, as she struggled. As she clawed at his hands, her feet kicking uselessly at the air.

But it was no use. He was too strong, too filled with a blind, all-consuming rage.

And then, with a final, convulsive shudder...she went still.

Limp. Lifeless.

Dead.

The scream that tore from my throat was raw and ragged, a primal, wordless howl of grief and rage and shattered innocence.

Because there it was. The truth, laid bare in all its ugly, horrifying glory.

My father, the man who had raised me. The man who had claimed to love me, to want what was best for me...

He was a monster. A killer.

A murderer, cold-blooded and ruthless.

And my mother...my beautiful, vibrant, fearless mother...

She was gone .

Taken from me, ripped away by the cruel, grasping hands of the man who had promised to love and protect her.

The man who had promised to love and protect me.

Lies, all of it. Lies and manipulations and twisted, poisonous deceit.

The foundation of my life, of my entire world...it was nothing but quicksand and rot, a house of cards built on blood and bone.

And now, it was all crashing down around me. Burying me alive, crushing me beneath the weight of my father's sins.

I don't know how long I sat there, staring at the screen as tears streamed down my face. Minutes, hours, days...it all blurred together, a smear of agony and betrayal that felt like it would never end.

But finally, finally...I managed to move. To tear my gaze away from the damning evidence of my father's guilt and reach for my phone with numb, leaden fingers.

I dialed the number from memory, my heart a dead, heavy weight in my chest.

It rang once. Twice.

And then...

"Phoenix?"

Damon's voice, rough with sleep and laced with concern. The sound of it, so achingly familiar and yet so unbearably distant in that moment, made fresh tears spill down my cheeks.

"Damon," I whispered, my voice a broken, jagged thing. "I need you. I need you, please. I can't...I can't do this alone. Not anymore."

There was a beat of silence, a held breath. And then...

"I'm on my way, baby. Just hold on. I'm coming."

The line went dead, and I let the phone slip from my nerveless fingers.

I closed my eyes, letting the tears come. Letting them wash over me in great, heaving waves, dragging me under and pulling me apart at the seams.

But even as I drowned, even as I shattered...I felt a flicker of something deep in my chest.

A spark. An ember.

The barest, most fragile beginnings of hope.

Because Damon was coming. My rock, my shelter. My safe harbor in the storm.

And together...together, we would weather this. We would claw our way out of the ruins of my past and build something new. Something real and true and unbreakable.

Something worth fighting for.

Worth living for.

So I let the tears come. Let them cleanse me, baptize me in the fire of my own resilience.

And I waited.

For Damon. For justice.

For a future that was finally, finally within my grasp.

No matter what it took, no matter what I had to do...I would have it.

I would have it all.