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  “Where did you learn to do this?”

  “Prison.”

  I smirked.

  A ghost of a smile appeared on his lips then quickly disappeared. “Pretty sure in our business its typical to know how to fix a flesh wound. Hospitals ask too many questions.”

  “It’s not like I got shot.”

  His hands froze over mine then started to shake. When I tried to move my left hand to cover his in a comforting gesture, he jerked away and shot to his feet like I’d just stabbed him.

  “So…” He pointed to my hand. “You should be fine… I’m tired.”

  Right, that was my cue.

  I stood on wobbly feet and collapsed back onto his bed.

  He swore and then his arms were around me, carrying me out of his room and into mine.

  One last smell…

  One last memorization of what it felt like to be in his arms.

  Protected. Safe. Special. Even if just for one minute in my sad pathetic life.

  “Thanks,” I whispered once I was safely on my bed and he was halfway to the door, as though he was late for a meeting.

  He paused. “Yup.”

  And that was it.

  CHAPTER SIX

  All I’m capable of is pain; all I feel is hurt.

  Phoenix

  I WENT TO BED early that night. Too many conflicting emotions were pulsating through my mind, and I was sick of trying to constantly control everything. If I was being completely honest, she terrified me. I’d been numb for so long that even her touch was like getting burned. My entire body flared to life, and then I was suddenly reminded of what happened when I was with a woman.

  I tok advantage of her.

  I hurt her.

  Because that’s all I’m capable of.

  I was dangerous; she just didn’t know it. And I didn’t know how else to keep her safe other than pushing her away, making her hate me, making her realize that I wasn’t anything special.

  Nightmares haunted me.

  Even the smell of the dank rooms my father had kept the girls in… it somehow found its way into my nightmares, causing me to get sick damn near every night.

  Bee was innocent.

  So. Damn. Innocent.

  Even touching her pissed me off because I could swear I saw the darkness leave my body and try to imprint onto hers.

  I shivered and tried to force my eyes to close. Tomorrow was the first day of Hell, where I had to return to the one place I swore I’d never go back to.

  The place that started it all.

  Eagle Elite.

  My nemesis. My curse.

  The door to my room softly clicked open. I jolted from my bed, sliding my knife from underneath the pillow and lifting it above my head.

  Bee wandered in, lifting her hands. “It’s just me.”

  I dropped the knife onto the nightstand and leaned back against the pillows. “What the hell do you want?”

  She didn’t answer, but she was moving closer. I could tell by the way the air shifted whenever she was near. My body quivered with both sickness and a dull longing as the mattress sank under the pressure of her body relaxing against it.

  “Phoenix…” Her voice was small, weak. “…I just… I have a question, and I couldn’t sleep, and I knew you wouldn’t be sleeping because you’re like a vampire and all.”

  “I love it when you wake me up at two a.m. with compliments.”

  “But…” As always, she ignored my irritated tone and just kept on talking. “…promise me you won’t laugh.”

  I sighed. “When have you ever heard me laugh?”

  Her breath hitched. “Good point.”

  Damn, as far as two a.m. conversations went, this one was bordering on suicidal.

  “So…” She cleared her throat. “…how do you make friends?”

  Not what I was expecting. Was she seriously asking a murderer, a mob boss, a thief, a rapist, an emotional terrorist in his own right how to make a freaking friend? “Go to your computer, type in Mr. Rogers, watch a few episodes, take detailed notes, and you’ll be good to go.” My hands shook with the desire to comfort her, but those same hands had hurt women — had hurt so many people. How could they bring comfort? When all they ever truly brought was death?

  “Phoenix.” Her voice was soft… too soft.

  I could only see the outline of her body. She reached up to wipe her cheeks, my hand collided with hers. Wet. Her fingers were wet.

  Damn it. “Why are you crying?”

  “B-because…” She sniffled. “…you’re the only friend I have, and even then you don’t like me! How do I get people to like me? I must be doing it wrong, because I don’t think anyone really does like me. They just put up with me, and I really… really…” Her words slurred together as she hiccupped out. “…could use a friend right now.”

  She thought I was her friend. How sad that I was her only friend? The idea should have repulsed me, caused me to push her away. Instead, I had this insane desire to pull her close, kiss her forehead, and say thank you. Thank her for being my friend when I was the least likeable person in the universe, when I was the least deserving.

  Humbled. My hands continued to shake with the need to touch her. My body went hot and cold all at once.

  “Bee, you’re going to do fine tomorrow. How could anyone not like you?”

  “You don’t like me.” She shifted, pulling her knees to her chest.

  “Hey!” I tried to keep my voice light. “I thought you said we were friends.”

  “Friends eat other friends’ lasagna.”

  It was dark, so I was totally free to smile without her seeing that, yes, I did, in fact, have a sense of humor and a giant-ass chink in my emotional armor. “Would that make you feel better? If I ate a bite of lasagna?”

  “Maybe,” she croaked. “But more like a plateful.”

  “Is this just a ploy to get me to eat a color other than green?”

  “If it is?”

  “Tears work.”

  Bee moved closer to me; I could almost taste her. Instinct told me to lean forward, so I moved back, away from temptation. I couldn’t trust my instincts anymore. They were evil — like me.

  “One plate of lasagna… because you said we were friends, and that’s what friends do.”

  “It’s two in the morning.”

  “Good.” She stood and held out her hand. “Then maybe the starch will stick to your body, and you’ll go up to three-percent body fat.”

  I rolled my eyes and took her hand.

  The minute our fingers touched.

  I regretted it. In a very big way.

  Images flooded my brain. Of kissing her, of pulling her into my arms, and then those images turned into something horrific… memories of hurting those girls… memories of their screams, their cries.

  I dropped her hand, my own suddenly clammy.

  “You coming?”

  “Yeah,” I whispered, pulling a shirt from the floor and tugging it over my head, careful to keep at least a foot of space between us. We walked in silence down the stairs.

  Bee quickly moved through the kitchen, pulled the lasagna out of the fridge, and placed it on the counter. I reached for a plate, just as Bee reached for one; her hand was on mine again, her body pressed tightly against my chest.

  Cursing, I stepped back, giving up the plate and my sanity for a brief moment before taking a seat and letting her dish out the food.

  Apparently, she thought I was in a starvation camp because the helping she gave me was so large it took up the entire plate.

  “Again…” I pointed. “…two in the morning. Not sure I can eat all that.”

  “You can,” she said confidently. “You don’t eat enough as it is. It’s like you’re punishing yourself or something.”

  “Maybe I am.” She wanted friendship; well, that meant honesty.

  Bee’s hand hovered over the microwave. It dinged a minute later. The smell hit me square in the face; my stomach growled on cue.
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br />   She had no way of knowing.

  But it was going to be the first real hot meal I’d had in close to three months. Protein shakes and cold eggs in the morning. That had been my life, my existence. It made sense if I really thought about it. Why should I experience any sort of pleasure — even with food — when I was the one who freaking took it from everyone I came into contact with?

  My body trembled as I picked up the fork and slowly dipped it into the cheese on top. Damn, I was like a little kid eating his first bite of cereal.

  Lasagna officially terrified me.

  What if one bite was all it took to send me off the edge? What if that one bite, that one bit of pleasure made me crave what I’d done in the past? What if…

  I dropped the fork and pressed my sweaty palms against the cold countertop. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

  Bee sighed and plopped down on the barstool next to me after a brief glance at the empty spaces left by the two stools I’d destroyed. Other than that look that was so quick I might have imagined it, she seemed utterly unfazed.

  Cursing, I put my elbows on the table and leaned forward; sweat started to pool around my temples. I was going to be sick.

  “We’re friends, right?” Bee asked.

  I didn’t look at her. But I nodded my head and managed a tight. “Sure.”

  “Then, I’ll help.”

  I could really do without her type of help.

  Bee reached for the fork and put a small bite on it then slowly lifted it to my face.

  I turned; the lasagna was steaming off the fork, mocking me, begging me, tempting me. My eyes flicked to hers.

  She nodded.

  My breathing became erratic.

  “It’s just lasagna,” she whispered.

  “No, it’s not.” I gulped my stomach rolled with the need to puke. “Not to me.”

  “One bite.”

  “I don’t know if I can.”

  She shrugged, and then searing pain hit my shin as her foot collided with it.

  “What the hell!” I yelled, opening my mouth, and, what do ya know, the fork found its way inside. The minute the food hit my tongue, I damn near passed out from ecstasy. Chewing never felt so good. I couldn’t remember a time that lasagna actually tasted so mind-blowing, so explosive. I swallowed and looked greedily at the fork again.

  Bee met my gaze and winked, then dipped the fork into the lasagna again. “Here comes the little airplane.”

  I fought damn hard not to smile.

  “Are those teeth I see?” She leaned forward. “Is Phoenix De Lange… smiling?”

  “One thing at a time.” I forced the smile down. “It’s good, Bee.”

  “The airplane? Because I can do a choo-choo train too.”

  “No.” Damn her! That smile made me want… so desperately. “The lasagna… even though I had to earn a bruise in order to taste it.”

  “If you wouldn’t be so difficult.”

  “Ha!” I nodded. “I’m good at difficult.”

  “True.” She handed me the fork. “Think you can handle this on your own, champ?”

  I nodded, taking the fork in my shaky hand. The second bite was hard because I was doing it on my own. I kept expecting her to make fun of me. What loser couldn’t eat food? What loser was tempted to throw up from the idea of pleasure? Me. Only me. I was sick. I would always be sick.

  I finished the food in record time, my body stuffed so tight I thought I may actually have to throw up.

  With a sigh, I rose from my seat and put my dish in the sink, careful to wash off any remnants of food before placing it in the dishwasher. Bee moved around me in silence; she set the lasagna dish back in the fridge and closed the door.

  “So…” Bee leaned against the counter, crossing her arms.

  I hadn’t noticed how short her shorts were or how tight her tank top was. I looked away, ashamed I was noticing now, pissed that there was just enough light to see the outline of her body.

  “…about making friends.”

  “Bee…” I clenched my jaw and rubbed my face with my hands. “Look, all you need to worry about is being yourself. People will love you. Promise.”

  “You can’t even look at me, and you expect me to believe you?”

  Sighing, I slowly turned my head. The minute my eyes found hers I lost the ability to speak. My fingers twitched, my body hummed, I took a step toward her, then another, until my body was almost pushing her against the counter. The heat from her hit me in slow, erotic waves.

  “Be yourself,” I whispered, placing my hands against the cold granite countertop, careful not to let my arms graze her body. “And they will love you.”

  “Be myself,” she repeated, her eyes darting between my lips and chin. “What if it’s not good enough?”

  “It is,” I croaked. “Got me to eat lasagna… first real meal I’ve had since…” I shook my head. “In a long time. You have a good heart Bee. Just let them see it.”

  “And you’ll be with me?” Her innocent gaze held mine.

  “Yeah.” I swallowed the dryness in my throat. “I’ll be right there, willing to shoot anyone on the spot who throws that friendship back in your face.”

  “Like you did.”

  Caught, I could only stare and give her a pathetic nod.

  Bee’s hand moved to my chest. I didn’t pull away. I should have. But I didn’t. The warmth felt too damn good. I shuddered. Then I freaking leaned in.

  “Whoa, midnight snack?” Sergio’s voice sounded from what seemed like a mile away.

  I jerked back and gave him an eye roll. “Yeah, I was… starving.”

  Bee smiled and moved around me. “Sergio, you need some food too?”

  “No. just water.” His eyes narrowed in my direction. “It’s late. You two should be sleeping.”

  “He was,” Bee said confidently. “Then I forced him to get up, tell me how to make friends, and eat food that had color.”

  “Wow, you accomplished all that? In the wee hours of the morning?”

  “I’m magic!” She threw her hands into the air and then yawned. “And tired… See you in the morning, boys.”

  The sound of her soft footsteps hitting the stairs finally allowed me to breathe easy. That was until Sergio stalked toward me and said in a cool voice, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “I was sleeping…” I rolled my eyes. “…then the princess needed lessons… and force-fed me, and now I’m going back to sleep. Why? That bother you?”

  “Just…” Sergio ran his hand through his long dark hair. “Be careful… she isn’t yours.”

  “Trust me.” I moved past him and whispered, “I’m well aware.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Phoenix and lasagna: the stuff dreams are made of

  Bee

  I DREAMED THAT PHOENIX was in a parade riding a giant float of lasagna… he looked at me, winked, handed me a fork, and then we kissed.

  Nobody ever said dreams had to make sense.

  The kiss had been amazing… warm and passionate. His lips had tasted mine, explored me, really taken time to coax until I was ready. If I could have dreams like that every night, I’d die happy. I wasn’t even sure how I’d managed to conjure up such a hot kiss — all things considered. I’d kissed only one guy in my life, and it had been more of a sabotage. He’d kissed me at one of the family dinners. I’d pushed him into the swimming pool, and my father had told me I was a stain on the family name.

  A year later that same kid tried to grope me.

  When I told my father — he’d asked me why I hadn’t given the guy what he wanted, when clearly I’d been asking for it.

  Right. I asked for it and wasn’t even sure what it was.

  That was the problem with hitting puberty so early. You looked old when you were fifteen, and at eighteen I already looked like I was twenty-five or twenty-six, a woman of the world — experienced, sexual, exciting.

  I was none of those things.

  None.

&n
bsp; I quickly got ready for the day, careful to do my makeup perfect since it was the only thing I had control over. My uniform looked stupid, but there was no helping that. On top I looked all feminine and girly; my hair was in loose curls; I had bright red lipstick on, and my cheeks had just enough color to look healthy.

  From the neck down… I resembled a confused first grader. Khaki pants? A sweater? But I stuck with the outfit Phoenix had picked out, because… well, it was Phoenix, and I owed him after last night.

  I still couldn’t figure out why lasagna had put the fear of God in him, or why he was visibly shaking when I tried to feed him.

  I also decided that even if he was mean to me, I was going to keep cooking for him, or, in my case, ordering takeout. Clearly he liked food; he just didn’t want to, because he was weird, or maybe he had something against non-organic food? I was going to figure it out if it killed me.

  By the time I made it downstairs, I was already running late.

  “Bee!” Sergio’s voice boomed across the house. “Hurry up!”

  “I’m hurrying!” I yelled back as I made my way into the kitchen. Ax, Sergio’s brother, was sitting with his wife, Amy, at the breakfast table in deep conversation with Phoenix. Amy was awesome, but the minute she and Ax got married, they’d gotten their own place and had only visited a few times a week.

  Then again, they were blissfully happy and married so they deserved that private time.

  Phoenix’s face was murderous as he glanced at Ax and then at Sergio. His eyes finally found mine, and for a brief moment in time, I thought he was going to smile. I was ready for it, ready for his approval, ready for a silly grin to hit his face, or maybe even one of appreciation. Especially after last night.

  Instead?

  He glanced, yes, glanced in my direction as if I was as interesting as wallpaper and then looked back down at his green smoothie. Special moment officially nonexistent.