Page 5 of Raw & Reckless

After a long moment, once I’ve managed to drag my scattered composure back into place, I step back and self-consciously smooth down the front of my cardigan.

“So…” I start, looking up into those striking green eyes. “How do you know my name?”

I can tell he’s choosing his words with immense care. “You’ve unwittingly found yourself in the crosshairs of a fight that isn’t yours,” he explains with minimal detail. “I’ve been tracking… someone. It doesn’t matter. While on duty, I saw you. Now, it’s my job to keep you safe.”

I’m instantly skeptical of the vague way he said “someone,” noting that he carefully avoided telling me who or why. Yet, for reasons that defy all logic, it doesn't bother me nearly as much as it should.

He calmly explains that those men were trying to use intimidation against me to get at my brother.

A cold panic strikes my chest. I gasp, my eyes widening. “Is Jeremy okay?”

He gives a dry, harsh, bitter laugh before answering, his jaw tightening. “He’s not the one I’m worried about right now.”

I turn my face away, the crushing intensity of his stare and the heavy implications of his words becoming too much for my brain to process. The man takes half a step closer to me, his fingers brushing against my hand as he wraps it up in his palm. “You never have to be afraid of me, understand?”

I turn back toward him, finding a sudden surge of courage. “What’s your name?” I ask, my voice barely above a murmur. “It’s only fair, since you already know mine.”

“Phoenix.” An electric shiver washes over my entire body at the sound. I finally have a real name to pin to the man who has haunted my thoughts for weeks.

“Well… thank you,” I murmur again, entirely unsure of what else to do or say. "I should probably get home before it gets too late," I tell him, clearing my throat as the weight of the evening settles back over us.

For a fraction of a second, panic flashes across Phoenix’s hard features. "Stay with me," comes his automatic response, his voice low and unyielding. "I can keep you safe here."

I shake my head firmly, stepping back. “No way. My brother would lose his mind.”

"Your brother doesn't have to know."

I stare at him, knowing he probably doesn’t realize how strict my brother is. “I think he’d notice if I didn’t show up for dinner. Especially when I’m the one who is supposed to cook it.”

“But… I can’t just leave you,” Phoenix says more to himself than to me. Does he really care this much? Why? I have a dozen other questions as well, ones I likely won’t get the answers to.

“I’ll be fine,” I tell him, though I’m not even convincing to my own ears. “I’ll be locked behind closed and reinforced doors. Trust me, you’re not the only one obsessed with my safety.” I meant it as a joke, but the words are bitter and hollow.

Phoenix finally lets out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll never make you do anything you don’t want to, Layla. I won’t control you like that. I just… Fuck, I need to know you’re okay. There’s this needling fear eating away at me when you’re not in my line of sight…” He trails off, the slightest shade of pink tinging the tops of his ears. Oh my god, is he blushing? Did he not want me to hear his sweet words of worry?

We stand in silence for a beat, the evening air growing colder around us. Then, Phoenix reaches out.

“Give me your phone.”

My cheeks burn a million times brighter than his ears, the blush spreading across my face and down my neck. I drop my gaze to the pavement, my voice small. “I… I don’t have a cell phone. My brother said—” I cut myself off abruptly, clamping my mouth shut before I can invite any more questions.

Phoenix looks like he wants to pry, to dig into the suffocating rules of my life, but thankfully, he lets it go. Instead, he asks if I have a pen.

I fumble through my shoulder bag, pulling out a small black pen and handing it to him. He takes it, then takes my hand, gently turning it palm-up to reveal my sensitive inner wrist. With slow, deliberate strokes, Phoenix writes his phone number directly onto my skin. When he finishes, he leans down and blows a cool breath across the fresh ink, then gently rubs the spot a few times with his thumb to make sure it won’t smear.

“Keep it. Write it down, memorize it,” he says, his voice thick with gravity. “Call me the next time you’re near a phone.” I nod mutely, staring down in a daze at the dark numbers scrawled across my wrist. “Let me at least walk you home.”

I immediately shut it down, shaking my head. “If my brother sees you, he’ll flip.”

He gives a slow, understanding nod. “Alright. I’ll stick to the shadows. But you need to know I always have your back.”

I clear my throat, swallowing past the lump of emotion there, and turn to start the long walk back. Phoenix waits a few paces behind, then matches my stride, staying a dozen feet back in the gloom. His footsteps grow softer and fainter, but I can feel his presence humming in the air around me. Even when I glance back and can’t physically see him anymore, I know he’s still there. And for the very first time in my life, I am not even a little bit afraid of the shadows.

When I finally unlock the front door and step into the museum-like quiet of our house, the reality of my double life crashes back down. I immediately start moving around the kitchen, mechanically working on dinner for my brother and me, though my mind is miles away, wrapped up in thoughts of my dark, tattooed protector.

I’m caught violently off-guard when a heavy hand grips my arm, spinning me around with surprising force.

Gasping, I stumble against the counter. I try to wrench my arm out of my brother’s grasp, but he only tightens his hold, his fingers biting into my flesh. His eyes are pitch-black, dilated with rage, and his breathing is coming in ragged, furious gasps. This is how he gets whenever he senses I’ve violated one of his rules—spoken or unspoken.