But Crius could have sent two men. One to make the video call and the other to—
No.
I pull the hood over my head and jog around the building’s perimeter. This is not the time to spiral.
But if she’s not in her studio, then what?
A young man walks out through the front entrance, and I rush forward to catch the door before it closes. Fire burns through my veins as I sprint through the downstairs hallway, up the stairs, until I reach the fourth floor.
Phoenix could already be in the clutches of Crius, who will either use her as leverage against me or sell her as a speciality whore to a sadist.
By the time I reach her door, the edges of my vision burn with the fire of vengeance. He took Phoenix. It’s the reason why he seemed so amiable and hadn’t reacted when I executed his man.
Why else would all traces of her have disappeared?
At the muffled sound of movement, the noose around my neck eases. When the light behind the peephole vanishes, my knees buckle with relief, and I press both hands against the door.
She’s safe, which is a start, but it now begs the question of why she left.
A new brand of paranoia creeps up on my psyche, this one as sinuous as a snake. Phoenix left because she saw me slitting a man’s throat. Since I haven’t been arrested, she’s probably considering how to cope with the knowledge she’d just witnessed a murder.
The door opens a crack. I push forward but it’s jammed by a chain.
“Phoenix,” I say, my voice low. “Open the door.”
Her face hardens. “Why?”
A cold shudder runs down my spine. She must have seen me, hence the vitriol.
My mind runs a hundred miles an hour. She’s an intelligent young woman who must have seen plenty while living under the roof of Gordon Gofannon. Nobody in this world runs screaming to the police.
“Are you alright?” I ask, keeping my words measured. “What did you see?”
“What are you talking about?” she snaps. “I heard you.”
My brows pull together. Cutting throats generates no sound, and I specifically held the falling man’s body and eased him to the kitchen floor to avoid the thud. I don’t recall broadcasting that I’d murdered that man either.
Phoenix is making no sense.
“We’ll continue this conversation inside,” I say. “Open the door.”
“No.” She tries to push it close, but I step forward and stop the door with my foot.
“I will not ask you twice,” I say from between clenched teeth.
Her eyes narrow, her nostrils flare, and she sucks in a deep breath. She looks like she’s building up to a huge tirade about not wanting to associate with a cold-blooded murderer.
I step forward with my finger raised in warning, but she utters a single word.
“Red.”
All the breath leaves my lungs, and I draw back. Her safe word?
“Phoenix, what are you saying—”
“It’s over.” Her voice is as cool as the sea breeze. “If your only objection to some guy calling me a kinky whore is the foul language then I don’t want to continue.”
My head tilts, and it takes a few moments to piece together the events of earlier this morning. Phoenix must have awoken around the time I got out of bed and heard me playing down our relationship with the man I killed.