Page 60 of Claimed By the Rockstars: Part One
"Yeah," Rafael agrees, a dark smile crossing his face. "And if Stephen's smart, he'll stay the fuck away from all of us. Because next time, Rex might not stop at his face."
The casual way they talk about violence doesn't disturb me one bit. It's weirdly comforting. Like maybe I'm not alone in this fucked-up world where real monsters wear suits and smiles.
The intercom buzzes, sharp and jarring in the comfortable atmosphere.
Rafael groans, not moving from his position with his arm draped over his eyes to block out the sun from the huge windows. "That'd better not be David from downstairs being a nosy asshole about Rex being gone."
"It's probably dessert," Phoenix says, already pulling out his phone to check the delivery app. "It was supposed to come at the same time as the pizza, but I guess it took too long."
Rafael lifts his arm just enough to stare at Phoenix with one eye. "You ordereddessert? It's barely past noon."
"What's the point of being a fucking rockstar if you can't have dessert when you want?" Phoenix shoots back with a laugh, standing up with enough force that Rafael's head drops to the couch cushion with a soft thump.
I get the feeling they use this logic a lot. But instead of hard drugs and groupies, at least it's just junk food.
"Ow. Dick." Rafael sits up, rubbing his head with exaggerated pain. "You could've warned me."
"You could've not been using me as a pillow."
"You're comfortable. Like a big teddy bear."
Phoenix rolls his eyes half-heartedly and hits the button on the intercom. "Yeah?"
The response is muffled, but I catch something about a delivery. Phoenix buzzes them up without hesitation, still scrolling through his phone with a furrowed brow and pushing his mane of blond hair back from his face.
"Weird," he mutters. "The app's not updating the driver's location. Maybe it glitched."
Rafael stretches his arms and legs until his joints and spine pop. "Technology. Can't live with it, can't go back to carrier pigeons."
"Pigeons don't deliver food," Phoenix says, but he's grinning.
"Not withthatattitude."
The knock on the door interrupts their playful bickering. Phoenix opens it, already reaching for his wallet, then freezes.
"I didn't order flowers," he says slowly.
My blood turns to ice water.
The delivery guy—young, bored-looking—holds out a bouquet. Not just any bouquet. Roses. Deep red with black edges, the petals so dark they look like they've been dipped in ink.
Exactly like the ones my stalker used to send.
"For Bells," the delivery guy says, checking his phone. "This the right address?"
Nobody moves. Nobody breathes.
Phoenix takes the bouquet automatically, tipping the guy and closing the door like he's on autopilot. He turns to look at me, those kind blue eyes full of questions I can't answer.
"Bells?" Rafael's voice is careful, cautious. "Who sent you flowers?"
The card.
There's always a fucking card.
My hands shake as I reach for it, plucking the small envelope from between the stems. The handwriting on the front is elegant, flowing. Familiar in a way that makes my skin crawl.
I open it.
