Page 73 of Claimed By the Rockstars: Part One
The room is still dark with the blackout curtains covering the bulletproof windows, other than the cameras in the corners blinking red. The reinforced door stayed locked all night. The panic button sits untouched on the nightstand.
Nothing happened.
Nobody got in.
I'm safe.
The thought should probably be comforting, but it just makes me more aware of how fucked up it is that I need Fort Knox-level security just to sleep without nightmares about Bryan finding me again and finishing what he started.
I force myself to sit up, and my ribs don't scream in protest for once. That, too, makes everything worse somehow. Because I know the second I leave this room, the armor goes back on.
Twenty minutes later, I'm dressed. Binder secured, prosthetic in place, oversized white rabbit hoodie hiding every curve. The leather collar sits against my throat like it always does, covering the scar.
I check myself in the medicine cabinet mirror one last time.
There. Bells again.
When I open the door, the smell of coffee and something sweet hits me immediately. The sound of voices drifts from the kitchen—Phoenix's deep rumble and Rafael's sharper tones.
I follow the scent like a cartoon character floating toward a pie on a windowsill. When I pad into the kitchen to find Rafael and Phoenix demolishing a box of donuts, they don't notice me right away. Probably because Phoenix is sucking the cream out of one end of an eclair like it's a chocolate-frosted cock and Rafael is laughing his ass off.
"Jeez, Phoenix, I didn't know your mouth could do that?—"
Phoenix spots me and chokes on the eclair. "Holy shit, Bells, are you and Rexfucking?" he blurts out, his eyes shooting from me to Rex's hall to me again, like the fact I came out of Rex's room means…that.
I don't even have an eclair stuffed in my mouth and I almost choke. "What? No!" I croak. "We just switched rooms?—"
And Rex materializes like a ghost.
Phoenix jumps off his stool with a startled shout, flinging the chocolate eclair. It hits Rex square in the chest with a wetsplatbefore sliding down his crisp black shirt, leaving a trail of cream and chocolate.
"You can't just pop up like that!" Phoenix yells.
Rex stands perfectly still, looking down at his ruined shirt. Without a word, he reaches down and pulls the shirt up, theblack tank underneath riding up as he peels the shirt off over his head in one smooth motion.
I try not to stare.
I fail.
His torso is all lean muscle and sharp angles, like he was carved rather than born. Old burn scars web across the right side of his torso, crawling up his collarbone, licking along his ribs and the sharp cut of his hipbone above his pants.
Oh no.
He'shot.
I force my eyes away, but not before catching Rafael doing the same thing. Even Phoenix has gone quiet as he takes in the full extent of Rex's scars.
Rex tosses the ruined shirt onto the counter and pulls on a hooded black canvas jacket from the coat rack. "Get dressed," he says to me as if nothing just happened. "We have an appointment."
I gesture to my outfit. "I am dressed."
He glances at me like he'd rather not look. The fuck is his deal? "Fine. Then let's go," he mutters.
"Where are we going?"
"You'll see."
"That's not ominous at all," Rafael says under his breath.
