Page 59 of Claimed By the Rockstars: Part One
We eat in silence for a moment, the only sounds the soft crunch of crust and the distant hum of the city outside. It's comfortable, weirdly so, considering I barely know these guys and they're my blackmailer's packmates.
"He's doing okay, by the way," Phoenix offers, using a napkin to get a spot of sauce off the table. I've noticed they've been keeping the place cleaner than usual with me around. I'm clearly notpackeven if I'm part of the band. "Rex. He texted earlier. Said he'll be discharged next week."
"He told me that too," I hear myself say. "When I saw him."
Rafael's eyebrows shoot up. "What else did he say after he kicked me and Phoenix out?"
"Not much. Between the painkillers and the exhaustion, he was kind of a mess." I take another bite, using it as an excuse not to elaborate. The image of Rex struggling to drink water flashes through my mind, the self-loathing in his voice when he called himself pathetic and gripped the bandages.
I shouldn't care.
I really,reallyshouldn't fucking care.
"I'm..." I pause, choosing my words carefully. "I'm kind of worried about his mental state. He wasn't doing well. He really seems to hate himself."
Phoenix and Rafael exchange one of those loaded glances that speaks volumes without saying anything at all. The kind of look that says they've been thinking the same thing but haven't said it out loud yet.
"Yeah," Phoenix says finally, and there's so much weight in that single word it could sink ships. "Everything's going to shit."
Rafael shifts slightly, his head still on Phoenix's lap. Phoenix winces as the back of Raf's skull grinds his thigh. "Has been for a while, if we're being honest."
"Since Nash died?" I ask, even though I already know the answer.
"Before that, even." Phoenix stares at his pizza intently like it's a cheesy crystal ball. "I guess we can talk about the elephant in the room now. Nash told me once that Rex is disfigured. From an accident when they were sixteen."
Rafael's eyes widen slightly, and I catch the surprise flickering across his features. But underneath that, there's something else. Not complete shock. More like confirmation of something he'd suspected but never had confirmed.
"You knew?" Rafael asks Phoenix.
"Nash was drunk. Devastated. Said it was his fault, that he was driving." Phoenix's voice goes quiet, distant. "He never gave me details, just... enough. Enough to understand why Rex is the way he is."
I think about the glimpse I got in the tunnel. The white and pink scar tissue, the way Rex's hand flew up to cover his face, the animal sound of pure terror that ripped from his throat.
"Rex isn't a bad person," Phoenix continues, and there's conviction in his voice that surprises me. "He just sees himself as a monster and acts the part. It's safer for him that way, I think."
The words hit too close to home. Different circumstances, different mask, but the same fucking logic. Better to control the narrative than let people discover the truth and use it against you.
"Men like Stephen are the real monsters," Rafael says, and there's an edge to his voice that makes me look up. His dark eyes are serious, the usual playfulness gone. "The ones who smile and shake hands and fuck people over while pretending to care."
I think about Stephen's breath on my neck, his hand sliding up my side. But underneath that, older memories surface like corpses in water. An alpha, one I never saw clearly because he wore a mask.
One who called me his little songbird.
"They never face consequences," I hear myself say, voice flat. "Stephen's still at the hospital, right? There's a police investigation pending?"
Phoenix nods. "Yeah. But..."
"But nothing will happen," I finish, unable to keep the bitterness out of my voice. "They never do shit about it. Stephen's too important, too connected. He'll spin some story, maybe claim Rex attacked him unprovoked. And the cops will eat it up because that's what they do."
Rafael's jaw tightens. "You sound like you've been through this before."
I have. When my stalker attacked me, when his teeth sank into my throat and left an incomplete mark, when my parents and label decided my trauma was less important than my image. When they buried the whole thing under NDAs and hush money and official statements about exhaustion.
But I can't say that. Can't explain why I know exactly how this plays out.
"Just seen enough to know how the world works," I mutter instead, grabbing another slice even though I'm not hungry anymore. Need something to do with my hands that isn't wrapping them around my own throat.
Phoenix reaches over and grips my shoulder, the gesture surprisingly gentle for someone his size. "Hey. Rex put Stephen in the hospital. I don't think he'll be sniffing around again anytime soon."
