Broken Songbird (Vicious Games #2)

7. Chapter 7

“ P rince Charming,” Del muses as Matteo loops my arm through his. “How appropriate.”

Matteo’s dressed in a sapphire suit, embroidered with silver threaded patterns down the lapels and a matching silver crown for the Halloween party we are making both Del and Enzo attend since their birthdays are a day apart and neither of them know how to celebrate themselves.

“Baby, I’m a King, ” he clarifies.

I roll my eyes, patting his chest. “Yeah, yeah, big boy.”

“We’ll see you guys there,” Matteo calls over his shoulder as he steers me out of the house.

“Why are we escaping like you’ve done something to piss off Enzo?” I ask as Matteo opens the door of the large SUV.

“Because if I look in Del’s direction for too long, Enzo will shoot me.”

I giggle—he’s not wrong. Enzo is a possessive bastard. He even steals her away from me if he thinks we’ve had enough time together. I can’t be mad about it, I’ve never seen Del happy like she is with him.

Matteo guides the wings of my fairy costume into the backseat and climbs in after me. We buckle up as the driver pulls away from the curb, Matteo pulling my hand into his lap.

I scroll aimlessly on my phone, enjoying the comfortable silence and rhythmic stroke of Matteo’s thumb over my hand. When the movement stops, it pulls my attention.

“You’ve been avoiding me, little Songbird,” he says, his tone laced with warning.

I roll my eyes. “You know why, sir .”

Matteo tugs my hand, making me pitch toward him. He brackets my neck with his hand, a wicked glint in his eyes. “Keep up the attitude and I’ll put you over my knee.”

My body tingles at the memory of the last time, but I place a hand on his chest. “We can’t keep doing this.”

After Matteo left the hotel room that first time with Creed, Matteo and I thought it was for the best that we didn’t actually have sex—it would have made our friendship messy.

That didn’t last long.

So then, after the first time we slept together, I told myself it would be the last. I said the same the time after that. And the time after that.

He became a shot of seductive darkness I craved, and I knew if we kept feeding that indulgence, we’d inevitably create an attachment that would be destructive.

So, after the fourth time we fell into bed, I told him we wouldn’t be doing it again unless we were going to be something. I shouldn’t put myself in the position to get my heart crushed by this man, but I’ve seen these little kernels of softness Teo hides from the world, and I want to collect them; maybe I can coax them into bigger pieces?

It’s probably delusional on my part to think that, but Teo’s important to me and I don’t want to lose him, but I also need to put some sort of groundwork in place, or else my soul will be wrung out and I’ll be left with nothing.

It’s been a month ago since I made the ‘something more’ declaration and I’ve avoided him until now.

His thumb travels down my jaw. “Am I too much of a temptation?”

“You’re too persuasive .”

Humour lights his face. “Persuasive?”

“Yeah, with your pretty eyes and dirty words.” I wrap my fingers around his wrist and pull away from his touch. “It’s quite frustrating.”

“How can I persuade you to ride me again?” he asks with a smug smile. “Preferably right now.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m not fucking you in this car.”

“Again.”

“ Again ,” I repeat, exacerbated. “I’m not becoming a lovesick groupie. You want in me again, you have to step up.”

His brow knits in confusion. “Like…dating?”

“Yes.”

“You want to date me?”

“Yes.”

He sits back in his seat, facing forward. He seems completely dumbfounded by the idea.

I frown. “Is that not an option?”

My attention snaps him out of his hesitation, and he turns back to me, grabs my hand and kisses my knuckles. “Let’s date.”

A tear slips down my temple as I rouse from my dream. We never made it to the dating part.

We should have had time. So much more time.

And now he’s gone.

I bury my face in the pillow under me as more tears leak out onto the soft pillowcase. I breathe through the burning in my chest, the smoky-sweet scent filling my lungs.

The bed dips behind me, and a warm arm wraps around my waist, pulling me against a hard chest. A large arm. A naked chest.

My eyes fly open, my heart racing as I look down. Tattooed forearms. My naked tits. Tequila-soaked memories rush into my brain all at once. Fuck .

Shame blasts through me. Matteo died a week ago and here I am in bed with his best friend, naked . Heat flashes across my skin as the memories burn into my retina—it was way more than that.

I need to get out of here.

Trying not to jostle Creed too much, I slide myself across to the edge of the mattress and out from under his heavy arm. He doesn’t stir and I slip off the bed onto the floor on my knees.

I ignore the burn from the carpet as I crawl across the floor, trying to find my clothes. I come across my ruined shirt and bralette then remember that Creed stole my thong, and my jeans are on the staircase.

I spy Creed’s shirt nearby and swipe it up, then crawl toward the bathroom, but stop. The bathroom light is still on with the door ajar so if I move it, it’ll probably blast light in Creed’s direction and wake him up.

Using the doorframe, I pull myself upright. The world tilts, my head swims; I grip the doorframe harder—I’m still drunk.

I turn to face the bed, slide across to lean against the wall and haphazardly put Creed’s T-shirt on, thanking the universe it covers my ass, and tuck my clothes under my arm. Creed still sleeps soundly with his arm draped over his eyes as I cross the room silently, praying there isn’t a bright hall light as I open the door.

There are only low, warm floor lights I didn’t notice earlier as I slip out and shut Creed’s door softly. I shuffle quickly more than run as I rush down the hall and across the landing to the stairs.

My jeans are nowhere to be found. Fuck.

I race down the stairs on silent feet, trying to rack my brain where the fuck my damn pants could have gone. The mystery is solved when I see them neatly folded, sitting on the top of emerald-green couch nearby, along with Creed’s hooded sweatshirt and my cardigan.

I dart over and snatch up my pants, pulling them on quickly and take my cardigan. Now to find my shoes. Bar.

I cross over and find them tucked in next to the barstool. I almost fall over trying to pull on the boots and then search the bar top, looking for my phone.

I don’t even remember the last time I saw it.

In the kitchen, maybe?

I cross over to the kitchen, finding the almost empty bottles of liquor, our dirty plates and the sandwich press.

But no phone.

“Shit, shit, shit ,” I whisper, searching the rest of the kitchen and the dining area nearby.

Do I just leave without it?

A door opening snags my attention, and a heavily tattooed shirtless man walks out from behind one of the keypad doors. Ink’s head lifts and he looks at me as the door closes behind him, my sparkly pink phone case taunting me from his hand.

I’m frozen on the spot—he’s dressed in nothing but black sweats, but he still sets off my instinct to flee.

My anxiety climbs the closer he gets to me, his passive expression never changing. He stops a sensible distance from me and holds out my phone. “It was dead.”

I tentatively pluck the device from his grip, holding it to my chest along with my tattered clothes. “Thank you.”

“Do you need a ride somewhere?” he asks.

He’s so calm, too calm. Is he too calm? How does one react to a woman sneaking out of their home? Is this his home? I’m spiralling, my head throbbing, my gut churning.

“No,” I whisper, finally answering his question. “I can manage.”

He holds my gaze for what feels like an eternity before turning toward the fridge.

“Follow the lights out,” he says in a cold tone.

I don’t have to be told twice.