Broken Songbird (Vicious Games #2)

11. Chapter 11

F uck everyone .

I stalk down the harbour promenade toward the tram stop, ignoring the buzzing phone in my handbag.

I park my ass on the cold metal seat at the stop, staring at the lights reflecting off the black water of the harbour.

That dinner was fucking ridiculous. Fuck them.

And Creed?

Fuck him especially.

Since I’m only good for a drink and a screw.

Does he see me as that conceited? His words burn under my skin and guilt twists at me again. What we did together, it was poor timing and poor judgement.

We responded to our grief; it was nothing else.

Wasn’t it?

The continuous buzzing in my bag is pissing me off, so I pull it out and answer the call.

“Where are you?” Del demands.

“I’m going home.”

“How?”

“The tram.”

“Scar—”

“I’ll speak to you tomorrow, Del,” I say and end the call.

I get on the empty tram and find a seat by the window easily as it’s the start of the line. I check the route on my phone and mute notifications, then shove it back in my bag and watch the slowly building crowd filling the tram.

It’s not even nine o’clock on a Saturday night, so it’s a mix of people either at the start or the end of their night. The jovial, high-energy chatter from the people that appear my age nearby makes me long for a dancefloor.

I went out every night I could for a month straight right after Matteo died. I loved to lose myself on the dancefloor fuelled by the energy of the crowd and the copious number of drinks I consumed.

It was nice to feel the music and not the endless loop of anger and sorrow and the what-ifs. I felt like the dancefloor was the only place I could truly breathe.

The partying stopped when I closed my eyes on the music and the next time I opened them, I was staring up at the ceiling of a guest room at the Herrington mansion with a pounding head and no memory of getting there.

As careful as I was when I went out, someone had spiked my drink, and in my blackout, I had called Del to pick me up, then somehow gotten myself out of the club without incident.

Del and Enzo found me lying on a public bench outside of a strip club, talking nonsense to the bouncer at the door. After that incident, I told Del I wouldn’t go out on my own again.

But right now, I feel so lost that if I go home to that quiet apartment, I might do something dumb just to feel anything other than this untethering.

I stand from my seat and approach the group standing by the doors. There are two women and three men in the group—the men are all various shades of brunette, in some combination of jeans and a button-up shirt with a jacket, and the women, one blonde and the other bubble-gum pink, are well dressed for a night out, but don’t look like they’re going to any of the super high-end clubs.

“Hey,” I announce, drawing their attention. “This is probably suspicious and out-of-pocket, but I’m having a shit night, and you seem like you’re going somewhere fun, so I’m wondering if I could tag along? You can absolutely lose me at the door.”

“Yes, of course, please join us,” the woman with the bubble-gum pink hair wearing the lilac fur coat says, linking her arm through mine, pulling me into their little huddle. She introduces everyone, and I immediately forget their names. “And I’m Posey.”

“I’m Scar,” I tell the group. “How do you all know each other?”

“We’re all uni students living in the same share house, and Jay is my big brother.”

The tallest guy with the leather jacket, Jay, gives us a salute without looking up from his phone.

“He keeps us from getting arrested,” Posey quips with a wink, the tiny pink and purple butterfly adornments on her lashes fluttering.

“Oh, good,” I say. “We’re all too pretty for prison.”

The group laughs and then launches into another conversation about their degree coursework. We stay on the tram until we’re on the other side of the city, then walk through one of Melbourne’s many alleys and turn into another alley off the first one.

A long line hugs the side of the building, leading to a singular door beside heavily graffitied dumpsters. Our group walks straight up to the stern-looking bouncer at the door. The moment he sees Posey, he cracks a smile.

“Posey-girl!” he bellows as she detaches from me and throws herself into a hug with the bouncer.

They exchange friendly words, and she introduces me to the bouncer, who tells me to come back any time as he waves us through the door. The hall is dimly lit with blue lights as we approach a woman sitting behind a small desk and another bouncer.

The woman gives Posey a small smile as she scans a board filled with names and crosses one off, then instructs us to give security our IDs to scan.

Once we’re all scanned in, a man dressed in a suit approaches Posey, kisses her cheek, and gives Jay one of those back-thumping bro-hugs, then leads us through the club.

The place is bigger and nicer than I thought it would be, with high ceilings, private booths lining the walls, and two bars serving the huge amount of people. Just being in the pulsing, multi-coloured lights and heavy beats settles my soul, and I feel my body relax.

The guy in the suit stops by a booth on the far wall, close to one of the bars, and tells us someone will bring out drinks soon.

“VIPs?” I shout over the music to Posey as I untie my coat.

“The owner’s our uncle,” she shouts back as she takes my coat from me, draping it over the booth seat, then gives my outfit a once-over. “This outfit is delicious.”

I blow her a kiss as I slide into the booth after her. Two servers approach us with a bottle of vodka and champagne on ice, several jugs of different juices, and an array of glassware.

Posey pulls out the champagne and pours it into the flutes as her friends mix vodka drinks together.

“I’m heading for the bar,” Jay announces loudly.

“I’ll join you,” I say, scooting out of the booth.

Jay and I weave through the crowd until we’re both crushed up to the bar top. He lowers his head just enough so I can hear him. “What are you having?”

“Tequila on the rocks,” I say. “Whatever their top shelf is. With a splash of soda water and quite a few lime wedges.”

He nods approvingly at my order, then leans across the bar to order our drinks. As the bartender pours, I hold out some cash to Jay, but he shakes his head.

“It’s on our tab,” he says as he gestures for me to take my drink.

I thank him and pull my glass forward, pluck out the lime wedges and squeeze them into my drink. Jay sips on amber liquor next to me, watching the crowd as I finish up, then leads us back to the booth.

Back at the table, we slide in with the others and collectively clink our glasses. A server brings over a bottle of the tequila they poured me at the bar, along with bottles of soda water on ice and a small bowl of limes, as well as the bourbon Jay is drinking.

Over the next while, the table makes a dent in the alcohol on the table as we chat and laugh, exchange contact details and social media accounts, and take a slew of photos.

I tip back my latest drink, the tequila heating my body, as the music goes from popular tracks to deeper techno beats.

“Let’s go dance,” I announce, sliding out of the booth.

“ Finally, ” Posey says. “Someone who knows how to party!”

Posey drags everyone but Jay to the dance floor after me, and we carve a small space out in the middle of the floor. I let the beat consume me as I move to the music, closing my eyes and tipping my head back.

This is what we should have been doing tonight—me and Matteo. This should have been our first stop of the night, with a plan to drink enough to be hungover for the next three days and spend the whole night getting up to mischief. He would have made fast friends with the group, definitely flirted with Posey, and warned Jay off trying anything with me even though he didn’t seem interested at all.

My chest squeezes—I miss him.

I’m pulled from the music and reverie when a warm body presses up against my back and hands grip my waist. I open my eyes and spin, looking up at a handsome face.

“Hello,” the man says with an accent I can’t place.

“Hi.”

“You’re beautiful.”

“So are you.” With dark hair, dark eyes, and tanned skin, he’s the definition of tall, dark, and handsome.

His hands haven’t moved from my waist as our bodies move with the beat. He suddenly leans down, his eyes on my mouth.

“What’s your name?” he asks.

I put my hands on his hard chest. “What’s yours ?”

I feel more than hear him laugh. “I’m your dream come true.”

He leans closer again, his intention to kiss me clear.

I push at his chest and lean away. “That’s not going to happen.”

I try to pull away from him, but his hands on my waist squeeze painfully, keeping me flush to him.

“Hey!” Posey shouts, appearing next to me. “She said no.”

“Fuck off,” he barks at her, trying to move me away from her.

I shove his chest hard and stumble out of his arms, taking several steps away from him.

Posey comes up to my side as her friends step between me and the guy. Jay appears out of nowhere and gets in the guy’s face menacingly. The guy doesn’t look phased but relents and steps away shaking his head, disappearing into the crowd.

“Are you okay?” Posey asks, dark eyes checking me from head to toe.

“I’m good,” I reassure her. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

I slip away before Posey responds, stopping at the booth to get my bag, and then head for the bathroom. I’m shocked to find only one person in line, and that the bathroom is actually really nice.

The music is muffled as I lock myself into a cubicle, close the toilet lid and sit down.

Despite being stationary, the world is spinning, and I feel like I’m swaying on a boat. I close my eyes and breathe slowly, ignoring the burning in my gut—if I throw up, I’ll be down for the rest of the night.

Once my stomach settles, I peel my eyes open and dig my phone out of my bag. The screen lights up—it’s almost midnight. Shit, I’ve had my phone notifications off the whole time.

I switch on my notifications, and my phone starts buzzing incessantly. There are eleven missed calls from Del, six from Enzo and three from Lucas.

I open my messages and wince.

HENCHMAN LUCAS

Where are you?

ENZO HERRINGTON

You’re worrying Del, where are you?

DEL

Are you home?

HELLO???

Scarlett Farren Sakura, you better answer your phone RIGHT NOW.

Answer your damn phone!

I’m freaking the fuck out, Scarlett.

I tap Del’s contact and call her. It rings twice.

“Are you trying to fucking kill me?” Del shouts through the phone.

“Hello to you too,” I mumble.

“Lucas was on his way to a shady person to track your phone.”

“Well, I’m fine.”

“Fine?” Del bellows. “Where the fuck are you, Scarlett? It sounds like a club.”

“So?”

“Which one? I’m picking you up right now .”

I sigh and close my eyes again. “I want to be alone.”

“You’re always alone these days,” she accuses.

I frown. “What?”

“You’re always alone,” she repeats.

“I see you every week, Del. I message or call you daily.”

She laughs, the sound empty. “I haven’t seen you in a long time. What I see is a shell.”

The hold I’ve had on my composure for so long breaks, and tears slides from my closed eyes. “That’s because the Scarlett you knew is gone.”

Del says nothing, the truth of my words ringing in the silence.

I’m not a perfect person, but I worked hard to build this pretty, shiny armour around me, by always looking for the good in the world and in people. After all the shit that’s happened to me in my life with my birth parents, I didn’t want to live in fear and darkness, so I never let those things crack my glittering surface.

But Matteo did.

He felt like the king of the abyss, trying to show me how good darkness could taste. He found the microscopic fissures of my armour and pushed at them, making cracks that his darkness filled, creating a stunning marbled galaxy I wanted to explore.

Then he was taken from me, and that darkness leeched out, leaving a pile of shattered glass, and I’m now left to freefall in the dark alone.

“I don’t know what you all want from me anymore,” I say to Del, my voice hoarse with tears. “Every move I make is the wrong one, and I’m so tired of having to justify myself. Am I not allowed to be broken?”

“You can be an infinite amount of broken pieces, Scar,” Del declares. “But you’re oblivious to your bleeding hands from picking up the pieces on your own.”

Anger heats my chest. “Why does everyone think I’m hopeless?”

“I don’t think that,” she says immediately.

“I’m not a project that needs attention,” I accuse.

“Scar,” Del pleads softly. “Tell me where you are. We can talk about this in your bed.”

“I’ll let you know when I get home. Don’t come looking for me.”

I hear Del say my name again before I end the call and put the phone back in my bag. I wipe my face of tears, then stand, wrestle out of my stockings and use the facilities, redress and exit the cubicle.

“Scar!” Posey sings from the sink where she’s applying lip gloss. “I thought you left.”

“I was fighting the spins,” I say as I wash my hands. “I’m good now.”

“Perfect, because this night hasn’t ended.” She recaps her gloss and puts it in her bag, then finger combs her hair as I dry my hands and check my make-up.

“We’re going to another club as soon as Jay’s girlfriend gets here,” Posey tells me as I powder my face. The tone she said ‘girlfriend’ in tells me there’s animosity there.

“You don’t care for his girlfriend?” I ask, putting my compact back in my bag.

Posey scrunches her nose. “I don’t know why he’s seeing her.”

“Is she—”

“A bitch?” Posey says. “Yeah.”

I laugh. “I was going to say ‘not your vibe’, but that works, too.”

“Pretty sure she has a bit of a problem ,” Posey taps her nose.

I gasp. “Posey.”

She smiles and links her arm through mine. “Listen, I partake in blow every once in a while. Maybe more than I should if I’m honest. But the woman is rail-thin and constantly on edge.”

We both laugh as Posey pulls me out of the bathroom. We make our way back to the booth where everyone is sitting again, along with a new blonde addition under Jay’s arm.

“Scar, this is Jay’s girlfriend—”

“Silvia?”