Broken Songbird (Vicious Games #2)

19. Chapter 19

I wake up with the worst headache of my entire life. Between the tequila, adrenaline, and head injury, the pain radiates in every part of my skull. The only reason I wish I went to a hospital is for a banana bag and some meds.

I roll to lie flat on my back, whimpering at the shooting pain behind my eyes. Once that settles, I finally realise I’m alone in bed, and the white noise that I thought was in my head is actually a shower, because suddenly it’s quiet.

I pry my eyes open and pull myself up in the bed slowly, just as Creed walks out in nothing but a towel around his waist. That insanely chiselled and wonderfully tattooed body tempts me as he runs a smaller towel through his hair, crossing to his dresser.

“How’d you sleep?” he asks, pulling open the drawers and taking out clothes.

“My head is killing me,” I say, my voice a little hoarse.

He stops hunting for clothes and moves to his bedside table, opening the drawer, and pulling out a medication box.

He sits on the bed and leans back on his free hand, holding out the box to me. In this position, his muscles literally ripple, and more of those powerful thighs show through the split in the towel. It’s unfair how beautiful this man is.

I drag my eyes back up his body with effort up to his face. He’s smirking, dimples popping, and pretty eyes shining.

“Enjoying the view?” he asks.

“Shut up,” I say, snatching the box from him and crawling out of the bed.

“I’m definitely enjoying my view,” he says.

I refuse to acknowledge that comment might have made me feel things as I cross to his bathroom and close the door. After catching my breath, I actually look at the box he gave me. It’s painkillers, filled out in my name—the ones he got the night of the shooting.

Already finding a fresh towel on the vanity, I split one pill and take it with a sip of water from the tap and then collect my toiletries and take a brief shower, avoiding wetting my hair.

As I’m wrapping myself in the towel, I realise I didn’t bring clothes with me in my escape from ogling Creed. Damn it.

I steel my spine and exit the bathroom with my pyjamas in hand, ignoring Creed sitting on his dresser next to two steaming cups of what smells like coffee.

“ Definitely enjoying the view today,” he comments as I put my clothes on my laundry pile and sink to my knees in front of my bags.

“Are there any plans for today?” I ask, trying to work out what to wear.

“Patch party.”

I look at him over my shoulder. He’s openly staring at my towel-covered ass with a mug in his hand. “Dress code?”

His eyes flick to mine as he snorts. “This is a motorcycle club. You can wear a sack and still be the best dressed.”

“Good thing I packed my best sack,” I comment before turning back to my clothes. “Do you have a gym hidden somewhere here?”

“There are a couple of machines in the other warehouse and sparring mats.”

I turn again. “Punching bag?”

He regards me with amusement. “You fight?”

“Box. I only dabble.”

He nods in admiration, but then his brows pinch in concern. “You sure you’re up to it right now?”

I frown at him, his questioning mirroring too close to Enzo’s accusations last night. Though, Creed isn’t trying to control me like an annoyance, by the expression on his face, it’s more like he’s allowing me the space to say no, an opportunity to feel safe to be vulnerable.

“I know my limits,” I say evenly.

He regards me for a moment longer, then slides from his post, and turns to open the drawers. “We have gloves and focus pads. I’ll change; we can go a couple of rounds before tonight.”

I turn back to pulling out workout clothes, a thrill racing through me at the opportunity to exercise, definitely not on wicked thoughts about my new trainer.

Finally, after two hours, I successfully knock Creed on his ass. We went from just ‘a couple of rounds’ of boxing to full-blown self-defence with an audience.

“There you go, baby,” Hawk hollers, clapping along with Two-Shot and Flash. “Now do that again.”

I lift the bottom of my T-shirt to wipe away the sweat from my face and wince. It comes back tinged red.

“Shit,” I huff, dabbing gently at my forehead. Blood mixed in with sweat coat my fingers. “Uh, yeah, I’m done for the day.”

Creed is up in a second, tilting my chin up and inspecting my head. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Flash passes me a clean towel, and I press it to my head as he passes Creed our phones and water bottles, then we vacate the sparring mat and leave the warehouse.

Everyone’s busy setting up for the patch party later tonight, so we don’t run into anyone as Creed and I head straight for his room. Creed follows me into the bathroom, crouching down and rifling through his vanity cupboard as I check my wound in the mirror.

“Nothing serious,” I mutter more to myself as Creed straightens with a first aid kit in hand.

I rummage through the well-stocked kit, coming up with some of my beloved steri-strips and then close it and head for the door.

“You shower first,” I inform Creed. “I have to wait until this stops bleeding.”

Creed nods and I sit on the bed as he closes the door after me. I check my phone and there’s a message from Del waiting for me.

DEL

How are you?

Tender, but good.

DEL

How’s SW?

Good. Nice people. Slept well.

DEL

Oh yeah…

Where did you sleep?

In a bed.

DEL

Uh huh…

Whose bed??

Why do you think someone else was in the bed?

DEL

A hunch.

A Creed-sized hunch.

I stall, not knowing what to say.

DEL

I know you’re there, Scar.

You’re not not wrong.

DEL

Details, please.

No.

DEL

Scarlett.

Later.

DEL

Rude.

I shake my head with a smirk.

I have to go. Love you.

DEL

Love you back, but you’re still rude.

Creed left while I showered, so I took my time to carefully wash and dry my hair and put on some make-up to cover some of the bruising. Going through that routine made me feel more like myself than I have in a while.

Knowing the event is outside in the undercover area, I dress in tight blue jeans, a chocolate-brown, long-sleeve bodysuit with the slightest scoop neck, and a thick, oversized black cardigan.

I lace up my trainers and collect my phone before heading for downstairs, and almost crash into Ink as he comes out of a room.

“Sorry,” I say in a rush, taking a step back.

He makes a gruff sound at me and continues his way.

“Hey, Ink?” I call and he pauses, not turning around. “Four months ago, when I left. I—”

“You don’t need to explain,” he says, tone neutral. “Not my business.”

“O…kay,” I say softly as he leaves.

I guess we’re good, then?

I follow Ink shortly after down to the main floor. The men are milling about the bar on the outdoor side, with Rita and Melissa running the bar. I can see Alexis sitting on someone’s lap outside, and I can’t see Maya, but I’m sure she’s out there chastising someone.

AJ comes charging toward me as I pass the dining room, and I crouch down to catch him.

“Scar!” he giggles as he wraps his arms around my neck tight and I pick him up.

“Who are you running from, little captain?”

He giggles harder. “Uncle Creed. He’s so slow.”

I laugh as Creed appears in the doorway, huffing. He’s in his usual dark jeans and biker boot combination, but tonight he’s wearing a navy-blue, long-sleeve henley under his cut, the fabric stretching over his lithe form in a delicious way. He’s pulled the sleeves up to his elbows. My insides have melted.

“Slow, huh?” I ask AJ, dragging my attention away from the beautiful specimen of dangerous man approaching us.

“Yeah, he’s old,” AJ says with a nose crinkle and I bark out a laugh.

“Old?” Creed says, affronted. “I’m twenty-nine.”

“I thought you were twenty-eight?” I ask, bemused.

“There’s this thing called ‘birthdays’,” Creed says sarcastically. “I had one in January.”

I roll my eyes as his attention returns to AJ. “And twenty-nine is younger than your dad, little man.”

“He’s slow too,” AJ declares.

Creed reaches out and tickles him. AJ squeals and wiggles out of my arms and runs off back outside.

Creed curls an arm around my waist and pulls me to his side, planting a soft kiss in my hair.

“You look incredible,” he says quietly.

I look up into shining, honey-brown eyes. “Thank you.”

He leans down, our noses brushing. “I think I’m going to have to kill some brothers for your attention tonight.”

I smirk, patting his chest and moving to step back. “Keep your violent tendencies in your pants.”

Creed’s arm tightens around me, pressing us closer together. “My violent tendencies want to play with yours.”

My thighs clench. Those words are a shot of pure, dark lust into my veins.

My hand slides over his pectoral, and I pinch his nipple through his shirt. The move shocks him, and his hold loosens. I use the opening to pull away quickly, stepping backwards away from him.

A darkness takes over his features, his eyes hardening.

A predator on the hunt.

Adrenaline races through my body as he mirrors my steps, stalking me languidly with a wicked grin.

“It may not be now, or soon,” he croons, the words dripping with dark promise. “But you’ll pay for that, princess.”

“Good boys don’t always get what they want.”

His grin deepens. “We’ll see about that.”

True to his road name, Two-Shot was drunk at two tequila shots and passed out on the couch by four.

I drape a thin blanket over his softly snoring form and then return to the party outside. The whole club are in their cuts tonight, much like always, but so are the women. Rita wears a worn-leather cut that has ‘Property of Bull’ patches on the back, Maya’s is a black denim vest with ‘Property of Flash’, and Melissa and Alexis are sporting Savage Wings T-shirts.

I’m not wearing any Savage Wings paraphernalia, but I swapped out my cardigan for Creed’s leather jacket at his insistence. Good thing, because the late March night air is crisp, and the outdoor heaters only do so much.

I also may not have protested because this jacket smells like Creed, and I’m basically drunk on the scent.

The men set up an outdoor lounge set in the undercover area with low tables filled with food sorted out by Rita and Maya. They sit around together talking boisterously, all well into the slabs of beer and Heartbreaker’s potent margarita mix, and AJ has been asleep for an hour on Flash’s chest.

It’s nice to see them all relaxed. Heartbreaker told me they rigged the shit out of the property perimeter and surrounding streets, so no one was getting to them tonight while they celebrated patching in Two-Shot into Savage Wings.

As I join the edge of the fray again, an arm hooks around my waist, and I land in Creed’s lap with a yelp.

He buries his face into the crook of my neck and inhales.

“God, you smell good,” he purrs softly into my ear.

“So do you,” I comment, tracing idle circles on his arm around me.

“Delicious,” he whispers against my skin, his mouth moving up my neck to the shell of my ear. “I really want to take a bite.”

“Teeth to yourself,” I chastise, turning to face him.

His eyes are a little glassy, expression relaxed as his dimples come out. “Just a taste?”

“Behave.”

He licks my bottom lip.

I swat him on the chest with the back of my hand, my body humming with heady need.

I pull out of his lap, and he makes a protesting sound.

“My head’s demanding shuteye, so I’m off,” I announce.

Everyone calls their goodnights as I turn and head inside. Quick, heavy steps follow me, making me pause. Before I can turn, Creed appears in front of me, and then the world tilts and I yelp as he slings me over his shoulder.

“Creed, you asshole,” I huff, smacking his ass.

He swats mine back as he bounds up the stairs and takes us to his room.

He slides me down to the floor once he’s closed the door, kisses the tip of my nose and then crosses to his dresser, releasing his hair from its tie.

I never thought he’d be this playful. I like it. A lot.

As I slide off Creed’s jacket, a question pops into my head. “Why wasn’t I given a Savage Wings T-shirt to wear?”

“Women who belong to the club wear the garb,” he says, shrugging out of his cut and slinging it over the desk chair. “Wing-riders. It’s a sign to the guys that you’re open . Which you aren’t.”

“Oh.” That makes sense.

“And Old Ladies wear their man’s patch.”

“I figured,” I comment, trying to find a particular pair of sleep shorts in my bag.

“You haven’t decided yet to be mine, so you don’t have my patch to wear at these things,” he says so casually I almost miss it.

I pause my rifling. His assurance that we’re inevitable is comforting in a way I’ve never felt before. It feels like a soft space to rest. A safe place. A place that’s mine if I claim it. Something I’ve been searching for in a place, but maybe it’s a person?

Whispers of dread try to break through those good feelings, but I mentally shake them off and take my clothes to the bathroom.

Creed is at the vanity in sweatpants and nothing else, brushing his teeth. He makes a space for me at the modest-sized counter, and I pull out my make-up remover from my bag, getting to work cleaning my face.

He finishes cleaning his teeth but doesn’t move to leave, watching me in the mirror.

“Entertained?” I say as I hold a cleanser-soaked cotton pad to my eye, loosening up my mascara.

“Watching you exist is the best experience I’ve ever had,” he croons.

I roll my one eye. “Are you drunk?”

He leans across and kisses my hair. “Just under your influence, princess. And I never want to stop using.”

He walks out of the bathroom, leaving me breathless. Smooth fucker.

I race through the rest of my make-up removal and skincare, then brush my teeth and change, exiting to a dimly lit room and a drawn-back duvet calling my name.

I add to my laundry pile and get into the bed, intending to curl up like last night, but Creed moves me to face the other way, presses his front to my back, and curls around me, tangling our legs together.

“Who would have thought the president of one of the most notorious motorcycle gangs in the state likes to spoon?”

He huffs a laugh into the crook of my neck. “Don’t you forget it.”