Broken Songbird (Vicious Games #2)

21. Chapter 21

I absolutely nailed that assessment. So much so that I’m pretty sure that half the class and the teacher were annoyed about it.

I walk out of the building toward the parking lot, pulling a zip-up hooded jacket over black jeans and polo shirt with the school’s logo on it.

I smile, thinking about Creed’s disappointment that I wasn’t in scrubs. He then suggested I could practice giving him a sponge bath any time; I lobbed a bundle of clean socks at him.

I find Phantom’s black sports car easily, since it’s been in the same spot all day, but Phantom isn’t in the car reading like I left him at lunch; instead, he’s pacing slowly in front of the car, staring at the ground.

If Phantom doesn’t have a book in his hand, then something’s really wrong.

I quicken my pace towards him, and as soon as he clocks me, he strides over and takes my bags.

“What’s happened?” I ask, struggling to keep up with his pace.

“Get in,” he says in a tone that sends chills down my spine.

You can tell Phantom’s not harmless in the way he moves and talks—it’s always a very calculated choice. He also has a keen sense of his surroundings even when he’s seemingly not paying attention and reading a book.

The calm neutrality he presents is just a thin mask, because this side of Phantom feels like his true form. A nightmare manifested in flesh.

I stay silent as he places my bags in the backseat and I get into the passenger side, buckling my belt. The moment he’s buckled in, he peels out of the parking lot at a speed that makes me catch my breath.

We race across the city, weaving through traffic and going through multiple lights until we’re back at the club.

The silence is tense as we wait for the gates to slide open.

“Do not leave the warehouse,” Phantom says while we drive through the second gates.

“Okay. But Creed—”

“Stay put,” he demands, his tone making anything I wanted to say ash on my tongue.

When he parks, he looks at me, waiting for confirmation that I understand, and I nod fervently. He climbs out of the car, crossing to the only motorbike left. He picks up his cut from the seat, slinging it on, as well as his helmet, and then gets on his bike and tears away fast.

I get out of the car, take the keys out of the ignition and pull out my bags, then head for the warehouse.

Melissa and Alexis are chatting quietly at the bar when I walk in, both of them with tense expressions on their faces. Rita is stress-cleaning the kitchen and Maya is curled up on the couch down the back of the warehouse with AJ clutched to her side, watching a kid’s movie.

I head straight for Rita, dropping my bags on the kitchen bench.

“Tell me,” I demand.

“They think they located those assholes who hurt you,” she says as she scrubs a pan vigorously.

The Navarros.

“They’ve gone to clean them out.”

“Shit,” I breathe as I begin to pace. “Okay…shit.”

“The place is armed, so we’re good here,” Rita says. I’m not sure if she’s telling me or telling herself. “I’m glad the boys don’t hide shit from us but knowing when they’re doing these things really fucks with me.”

I nod in agreement as I continue pacing. A thought suddenly slams into my head. Location. I pull my phone out of my bag and bring up Creed’s contact. A map with his icon moving rapidly through the city loosens a couple of threads of anxiety bound around me.

At least if something goes wrong, I can go for him.

I turn to Rita. “Let’s get Maya and AJ to bed. When they come back, it’s bound to be a little chaotic.”

She nods, stops scrubbing the pan and takes a hand towel, heading toward Maya.

I take my jacket off and cross over to the bar next to Alexis. “Can you make sure we have plenty of water and bottles of whatever the men drink? I’m sure they’re going to need it when they get back.”

Alexis nods and moves without comment. Alexis and I don’t really talk, but she seems to have moved on from her infatuation with Creed since I’ve been here. We don’t have to be friends but at least we won’t be throwing hands.

I turn to Melissa. “Is there a large first aid or medical kit somewhere?”

“Yes, in the storage room. Rita knows the keypad number.”

“Okay. Can you put together some plain snacks? And some sugary ones, just in case.”

She nods and sets off to the kitchen.

I look at my phone again. He’s stopped moving. My stomach falls, my heart pounding faster. I close my eyes and force myself to breathe. If I panic now, I’m not useful to anyone. I open my eyes, pocket my phone and get back to work.

Everything is prepared, ready for multiple scenarios, and I’ve told the women to go take some time for themselves. After I changed into the random grey scrubs I had at the bottom of my suitcase, I set myself up in front of a movie downstairs, but all I’ve been doing is staring absently at it last two hours.

I look over to the dining area, mentally going through the list of supplies for the umpteenth time. Rita and I turned the dining space into a triage area, covering the table with a tarp and the floor underneath it in case of the worst, and I need a clean surface to keep someone from bleeding out.

Anxiety spikes in my blood. I’m nowhere near trained to deal with anything that serious, and I hope to fuck the club has a shady doctor on-call or we might end up calling my dad.

I haven’t looked at Creed’s location again, despite feeling like my phone is burning a hole in my pocket.

As if summoned, my phone vibrates with a call, and I scramble to take it out.

I frown. It’s not Creed.

“Mum?” I answer the call.

“Scarlett, honey, where are you?” she says, concern tainting her tone. “I’ve been buzzing your apartment for five minutes.”

I close my eyes, tipping my head back to rest on the couch. “I’m not at home right now.”

“Oh.” She sounds disappointed.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

She sighs. “I wanted to do this in person, but I don’t want to delay it.” I can hear her heels clacking on the pavement as she takes a moment. “I want to apologise for the pressures I have been putting on you in the last couple of months. About Del, you moving out, everything. I was projecting my own anxieties onto you and that was uncalled for.”

“Mum…”

“Everything happened all at once, and I panicked because I knew I couldn’t control the situation, but then I tried to, and it was not the right course for those circumstances.” Her car door opens and then closes. “You are your own person, and you are more than capable of navigating life without me interfering. But if you ever need my help, or your father’s, you make sure you tell us.”

I hold back tears. “Thank you, Mum. I really needed to hear that.”

“Are you okay, honey? You seem sad.”

I clear my throat. “I’m fine. Just dealing with one of those uncontrollable things.”

“I’m just a phone call away if you need something,” she says again.

“You’re my first call.”

“Now, I have to call Del. I love you, Scar.”

“I love you too, Mum.”

I blink away tears as I pull my phone from my ear and end the call. My screen returns to Creed’s locator, and just as I realise it shows him at the club gate, I hear the roar of multiple motorbikes.

I scramble off the couch as Rita, Melissa and Alexis come barrelling down the stairs. I make it to the dining triage when Hawk and Ink walk in, dragging Heartbreaker between them.

“On the table,” I tell them, immediately putting on gloves.

Heartbreaker’s grey T-shirt is soaked in blood, and the left leg of his jeans is torn to shreds, exposing bleeding gravel grazes on his leg, but he’s conscious—barely, but it’s a good sign.

Hawk and Ink set Heartbreaker flat on the table, making him shout out a slew of curses.

“Get his gear off,” I instruct the two, and they help Heartbreaker out of his cut as I inspect his leg. “Either of you injured?”

“Cuts and bruises,” Hawk says, ripping through Heartbreaker’s shirt with brute strength. “Nothing serious.”

I take a bottle of water from my stash on the chair near me and throw it at Ink, who catches it. “Pour it over his leg. Try to get the gravel and dirt out. Don’t pat it dry.”

I take another bottle and move up the table to inspect the damage. His shoulder and clavicle are a mess of blood and it’s slowly pooling under his shoulder.

“What happened?” I ask, pouring the water over the area, trying to clear it to see the wound. It’s a decent-sized slice into the trapezius muscle.

“It was a bullet,” Hawk tells me. “Knocked him off his bike.”

“This is way too big for a bullet graze.”

“We had to pull him from under his bike for cover,” Hawk reports. “And then this stupid fucker refused to leave his bike there, so he rode back.”

“Delilah is not going into custody,” Heartbreaker slurs.

“Who?”

“His bike,” Hawk answers me.

I turn to the chair near me, taking a huge wad of gauze and turn back to the table, shoving the gauze over the wound, applying firm pressure; Heartbreaker jolts, groaning in pain.

“Don’t bitch out on me now, Theo,” I comment, and he chokes on his laugh as he groans again.

I look up at Hawk. “Keep firm pressure on this.”

Hawk presses over my hands, and I slide mine out, then pull off my gloves and grab Heartbreaker’s hand. “Can you feel me touching your hand, Theo?”

“Yeah,” he huffs.

I check the pulse in his wrist, then put two fingers in the crook of his thumb and forefinger, and reach over and place it in the other. “Squeeze my fingers with both hands.”

He does and its relatively the same strength on both sides.

“Good, good.” I look at Hawk. “If blood soaks through the gauze, don’t remove it, just add more on top. If it soaks through rapidly, call for me.”

He nods and turns his attention to his task. I look over the gravel grazes on Heartbreaker’s legs and they’re clean from what I can see, but I douse them again with water, then gently place gauze over it all.

“Feed him some water, and make sure he doesn’t move too much,” I tell Ink, and then look up.

Most of the men are watching me work or milling about the bar, talking to each other.

Relief floods me when I spot Creed by the bar, speaking to Phantom and Flash. They’re all here. Alive .

I look closer to Phantom and notice the angle of his shoulder. It’s definitely dislocated.

I scan over the crowd around Heartbreaker. “Anyone else bleeding seriously?”

They shake their heads. I instruct anyone who hit their head or took any trauma to the torso to take a seat and wait for me, then I pick up a chair and make my way to Phantom.

“Let me look at it,” I say, putting the seat down and pulling out fresh gloves from my pocket, putting them on habitually.

I help him out of his cut, and then he sits down. I check he can feel my touch along his arm and then make him squeeze my fingers and then finally feel the shoulder joint.

“I can—”

“Shut up,” I say, cutting off Phantom, knowing he’s about to say he can do it himself.

I finish my assessment and take a step back, grabbing near his armpit and his wrist.

“Don’t resist the movements I’m about to do,” I instruct. “Think of happy shit or whatever you need to do to stay relaxed.”

All he does is nod and close his eyes. I twist and lift his arm in slow, precise movements until the joint slots back into the right position. Relief washes over Phantom’s face as he opens his eyes and nods his thanks.

I pull off my gloves and narrow my eyes at him. “I will break your glasses and set a book on fire if you move before Rita gets you ice and a sling.”

His mouth pops open in shock and then, for the first time I’ve ever seen, Phantom smiles. It’s a small movement that almost looks like his face isn’t used to doing, but it’s nice to see it can .

“Jesus,” he breathes. “That’s really specific.”

“Stay,” I command, and wait until he nods, then stop by Rita in the kitchen to give her my instructions.

Once that’s settled, I return to Heartbreaker.

“How are we doing?” I ask as I pull out the things I need to stitch him up.

“This is not what I had in mind when I said nurse fantasy,” Heartbreaker complains.

I laugh, bringing my supplies over and taking a seat on a chair Ink set up near Heartbreaker’s head. “I’ll whip out the other uniform next time.”

He gives me his signature heartbreaking smile. “Deal.”