Broken Songbird (Vicious Games #2)

26. Chapter 26

T he hallway is quieter than before as the dinner is due to be served soon, but I see a familiar tall figure leaning up against the wall opposite the female bathroom.

The other person in the hall in front of him is someone I don’t care to see.

Creed looks ahead at the bathroom entrance, completely ignoring the fact that Silvia is uncomfortably close to him, her breasts almost brushing his chest. She’s smiling up at him through her lashes, saying something I can’t hear, but he’s not responding at all.

Then she puts her clawed hand on Creed’s chest, and I’m moving before I think about it.

As I get closer, Silvia’s face changes from flirtatious to annoyed.

“I don’t need favours, I have the cash,” she says as she rummages through her black purse, pulls out a heap of cash, and presses it into his chest.

Both of them startle when I appear at their side and forcibly slide between them, pressing my back to Creed’s front, pushing him further into the wall and making Silvia step back.

“What the fuck?” Silvia squawks, frantically shoving money back into her purse.

“Touch him again and we will have big problems,” I warn.

Creed’s arm snakes around me and his hand slides across my dress along my ribcage, pulling me firmer against him.

Silvia watches the movement and her eyes flash with something indiscernible. Then she laughs. “Wow, precious Scarlett Sakura ended up with a drug dealer. How ironic.”

“And how do you know that?” I ask. “Have you two met before?”

“Never seen her in my life,” Creed comments dryly.

“So you’re just assuming by what he looks like, then?” I ask.

“I’m not fucking stupid ,” Silvia spits, vitriol soaked in her tone. “I know who he is, just like I know who Enzo really is.”

“I don’t know what you think you know, Silvia, but whatever it is you’re looking for won’t be found here.”

Her attention moves from me to Creed, and she looks almost hurt? No. Hurt ing . Desperate.

From what I know about Silvia’s past, where she’s spent one particular summer, Posey’s comment the night we met, and now this? Maybe Silvia is struggling.

“If you need help again, you know how to reach me,” I say softly, drawing Silvia’s attention. “I can get you into a rehab that’s discreet.”

She steps back, insulted. “You’re fucking pathetic.”

“Silvia!” Posey barks from my left, appearing at our side, grabbing Silvia’s bicep. “Are you fucking serious?”

Silvia rolls her eyes at Posey. “This has nothing to do with you .”

“It’s does when you’re harassing guests at my family’s event,” Posey seethes. I’m surprised by Posey’s strength, as she has no problem dragging Silvia into the bathroom, leaving me and Creed alone in the hall.

“Tonight is not going how I thought it would,” I comment, turning in Creed’s hold.

He hums in agreement as his honey-brown eyes regard me with an intensity I’ve never seen.

“Your father is a judge,” I say simply.

He doesn’t respond.

“And your mum?” I ask tentatively.

“Gone.”

“Gone like mine?”

“Left when I was sixteen,” he says almost robotically, still staring with that intensity I can’t place. “Never bothered to track her down.”

“Siblings?” I ask.

“Only Theo since I was thirteen.”

I nod in understanding. Theo is Creed’s family, like Del is mine.

Something finally loosens a fraction in his body, his hold softening slightly. “Can we leave?”

“Absolutely,” I say immediately, stepping back and twining my fingers through his, leading us back into the ballroom.

We head towards the exit—I’ll text my mum our apologies for not saying goodbye—but Creed’s hand tightens on mine, and we halt in the middle of the ballroom.

Leo and Salvatore Bellucci pause in our path with another older man I don’t recognise. But I know by the angry recognition aimed toward Creed that this must be his father, Filip.

“Leo, Mr. Bellucci,” I say in greeting, ignoring Filip.

“You’re a vision,” Leo says, picking up my free hand and kissing my knuckles. Salvatore ignores me as usual.

“This is our associate, Judge Vasek,” Leo explains. “This is Scarlett, and—”

“What are you doing here, boy? ” Filip spits at Creed, ignoring his audience.

Looking at him for more than a glance, Filip is a larger man with deep lines in his face and greying, medium-brown hair. Creed got his height and eyes from him, though where Creed’s eyes are a beautiful, bright honey-brown, Filips remind me of overly steeped tea and hold years of sharp critique and, right now, hatred toward his son.

“Filip,” Creed breathes. “Unpleasant as ever.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Filip,” Heartbreaker drawls as he steps up on my other side. “How are you, old man?”

“Of course, you still have that stray mutt with you,” Filip comments, his attention never leaving Creed.

Heartbreaker chuckles, the sound laced with menace, and I grab his hand behind my back before he does something stupid.

“We are just leaving,” I say, my skin crawling at the fact I have to address this man.

Filip’s eyes finally move from Creed to me, his disgust deepening. “What gives you the impression you can address me?”

I hate him. “You’re in our way.”

“Gold-diggers shouldn’t speak,” he sneers.

“Judge Vasek,” my mum’s voice rings out in an overly polite tone as she appears at Creed’s side, followed by Austin. By the sharpness in her glare, she just heard what he said. “We weren’t expecting your attendance tonight.”

“Counsellor Sakura, Barrister Michaelson,” Filip says in reluctance. “These are my associates Leonardo and Salvatore Bellucci.”

My mother nods at them curtly and then flicks her attention back to Filip. “Now, I’m going to temporarily put aside the fact you just called my daughter a gold-digger and ask why there’s tension in this group right now?”

“Apologies if we’re disrupting the event,” Creed says. “My father was just expressing his disappointment that his long ‘dead’ son has resurrected from the grave.”

Mum doesn’t even bat an eyelid at that news, she just narrows her eyes further at Filip.

“Well,” Mum starts, “that can be discussed, or not, at a later date. We’re all here to support an important cause. Let’s go enjoy our dinner.”

“As I was saying,” I add, directing it at Filip. “We were leaving.”

Filip and I glare at each other for a beat, my conviction never wavering, until he finally huffs and stalks off.

“It seems like you’ve also chosen well, Creed,” Leo comments, breaking the tension.

“Kindly keep your observations to yourself,” I say to Leo, well and truly over this whole evening.

I finally release Heartbreaker, and he walks toward the exit, chuckling. I step across and kiss Mum on the cheek, then brush past the Belluccis with Creed’s hand still in mine.

We’re getting the fuck out of here.

There isn’t anyone in the elevator lobby as I press the call button. Before it can arrive, Creed tugs me back toward the gala, but we veer in the opposite direction.

He takes us down a dark hallway, trying all the doors until one opens to a smaller event room—it looks like it’s set up for a conference or dinner for about twenty people.

Creed closes us in the room, releasing my hand. He leans against the closed door, staring at me as I hear the lock audibly click into place.

He looks at me with that same intensity as before, searing across my skin.

I instinctually back up until I hit a chair, which makes me jump. All he does is smile, those dimples showing.

He slowly stalks forward and my heart races. I don’t know if I run or stay. This moment feels like something. Like we’re at a pivotal precipice, deciding whether to step over.

The thought is both exhilarating and terrifying.

Instinct kicks in and I move to my right around the table, continuing to back away. But I’m not running. More like playing, challenging.

The moment my back hits the cool window, my lungs freeze.

Creed stills by the table. “Take off your coat.”

I move without hesitation and pull the coat off my shoulders, letting the faux fur drop to the floor. Creed does the same, pulling off his suit jacket and draping it on the chair nearest to him.

He unbuttons one shirt sleeve and rolls it up his arm as his pretty honey-brown eyes blaze with heat, taking in my dress.

“Turn,” he demands, rolling the other sleeve up his forearm. “Slowly.”

I turn on my heel, slowly as requested, until I’m facing the view of the city. I hear his sharp intake of breath as he takes in the back of my dress. The silk drapes to the bottom of my spine, exposing my entire back, with strings of jewels and chains of gold across the naked flesh.

I’m not wearing anything underneath this dress, and now he knows it.

I hear Creed’s heavy, purposeful footsteps approach me, the anticipation of his next move sending chills down my spine.

His fingers skate over my bare shoulder, and I tremble.

“Do you trust me?” he asks softly, his fingers travelling closer to my throat.

“Yes,” I say with no hesitation.

Both his hands wrap around my throat, his grip firm but not squeezing. He meets my eye in the window’s reflection. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“I’m not a good man,” he states with sincerity.

I could argue that fact, but I don’t. “Okay.”

His head tilts in curiosity, his hands flexing incrementally around my throat. “You would trust me with your life?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

That gives me pause.

I rarely trust anyone fully, especially with my life.

It took me a long time to completely trust my adoptive parents with my wellbeing after the environment I came from, and thinking about it, I never really trusted any of the people I dated or the friends I had.

The only person I have ever trusted completely is Del.

And now Creed.

Realisation dawns on me—I never fully trusted Matteo.

I trusted he would protect me from others, and I trusted he’d only do what I consented to, but looking back, I didn’t trust him not to hurt me unintentionally on a soul level. He was much of a closed book to me, as I am now realising I was to him.

Creed has always been open from the moment I met him. And it’s an openness with a solid foundation that I never knew I needed.

That is what’s disarming about him, the open invitation into his stratosphere. His openness encourages me to be the same with him in a way that doesn’t make me feel exposed but makes me feel seen.

“Your pieces fit with mine,” I say finally, hoping those simple words convey what I can’t particularly articulate.

“Like calls to like,” Creed murmurs, his grip relaxing on my throat, his fingers caressing the skin.

“You lean, I lean,” I whisper back.

His fingers stall, his honey-brown eyes catching mine in the window’s reflection.

“You lean, I lean,” he repeats.

He understands it, this pull between us, our own unique orbit.

Without breaking our locked gazes, I reach up to the thin straps of my dress and pull them down my shoulders, letting the fabric slide off my body and pool at my feet.

Creed’s eyes move down, that focused stare caressing my body. He steps forward, pressing his warm, clothed front to my back, forcing my naked front against the cold glass, making me gasp.

“Let the whole city see,” he growls into my ear as I feel him unbuckle his belt. “See what they will never touch. Never taste.”

Cheek resting on the clear surface, I can do nothing but pant, my breath fogging up the glass. Creed’s foot nudges mine, widening my stance, as his hand slips between us.

He guides his cock between my legs, coating himself in my dripping heat, the tip rubbing over my clit, making my legs tremble.

“I want them to see how you come only for me,” he whispers in my ear, mouth brushing against the shell of my ear.

His lips disappear momentarily and then teeth sink into my neck as he thrusts into me to the hilt in one swift move. I choke on a moan, my eyes rolling closed at the mind-numbing, overwhelming fullness. He pulls back, teeth scraping across my skin, then he wraps my hair in his fist and pulls my head from the window.

“Eyes,” Creed demands, and I drag them open, meeting his intense, focused stare in the window’s reflection. “I want to see what only I do to you, princess. How you melt only for me.”

Then he moves, pumping hard and deep into me, and I melt for him.

The movement makes my nipples rub against the glass, sending electrified pleasure through my body, blending with the intense heat building low, pulling my body toward absolution.

“They will never know how you feel,” Creed huffs into my neck. “Because all of you is mine.”

“Yes,” I whimper, falling further into his rhythm. “Every part.”

His eyes seem to almost glow, his signature intensity even deeper, as he continues to fuck me. “I’m a fucking selfish man when it comes to you, Scarlett. I won’t share.”

“Don’t,” I huff. “I won’t either.”

He continues a steady rhythm as he untangles his hand from my hair, then takes my hands and lays them over each other above my head, holds both my wrists there in one hand, and slides his other between me and the glass, his fingers finding my clit.

“This body.” He thrusts hard. “Mine.”

“Every piece of you.” Thrust. “Every breath you take.” Thrust. “Mine.”

“Creed.” It comes out like a plea, a prayer, a command.

“Anything you want,” he says, voice hoarse, as he plays my body with his ownership. “Mine to give you.”

“I want to come,” I pant. “Please.”

His movements quicken, harden, his fingers applying the right pressure and pattern over my clit to send me spinning into a blinding orgasm. My eyes roll closed as my body shatters, along with Creed’s, as he finds his own release along with me.

Our pieces lay bare all over the floor, razor sharp and glittering, ready to be put together in a new beautiful mosaic we build together. This is a masterpiece I won’t hesitate to bleed for.

I finally return to my body, my breathing easing. If Creed wasn’t still in me, I’d be an absolute mess on the floor.

I drag my eyes back open with effort, my cheek firmly pressed into the glass again. My gaze lands on Creed’s forearm, the snake tattoo winding across his skin. I remember the first night at the warehouse, the grilled cheese night, when I wrote—

I pull my head up, eyes narrowing on that once clear patch of skin near his elbow. It’s no longer clear.

“Did you…tattoo my name on your arm?” I ask, voice hoarse.

“Hmm?” Creed hums.

“Your forearm,” I say.

I tug my hands out of his grip as he slides out of me. I turn, still completely naked except for my heels, and grab his arm, pushing his sleeve higher to reveal the whole piece.

Scarlett is yours.

In the same spot. Exactly how I wrote it.

“When did you…”

“The day after,” Creed says.

I can’t stop staring. “We weren’t—”

“We were going to be.”

I lift my head to look at him.

He smiles, dimples popping, as he tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear. “We were always going to be.”

I hook my hands around his neck, pull his head down and crush his lips to mine. He gathers me against him, deepening the kiss, his tongue sweeping into my mouth.

Creed tries to pull back, but I trap his bottom lip between my teeth, making him chuckle.

I release it reluctantly and watch his tongue swipe over my teeth indents.

“Let’s go continue tonight elsewhere before they catch you spread out over that table,” he says, arms loosening around me.

I laugh and step back, dipping down for my clothes as Creed rights his own. He helps me back into my dress, then he scoops up my jacket and his before he takes my hand and pulls me toward the exit.

We find Heartbreaker leaning across the front desk, chatting up the attendant. He’s no longer in his suit jacket, now sporting his club cut instead, and he’s rolled up his shirtsleeves.

A shit-eating grin spreads across his face as he spots us. “Done already?”

“Shut the fuck up, Theo,” Creed grumbles.

Heartbreaker chuckles, promising to call the attendant, and then pushes off the desk and walks out of the hotel with us. I’m expecting their bikes, but Heartbreaker’s flashy sports car is waiting instead.

A valet attendant gives Heartbreaker the keys as Creed opens the trunk and puts our jackets inside, pulling out his cut and puts it on, then pulls out a leather jacket and holds it out to me.

I frown at it, confused. “For me?”

It’s too small to be one of his jackets. And too new.

“Only you.”

His response confuses me even more as I take the jacket. I unravel it, looking at the back, and my mouth drops open.

The Savage Wings patch is stitched into the leather, along with ‘Property of Creed’.

His patch.

I look at him.

He regards me evenly, but I see the sliver of tentative hope in those honey-brown eyes I adore.

I slide the leather on without another thought; the jacket fits perfectly. I wrap my arms around Creed’s neck.

“Let’s go home.”