Broken Songbird (Vicious Games #2)

31. Chapter 31

M ethodical pressing and swiping on my thigh send a constant dull throbbing pain radiating up my leg, pulling me from sleep. I blink the bleariness out of my eyes; the world comes back to focus.

Water-damaged roof. The smell of cheap vodka.

I feel like I’ve woken up in my past.

Bit by bit, the last day’s events play in my head. Has it been a day? More? Less?

I do a mental assessment of my injuries again—my ribs still ache like a bitch, but there’s no shooting pain in this position. We’ll see what they’re like when I move. The other scrapes and bruises don’t hurt too much, but my thigh…

I lift my head—Del has my leg in her lap as she bends over it, wiping and dabbing at it with her good hand; her suspected dislocated one rests over her chest. My eyes drift to my leg and then I drop my head immediately, wishing I didn’t look.

On the upper thigh, in the same spot as Del, about a small palm size, the letters ‘ A G’ are carved into my skin.

My bottom lip trembles. The bastard branded me.

“It needs stitches,” I croak out as I stare at the ceiling, my throat scratchy from the screaming. Even if I get access to something to stitch it, it’s going to scar.

“I thought it might,” Del says, continuing the consistent dabbing.

I muster the will and push myself onto my elbows, facing my new reality, and look at the supplies at Del’s side. They’ve given her some clean-looking towels, duct tape, and a nondescript bottle of what smells like vodka.

One of the first things Dad ever taught us was wound care. First step is to clean out a wound with bottled water or any distilled liquid on hand, though alcohol would sting—which it does.

I take a small clean towel and fold it a couple of times, then Del finishes her ministrations and I cover the lacerations. Del picks up the tape and we work together to tape the towel to my leg, then I grab the bottle and take a swig, cringing as I swallow.

“Definitely shit vodka,” I comment, holding the bottle out to Del.

“Bottoms up,” she sighs, takes the bottle and has a healthy drink.

“How’s your wrist?”

Del holds it out, wincing slightly. It’s swollen and has a patch of bruising. “It hurts like a bitch.”

I cradle it gently, check for her pulse in her wrist, then press each finger, satisfied with the blood flow. “You can feel all of this?”

She nods, taking another drink.

If I stabilise the joint and wrap it firmly, the pressure will probably give her some pain relief and she will have better movement if she doesn’t have to think about tweaking it.

I remember the broken chair and look around the room, then deflate a little. They cleared it away like it had never happened. No chance for a weapon now, either.

“How long was I out for?” I ask, turning back and taking the bottle.

“I think a couple of hours,” Del says. “It’s hard to tell time in this place.”

I take another swig of the vodka before asking my next question. “Did…something happen while I was out?”

A sadistic little grin crosses Del’s face as she pulls the bottle from my hand. I wasn’t expecting that.

I’m about to ask when the door flies open, making both of us jump. Adrian stalks in and now I know what Del was grinning about. He has a split lip, and a swollen, reddened eye. Pride blooms in my chest. She got him pretty good—it’ll definitely be a black eye in a few days.

He stops in front of us, hands clasped together, regarding Del evenly, ignoring me once again. “Have you thought about your actions?”

“Fuck you,” Del says, mirroring his even tone.

He sighs, exacerbated. “You’re going to need stronger discipline, especially where we’re going, Delphine.”

“We aren’t going anywhere with you ,” she says.

Adrian finally turns his attention to me; being under his gaze sets my teeth on edge. I don’t show him an ounce of the fear radiating through my body as I meet his eyes.

“That is true, all of us aren’t going,” he says, still staring at me. His eyes sweep down my body. My heart rate hammers in my ears. I’ve seen this look before. Is he assessing me?

“Ven aquí,” Adrian barks, and three of his men enter.

I don’t dare move my attention from Adrian until I feel hands. I struggle as one of them wrenches my arms behind me, and another tapes my wrists.

“What are you doing?” Del asks around the third guy who’s standing between us, watching her.

Adrian says another string of Spanish to his men as the two dealing with me pull me up from the floor. I struggle harder, trying to dislodge their hold on me as they pull me across the room, then throw me against the wall.

Pain radiates through every part of me that impacts the hard surface as I crumble to the floor, tears now streaming down my face. Someone wrenches me up and turns me to face the room.

Both of them have sadistic smiles and wandering eyes as they hold me against the wall—monsters ready to tear at their food.

Adrian stands near Del, arms crossed, overseeing what’s happening to me like it happens every day. Del silently cries, still on the floor, her busted hand resting on her chest.

Whatever happens from here, I will never place blame on her. I don’t blame her for any of this. She never wanted this or wanted what happened to her before.

This is all the actions of that monstrosity in the suit.

I close my eyes, readying myself for the inevitable, as one of my captors moves toward me, but he stops at Adrian’s tsk .

“You can have a taste after,” he says.

The man who moved forward sighs, his breath fanning over my face, and then I feel him and his buddy release me.

“Eyes open,” one of them says, and I follow instruction immediately.

He has his phone out, the camera pointed at me. He walks around me slowly, and the other man looks at the screen and smiles.

“They love it when they cry,” he comments.

They? Who are they ?

“That’s enough,” Adrian says, and the man drops his arm and starts poking at the screen as he walks away.

When the other one follows, I take a shuddering breath and slide down the wall, my legs no longer able to support me. My breathing becomes shallow and my vision hazy as the weight of what was about to happen swallows me whole.

What could still happen.

No, I will truly shatter if I think that way. I didn’t survive for this long for these assholes to break me. I need to get us out of this first, and then me and Del can spend our lifetime in therapy after.

I calm my breathing and peek over to Del. She’s got the same determination on her face I feel as she glares at Adrian.

He’s moved to the table, sitting behind a laptop that’s appeared, typing away, ignoring the both of us.

I wait another second to make sure he’s consumed with whatever he’s doing, then move my wrists, assessing how much room I have.

They’ve taped quite high up my arms, the tape pulling at hairs, and it’s duct tape, so I don’t have the strength to stretch or break it.

“Fuck,” I whisper.

“Such foul language,” Adrian comments. I startle, banging my head on the wall. He’s right in front of me—when did he move?

Laptop in one hand, he grips my arm hard and lifts me, then drags me toward the door.

I try to pull away from him. “Get off—”

“Fight and suffer the consequences,” he admonishes. He gestures to Del in warning as we pass her. “If you move, I will kill her.”

She doesn’t have the time to respond as I’m pulled out of the room, the door slamming after me.

The place we’re in is a dilapidated house with high ceilings and creaky floors. Mirroring the room I was just in, the wallpaper in the corridor peels off the walls and the wood floors are worn. Adrian takes us to the next door down the hall and opens it, shoves me in and I stumble into the dark space. Then the door closes.

Total darkness.

I stop breathing, my chest tightening in panic. Tears stream down my face faster as I bite my tongue, drawing blood, holding back my urge to scream and beg to be let out.

After an eternity drowning in nothing, light suddenly bursts through the space, stinging my eyes. I register we’re in a bathroom once my eyes adjust.

The vanity on my right has a dripping tap and a broken mirror over it. There’s a filthy toilet with the seat missing on my left, and against the back wall is a small bathtub with a showerhead over it sans shower curtain.

A footstep sounds behind me, and I scramble away, further into the bathroom, backing into the vanity. Adrian takes another measured step closer, his eyes assessing me again.

“Not my flavour,” he comments offhand as he places his laptop on the vanity next to me. “But I can understand why you sold so quickly.”

“S-sold?” I croak out.

A malicious smile twists his lips, a glint in his dark eyes that I can only describe as evil. “You didn’t think I’d just let you go?”

I shake my head. I’m not that stupid.

“A smart blonde then,” he comments. “I have no use for you, and neither does Delphine, but I knew you’d do well on the market. My business instincts have always been sharp.”

He steps closer again, seemingly relaxed, his hands in his pants pocket. “Now, I have a reputation for doing good business, and the product I provide is well -behaved for their owners.” He moves closer again, tilting his head, regarding me in a very ‘fatherly’ way, the smell of bourbon on his breath. “Are you going to tarnish my reputation?”

“No,” I whisper immediately, terror the only thing pumping through my veins.

This is happening. Really happening. He sold me.

He glares at me in silence for a few more agonising seconds and then nods, clapping his hands together once. “Good. Now, let’s get you cleaned up. Your pickup will be here within the hour.”

He strikes out and grabs my elbow, then pulls me to the shower. He turns on the ancient thing, the water sputtering out brown and smelling stale.

He doesn’t bother trying to take the tape or my clothes off as he presses me forward, forcing me to either step into the tub or go head-first into the cracked tiled wall.

I almost slip anyway as my shoes slide on the grime-covered tub as he guides me roughly to stand under the spray and I gasp at the freezing temperature.

I’m soaked in seconds, my hair, clothes and shoes water-logged, and I’m shivering.

“Turn,” he instructs. Between my hair stuck to my face and the water beating down effectively blinding me, I do as instructed slowly so I don’t fall.

“Now—”

Sounds of a commotion further in the house cuts off Adrian. The commotion gets louder, and loud pops sound. Is that gunfire?

“Puta madre,” Adrian grumbles, and he sighs, annoyed. “Don’t move.”

He presses down on my shoulder, and I slip, landing hard on the porcelain, coughing and spluttering at the impact and the water streaming directly into my face.

I vaguely hear the door open and close between the hacking. I try to move, but this tub is so fucking short and narrow that even my short body is cramped. I’m beyond panicked as I inhale water, then cough it back up, then inhale it again. I’m in a torturous cycle of inhaling water and coughing it up.

I can’t see, can’t breathe.

I’m drowning.

This can’t be how it ends.

I try to kick out, roll, move my neck, but my body is so numb from the cold that I can’t get my any of my limbs to cooperate.

Fuck, this is how it ends.

My parents are going to be devastated.

Del will never forgive herself.

At least I’ll get to see Matteo.

But Creed…

The water suddenly stops. A scorching touch pulls me out of the tub, and I crash onto the tiled floor on my side. I start hacking up water, air instead of liquid now soaring into my lungs.

“Scarlett,” a familiar voice says. “Just breathe, baby.”

Creed?

My teeth chatter and my body trembles uncontrollably as I try to get more water out of my lungs while his hot touch rips at the duct tape. As soon as I’m free, I try to move toward him, wanting to know that he’s here, that he’s real, but my limbs are still numb from the cold.

Creed doesn’t even wait as he scoops me up, pulling me into his lap, flush against him as he pulls my hair out of my face. I blink my eyes open to my favourite honey-brown gaze.

A lot of his black hair has escaped his usual bun, and he’s covered in sweat, or water, and grime. Maybe that’s blood.

“Scarlett,” he whispers.

Whether this is the last moments of my life or Creed is actually here, I’m glad I get to see him again.

I gather my strength and lift my arm, my hand cupping his face, revelling in the warmth of his skin through my fingers.

“I love you,” I whisper hoarsely.

Then I pass out.