Chapter 1 #2
Pulling my gaze away, I fall silent for another minute as he carries on skimming more stones across the pond. Making the mistake of inhaling a deep, calming breath, his scent hits me; a mix of wood and leather, making my stomach clench and my eyes close.
When I open them again a few seconds later, I feel his eyes on me. I turn to him, but he looks away, his face void of any emotion. Anxiety crawls through me. I need to find common ground. Something to get him talking.
“I was really sorry to hear about Theo-”
His head whips back to me, anger blazing in his eyes, silencing me as his lips curl into a snarl.
“Let’s get one thing straight,” he growls venomously, and the blood in my veins turns to ice at his sudden fury.
“The only reason I’m going ahead with this marriage is because we need your dad’s resources.
Don’t think for one second that because we’re stuck with each other, I want anything to do with you.
” He pauses before taking a step forward, closing the gap between us.
“And as for my cousin, you don’t ever say his name to me.
You will never talk to me about him, do you hear me, Jailbait? ”
Jailbait. That’s what he’d called me from that minute onward. I hated it, hated the reminder that when we’d first met, I’d been nothing but an underage liar.
The next time Miles and I were forced to spend any time together, I’d asked him to stop calling me it. His response was to smirk, telling me that I’d earned the nickname for luring Theo into my web of deceit.
In petty revenge, I’d taken to calling him Milo, knowing it pissed him off.
Lost in thought, the journey to Bar Forty-Four was over before I knew it. Ordinarily, I’d spend some of the journey warming up my vocal cords or at least debating about what song I was going to sing. Thoughts of Miles had put rest to that.
Gus escorted me through the back door of the bar, where Paul greeted me, and asked what song I wanted the musicians to play.
Without conscious thought, I gave him the name of the title of the song that had been playing in my mind all evening.
As soon as I said it, I knew it was the perfect choice to sum up how I was feeling.
When the act who was on the stage finished his song, Paul left me to instruct the band which song I’d picked, while Gus wished me luck and made his way to the side of the stage where he always sat, waiting for me to finish my set.
Sometimes I’d sing only one song, other nights I’d sing three or four. If I were feeling up to it, I would sometimes play a few notes on the keyboard, but it wasn’t the same as sitting in front of a grand piano; the acoustics just weren’t quite right.
It all depended on how long it would take to purge myself. Tonight, though, I could sing until the sun came up, and I doubted it would make me feel better.
When Paul gave me a nod, indicating it was my turn, I made my way to the center of the stage where the microphone stand waited. I waved at the band before turning to the audience, the bright spotlights almost blinding me from seeing how many people were watching.
It was only a small bar which held no more than fifty people, and normally the same faces.
It was why it made it the perfect place for an open-mic night.
There wasn’t a huge crowd to get nervous in front of, and the people who came to the evenings were there to sing or to avoid their own personal hell.
When the lights dimmed, I took in a breath and waited for the first few bars of my chosen song to start playing. Scanning the room, my eyes drifted over the silhouettes of the audience until they reached the booth in the far corner.
On the random nights I’d been here over the last three months, the booth had been filled by a single occupant, and tonight was no different.
From the shape of the person, I knew it was a man, but it was always too dark to see what he looked like, and by the time my song finished, he’d always disappeared.
But I could feel him out there, watching me.
It was weird, I had no idea who he was, yet since he’d been appearing, he had become a kind of comfort blanket.
I began to feel like I was singing to him rather than a room of people.
It was as if I wanted to impress him so he’d keep coming back to see me, and only me.
I guess that was one of the reasons I enjoyed being on the stage. People looked at me. They saw the real me for however long a song lasted. Whenever I was on the stage, I wasn’t invisible.
I was someone.
Whoever the man was, he saw me.
Even if it was just for a few minutes.
As the haunting tones of, ‘What Was I Made For’ by Billie Eilish started playing, I focused on his silhouette in the booth, letting myself feel all the pent-up emotions I’d been trying to suppress over the last few days.
I allowed myself to connect to the notes playing, and when the band reached the point for me to start singing, I closed my eyes and permitted the feelings to bubble to the surface.
The first words filled the air, cutting through the silence like a knife.
My voice was soft, delicate, almost like a whisper, but with every word I sang, my voice became stronger, earning everyone’s full attention.
But there was only one person’s attention I wanted, and I could feel him watching me from across the club.
I opened my eyes again, keeping them trained on him.
As the song continued, I wrapped my hands around the microphone and began to pour my heart into the words, letting them express the emotions locked deep inside me. Each word was a reflection of the pain I carried, every chord a beat of my wounded heart.
As the crescendo grew, each note I sang was heavy with the weight of the unbearable hurt coursing through me.
Hurt that Papa only saw me as a means to further his business.
Hurt that my mama wasn’t alive to see me grow up.
Hurt from Miles' hatred.
I let the music consume me, all my sorrow flooding out of me right until the final note, purging myself of every ounce of heartbreak I held within.
On the final note, and as the music died down, a roar of applause erupted from the crowd. I couldn’t stop the rush of pride spreading through me like wildfire as I took in everyone clapping, staring at me in awe.
They saw me.
As I let my gaze roam around the people, some of whom were on their feet cheering, my eyes fell on the booth at the back. Disappointment threatened to douse the rush of giddiness at finding it empty, as I knew it would be.
Thanking the audience, I made my way off the stage.
With how much passion I’d poured into a single song, I didn’t feel like I needed to sing another.
Not tonight, at least. I was sure the second I was back in the grounds of my home, the emotions would start to build again, but right then, I was riding the high.
Stepping off the stage, I headed to where Gus always waited for me, only this time he wasn’t there. Strange. Gus never took his eyes off me, staying alert to anyone who may present a threat.
“Hey, do you know where Gus is?” I asked Paul as he passed me, ready to introduce the next singer.
He shrugged. “No, sorry, hun. I doubt he’s gone far, though. Why don’t you grab yourself a drink and wait at the bar for him?”
I supposed I should have waited backstage for Gus, but we always went to the bar for a drink before we left, so I figured he wouldn’t be too pissed if I headed there to wait for him.
The regular barman, whose name I didn’t know, was busy serving a customer, so I pulled out the stool and took a seat as I looked around the bar to see if I could spot Gus.
“Excuse me. I’m sorry to bother you,” a voice said from next to me.
I swiveled on my seat, coming face to face with a handsome man who was gawking at me with a coy smile pulled on his lips, and his cheeks flushed.
“Can I help you?” I asked hesitantly, knowing Gus didn’t like me talking to strangers.
Nervously, my gaze darted over his shoulder, hoping Gus had suddenly appeared. Still, he was nowhere to be seen.
“I…I don’t usually do this,” the man said, his voice tinged with hesitation. “I’ve seen you sing a few times, and I wanted to say you have an incredible voice.”
I couldn’t help but relax a little and let myself bask in the warmth of his compliment. Aside from Rafe and Gus telling me they thought I sang well, I didn’t think there’d been a time when anyone else had echoed their thoughts.
“Oh, thank you.”
His smile widened. “I’d love to buy you a drink.”
“That’s kind of you, but I’m waiting for a friend,” I replied, ignoring the flash of disappointment sweeping through me.
This was one of the many parts of my life I hated.
Why couldn’t I just be a normal girl who allowed a cute guy to buy her a drink?
I mean, he didn’t look like a serial killer.
In fact, he looked like he was still in college; he must have been my age, maybe a little bit younger, and he had a friendly face.
“Actually, why not?” I quickly added before I could change my mind.
His frown immediately turned into a smile as he called the barman over. “What would you like?”
“White wine, please.”
“Coming right up,” he said before giving the barman our order. “I’m Adrian, by the way.”
“It’s nice to meet you. Are you a singer?” I replied, returning his friendly smile, and not offering my name.
I didn’t need to. Paul had introduced me as Sophie before I stepped on the stage, the fake name I still used, even now.
The barman placed two glasses of wine on the counter, and Adrian handed over a $20 bill. “No, I’m a music student. I write music, but not much of a singer myself,” he said, pocketing the change from our drinks. “Hey, do you think your friend would have wanted a drink?”
I twisted on my stool again, checking to see if Gus had returned from where he’d been. A wave of panic rolled through me when I couldn’t find him. Gus would never leave me this long; was something wrong?
I turned back to Adrian, doing my best to keep my panic under wraps. I was sure Gus was fine; he’d probably stepped out to take a call. Or maybe there’d been some trouble outside that he was helping to deal with. Gus was a unit of a man; maybe someone had asked him to help out with idiots fighting.
“I’m sure he can get himself a drink when he decides to turn up.” I grabbed my wine and took a large gulp, hoping it would steady my building nerves.
“Huh, that was easier than I thought it would be,” Adrian said, a devious smirk crossing his mouth.
“What was easier than you thought?”
In a flash, Adrian pulled a gun from underneath his jacket, pressing it discreetly against my side. Fear crawled up my spine, and a silent scream lodged in my throat as my head began spinning with memories of a time before when a gun had been pointed at me.
“To drug you, princess,” Adrian said, his words slurred.
Or maybe it was the fog filling my brain that made it seem like he was slurring.
“Gullible little whore, aren’t you? Now, you’re going to do exactly what I say, and if you try anything stupid, I’m going to shoot you in the face, just like I did to your friend. ”