Page 21 of Songbird: Black Kite
“Ten spectacular songs, Victoria. That should be what matters.”
“They may be good, but every otherBlack Kitealbum had at least fifteen songs on it. Daddy said he wants two more before he’ll release it.”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I growled, pacing to the French doors and staring out across the pool. Cornelius fucking Castor was a goddamn snake. He’d known what he was doing when he’d signed us all those years ago, that was for sure. A bunch of desperate punk kids, blinded by the dollar signs and not paying attention to the fine print.
We’d sold our souls to the devil, and we hadn’t noticed until it was far too late.
“I can’t give him two songs, Tori,” I said, hating the tremor in my voice. She was the last person I wanted to be vulnerable in front of. “You know I can’t.”
“You can,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You just don’t want to humble yourself enough to apologize to Lewis.”
“That son of a bitch can kiss my fuckin’ ass,” I snarled. “I’d rather drag my nuts across broken glass than apologize to that prick.”
“Graphic,” she drolled, arching one eyebrow. “Look, it’s not that hard. You write the songs, you record them, you never speak to each other again. Stop being such a whiner and get on with it.”
I stared at her, mouth agape.
That was the problem with Victoria; she’d never actually cared about the music. Sure, she loved the fame and the parties and being on my arm, but that was all it was for her. She’d never looked beneath the surface and seen the passion, the blood, sweat, and tears that went into writing a good song.
I used to think that it was because she had been brought up with an easy life. The typical silver spoon, never wanting for anything kind of life that only being the daughter of an L.A. music mogul could give you.
After having been married to her for nine years, I knew that it was just because she was a cold-hearted bitch who only saw people for what they could give her.
Blowing out a breath, I turned away from Victoria’s calculating stare and looked out the door and across the canyon, my hand coming up to toy with the beads on my bracelet.
Two songs. Could I manage two songs?
Could I manage two songs and not go to jail for murder? That was the real question, because the second Lewis opened his fucking mouth, I was likely to take his bass guitar and shove it down his fuckin’ throat.
I needed to talk to Alex and Gavin, get their take on things before I agreed one way or another.
We may have been broken, but we were still a band. They had a say in how things were done.
I turned back to the desk, prepared to tell Tori I’d talk to the guys, but I froze when I saw her standing there, leaning over the desk, reaching for Wren’s letter.
“The fuck are you doing?” I snarled, lunging for the letter, but Tori was faster. She lifted it up above her head, her perfectly made-up face showing surprise.
“What the hell is this?” she asked, her eyes narrowed at the letter.
“None of your fuckin’ business,” I replied, stalking around the desk and plucking the letter from her hand. “You have no right, Victoria. No right.”
“Good grief, Hawk,” she said, smoothing down her dress and flicking her long hair behind her shoulders. “What the hell is your problem? I just wondered what it was about that letter that had you all up in your feelings.” She paused, smiling her viper’s smile at me. “You got yourself a secret lover?”
“Fuck off, Tori.” I hated listening to her talk about Wren like that. It was so tactless. The girl was a fan, sure, but she wasn’t some trashy groupie. She wrote to me about things that were real, not like the majority of the other letters we’d received, just asking for signed merch or offering themselves up for one night.
I’d found three of her letters, and each one had spoken to me in a way that no one ever had before. It was like I could see myself reflected in her words and thoughts. She talked about feelings and hardships and things that I could relate to, and she talked about how my music had helped her through those times.
It was empowering in a way, knowing that something I had done had made a real difference in her life, and I looked forward to finding more letters from her in the future.
Having Tori know about her—having her touch one of the letters that were quickly becoming so special to me—that shit made me ragey.
“You know, Hawk,” she said, making her way to the door. “You really need to get your shit together. You’re acting like a crazy person.”
“Take that gaslighting shit somewhere else, Victoria,” I called, smoothing Wren’s letter across my desk and frowning at the creases Tori’s grubby hands had made in the paper. “You have no power here anymore.”
“Oh, Hawk,” she said, shaking her head in mock sadness. “I have more power than you think. You should remember which one of us is holding all the cards right now. Because you may have won five years ago, but right now, I’m the only thing that’s standing between you and complete financial ruin.” Narrowing her eyes, she pointed one finger at me, her sharp nail flashing in the sunlight. “Two songs, Hawk. No more dicking around.”
With that, she stalked out, and my anger continued to simmer like a volcano in my chest.
