Page 114 of Broken By Silence
Tracey doesn’t move or say anything for a long time. She just sits there, her eyes flicking from the carpet to the bed to the door as if seeing them through my eyes for the first time. Then, finally, a single tear slips down her cheek.
She wipes it away almost immediately, quick and irritated, like it’s a betrayal. Another follows, slower this time, and for a heartbeat, I see something human in her.
Regret, maybe… or shame.
“Don’t. Don’t you dare cry.”
Her eyes snap up to mine, and the mask slides right back into place—like it was never gone. The softness vanishes, swallowed whole by that familiar sneer. The same look she used to give me when she was too high to care. “You think I wanted any of that?” she snaps. “You think I had a choice? Lorenzo owned me, Scarlett. He would’ve killed me if I didn’t pay it back. I did what I had to do.”
“No,” I say quietly. “You did what was easiest for you.”
Her lip curls. “You always thought you were so much better than me. So righteous, but don’t act like you’re perfect. You survived by opening your legs for men just like him.”
I take a step toward her, and she flinches like she expects me to strike her just like she used to do to me. “I survivedin spiteof men like him. And you.”
She exhales, shaking her head, trying to laugh, but it comes out brittle and wrong. “You really think you’re untouchable now, don’t you? You’re still that broken little girl, Scarlett, who wants her mommy to save her.”
I stare at her for a long moment, taking in the woman who gave me life and then sold it. The smell of cheap perfume, the faint tremor in her hands, the emptiness behind her words. “No. You’re wrong. I learned how to survive when I realizedmy mommydidn’t care.”
Tracey’s face twists,but I don’t stay to see what she says next. My body moves before my mind can catch up. The pain in my shoulder is white-hot as I lunge forward, catching her off guard. She stumbles back into the dresser, letting out a startled shriek that echoes off the walls.
“You little?—”
I shove her hard before she can finish, the impact sending agony shooting through my shoulder, but I don’t stop. I can’t. Not this time.I grab the lamp from the bedside table and hurl it at the wall, glass shattering as I make for the door.
Tracey’s still screaming my name, but her voice fades behind me as I run. The door isn’t locked—stupid mistake—and I rip it open, bolting down the hall barefoot.
Every step sends a jolt through my arm, but adrenaline drowns the pain. The corridor is dimly lit, familiar in the worst way. I know this house. I memorized its bones in my nightmares. The smell of cologne and whiskey. The marble floor that’s too cold, too clean.
Two guards stand near the staircase. They watch me sprint past them, their faces expressionless. Not one moves. Not one tries to stop me—of course, they don’t, they know I won’t get far.
They don’t even blink.
I hit the bottom of the stairs, breath ragged, and the front door is right there. For a second, my heart dares to hope, until the shadows shift.
Lorenzo stands between me and freedom, dressed in black, his tie undone, sleeves rolled to his elbows. His expression is calm—too calm—and that’s worse than rage.
“Scarlett,” he says softly, like he’s trying to coax me, “Going somewhere?”
I take a step back, shaking my head. “Stay away from me.”
He sighs, almost pitying. “You make everything so difficult.”
When I bolt for the door, he’s faster. His hand closes around my injured arm, wrenching it behind my back. I scream, falling to my knees as his grip tightens, sending fire racing through my shoulder.
“Stop fighting me!” he growls, his breath hot against my ear. “You’ll only make it worse.”
I twist, try to elbow him with my good arm, but he catches that too. The world tilts as he slams me against the floor, and I cry out.
“Little birds,” he murmurs, his breath hot on my neck. “They always try to be free. It’s in their nature.”
His fingers dig into my good shoulder until I hear a sickening pop, and I scream again, the sound raw and animal.
“That’s why we break their wings,” he finishes, his voice almost tender.
The room spins. The pain is blinding. I can barely breathe as he drags me back down the hall, my feet scraping against the floor, every movement a white flash of agony. He pushes open the door tothatroom and throws me inside. I hit the floor hard, gasping, curling around the pain.
Lorenzo stands in the doorway, straightening his sleeves like nothing happened. “Tomorrow,” he says, voice smooth again, “you’ll be dressed in white. You’ll smile for the cameras. You’ll say your vows.” He looks down at me, and his smile turns sharp. “Or I’ll make sure you never speak again.” He turns to Tracey. “Make sure she doesn’t try to leave again.”
