Page 66 of Broken By Silence
Crew groans dramatically. “Great. You’ve ruined him. Next thing you know, he’ll be asking for scented bath bombs and journaling about his feelings.”
Elijah mutters dryly, “Better than torturing people because he doesn’t know how to feel.”
Roman just flips him off, still laughing.
And I realize, with a jolt that leaves me breathless, that I’m not scared of him. Not the boy who wrecked my childhood. Not the echo of his father.
Just Roman.
And maybe that’s the most dangerous thing of all.
Angel smirkslike she owns the street, all fishnets and leather, daring anyone to look twice. Zara, meanwhile, looks like she got dragged here by accident—oversized sweater slipping off one shoulder, tote bag knocking against her hip, pristine sneakers squeaking on the pavement. They don’t match. They never have. That’s what makes them perfect. That’s what makes them mine.
Claire’s heels click steadily beside me, her fitted black dress making her look like she’s stepped straight out of a magazine. Next to her, I feel like a kid playing dress-up in my red wrap dress that barely covers my thighs, glitter catching the streetlights.
“Are you going to do shots with us?” Angel chirps as we approach the club door, practically vibrating with energy.
“Maybe,” Claire says smoothly, her eyes cutting toward me. “I’m here to protect Lottie. Anything after that is up to fate.”
Angel cackles, already dragging us through the doorway. Inside, bass rumbles through the floor like a second heartbeat. The air is thick with perfume, sweat, and neon lights. Angel walks like she owns the place, tossing her hair and striding toward the bar. Zara follows with a half-smile, her eyes scanning the scene like she’s writing a paper on human mating rituals.
Angel smacks cash onto the counter before I can even blink. “Three tequilas, three whiskeys, and something offensively pink for her,” she says, pointing at me.
The bartender arches a brow. “That’s your warm-up?”
Angel flashes teeth. “Obviously.”
Zara laughs softly, sweater slipping further down her shoulder. “She’s going to kill you,” she murmurs to me.
“She needs it,” Angel cuts in, pressing a glass into my hand.
I stare at the clear liquid in the glass, my reflection wobbling on the surface. Tired. Frayed. Haunted. Zara clinks her glass gently against mine.“To surviving.”
“To surviving,” Angel echoes, wicked grin snapping back into place. “And to getting all the D.”
The tequila sears down my throat. I cough, sputter, and Angel howls with laughter while Zara pats my back. For a fleeting second, the weight in my chest loosens.
By the second round, Angel’s perched against my shoulder, hair brushing my cheek, eyes glinting like a cat with claws half out. “So, spill. You’ve been more MIA than my last vibrator charger. What’s going on?”
Zara’s voice is quieter, but her eyes don’t miss a thing. “You do look different. Like you’re somewhere else.”
I let out a sharp laugh that sounds more like a crack. “Because my life’s a bad soap opera. And I just got the biggest plot twist of all.”
Angel perks up instantly. “Oh, bitch. Don’t tease me with good drama.”
I swirl the neon cocktail in my hand, watching the ice shift. “I’m married.”
Zara nearly chokes on her drink. Angel freezes, eyes going wide. “Married?” She grabs my wrist and inspects my fingers like the ring might materialize. “When? To who? Why haven’t we staged a divorce party yet?”
My stomach twists. I force the words out. “To Elijah.”
The silence is brutal. Even the bass seems to falter. Zara blinks once. Twice. Angel’s jaw drops, and then she bursts into laughter that dies almost as fast as it starts.
“Elijah? Broody, I-might-stab-you Elijah?” Angel leans in, eyes wide. “When the hell did that happen? Don’t tell me you were blackout drunk, because?—”
“I didn’t know.” The words rip out of me, raw. “He did it when he thought I’d died.”
Zara’s mouth parts in shock. “He—he what?”
