Page 84 of Broken By Silence
Closer.
I don’t look back this time.I run.
The wind stingsmy face as I sprint past benches, my bag slamming against my hip. I cut around the corner of the science wing and slam straight into a wall of muscle.
Strong hands grab my arms, steady but possessive.
“Well, well,” a voice murmurs, deep and familiar, smooth as oil. “If it isn’t my Little Bird.”
My lungs seize.
Lorenzo.
He’s standing right in front of me. Expensive coat, pressed shirt, that smug curl to his lips, I remember from my nightmares. The scent of cologne, sharp and chemical, hits my nose, and I choke.
“I missed that look,” he says softly, tilting his head. “The one you get right before you scream.”
“Let go of me,” I say, but my voice cracks halfway through.
He laughs quietly, dragging his thumb along my jaw. “You look so different now. All this time pretending to be dead. And here you are—alive and defiant. I thought we taught you better than that.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Didn’t James teach you that birds don’t get to fly away?”
My stomach turns. “He’s dead.”
“Yes.” Lorenzo’s voice drops lower. “Because Elijah killed him. And now, you belong to me instead.”
My body reacts before my brain does. I wrench my arm free, pivot hard, just like Claire drilled into me, and drive my elbow into his ribs. He grunts, steps back, but he’s fast. Too fast. He grabs my wrist, twisting. Pain shoots up my arm.
“Still got some fight in you,” he says, amused. “Good. I’ll enjoy every minute of breaking you apartagain.”
I stomp down hard on his foot, shift my weight, and twist my wrist the way Claire showed me. Turning into the grab, not away from it. His grip slips. I spin free, drop low, and kick his knee out. He snarls at me, stumbles, but I bolt.
But he catches my hood, yanking me backward so hard my feet barely scrape the ground before I hit. The impact knocks the air out of me in a single, strangled gasp. My spine jars against the packed dirt, pain shooting up my back. Gravel digs into my palms as I scramble to push myself up, but his shadow swallows the light before I can move.
He looms over me, eyes cold. “You think you can run?” he spits, grabbing a fistful of my sweatshirt, hauling me up. “You were meant for James. Meant to be his broken little wife.”
His words scrape against every scar inside me.
I see Claire’s face in my head.
How many girls don’t get up?
He swings his hand—fast, mean, all muscle and fury. I duck, but not fast enough. His knuckles graze my temple, a searing line of pain that explodes white behind my eyes. The world tilts for a second,sound shrinking to a low hum as I stumble sideways, trying to blink the sting away.
Instinct takes over. My legs coil and I drive my knee up—hard—into his gut. The world narrows to that point of contact: the sickening thunk of bone on flesh, the forced exhale that sounds like a broken thing. Heat blooms under my palm where it meets his shirt; the smell of his sweat and old tobacco hits my nose. He folds in half, a strangled wheeze ripping out of him as air fights its way back into his lungs.
I grab his hair, slam my forehead into his nose. The crunch is sickening. His grip loosens. I shove him back and kick, catching him square in the chest.
He stumbles, hitting the wall of the building behind us. Blood trickles from his nose, but he’s grinning. “That’s new,” he croaks. “Do you really think you’ll be able to escape me, Scarlett? I’ve broken you before. You sounded so sweet, screaming for help, until you went silent. But I told you when I last saw you, I have ways of making Little Birds sing.”
“Don’t call me that,” I hiss, clenching my fists.
He lunges.
I sidestep, strike—palm heel to the chin, elbow to the jaw, pivot, and sweep. He catches my arm mid-motion and throws me down again. My shoulder smacks the ground. Pain flares. I roll, gasping, dirt clinging to my cheek.
He’s on me in a second, hand around my throat.
“You think you can fight me?” he snarls, pressing his knee into my ribs. “You’re mine. You always were. I might have promised to share you with James, but I had you first.”
