Songbird (A Sinclair Story #1) Read online

  SONGBIRD

  To Travis, Lola Eve & Silvie-lace … my true loves

  SONGBIRD

  Jaymin Eve

  Songbird

  Copyright © Jaymin Eve 2014

  All rights reserved

  First published in 2014

  Eve, Jaymin

  Songbird

  1st edition

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. All characters in this publication other than those clearly in the public domain are fictitious, and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Chapter 1

  The smell in the room was always the same, an intermingling of sweat, blood and death that tingled her senses and left an imprint of every moment before. Melodee was used to it now, but that first moment when she entered the arena was when the old memories threatened to consume her. They never would, though, she had faced down far worse than past pains, and now looked only forward, to the next town, the next fight, and the next moment to run.

  A faceless, nameless man let her into the cage; the clanking of the door was loud behind her. The screams, jeering and catcalls at these events never bothered her. At five feet two, she was not the typical cage fighter, but in reality the ability to be underestimated was an asset. No one thought her tiny build, straight shoulder-length black hair and big blue eyes hid anything but a naïve girl set to get her ass kicked.

  Melodee strode into the center, waiting for her opponent to appear. She didn’t play the intimidation game, drawing out the moment. She simply needed the anonymous, untraceable money. Unlike her parents, she didn’t get her kicks from hurting people, and was proud of the fact she’d never killed in the ring. Plenty did die down here. The underground fight circuit was not a place for the weak.

  Finally, Demon – the other fighter – was let into the cage. The hulking six foot blonde was infamous in the Manhattan underground. So far undefeated in her last thirty fights. Melodee took a moment to take in the flashy spandex suit of her opponent. Melodee always wore a simple tank and shorts, close-fitted without any loose material which could be used against her. That, and her wrist straps were all she needed. Demon, on the other hand, had on a cape, a freaking red cape. The moron had relied on her brute strength for far too long.

  There was no announcing here. Just a simple command and then they were alone in the ring, and the fight only ended on knockout or death. Well, on the rare occasion you could tap out, but then the crowd would probably kill you on your way out of the cage.

  “Pretty little girl is going to die.”

  Demon started to circle around, her steps confident, arms hanging uselessly at her side. She sneered, her bulbous nose which had to have been broken numerous times dominating her entire face.

  Melodee didn’t move. She was a master of more fight styles than she even had names for, although she didn’t have one formal qualification to her credit. She could end this fight right now without blinking an eye. But the crowd wanted a show and she made twice as much money if she drew it out for at least two rounds.

  Demon crossed the cage in three large strides and threw out her signature move, the big haymaker swing. And if that had connected there was no doubt Melodee would be out cold now. But it took no effort or energy for her to shift her stance minutely, allowing the fist to fly right past her face. Demon’s gasp and expression registered her surprise, but she was seasoned enough to know not to stop coming at Melodee. The next few punches came faster, but Melodee had been trained by fighters who made Demon look like an eighty year old ex-junkie; she could dodge her slow ass all day. The jeers of the crowd increased, they wanted to see blood. This defensive stance Melodee was taking did nothing but piss them off.

  Finally, when she’d had enough of watching the useless woman lumber around the ring, Melodee took a running start, hit the side of the cage, and using that as leverage ran up the wall and flipped over to land behind Demon. Her leg shot out and she snapped the side of Demon’s left knee. The crack was the first sound, followed by a scream of pain as the blonde hit the ground. Before Demon could blink, Melodee was on her back, and with two smooth moves she had the larger woman’s right arm twisted behind her. Melodee held it in a position that the slightest shift to the left would break the elbow joint.

  “Do you concede?” Melodee asked, leaning in close to her opponent’s ear.

  Her voice was low and sweet, like a songbird. Something her parents couldn’t have known when they’d named her Melodee Lee. But it had become her ‘name’ in the underground world, the Songbird. Demon roared and bucked, attempting to throw off the surprisingly solid weight on her back. Melodee flipped backwards, allowing the woman to limp awkwardly to her feet.

  Two rounds, Melodee reminded herself. She had been saving hard, and this prize pool would give her enough to make it through the winter without needing to fight again.

  Demon’s left leg was pretty much useless now, her features creased in determination as she hopped across to attempt a wrestling dive. She flew forward and Melodee hit the ground, bringing her opponent with her. She kept one hand attached to Demon’s right wrist, and then with her legs she used this momentum to throw Demon over her shoulder and onto the floor. The larger woman’s head snapped back, cracking into the hard cement. Because the crowd expected it, Melodee then flipped up to her feet and, straddling Demon, punched her reasonably hard in her face. The crunch of cartilage was a sure sign that Demon had another broken nose to add to her tally. Melodee leaned back from the first spray of blood – the red splashing around like a macabre painting – before bouncing upright and back onto her feet.

  Melodee knew that if she’d hit Demon at a slightly higher angle she would have sent nasal cartilage into her brain and killed her, but that was always the last resort. She was equipped with at least a dozen ways to kill a person within seconds and without a weapon. That was her inheritance from parents, who had been dead ten years now. But just because you can doesn’t mean you should.

  Demon lumbered up again, looking worse for wear.

  “I’m going to kill you, bitch. You’re dead and you don’t even know it.”

  Melodee sighed. She preferred to fight the quiet ones. Brassy blondes like this loved the empty threat, and she knew right then they weren’t going to make two rounds. Demon swung out her bad leg somewhere in the vicinity of Melodee’s mid-section. She dodged, her black hair swinging as she crossed behind Demon. Using the wall for leverage again, Melodee gained enough height for a variation of roundhouse and wheel kick. Her shin connected with Demon’s jaw, followed by her foot. Sweat, blood and saliva flew across the cage as Demon’s head snapped back; the cracking of her skull echoed through the cavernous room. Melodee landed lightly on her feet, her expression unchanging as Demon hit the ground, knocked out cold.

  Guess a cape didn’t give you superpowers.

  Crossing the cage, Melodee waited at the door to be let out. Dwayne, the organizer of this event, knew her well. She’d been fighting in his comps for a few years, so he gave her no grief. He just handed her the wad of cash and let her leave via the back entrance. Her last view before the door shut behind her was of two men dragging Demon out of the cage and dumping her in the corner. It was someone else’s turn to fight now. Crossing into the alley to her right, Melodee retrieved her pack, which she’d hidden under a mass of old packing boxes. She didn’t have anyone to leave it with, and anything not tied
down in the underground disappeared. She had very few possessions, and having had most of them taken from her at one point or another she was fiercely protective of what she had left.

  The temperature was not much above freezing. She quickly shimmied into her pants, boots, an old black shirt and thick dark coat. She made enough money now that her clothes were quality and warm, although she didn’t have much variety. But who was she dressing up for anyway? With a quick glance around, she left the alley and headed toward downtown.

  The bus had a damp smell to it. It was old, and snow-covered-boots had turned the carpet into a soppy, reeking mess. It was the morning after the fight and Melodee had hopped the first bus she could find. It didn’t matter where it was going, she just always made sure she didn’t stick around after an underground event.

  The man across the aisle with his slicked-back grease-ball of hair continued to shoot glances in her direction. Any normal woman carrying a backpack with large wads of cash would have been nervous, but Melodee recognized his type. He wasn’t a threat, just an annoyance. Staring out the window, she watched as the hustle and bustle of New York City disappeared, slowly fading out to suburbia and finally the countryside. The further from the city they got, the more snow filled the landscape. As she rested her head against the window pane – its freezing cold seeping into her – Melodee fought the weariness. She would not be able to sleep until she got far enough away and then found a dump of a motel that required no credit card and wouldn’t look too closely at her identification.

  She tried not to think about how damn tired she was of running. A real home was a distant memory, and even those days had been tainted with blood, pain, and the endless cycle of death. Her parents’ murder – by a sniper competing for the same job – had set her free, but being only thirteen at the time she’d ended up in the foster system. Her hands tightened reflexively on her backpack. Bouncing around one home after another. One abusive man after another had honed her skills until she no longer remembered the child she had been. Now she was determined to remain independent and indebted to no one. Ever.

  “Next stop … Syracuse.”

  The driver’s mumbled words sounded over the bus speaker. Melodee straightened in her seat. It had been a few hours; this was a good place to stay for the night. The slime-ball followed her off the bus. She swung her pack onto her shoulders and hoped he’d decide she was a lost cause. She started toward the small bus station and he fell into step behind her. Great, he was too stupid to notice her cold glares and decided lack of interest. He stayed practically on her ass the entire way into the shelter. She was just pulling open the glass door when he grabbed her wrist. She sighed. Time for a reality check.

  Two moves and she had retrieved her hand and had his locked back in an agonizing position.

  “What the fu– ”

  She cut him off before he could continue; she hated that word.

  “Never touch a woman without her permission. Next time I’ll break your arm off and beat you to death with it.”

  She was just kidding, she didn’t really have the strength to remove a limb – and it was damn messy – but men like this needed big obvious threats. To reiterate her point she pulled his thumb and wrist back another inch.

  “Okay, okay,” he gasped out in pain. “Sorry.”

  She released him and in an instant he was off running in the opposite direction, his shoes sliding on the icy sidewalk. He was lucky she hadn’t broken his wrist.

  Melodee grabbed the door again, stepping inside. The air was warm within the glass-walled room. Condensation coated the inside of the glass, water droplets streaming to form puddles on the floor. She unwound her gray scarf, letting it fall over her shoulders. The red-haired man behind the counter looked up as she halted a foot before the counter.

  “Can I help you?” His tone was polite, but his eyes registered interest as they scanned her up and down.

  “I’m looking for an inexpensive place to stay.” Cheap places didn’t ask a lot of questions and that suited her. She liked anonymity.

  His expression warmed, a grin spreading across his features. Melodee realized he was only around her age, maybe a little older.

  “This here is a college town, there are a few places which would suit.” He rattled off a couple of names, pulling out a map to give her an idea of where everything was. “But really the temporary dorms at the college are the closest to here.”

  Melodee was exhausted. She could have slept on the concrete floor. But college dorms, that was the sort of scene where she could find trouble. And right now she had no interest in that.

  “Thanks, the Motel 7 by the freeway seems fine.” In reality, she was heading to the other one he’d mentioned, but she’d prefer he didn’t know that.

  She turned to leave the room.

  “Wait… ”

  She halted, spinning to face him.

  “There’s a big party in the dorms tonight. My frat brothers are having their annual beer bash. You should stop by if you have time.”

  She gave him a smile but didn’t say anything as she left. She didn’t make false promises and nothing on this planet would get her to go to a college party.

  It was afternoon by the time Melodee walked the two miles to the Charmont Inn, an establishment that had a fourteen year old manning the front desk. At thirty dollars for the night he barely even glanced up, just handing her a key over the top of his video game. Finding her room – on the ground floor, as she’d requested – she had to wiggle and use her shoulder to get the door open. Stepping inside, it was the same as a thousand other crappy rooms she’d stayed in. Twin beds, faded green bedspreads, a faint smell of disinfectant and mold. The heater was wheezing in the corner, but it was warm enough for her. Melodee dumped her pack on the bed farthest from the door, then, noticing the shitty two dollar lock that wouldn’t keep out anyone older than ten, decided to push the dresser in front of the door. This would give her plenty of notice if someone tried to enter, and having this security was the only way she would get any sleep.

  She was beyond exhausted, but a shower was priority one right now. The water took a few minutes to heat. While she waited, she shifted through her pack to find clean underwear and clothes. She would have to find a Laundromat tomorrow. She planned on it being a quick rinse, but the moment the water hit her cold muscles she dropped her head and moaned out her pleasure. She loved showers, the warmth and cleansing nature of water as it poured over her. As if it washed away the sins and shit that covered her each day.

  Finally able to slide between the crisp white sheets, grateful for once that they felt freshly laundered, Melodee closed her eyes. She was trained to fall asleep within thirty seconds and wake fully alert at any moment. But tonight she was too tired to need her training.

  The next few days Melodee spent exploring the city of Syracuse. The college town was large enough to blend into, and as good a city as any to spend the winter months. It was mid-December and the shops were gearing up for the holidays. Tinsel, lights and Christmas trees adorned the streets. Melodee loved this season and she had no idea why. It had not been something her family celebrated, but there was so much joy and hope in the air. With that in mind, she had made her decision.

  Sitting in a diner across from a tiny white-haired lady, Melodee leaned back in her chair.

  “How much is the apartment for two months?” She was looking at a short term rental near the college.

  “Seven hundred per month. And you just have to give me thirty days’ notice before you leave.”

  Melodee had found the rental in the local paper. The older lady was her perfect landlord, one who was very relaxed and cared little about previous rental history and credit checks.

  “I will give you plenty of notice, Mrs. Anderson,” she said politely. “Is it ready for me today?”

  “Oh yes, dear, I’ll show you where everything is.”

  It was on the ground floor – Melodee would never be caught on a level without an easy escape rou
te. She had been taught that before she’d learned her ABC’s. There wasn’t much to the two room, furnished place: a kitchenette that was open to the tiny living and dining room, and then the bedroom. But for Melodee it was more than enough.

  “Let me know if you need anything,” Mrs. Anderson said, as she left Melodee with the security and door key.

  Melodee was just about to close the front door when four men about her age entered the outer security area and stepped into the foyer. They brought with them swirls of cold air and traffic noise.

  A dark-haired man, taller than the others, chattered excitedly as he unwound his scarf and shook flakes of snow from his hair. “Nate was on fire last night. The scouts were there and deals are already being thrown around.”

  Another, with light streaks of caramel through his brown hair, chimed in. “Damn, I’d kill to be Sinclair for just one night of my life. Did you see that blonde?”

  His voice trailed off as they noticed Melodee in the open doorway. She internally cursed herself for not shutting her door quickly enough.

  “Hey, so you decided to stay?”

  The friendly redhead from the bus stop stepped forward from the others. Melodee had noticed him straight away but hoped he’d not remember her.

  “Oh, yeah, thanks for your advice. I’ve decided to stay for a while.”

  She could pretend with the best of them, and it was better to make friends than enemies. For some reason people remembered the bitch in apartment one more than the nice girl who had chatted with them.

  The loud, dark-haired man spoke up: “You must be the one from the bus stop. Craig described you perfectly. We didn’t catch you at the frat party.”

  Craig, the redhead, had clearly spoken about her. She hated that. It was so easy for information to get around, and that was the type of thing which her parents had relied on to do their job. But she valued her privacy, she didn’t want anyone thinking they could just butt in and find out where she was. That was why she lived this way, running and fighting.