Page 7 of Song Bird Hearts

“That’s what I thought,” Wolf chuckles. “Stay out of trouble, little star.” He stands up and chucks me on the chin. “I look forward to the next time you sing. See you around.”

“Says who?” I grunt.

“Says me,” he replies with a wink.

“How presumptuous of you.”

The teeth he reveals with his smile feel menacing. “Yes.”

He pulls his mask back on and disappears back into the crowd. I watch him go, intrigued, but feeling like he’s definitely the sort of trouble I shouldn’t mess with. Even troublemakers know when something may be too much trouble. A man with a name like Wolf? Yeah, trouble.

I glance at my phone. “Shit.” I should probably do some of the livestreaming before Kelly gives me shit. I’m getting close to the end of the hour I promised her. I flick open the app, my finger hovering over the button.

You’re the prettiest bouquet of dying flowers I’ve ever seen.

Christ. I take a deep breath and hit the “Go Live” button.

Chapter4

Valerie

Ifind a corner where I can talk without the music drowning my voice out. It’s loud in here, so I have to leave the main area and end up in one of the single corners not occupied by couples making out or someone snorting cocaine. Seriously, why is it so hard to just chill at a party? Though I suppose when there are waiters walking around with a selection of drugs on their silver trays, it’s part of the entertainment.

The moment the phone is recording, I plaster on a smile, watching as the viewer number immediately starts to tick up. My few million followers would have gotten the notification that I’m live, and like clockwork, they start to show up. My fans are everything to me, so I smile and wave.

“Hey y’all! You’ll never believe the party I’m at after winning Best New Artist at the CMAs!” For the camera, I pretend to be excited. it feels so fake, it makes my throat thick. “I figured I’d go live to show it off. Let me show you what’s happening.”

I’m careful not to point the camera at any of the drug users, only showing those dancing and moving to the beat. I mostly keep the camera on me, swaying to the music and pretending like I’m having the time of my life. It’s not hard to pretend. I know what it’s supposed to look like. The problem is, the longer I’m here, the more I have to pretend. I used to be so carefree. Now I feel chained, but that isn’t my fans’ fault. They deserve happy Val. Not sad, rich Val.

I laugh when someone comes up and preens like a peacock for the camera, but the sound is hollow. Is that really how I sound now?

This isn’t what I thought fame would be. The higher my view number goes up, the lonelier I feel. But this is what I asked for. I’ll do the song and dance because it’s expected. It’s both amazing and. . . soul-crushing. Can they see me wilting like Wolf did?

I refuse to let it crush me though. Things can change. Once I get more control of my work, it’ll be different.

“Let me show you how insane this house is,” I tell the livestream. “Seriously sick. We’re in the middle of nowhere, up high on a mountain. This view!” I step out on the balcony, muting the party inside, as I turn the camera and show off the view. It’s pretty. “You can’t get this every day,” I tell the livestream. Except I can at home. The mountains around the Green River Basin are breathtaking. I took it for granted before, but I miss it now. For a moment, I forget I’m livestreaming, letting the camera linger too long on my face. I snap out of it and shake my head.

“Anyways, let’s get going with the tour. You guys should see the pool,” I say, holding the camera in front of my face.

Comments begin pouring in, hearts and likes filling the screen. I can’t answer them all—there are too many—but I try my best to answer questions as they fly across my screen.

“I haven’t been on this side of the house,” I tell my fans. “Maybe there’s something cool like a Picasso or something in here.”

I push open the door to the other side of the house. I figure it’ll lead back inside the same area I left since the doors are so close together, but the moment I open the door, I find myself inside a large white pillared room instead. Large paintings hang on the walls just like I expect, so I step inside and close the door behind me.

“Look at those,” I whisper on instinct. “I bet those are someone famous. I flunked art history. Someone comment and tell me what painter these are.”

I zoom in on the nearest painting, prepared to read the comments to see if someone knows anything about it, but before I can get any closer, I’m startled by what sounds like a guttural scream. It echoes around the marble room, making me jump in surprise, my fingers tightening on my phone. I can’t even hear the music in here from the party, but that scream is loud. That sound was full of pain, like someone is being tortured.

I go on high alert, wondering if this is one of those times I should intervene. I go into stealth mode on instinct, taking slow soft steps so my boot heels don’t make a sound on the marble floor. There’s an open doorway ahead of me that I creep toward. Warm light spills from the doorway, golden, as if a mask for the terrible sounds that start tumbling out of the room. Carefully, I peek around the corner, barely leaning out in case it’s trouble I find.

Sure enough, I find that trouble I’ve been avoiding.

A circle of well-dressed men stand in a circle, each of them looking down. Another well-dressed older man walks around the edges, his eyes hard on whatever it is the other men are looking at. I follow their gazes to the man kneeling on the floor, his arm held across his chest awkwardly. Tears stream down his face, soft whimpers slipping from his lips as he holds what’s clearly a broken arm. I’m startled to realize I recognize the man on the floor, though I’ve never met him before. He’s an up and coming pop star, the kind of artist who sings songs that people add to their sex playlist. His newest song is catchy, very party worthy. Hell, I think they played his song at the party not even fifteen minutes ago.

“I think we understand each other, do we not?” the man walking around the edge asks.

“I didn’t know she was your wife,” the man whimpers. “She hit on me and?—”

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