Chapter 5 #2
“Time to go, Dove.” His voice is dark and unemotional, and yet it seeps into me and devastates me all the same.
I swallow painfully, like I've tried to eat too much in one go, and give a small nod, turning around, his hands falling from my shoulders.
He doesn't step back, doesn't move at all, his face limned in the city lights behind me as he stands so close that I can feel the brush of his suit jacket.
He takes me in, his eyes devouring my nakedness; from my puckered nipples to my hot pussy.
One of his hands reaches out, his fingers trailing along the side of my face, his own expression remaining hard and unyielding.
“I'd be lying if I said that I won’t enjoy hurting you, Dove,” he confesses softly, his thumb running along my bottom lip.
“I'd be lying if I said that I won't enjoy it,” I reply, his nostrils flaring at my words.
My chest rises and falls rapidly, my skin tingling at his nearness, his touch confusing me. I shouldn't want him, and yet there's something about him that makes me feel alive, and not in a state of suspended death like I have been for the past ten years.
We stand there, Aeron looking at me like he wants to devour my very essence. It wouldn't be much of a feast for him, shriveled and tainted as it is, but a part of me—a large fucking part, if I'm being totally honest—wants him too. I want him to take all of my ruin and make it his own.
“Come on,” he murmurs after a time, his hand falling from my face and shocking the absolute shit out of me by tangling it with my own, leading me out of the room.
“Do I get any clothes?” I ask, trying to calm my racing heart as we head down the mezzanine level towards some metal stairs. It's the first time I've left the room, and I try to absorb my surroundings as much as possible.
It's a warehouse conversion by the looks of it with lots of metal beams and exposed brickwork. I find comfort in its openness. Its space.
“Not until you earn them,” Aeron answers in that same monotone voice, not letting go of my hand as he leads me down the stairs and back to that fucking basement door.
My steps falter then, and I hate myself for showing even that small glimpse of fear. I grew up in the Dead Soldiers with my sadist father. I shouldn't be afraid of anything anymore, but yeah, I guess heading back into a torture chamber is not on my list of Friday night fun things to do.
Aeron steadies me with his other hand on my waist, his face filling my vision, and suddenly I'm drowning in his ocean eyes. He holds me captive, his hand on my body tightening marginally, my breath catching at the move.
In another mind-blowing gesture, he leans down and brushes his lips over mine in the ghost of a kiss.
My breath completely stills in my chest as my eyes automatically close.
I hold immobile as his soft lips feather over mine, and whilst my brain curses me out for not fighting like a fucking banshee, my cunt seems to be in charge as it pulses and holds us still for him.
“Ready, Dove?” he asks softly, his lips again brushing mine in a whisper.
“Yes.” I sigh, hearing the lie in my shaking voice. Of course I'm not fucking ready. What kind of mentalist would be ready for torture?
“Good girl,” he says back in a soft, dark tone, and fuck me seven ways, that praise does things to my core that it shouldn't.
After a beat, he steps back and turns towards the door again, taking my hand once more as he leads me towards it. Opening the door, he takes us through it, and my skin instantly prickles with a mixture of the cold and the dank, coppery smell that hits my nose.
Heart pounding, we make our way down the steps, my feet quickly becoming chilled on the freezing concrete.
My fingers involuntarily tighten in Aeron's, but he doesn't complain or let go as we reach the bottom.
Instead, he leads me to a room that will definitely haunt my nightmares for years to come.
The nondescript door opens when we approach, and I'm surprised to see the soft flicker of candlelight in the room where my back was ripped to shreds, my fingernails torn off, and my skin branded with the Tailors’ insignia.
“Good evening, Nightingale,” Jude coos, skipping right up to me, grabbing my head in his palms, and slamming his lips onto mine.
I'm so worked up and all over the fucking place that I don't think, just react, as I melt into the kiss, a deep, pussy-melting groan sounding low in his throat as I step into him, one hand still clutching Aeron’s as the other comes to rest on Jude’s bare chest. My naked breasts press against his hot body, the heat of him warming my chilled one.
He claims my mouth as his, branding me as effectively as those other gangbangers did with their burning metal, and I fucking love it.
I've never enjoyed being kissed, mostly because someone forcing slug-like lips onto mine whilst they take what is not theirs kind of turns a girl off, you know?
But Jude's kiss is like him, full of fun and madness. I want to die here, with his lips on mine. Fuck, Lark! Snap the fuck out of it!
He pulls away with a shit-eating grin and reaches down to adjust his very obvious hard-on in his purple velvet pants.
“Missed you, Nightingale,” he says, then practically bounces on his bare toes. “I bought you a gift.”
He steps aside and all the warmth he just gave me drains from my body, leaving me quivering as I try to make sense of what's in front of me. My eyes trace over the hard, sparkling panes of glass and gold filigree that make up a…coffin.
“A coffin?” I whisper, rooted to the spot as Jude bounces over to it and whips out a fucking handkerchief to polish the glass.
“Isn't it beautiful?” he asks reverently, his eyes shining in the candlelight. Dripping candles surround the coffin, some on tall holders, some in old wine bottles, and some just on the floor, wax pooling underneath them. “Come see, I had it engraved for you.”
Aeron tugs my hand, and I realize with a start that he didn't let go the whole time Jude kissed me. Stumbling, my feet follow his lead, and as we approach the coffin—my fucking coffin—I see that the glass on the top is etched in swirling script.
Nightingale.
Icy dread shivers down my spine.
“I'm not getting into a fucking coffin,” I snap out, my voice shaking as my body trembles.
“You don't like it?” Jude questions, his brow furrowed and low like I've just refused a wonderful gift.
“It's a fucking coffin!” I shout, flinging out my arm to indicate the glass box. “How am I meant to even breathe in there?”
“It's actually quite clever,” Jude answers, ignoring my outburst and pointing to the filigree decoration. “There are air holes all along here. I had it made especially for you, Nightingale.”
“You're fucking crazy,” I say, tugging my hand free of Aeron's and stepping back, immediately hitting a hard body behind me. Firm hands wrap around my biceps and try as I might, I just can't break free.
I won't go into that fucking box.
“Calm down, Little Bird,” Knox’s deep voice sounds in my ear as the man himself pushes me towards the coffin, Aeron opening the lid.
“Fucking traitor cunt!” I seethe, my bare feet slipping on the cold floor as he pushes me closer. “You didn't deserve my pussy.”
“I know, Little Bird,” he mumbles back, but I barely notice his broken tone as I flail and try to get out of his grip. It's fucking useless, he's too strong and I'm too fucking weak. The story of my shitty life.
“I could give her something to calm her down,” Tarl’s soft voice suggests, and my head whips around to see him step forward with a fucking syringe.
“No!” I shout, fear coating my tongue as I immediately cease my struggles. I don't want to go into the coffin, but I want to be drugged even less. I can't lose control like that. Not again. Never again. “I–I’ll go.”
Tears prick my eyes, but I blink furiously, refusing to let them fall as I take one shaking step and then another until I'm standing in front of the coffin. My coffin.
“H—” I start, swallowing hard. “How do I get in?” I ask, looking inside at the white silk lining the base and a small, silk pillow at the head end.
It really is a beautiful object, you know, if it wasn't a coffin meant for me.
My hands tremble at my sides, and I bite my lip hard, tasting the coppery tang of my blood when I break the skin.
“Here,” Knox whispers softly in my ear, then he turns me to the side and sweeps me off my feet like a fairytale princess.
Only, instead of whisking me away to my happily ever after, he lowers me into a glass coffin.
I would laugh, as didn't Snow White end up in one of those?
Look at me being a regular Disney princess. Jesus.
He lowers me down onto the silk, and at least it's soft against my skin, cradling my body in its embrace as he pulls his arms away. They all come to stand around me, Aeron and Jude on one side, Tarl and Knox on the other, staring down with intense gazes.
“So fucking beautiful, Nightingale,” Jude purrs, his tone worshipping as his eyes glide along my body.
My heart still thrashes, but not with just fear, and I feel so confused my skin itches. I'm terrified, tears pricking my eyes, but my body flushes with heat at his praise. Fucking hell, I've never wanted to please a man before, but these guys leave me craving the nuggets that they keep dropping.
Jude reaches over me, grasping the lid and pulling it closed on silent hinges, and my pulse picks up, my palms sweating as it swings shut. I watch as they each take a golden padlock and lock me in. My breath fogs the glass above my face, obscuring my view of their handsome, cruel faces.
“Don't break the glass, Dove,” Aeron tells me, giving a nod to the others and suddenly the room gets darker as they begin to snuff each candle out.
My head turns, eyes frantically watching as Jude pinches each flame between his fingers with a sigh of pleasure.
“It's safety glass, so won't shatter anyway,” Aeron continues, and I look back up at him in the dim lighting.
“Please,” I beg, unable to stop my plea from falling from my trembling lips. “Please don't leave me in the dark, Aeron.”
He stares back at me with no emotion on his face, and I know that my begging is falling on deaf ears.
“Goodnight, Dove,” he hums just as the last candle blinks out, and I'm left in complete and absolute darkness.