Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“LOVE IS GONE - ACOUSTIC” BY SLANDER, DYLAN MATTHEW
JUDE
Four fucking days our Nightingale has been in the cell. Ninety-six fucking hours of absolute torture for the rest of us. She wouldn’t let Tarl help heal her and she’s barely eaten anything that I’ve put in front of her, no matter how much I plead or beg.
Aeron is a fucking mess, spending most of the time drunk, with a glass of his favorite whiskey dangling from almost lifeless fingers as he stares into the distance, lost in the past and what that has meant for his future without him even knowing it.
Knox is high off fuck knows what, racing off on his bike without a goddamn helmet, no doubt haunted by what happened in the torture room.
Tarl is also plagued by the ghosts of his actions in that room; pouring water over her face–over the cloth that my trembling hands laid over her mouth and nose–until she couldn’t breathe and helping me to hold her up while Knox beat the shit out of her.
He may be known as the Inquisitor, but he’s a healer at heart, and it broke something inside of him to use his torture skills on our beautiful, broken bird.
I know that the image of drowning my beautiful Nightingale will feature in my nightmares for years, and I feel sick every time I look at the hands that held her while Knox hit her.
The only relief from the black fog I feel is when my blade slices across my skin, leaving a sharp trail of pain and remorse behind.
There are ninety-six in total, one for every hour that she’s been down there.
It was hard to convince myself not to do one for every minute, but I knew that Tarl would kill me if he found out. He still might.
Dishing up a plate of pancakes, not giving a fuck that it’s closer to dinnertime than breakfast, I try to think of a cheery song while I work.
It’s the same dish I made her that first morning, although unlike then, the Disney songs just won’t come to me.
Another reason to convince her to come back to us.
Walking past the guys in the living room, all heads turn to me, matching looks of sorrow in their eyes, but no one says anything as I open the door to the basement, then walk down the stairs.
The skin on my exposed chest tightens the closer I get to her cell, the frigid air beyond our control as it really is a room intended for people who won’t make it out alive, so why do they need to be kept comfortable?
“Good evening, Nightingale,” I greet as I stride into the room.
My brows dip when I see her shivering on that filthy mattress, naked back to me and completely ignoring the brand-new mattress and bedding that I bought the very first night to try and help keep her warm.
“I’ve bought your favorite; Jude’s special pancakes. ”
A huff and something mumbled that sounds a lot like my name taken in vain is my only response, but I’m taking it as a win as it’s the first thing she’s said to me since she walked in here. And like a fucking lightbulb, inspiration strikes and my lips tug up into a grin.
Taking a deep breath, I begin to sing “I see the Light” from Tangled and it takes all my effort not to fist pump the air when she stills and then turns over.
The sense of triumph quickly dies when I see her red-rimmed eyes and the skin on her slender arms and thighs a mottle of blue and purple bruises. Marks that we’re all responsible for.
Walking closer, still singing and holding the plate of pancakes, I sink down as she pushes up, tears making her blue eyes sparkle like the purest of diamonds.
They drip down her cheeks, and I can’t help my free hand reaching over and brushing them away.
She doesn’t flinch, and I can feel my eyes moisten at the knowledge that she’s not afraid of me. That I may not have lost her.
Coming to the end of the song, I present the plate, and she sniffles, catching the hand that wiped her tears away and nuzzling her cheek into my open palm.
“Disney has a song for every occasion, huh?” she says, her voice broken and rough sounding, and my chest tightens at the sound of her pain.
I want to hear her voice like that when we’ve forced too many orgasms on her fragile body, not like this.
Not when we’ve hurt her physically, and possibly her heart too.
“It’s what I’ve been saying for years, Nightingale, but no one ever listens to me,” I tell her softly, my mouth suddenly dry and my hands trembling.
“Not until you.” A rush of lightness flows through me at the fact that she’s talking to me.
It makes me feel as though I could fly like Peter fucking Pan.
“J–Jude—” she starts, and I don’t hold back, pulling her to me with the hand on her cheek and melding our lips together.
She hesitates for just a beat, a fraction of a second, and then with a sob that I swallow greedily, she returns the kiss.
Her arms wrap around my neck, her fingers tangling in my hair and she pulls me closer.
I almost drop her brinner, managing to hold it up as I fuse our lips together, my bare chest chilled as she presses her freezing, naked torso against me.
It’s like coming home after years spent in the cold. Like the moment you wake up after a nightmare to find sunlight pouring in the window, and realize that it was all just a bad dream.
“We’re so broken without you, Nightingale,” I whisper against her lips, unwilling to stop kissing her but needing to say the words. “We’re like lost boys, and you’re our Wendy Darling, our north fucking star, guiding us home.”
I can taste the salt of her sadness as the tears drip onto my lips, and I lap each one, vowing to never make her hurt again.
“Jude,” she moans, rubbing herself up against me in a bid to get closer. It’s really fucking hard not to push her back and sink into her body, but my brothers need her too. She anchors us in a way that no one else has before, not even June.
“I want to do nothing more than give you all the pleasure you deserve, Nightingale,” I tell her, reluctantly breaking our kiss. “But Aeron needs you, they all do. None of us have much choice in this life, broken bird. You should know that more than most.”
I watch as she takes in my words, fresh tears spilling over her pale cheeks even as she nods slowly.
“...Okay,” she whispers, a hint of the fire that made us all fall hard entering her stunning eyes. “But I want my pancakes first.”
LARK
After I demolish the admittedly fucking delicious pancakes, Jude leads me to what turns out to be a bathroom further up the basement corridor, complete with a shower and fluffy bath robes and towels.
I arch a brow, but he just laughs and swats my ass, avoiding any of my bruises as he turns the water on and encourages me to step into the glass cubicle.
I freeze, the sound of the shower taking me back to the near drowning the guys gave me five days ago.
A warm, naked body presses into my back, and I spin to find Jude there, droplets of water beading on his beautiful, inked-up body.
A gasp falls from my lips when I see lines of red scabs marring his upper thighs.
I lose count, there are so many, and my eyes flash up to meet his.
“Ninety-six. One for every hour you spent down here,” he tells me in a hoarse tone, and my chest tightens at his confession. His jaw is clenched, like he expects me to tell him off. To judge him for his coping mechanisms.
“Oh, Jude, love,” I say softly, stepping into his arms and wrapping my own around his torso, resting my head right over his beating heart. “I’m so, so sorry.”
He pulls me away, just enough to look into my eyes.
“Don’t you ever say sorry to me, Nightingale. Never, you hear?” I nod, feeling a twinge in my chest, the knowledge of what I have to do lying heavy over my heart. Then his whole face lights up. “You called me love.”
“It hurts here whenever I’m apart from you.
” I hold his stare as I place a hand over my beating heart and I repeat the words he told me not so long ago.
“I feel rage here whenever I think about anyone hurting you,” I continue, laying my hand over my solar plexus.
“I feel calmer, safer here whenever you’re near.
” I take his hand in mine and place it against my temple. “Now tell me, is that love?”
His jaw works, and I’m sure the droplets lining his eyelashes are not just from the running shower behind my back.
“I don’t know who gave you to me, Nightingale, but I call dibs for fucking life,” he says back, and I laugh, the water no longer bothering me like it did when I first got in. “Let me take care of you.”
We spend a long time letting the steamy water warm up my chilled body, Jude washing away the trauma of five days ago, while I face the reality of gang life.
Jude was right when he said none of us have much choice in this life, and also correct to point out that I should be aware of that more than others. How can I blame Aeron for what he was forced to do? Maybe he’ll learn to feel the same after…
One thing at a time, Lark.
I don’t let my mind go there, to what will happen.
They’ll be fine. Instead, I focus on Jude’s strong hands as he covers me with a shower gel that smells a lot like Tarl; all spicy and exotic.
When I’m finally warm enough, my skin pink from the heat of the water, Jude steps out first, wrapping a thick, fluffy towel low around his hips in that sexy guy way before holding one out for me.
“Stop looking at me like that, Nightingale,” he admonishes as he dries my body with as much care and gentleness as he took washing it.
“Like what?” I reply, batting my lashes and pulling an innocent expression, even while I drag my eyes over his sculpted torso.
“Like you want to fuck me raw,” he answers, throwing the towel he was drying me with on the floor and grabbing a white, fluffy robe. “Or like you want me to fuck you raw.”
“And if that is what I want?” I ask in a breathy whisper, my core heating at his words, at the visual they create.
“Then make up with Aeron like a good girl,” he murmurs against my ear as he wraps the robe around me, tying the cord tightly. “And we’ll both fuck you. Together.”
My breath hitches and I have to swallow past the surge of lust that floods my body before I can speak again.
“Promise?” I ask, and he steps away, his towel now tented in the most distracting way.
“Scout’s honor,” he replies, making the Star Trek sign against his temple and smiling roguishly at me.
Fucking idiot. We exit the bathroom, our fingers intertwined as Jude leads me towards the stairs.
Once we reach the top, I pause, my heart thudding in my chest at having to face them all.
It’s always been easier with Jude, what if I get some kind of PTSD with the others?
“You’ll be fine, Nightingale,” Jude whispers, clearly seeing my thoughts racing across my face.
It’s not lost on me that he reflects my own thoughts about them and what’s to come back at me.
Taking a deep inhale, I nod and then follow him through the doorway into the darkened room, a single lamp illuminating the vast space.
He steps aside and I see them all there, Tarl and Knox frozen as they look at me with anguish in their eyes, their faces tight with all that’s passed between us. My chest tightens at the pain and sorrow in their eyes, but it’s Aeron who holds my attention right now.
Aeron’s gaze is not on me. It’s lodged somewhere in the middle distance as a glass of amber liquid hangs from his long fingertips.
He looks different; his jaw covered in stubble where he hasn’t shaved, his slacks creased and his shirt unbuttoned at the neck and rolled up to his elbows.
I don’t hate it, but can see that it’s a sign of the turmoil his mind is in.
Without letting myself question my actions, I walk towards him on bare feet, not pausing once before I climb into his lap, sitting sideways so I can bring my feet up and touch as much of him as possible.
The sound of a glass shattering on the floor sounds before strong, warm arms envelop me, pulling me closer as he breathes a huge, shuddering exhale.
“I'm so fucking sorry, Dove.” His voice is gravelly, sounding just as broken as mine did when Jude first came to me in the basement.
“I know, Devil Man,” I reply, snuggling into him and breathing in his comforting scent.
There’s a heavy dose of whiskey added to the usual clean cotton, amber, and vanilla scent, but again, I don’t hate it.
Pulling my head back a fraction, I look up at him and wait until he’s staring back at me.
“I was reminded that we don’t get much choice in this life, but I can choose forgiveness, and I choose to forgive you, Aeron.
We belong together, come what may, and I won’t let our pasts take that away, because then they win.
” I don’t need to explain who they are; our fathers whose bitter hatred for each other started this godforsaken war long before we were born. “I choose you. All of you.”
His arms tighten around me, his head dipping down to rest our foreheads together.
“I choose you too, Dove. You, and only you, for as long as I have left,” he whispers, and tears sting my closed eyelids. “And I swear to you that I will protect you with my life, now and always.”
His lips brush mine, and I sink into the kiss, a shuddering breath leaving my chest when his tongue sweeps into my mouth in a claiming that is all Aeron Taylor. He reinforces his vow with his kiss, pulling me as close as he can, telling me with his body that he will protect me.
We pull apart, breathing heavily and staring into one another’s eyes with this newfound thing between us. It’s fragile like a seedling, and I just hope that it cannot be destroyed. That it’s able to weather the storm that will descend on us sooner rather than later.
“Hells yeah!” Jude shouts, making me jump and swing my gaze over to him. “Hashtag whychoose!”
A laugh spills from my lips as Aeron holds me close, Jude’s words wrapping around me in a warm embrace. I look at Knox and Tarl, seeing the same feeling shining in their eyes as they stare back at me.
Whychoose for fucking life.