Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“BODIES” BY brYCE FOX
TARL
The drive back from Mount Pleasant is quiet, Aeron and I lost in our own thoughts, the swirling maelstrom of the past, and all the things we didn’t know before today.
The fact that his mother and Lark’s were friends, and by the sounds of it long-time friends, was definitely not something any of us knew, Lark included.
“I’ve often wondered why dad and Rufus fell out,” Aeron says, hands firm on the steering wheel of his pride and joy; his matt black Ferrari LaFerrari. “I’d always assumed it had to do with what the Soldiers did to Mom.”
“And now?”
He huffs a sigh. “And now it seems like it stemmed from much earlier, and I’m wondering if all the fucked up shit we’ve done to each other was down to something far less noble than revenge for her rape.”
I think on his words, they reflect my own thoughts. I’ve only really known the two gangs to be rivals, to be at war with one another, and I, too, believed the catalyst for it becoming an all-out bloody war was because of the attack on Heather Taylor.
But if what she said earlier was true, then they were fighting long before her attack, forcing the two women to keep their friendship hidden, and the fact that Rufus subjected his own wife to the same punishment…
I knew he was a monster of a special sort, especially after Lark’s confession, but it seems he was worse than any of us ever knew.
The thought of what Lark has had to go through makes my hands clench and unclench in my lap with rage. A feeling that courses through me like a drug and won’t be satisfied until I can release it on Rufus, making him truly a dead Soldier.
Aeron’s phone rings and he presses a button on the wheel to answer it.
“Son,” Adam’s smooth voice floats around us, a warmth to his tone that is always present when talking to his sons. “How was your mother?”
Aeron’s eyes flick to mine, a hint of warning that is unnecessary. I won’t tell our leader that we took Lark, or that Heather confessed her friendship and vow to us.
“She was fine, pretty chatty actually,” Aeron answers, his voice completely normal with no hint of the half-truth and I smirk. The best lies always hold a grain of truth.
“Good, good,” Adam replies, releasing a breath. “Earl told me that our little bird sang, telling you that she can get you into Soldiers HQ?” The memory of her mother’s nickname flashes through my mind, and I find myself shifting in my seat when Adam uses it now.
My jaw clenches at Earl’s name, and I shouldn’t want to do all the horrible things that come to mind to him, what with Earl being the second-in-command and all, but I can’t help it. He hurt my Eshgham, and I blame him for what we had to do to her. How far we had to go.
“Yep, I wanted to come up with a plan of attack before I spoke to you.”
“And I’m sure that you will, son. Very clever to promise the safety of her brother to gain the intel.
Of course, he will die with the rest of the Soldier scum, but she doesn’t need to know that yet.
” The leather on the steering wheel creaks with Aeron’s tight grip.
“But first, I have a job for you boys tonight. The wood for the rebuild is arriving, and I need you all there to take charge and ensure it gets to the warehouse.”
He means the rebuild of the stables, Adam Taylor doesn’t sit on his laurels.
He gets shit done, and fast. He also refers to the deal that we, as the Tailors, are helping to facilitate between one of the biggest illegal arms dealers and his client.
Think of us like the middlemen; we ensure no one is getting fucked over and we get paid a fuck ton of dirty money for our services.
Luckily, we have a rather large racetrack to clean it.
“Of course. Send me the location and I’ll make sure we’re there.”
“I know you will, son. You’re shaping up to be the perfect leader. The next generation of Tailors, ready to take us into the future. I’m proud of you, Aeron. Of you all.”
I feel the swelling of my chest at his praise; this man who not only saved my life but gave me so much and treated me like one of his own. I can see Aeron do the same, sitting up straighter, even as a frown mars his brow.
“Thank you, Dad.”
“I’m sure that you have all of this handled.
I trust you to be able to deal with the Soldiers in any way that you see fit.
I want you to bring me their heads, son, Rufus’s and the boy’s.
Preferably on a silver fucking platter.” I shiver at the brutality in his tone, something I’d usually revel in, but unease makes me go rigid.
How will we accomplish that without breaking our beautiful bird’s heart?
“I’ve some business to take care of here, so I won’t be back for several weeks.
Make sure to take some of the men if you need them.
Earl included. They’re all under your command, and I’ll make sure they know it. Speak to you soon, son.”
“Speak to you soon, Dad.” The call ends, and once again, we sit in silence, both lost in our own thoughts.
“Are you going to do as he says?” The baring of Aeron’s teeth as he looks at the road in front of us tells me he knows what I’m talking about. Rook, Lark’s brother.
“She’ll not forgive us for killing her only true family left,” he replies, and I nod, my throat tightening with the thought that we’re in between a rock and a hard place.
Do we kill Lark’s brother and earn her hate? Or do we leave him alive and earn the wrath of Adam, as well as potentially a whole host of future problems?
Often, I’m glad that I’m not the heir to the Tailors.
We leave Lark at the warehouse, venturing out into the rapidly-cooling air of the evening as we take one of the trucks to the rendezvous point. We sit in silence, no one knowing quite what to say after Aeron told the others Adam’s edict with regards to our bird’s brother.
We’re soon pulling up to the site of the stables, and our mood grows even more somber to see the scorched earth and little else left.
All that remains of Adam’s beloved stables is a light dusting of ash, and it makes my brows knit together with the thought of the suffering of those poor horses like Blue who were trapped. Fucking Soldier scum.
The site manager, a Tailor called Ralph, strolls over, greeting us before motioning to about a dozen other Tailors waiting to unload the wood ready for the contractors who are due in the morning.
“Everything is all set, Mr. Tailor,” he says to Aeron.
It should feel strange that a man in his late forties is showing such deference to someone over fifteen years younger than him, but Aeron, and to a lesser extent ourselves, have had this treatment for most of our lives, so it’s become the norm now.
Soon after, a large HGV pulls into the lot, and our usual driver steps out alongside his son, walking over to us.
“Evenin’ Mr. Taylor,” Burt greets, dipping his head at Aeron, then the rest of us.
“Good evening, Burt. John.” Aeron always remembers everyone’s names, it was why it was so amusing that he purposefully called Lark Dove. “I take it you had no issues?”
“No, sir, everything was smooth as usual.”
“Good. Why don’t you take a little walk? Come back in, say, half an hour?” Aeron suggests, and they both nod, taking off towards the field next to us. “Ralph.”
Ralph calls his guys over, and they get to work unloading the wood from the truck. They make quick work of it, calling quietly when they get to a piece that looks like all the others but is clearly lighter, the edge looking like several pieces stacked together.
“Thanks, boys,” Aeron says, sending them back to the truck as he inspects the piece.
“Coffin concealment?” Knox asks, and Aeron nods.
“Looks like it.”
“Worth a lot?”
“Three million.”
Knox cracks his neck, blowing out a breath and going to open the trunk of the truck. He pulls out a slim crowbar, the moonlight glinting off the metal as he walks towards us and crouches down to run his palm over the wood. His forehead creases in concentration and then he smiles.
“Bingo.”
With a care that should not be possible for such a large man—he’s clearly the biggest of us all in terms of muscle and bulk—he gently slides the end of the crowbar into a tiny gap that I didn’t see until that moment.
With careful movement, he levers the crowbar, taking his time and not rushing until the lid of the piece pops off and slides to the ground, revealing the void underneath it.
Inside, wrapped in dark cloth is what I assume to be a square painting, something we’re used to dealing in and what we were expecting. Knox opens the cloth to reveal the glint of an ornate, antique frame and a brightly-colored canvas.
“Load it in the truck. Rupert’s waiting,” Aeron tells us, arms folded over his chest as his eyes dart over to the Tailors still unloading.
Rupert is our crocked art dealer, a former auctioneer of Christies, London and now has his own fine art auction house here in Colorado.
We won’t be selling this through him, he doesn’t deal in stolen goods, but he does help us to check their authenticity for our clients, to ensure that no one gets fucked over in a deal.
It’s one of the reasons why our reputation is so good as middlemen, we cover all the bases.
“Aye, aye, captain!” Jude salutes, and I’m not the only one having to press my lips together at his antics. Even Aeron’s mouth twitches.
Jude and I gingerly lift out the painting, carrying it over to the truck where Knox already has the hidden compartment in the trunk open. We place it inside, ensuring that it’s well padded and covered, then shut the compartment and the trunk.
We watch as Aeron speaks to Ralph, then leaves a large envelope of cash in the glove box before he heads over to us, his dark navy suit bringing out his stormy eyes. He really is beautiful, but has never swung my way so I’ve not pushed it.
“Let’s go meet Rupert. I want to get back to our little Dove.”
Me too, brother. Me too.