Chapter 29
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“PLAY DIRTY” BY KEVIN MCALLISTER
LARK
The next day we all get ready, and I can’t help sensing the tension in the air, like bees buzzing around you, ready to swarm. There’s a tightness in my gut that I can’t seem to shake, no matter how hard I fucking try.
They’ll be okay, they’re some of the biggest bad out there.
“Hey, Little Bird. Nothing bad will happen to you or us,” Knox tells me, wrapping his arms around me from behind, and the knot in my stomach tightens until I feel sick.
“That’s right, Dove. We’ll take care of you,” Aeron assures me as he steps into my front and cups my face in his large warm hands.
I have to swallow back tears, feeling like the blackest of devils.
“And your brother,” he adds after a beat.
I can’t speak, just nod and kiss him back with trembling lips when he presses his to mine.
“Let’s go meet the others and you can explain everything, okay?
” His voice is softer than when I first met him, kinder too.
The darkness that lived in his deep blue eyes is still there, but he doesn’t look as pained as he used to, and that just makes me hurt more.
We get into one of the trucks, Knox driving, with Aeron and Jude on either side of me, Tarl on the passenger side. They all keep shooting glances my way, brows furrowed, and I know I’m doing a shit job of hiding my apprehension, but I can’t seem to rein it in.
All too soon, we’re pulling up in front of what I know is one of the many office buildings owned by the Tailor gang. I huff a laugh.
“What’s so funny, little Nightingale?” Jude asks, bringing our clasped hands up to his lips and placing a light kiss on my knuckles.
“I was just thinking that only rich assholes like you would hold a meeting about the eradication of another gang in a smart office block. Will we get pastries and coffee?” Am I using sass and sarcasm to hide my misery? You bet your ass I am.
“Freshly baked from one of our bakeries,” Aeron whispers in my ear, and fucking hell, that boy could make a shopping list sound sexual. It’s almost enough to make me forget the sick feeling in my stomach.
“Only the best for us, Nightingale, and world domination is a hungry business, you know?” Jude says completely deadpan and without a hint of teasing. Of course he’s fucking serious, bloody psycho.
Someone in a smart uniform comes towards us, opening the door for Aeron, who gets out and then leans back in, holding his hand out for me to take.
Feeling shaky, I place my palm in his and allow him to help me from the car, grateful for my boots and a sweater now that we’re entering into fall.
The sun still shines like a traitorous bastard, like nothing terrible is about to happen.
I just wish that sometimes my mood was reflected in the weather, like it should be stormy and blowing a gale outside like it is inside me right now.
Knox tosses the uniformed lackey his keys, and we make our way up to the modern glass doors which open with a swish as we approach.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” a very attractive blonde woman greets us, her eyes pausing over me. “And miss. Your boardroom is ready.”
“Thank you, Jessica,” Aeron replies, still holding my hand, which he tucks into the crook of his suit-clad elbow as Jessica leads us down a bright and airy corridor.
We stop before a large gray door, no windows to be able to see what we’re walking into, and I can’t help stiffening.
“You’ll be fine, Dove. We’re right here,” Aeron murmurs, and I look up to see him gazing down at me, a softness about his face that I’m coming to realize he only wears for me. “You’re safe.”
It’s not me that I’m worried about, I want to scream at him before dragging them all back to the warehouse and hiding under the covers for the rest of our lives.
Rook.
The one reason that I can’t do that. The one reason that I must keep going, even if it’s like knives into my heart. Squaring my shoulders, I give him a nod and face the door again.
“Ready?” Jessica asks, and I nod again. If I keep this up, I’ll be like one of the fucking nodding dogs that old people have in the back of their cars.
“Ready.”
She opens the door for us, Tarl and Knox stepping in first, then Aeron and I follow with Jude behind us.
“Little songbird.” The nasal voice crawls over my skin before my eyes even find him in the room. “I wondered if you’d be singing this morning.”
“Shut the fuck up, Earl,” Knox snarls, taking a step towards the older man who drops his smirk and retreats back into his chair. “You don’t even fucking look at her.”
Earl’s jaw works, and I can see the fight in his eyes, the distaste clear on his screwed-up face. He’s used to being top dog, but when his master is away, he has to obey new masters, whether he likes it or not. He gives a sharp tilt of his head.
“Good. Now that that is settled, shall we begin?” Aeron says, his voice unemotional and full of command as he leads me around to the head of the table where he takes his seat and then fucking drags me down onto his lap. Asshole.
I watch as the others come and sit either side of us; Knox on Aeron’s left, with Jude and then Tarl on the right. A united front. There’s a beat of hesitation, the five other Tailors looking at each other before sitting back down.
“Pastry, Nightingale?” Jude asks, reaching over to where a pile of freshly baked pastries and three steaming pots wait in the middle of the table.
He grabs a small plate, piling several pastries onto it, before pouring me a steaming cup of what smells like hot chocolate and even adding some whipped cream and pink and white mini marshmallows.
A grin splits my lips, the thought that he knows not only do I prefer hot chocolate to coffee but that I love marshmallows in it too, making me feel all kinds of warm and fuzzy.
“As you know,” Aeron starts, his hand splaying on my stomach as he pulls me closer to his body.
I can’t help it, I sink into him, placing my hand on top of his.
“We have been looking for the Dead Soldier headquarters for years with no success.” I see the other Tailors nod, and I notice that they’re all dressed smartly, in suits that really make this feel like a business meeting, not the start of a killing mission.
“Well, now we have our in, and this morning we will discuss the best course of action going forward.”
“And we’re going to listen to the Soldier whore? Just like that?” one of the Tailors asks, a young guy whose ears stick out from the side of his head, his closely trimmed, mousy brown hair doing nothing to hide them.
I jump when suddenly a knife is impaled in his shoulder, the handle bobbing as he screams before leaping to his feet. His hand goes to reach for it.
“I wouldn’t do that,” Tarl says, voice casual as fuck, and I twist my head to look at him as he watches the Tailor that presumably he just threw a knife at. “You’ll lose blood quicker if you pull it out.”
“Oh! Let’s have a game!” Jude yells, jumping up out of his seat and fucking skipping over to the Tailor.
Coming up behind him, he places his hands on both of the guy’s shoulders and pushes him back into his chair.
The guy whimpers at the rough touch. “If Dumbo here doesn’t pass out before the end of the meeting, he can live. ”
The man, Dumbo, swallows as he shakes in his chair. “A–and i–if I do p–pass out?”
He looks at Aeron, missing Jude leaning down, right next to his ear on the side where there is a flower of blood blooming around the knife.
“I think even you can guess what happens then, can’t you, Dumbo?
” There’s a wicked gleam in Jude’s ocean eyes, and I can see his fingers dig into the man’s shoulders as he grins.
It shouldn’t make my thighs clench, but I never claimed that I wasn’t fucked up, and seeing these men defend my honor has my core heating.
Aeron chuckles behind me, his other hand sliding up the inside of my jeans-clad thigh.
“Naughty, Dove.”
With a final squeeze that causes Dumbo’s eyes to roll, Jude saunters back to his seat, plopping down and grabbing a pastry before taking a huge bite. Fucking crazy bastard.
“You were saying, brother?” He turns to Aeron, his cheeks flushed and I know that he’s also turned on by the violence, his arousal pressing against his canary yellow chinos.
“Dove?”
My body stiffens, all eyes on me and I have to swallow a couple of times before I can speak.
“Judy’s Laundromat,” I say, looking at Knox. “That’s where Dead Soldiers HQ is.”
“That’s not—” Earl starts, falling silent as my guys twist to look at him. He pales ever so slightly, and to be fucking honest, so would I if they were all staring at me like they need no excuse to rip my throat out.
“Carry on, Little Bird,” Knox encourages, and I turn to give him a small smile of appreciation.
“In the basement is an old speakeasy, from prohibition days. You can only gain access via the alleyway down the side of Judy’s. There’s a fire door, it opens into a lobby and from there down into the basement.”
“Huh, didn’t know Rufus could be so clever,” Knox muses, looking a little impressed.
A hand comes up and grasps my chin, turning my head until Aeron’s ocean eyes are staring into mine. It’s almost too close, the position slightly uncomfortable, but I allow it, not protesting.
“And why can’t we just break in through the fire door?”
“It’s booby-trapped,” I tell him, his hand lightening its hold so that I can speak more clearly. “There’s a metal boot mat that’s hooked up to the mains electricity as well as the door handle. It can only be turned off from the inside, and they watch the alley to make sure no one tries to walk in.”