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 tallholders, 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—myfucking 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.”
