“Bookies keep the bets, Little Bird,” Knox adds, and her head swivels to look at him, Jude still hanging around her.
“And…you own the bookies…” she trails off, her eyes going wide as realization hits. “So either way, you clean your money and make some money. No wonder you’re so fucking rich.”
I laugh.
“It’s not the only way we make money, but yes, it can be a very lucrative venture,” I tell her, holding out my hand for her to take again. She places her smaller hand in mine, and electricity runs up my spine at the contact. She really is the Tailors’ Ruin.
“How else do you make your money?” she asks as she steps away from Jude, and I indicate to Rick that we’re ready to go.
“If I told you, then I’d have to kill you.”
Her brows shoot up into her hairline at my words.
“Holy shit, Aeron! Did you just make a joke?!” she teases, and I give her a blank look, my left eyebrow arching, but can’t stop the way my lips try to copy her smile.
“Hell has been known to freeze over occasionally, Nightingale,” Jude says, and I switch my glare to him. Like the fucker he is, he just laughs and skips ahead.
She groans when we reach the base of a staircase, the one that leads to our owner’s box.
“Fucking seriously? In these shoes?”
I don’t have time to make a smart remark as no sooner are the words out of her mouth than Knox sweeps her up into his arms. She shrieks, the sound turning into a giggle that has us all straightening up, even Rick.
“She’s a rare one, that’s for sure,” he comments when we follow her peals of laughter as Knox jogs up the stairs. “Where has old Rufus Jackson been hiding her?”
The mention of Lark’s father’s name has my teeth grinding, remembering exactly how he’s been treating his daughter for the past ten years, and then an evil smirk tilts my lips upwards.
“Are our guests all settled?”
“In the box next to yours as you requested,” Rick replies, a dark eyebrow lifted in curiosity, but he doesn’t question me further, keeping his thoughts to himself as we walk through the doors into the Tailor box.
Dove is no longer in Knox’s arms. Instead, she’s standing frozen as she gazes out of the window towards the balcony next to ours.
“D–dad?”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“BLOOD//WATER - ACOUSTIC”BY GRANDSON
LARK
My entire body is still, ice flowing through my veins as I stare at the embodiment of my ruin. All else fades away as I look at the man who was meant to shelter me, protect me, but instead gave me away like yesterday's trash. I don’t feel hatred like I do when there is a distance between us. I don’t feel the usual fire of anger burning inside me. No, I’m numb from the cold, frozen to the core.
As if he can feel my glare burning into the back of his head, my sperm donor turns, his blue eyes so like my own, locking onto me. It doesn’t matter that there’s glass between us, I want to recoil, I want to run away from the acid in his gaze, but I’m rooted to the spot, unable to move like so many times before.
Helpless.
“Come, Little Bird,” Knox brushes his fingers down my arm, and I feel my body shiver, though it doesn’t penetrate the frostthat coats me. “I think we’ll all need some Dutch courage for this.”
Usually, I’d wonder what he means, but I can’t. Not whilehestares at me like that. Like I’m his worst mistake.
I let Knox tug me away, but I can feelhiseyes on the back of me, scoring me with the burn of ice.
“Here, drink,” Knox commands roughly, shoving a glass of amber liquid into my hand. There are ripples on the surface as my whole body trembles.
Why is he here?
I bring the glass to my lips, knocking the whole thing back in one go. The burn of alcohol going down my throat finally breaks the spell, and I cough, blinking and seeing our surroundings for the first time.
