My sperm donor is stuck in his ways, unable to let go of anything or to move with the times. Plus, he’s always had a hand in the most unsavory enterprises; cutting drugs and targeting vulnerable women to work on the streets. There’s no honor in what the Soldiers do, just pain and suffering.
“Why did you ask about the cameras and bugs, Aeron?”
“Doc let us come to you when he looked after you,” he tells me, and I have a vague memory of my hands being held, of whispered words, a song from Sleeping Beauty, and soft kisses before the drugs took me under. “He told us that my father was on his way. That we need to stay put. I don’t think he would have done any of that if he wasn’t sure that we weren’t being spied upon, but I wanted to check for myself.”
“Doc is a Tailor?” I ask, my eyes widening as I take in his words. I mean, it makes a sort of sense given how kind Doc has always been to me, which would be unheard of if he was a true Soldier. How he seemed to disapprove of my treatment here, even if he did nothing to help me or stop it. I take a steadying breath at all the information he has on me, all of the times he’s patched me up after some Soldier or another roughed me up too much. I swallow hard at that information being passed on to Adam Taylor.
“What’s wrong, Little Bird?” Knox asks, and I blink, bringing the room back into focus.
“Doc’s been with us for years. He’s looked after me since…since my mother’s death, helped me on so many occasions that I’ve lost count.” I stare into his good eye, seeing the realization tighten his jaw, his knuckles going white as he clutches the bars.
“And he didn’t help to get you out.” It’s not a question, rather a growl and a promise of retribution. I narrow my eyes, shaking my head a little as a vague memory escapes the box in my mind.
“I–I think he did. Or he used to try at least when he first started treating me.” A memory of him coming when I must have only been thirteen flits through my mind. One Soldier had given me an STI, and I needed treatment. I was so embarrassed, and he was so kind, checking me over, noting every bruise and hurt on my young body, assuring me there was nothing to be ashamed of. “I remember him telling me that if I ever needed a way out, he could help me. H–he said he had connections, but I told him I couldn’t leave without Rook. That I’d promised to take him away. He told Rufus that he needed to get his boys checked before they h–had me, and as far as I know, Rufus stuck to that. His one kindness because I was his daughter, or so that’s what he told me.”
Silence engulfs me as my words color the surrounding air in shades of a young girl’s despair.
“My father wouldn’t have let Rook live. Not given the bad blood between our families. Or the possibility that he would try to avenge his father,” Aeron says quietly, and my head snaps over to him, making me wince as it tugs on my sore patches.
“You promised Rook would be okay,” I say, my voice firm even as my stomach quivers with uncertainty.
“I know I did, Dove, and I swear to you again that I will do everything to convince my father to let him live.”
“But it might not be enough.” The words are heavy as they fall from my lips, sinking like a corpse thrown in a lake and weighed down with rocks in its pockets.
“But it might not be enough,” Aeron repeats, his deep blue eyes stormy and furrows etched into his forehead.
A hard truth. Another thing that may stand between us.
They may have forgiven my deception, but I’m not sure if I could forgive them if anything happened to Rook.
And that’s the hardest truth of all.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“EVERYTHING” BY SMNM
LARK
The door at the end of the corridor opens later that day—luckily Aeron has his expensive Rolex watch on so we can at least tell how much time is passing. I’m not sure if that’s a blessing or a curse, although it makes me chuckle when Jude keeps asking him the time, and I can see the tic in Aeron’s jaw getting deeper.
Doc walks in, along with a couple of Soldiers. My heart picks up pace as I shift in my seated position on the floor, my back leaning against the side wall. It’s damp as fuck, but better than trying to hold myself upright, what with the agony my ribs are still in. I’m tired and aching from getting dressed and moving around after Tarl ordered me to, in order to keep my lungs clear of any mucus. Yeah, I’ve gone beyond gross at this point. Don’t even get me started on what passes for a toilet in the corner; this place gives the Tailor dungeon a run for its money in the worst TripAdvisor review of all time.
“Good afternoon, Lark,” Doc says in his calm voice. The guy is old, maybe in his fifties, and I must admit that he’s pretty distinguished looking and could even be considered a silver fox. “How are you feeling?”
There’s a tightness around his eyes that I can see through his round glasses, and he doesn’t waste time taking the key from his waistcoat pocket—this dude is seriously old school—and unlocking my door. He steps inside, not bothering to close the bars behind him, after all, where the fuck would I go? The Soldiers wait in the walkway, not hiding the fact that they’re staring at me. I can feel their lecherous gazes like something sticky sliding across my skin, and I’m doubly grateful for the clothes Doc left me yesterday.
“I’ve been better,” I tell him, wincing as I readjust my position, trying to avoid getting a numb ass. “My ribs hurt like a motherfucker and my cunt is pretty sore, but no signs of infection that I can tell.”
I know the drill and have done this with Doc before so I know what details he’s after and he doesn’t even bat an eyelid at my crude language. One of the peons sniggers and Doc cuts him a sharp look, as do my guys, so he shuts up pretty quickly. It’s then I notice the bags the Soldiers are carrying. Doc just has his usual brown medical bag, clutched in his hands.
“What’s in the bags?”
Doc’s face smoothes a little, a slight smile on his lips. “Ah, I told your father that you needed some things to help you recover fully if you’re to heal up properly.” He tilts his head and the two Soldiers step into the cell, dumping the bags and then stepping out once more. I don’t recognize either of them, so I assume they’re some of the new recruits.
Doc places his bag down, and takes one of the others, pulling out a pillow and blanket, both looking brand new and starklyclean against the grimy backdrop of my cage. My nose crinkles at the thought of how disgusting I am, and it’s only been two days.
“Thanks, Doc,” I say, not wanting to sound ungrateful as I reach for the items when he places them on the floor next to me.
