Chapter Ten
Nila
The black SUV that I’d been stuffed into at the airport rolled to a stop beneath a humongous archway. A gatehouse, so typical of large wealthy estates in England, soared above us. Through the glass roof of the car, I made out the same crest that emblazed the door panels of the vehicle I sat in. The up lighting made it glow like a rare monument—an over emblazed welcome doormat.
A huge filigree design with four hawks circling a nest of fallen women welcomed, complete with a large diamond glinting in the centre. It screamed of hunting and violence and winning.
I would’ve shuddered if I had the ability to move. How many of the fallen women lived through what I was about to? How many survived?
None of them.
I knew that now. I knew what my future held.
I’d screamed and raged and howled beside Jethro on the plane. My throat bled from shouting. My heart burst from begging. But he hadn’t heard a whimper, because of the magic he’d used to subdue me.
The journey had torn my heart into shreds. Every step I took, I battled to break whatever spell he’d placed me under. Every breath I took, I fought to speak.
If I had the power of speech, I would’ve screamed that I had a bomb. I would’ve taken detainment and a full body strip search to flee from Jethro’s undeniable, possessive hold.
My entire undoing and decimation was done in utter silence. And the bastard just sat there, holding my hand, nodding at the air-hostess when she said what an elegant couple we were.
He let me dissolve into misery. He lapped up my unshed tears, and I’d seen a glimpse of the monster I’d given my life to. Thousands of feet above the earth, I’d witnessed the cold gentleman mellow into something resembling a happy lover. Someone who’d won and got their way.
“Welcome home, Ms. Weaver,” Jethro whispered against my ear.
I tried to cringe from his mouth, to huddle against the door, but the damn drug kept me locked beside him.
I blinked, inwardly sobbing, outwardly a perfect porcelain doll.
Everything had been stolen. My sense of touch, ability to speak, muscles needed to run.
A man in his early twenties appeared from a large pillar of the archway. Manifesting from the dark like a ghoul on Halloween. Jethro stiffened.
The new arrival opened the front door, sliding into the seat and nodding at the elderly man driving us. “Clive.”
The driver nodded in return, gripping the gear stick with an arthritic hand, and engaging the car once again. He hadn’t said a word since picking us up at Heathrow. Perhaps he doesn’t have a tongue? Jethro and his family probably ripped it out to protect their sadistic secrets.
We inched forward, trading the soft lighting of a hawk engraved logo for the deep darkness of forest. I stared out the window into pitch black. From Italy to England, from night to night. The engine purred, following a quaint road slicing through dense woodland.
I wanted to run. And scream. I wanted so much to scream.
Jethro scowled as the newcomer twisted in his seat, awkwardly facing us. I struggled to make out his features thanks to the dark, but the high beams of the SUV cast shadows enough to see.
“Jet.” He gave a mock salute.
Jethro sniffed. “Daniel.”
“This her?” The man trailed his eyes from my lips to my breasts to my demurely placed hands in my lap. “She looks like a Weaver.”
Jethro sighed, sounding bored and annoyed. “Obviously.”
Daniel reached over, grabbing my knee. His touch sent shivers of repulsion over me, even through the cotton of my dress.
I felt that.
I held my breath. Sense of touch was the first sign of the drug wearing off. I knew when Jethro touched me, because of the pressure of his fingers. They acted like a punishment, a leash, and a reminder that my life was his. But up till now I hadn’t been able to feel temperature or texture. Neither hot nor cold. Gentle or soft.
But now I could.
It’s fading.
I hoped joy didn’t show on my face. If I could move, I could escape. Oh, Nila. Don’t be so stupid.
My joy fizzled out as fast as it’d arrived. There would be no escaping. It was yet another thing I knew just by what Jethro wasn’t saying. I’d learned something in the short flight here. His silence told me more than any part of him. His silence shouted too loudly to be ignored.
I was dead already. My last breath hinged only on how quickly he tired of his new toy.
Keeping my emotions buried, I stared blankly at the man who dared touch me. His lips pulled into a cruel smile; his fingers tightened until every inch of me wanted to jerk away.
Jethro sat still, letting him touch me.
Daniel’s nose was slightly crooked from a bad break, face fuller, body softer than Jethro’s, but there was no denying the family resemblance. Jethro was cold stone with sharp contours, gravelly voice, and imposing personality while the younger brother had more animation.
If it wasn’t for the greed glowing in his eyes, I would’ve preferred him. But despite Jethro’s granite exterior and sharpness, I knew in my heart I was better off being his plaything than this new Hawk.
There was something missing inside him.
A soul.
With a sneer, the man ran his palm up my inner thigh, bunching the material of my dress. “I must say you’re very well behaved.” He dug his nails into my delicate flesh, only a hand distance from my crotch. “You don’t flinch.” His hand suddenly left my thigh, connecting with a loud, stinging slap on my cheek. The force of his strike sent my useless body falling into Jethro. “You don’t cry.”
My face smarted and throbbed, making my heart race. I squeezed my eyes, wishing the sense of touch hadn’t returned. I didn’t want pain. I didn’t want any of this.
Jethro grunted, pushing me upright with a rough shove to my shoulder. “She’s not normally like this. Couldn’t shut her up, or stop her endless questions. So I drugged her.”
The man’s eyebrow rose. “With what?” Eyes slithering over my chest, he planted his hand back on my leg. Pushing my dress out of the way, he inched higher and higher and higher on naked skin.
I wanted to curl into a ball and cry until I drowned from tears. I wanted oblivion from this nightmare. But the drugs kept me sitting prim and willing, a perfect toy to play with.
There are others. Many others who have the right to help me ensure the debt is fully repaid. The sentence had been on repeat in my head ever since Jethro whispered it on the plane. Was that why he permitted his brother to manhandle me? Would I be given to him to do as he pleased?
Please, God. Please don’t let that happen.
I had enough strength to stay true to myself and survive one man. But multiple? They’d tear me into smithereens and ruin me even for death.
Jethro placed his hand—slightly larger and far more scary—on my other leg, pressing me hard against the leather. His touch hurt—burning my exposed skin like dry-ice. “I gave her Diamond Dust.”
Daniel’s vile touch stopped just as the tips of his fingers brushed the crotch of my knickers. I sat frozen, every part of me humming with horror.
“Diamond Dust? Shit, Jet, that stuff hasn’t finished testing. You know Cut didn’t authorise it to be sold yet—let alone be used in public. What if she had a seizure? How would you have explained she’s nothing and deserved to die? You couldn’t. You’d end up in fucking prison.”
My heart hammered. Not only had he stolen my mobility, he’d run the risk of killing me. The fear crested again, burning through the drugs bit by bit. Even with the knowledge that I’d have to live through countless horrors before my time was up, I was glad I hadn’t had a seizure. Death was so final. As long as I breathed, I might find some way to survive.
You say that now. My pain threshold hadn’t been tested. I had no guide on how strong I’d remain or how precious my life would be when I no longer wished to live it.
Jethro shrugged. “If she died then the final debt would’ve been paid sooner rather than later.” Glancing at me, he added, “I admit it’s taking longer than I thought to leave her system. But it did a nice job shutting her up.”
His fingers turned to pincers. “See how enjoyable silence is, Ms. Weaver?”
I stayed immobile beneath his touch, but my heart flew with terror, burning off the residual frozenness, leaving me at the mercy of reactions. Every second the drug weakened only meant I had to work extra hard to maintain the deception I was still its prisoner.
Daniel’s fingers inched further. His eyes locked on mine as he touched my clit through my knickers. His touch was horribly warm, invasive, and gross.
I wanted to kick him in the damn nose.
But I just sat there.
And died a little.
I sat there, because I had no damn choice.
Don’t. I swallowed, drinking the tears fighting so hard to be shed. Don’t spiral. I couldn’t let myself be sucked into useless sadness. I’d never claw my way out. I’d never be ready to fight.
And I mean to.
My life might be earmarked for extinction, but I meant to be the last Weaver the Hawks ever took.
At least I don’t have children. Once they killed me, there’d be no more Weaver women.
Oh, my God. Until Vaughn has children.
The fist around my heart squeezed until lightheadedness made the car swim.
Daniel yanked me from my horror, rubbing my clit. He grinned. “She looks younger than twenty-four. Sure you didn’t get the younger sister instead?”
What!?
I jolted, sucking in a breath. I forgot to pretend the drugs still held me prisoner. A sister? Impossible.
She left us. Could my mother have had another life—a whole other existence that I didn’t know about?
The thought pulverized my heart. Not only did she have a family—tearing us apart when the debt came for her—but she’d thoughtlessly given life to another girl?
Jethro’s head snapped toward me, his light-brown eyes flashing in the darkness. I stayed as statuesque as possible. My gasp was the first sound I’d made since the bar. Since I entered into an agreement with Kite not to make him care, and the last conversation I had with my brother for who knew how long.
Jethro leaned into my neck. “I see you fighting it. I see you winning. You can’t hide anything from me.” Pulling away, his eyes narrowed. “You’d do well to remember that. Don’t give me a reason to hurt you so soon.”
Looking to his brother, he muttered, “She’s the right one.” His fingers clenched and unclenched on my thigh. In a lightning move, he snatched Daniel’s wrist and jerked his probing fingers from my core. “She’s the right one and mine. Enough.”
I couldn’t stop the sigh of relief. Only one other man had touched me there. Only one boy had seen me naked and taken my virginity. I never thought I’d be in a situation where I’d be forced, and for a fraction of a second I was grateful toward Jethro for stopping it.
“I can touch her if I want. Shit, I can fuck her too.”
“I didn’t say you couldn’t. I just said…enough.” He bit the word into pieces. Sharp, deadly, unforgiving.
Daniel tore his arm from Jethro’s grip. “Fine. But don’t climb up your arse thinking she’s just yours. She’s not. She belongs to all of us.”
There are others. Many others who have the right to help me ensure the debt is fully repaid.
“No. But she’s mine until I say you can have her. Hierarchy, little brother. You know how receiving charity works.”
“Fuck off, Jet.” Pointing a finger at Jethro’s face, he said, “Cut changed a few things tonight at the Gemstone. He’s named me VP—given me your role.”
Jethro settled into the seat, his broad shoulders brushing mine. “If you think he did that behind my back, you’re mistaken. I asked for time. Cut was more than happy to grant it. After all, I’m the firstborn son of a Hawk. She’s the firstborn daughter of a Weaver. There are more important things on my agenda for the foreseeable future.”
My brain swam. Everything they said sounded cryptic and layered in code. Cut? Was that a name? Gemstone? It sounded like a place, but that didn’t make sense.
“You’ve always thought you’re better than me. But you’ll see who extracts a debt from flesh better when I get my turn.” Daniel sneered, his gaze bouncing from his brother to me.
I gritted my teeth against dropping my eyes or trying to turn invisible. As much as I hated Jethro, I would make sure to remain in his good graces as long as possible.
Daniel reached out and patted my knee, ignoring Jethro’s icy look. “Enjoy your time with my brother, because when you’re mine…enjoyment won’t be something you’ll be feeling.”
Jethro sat forward, his suit rustling against the leather upholstery. In his signature terrifying quietness, he said, “You disturb my work before I’m through, blood or not, you’ll pay the price.”
The two men glowered. I didn’t know either of them, but the air shimmered with past conflict and animosity—hinting that this standoff was nothing new.
“You’re not untouchable,” Daniel hissed. “You better—”
Jethro shook his head, eyes dark as amber. “Stop. There’s nothing I better do. Father didn’t pick you. He didn’t choose you.” His hand came up, casually checking his fingernails. “Life rewards those who deserve it. And you—don’t.”
Jethro was calm, made worse with the swirling ferocious temper existing just below the surface. The atmosphere thickened, changing the breathability of the car’s interior until I choked with the urge to flee.
Clive, the driver, never slowed, continuing through the night as if brother rivalry and debts extracted from human misery was common. The gentle rocking of the vehicle did nothing to relieve the anger between Jethro and Daniel, but every wheel spin helped shed the fogginess I’d existed in for the past few hours.
The fact I was trapped between two males who might explode at any second helped drench my system in adrenaline, kick-starting my heart, dragging me to the surface of being master of my own body once again. The heavy drug-ocean receded.
I didn’t witness what made Daniel concede—Jethro never moved—but he growled a curse, then spun in his seat to glare out the windscreen. I followed his attention, holding my breath at the soft glow in the distance. If that was our destination, it was giant. A looming residence breaking the darkness with false warmth and welcome.
My new home.
My new hell.
My end.
“It’s called Hawksridge Hall. Take a good look, because it’s the last place you’ll ever live.” Grabbing a handful of my hair, Jethro tugged me closer. His hot breath disappeared down my dress, making me tremble. “Hawksridge has been in our family for countless generations. A fortune we built from nothing. Unlike you, we weren’t born into privilege. We earned our wealth. We deserved the titles bestowed, and it’s time to show you what we had to do to achieve that.”
His fingers wrapped tighter, burning my scalp. “To dispel any thought of running, there’s over one thousand hectares of land. You’d never find your way to the boundary. You’re trapped.” His lips grazed over my jaw. “You’re mine.” Keeping his fingers tangled in my hair, he reclined, pulling my neck into an uncomfortable angle.
The sadness I’d done so well at battling crested again. There wouldn’t be bars on my cage—or at least I didn’t think so—but there was a fortified moat in the design of woodland and lakes and hills. I wasn’t outdoorsy. I didn’t know north from south.
But you do run.
I was fast. I had stamina. If the opportunity came, I wouldn’t hesitate to put my obsession with running to use.
Until you fall and break your leg thanks to an episode.
My shoulders rolled. Not only was I trapped by a maniac family, but I was vertigo’s favourite stumbler.
The car continued deeper and deeper. Every turn, I lost all sense of direction and knew I would never find the gatehouse without a miracle.
Taking a deep breath, I looked at my hands in my lap. I willed sensation to come back. They twitched, returning to life with a wash of pins and needles.
They fell off my lap involuntary as we bounced over a cattle grate. Jethro pursed his lips, looking at my offending limb on the seat beside him. His gaze trailed up my arm to my chest.
I breathed faster at the calculating look in his eyes. Unwinding his fingers from my hair, he trailed them down my neck, along my clavicle, across my shoulder, and down my arm. “My brother was the first to touch you below, but I’m going to be the first to touch you here.” His hand skated across to my breast, clamping around the sensitive tissue.
The soft cotton of my dress did nothing to protect me from the coldness of his grip.
“You seemed to want my attention at the café. Don’t say I never give you anything.” His finger pinched my nipple, rolling it painfully. There was nothing sexual about his hold—only punishment.
Giving up pretence of being under the influence of whatever he’d given me, I squeezed my eyes, swallowing back a whimper.
He twisted my nipple again, shifting from demeaning to the edge of painful, but what made it worse was I’d wanted him to touch me there. I would’ve willingly slept with him only hours before. Before I knew the animal inside the cultivated man.
“You’re too skinny. I prefer women with more…assets than you,” he whispered, cupping my other small breast. “However, your tiny stature might prove to be a blessing with some of the things I have planned.” He pinched me again, turning my nipple like a corkscrew.
I flinched, forehead furrowing against the pain.
He chuckled. “I knew it was wearing off.” His touch turned from painful to excruciating. I bit my lip, barely holding back a cry.
“Just in time.” Letting my breast go, he captured my hand, linking his icy fingers through mine. There was nothing romantic or caring about Jethro holding my hand—it was a pure reminder that I had no chance in hell of getting free.
Vaughn. Tex.
I wanted so badly to talk to them. To beg for rescue. But I could no longer be the woman I’d been. I couldn’t be the workaholic who blamed others for my unhappiness. I’d accepted my father’s old-fashioned law about not being permitted to date, because in all honesty, I wasn’t ready. I would never be ready. Because meeting someone meant the possibility of falling in love. Which meant the worst pain imaginable when they left.
If anything, Jethro had done me a favour. I never wanted male company again. If I could return to my sewing machines with no other companionship but my twin, I’d be happy, eternally grateful, and would live the rest of my life in peace.
Tugging my hand into his lap, Jethro murmured, “I meant what I said on the plane. Play your part and you’ll live to see another sunrise.”
Something snapped inside as if the drug suddenly gave up its hold on me, along with everything I’d been trying to avoid. The tears, the fears, the constant worrying of what was to come.
It all disappeared.
I couldn’t afford to drain my energy with useless wonderings. Jethro said I could work. I intended to drown myself in fabric and continue designing my next runway show. I would pretend my world hadn’t become a monster-filled nightmare, and lock my mind in a place where it was safe. Mundane was safe. Routine was safe.
I would create a sewing room deep in my soul and ensure no one—including the numerous activities Jethro had planned—could ever ruin me.
And talk to Kite.
My heart thumped. He wasn’t kind or a sympathetic ear to cry to. But I was glad. I didn’t want someone to pat my back and make me feel worse with commiseration. I needed someone to tell me to buck up, keep going, and never wallow in darkness.
Kite didn’t know it yet, but I planned to use him as my barometer of liveliness. If I could muster up the energy to flirt and chat and pretend everything was okay, I had the strength to continue. The moment I used him as an outlet to purge whatever Jethro did to me, I would know I needed to re-centre myself and dig deeper to stay true.
Jethro let my hand go, tossing it away almost violently.
I breathed a sigh of relief, then stiffened as his fingers latched around my upper thigh.
Whispering harshly, he said, “Keep watching the horizon, Ms. Weaver. You’re about to see your new home.” His hand crept up my leg, following the same path his brother had—freezing my exposed skin with his icicle-like fingers. “Don’t take your eyes off the windscreen. You behave and I’ll make sure you have somewhere warm to sleep tonight. You disappoint me and you’ll sleep with the dogs.”
I bit my lip, eyes flaring wide.
Sleep in a kennel? Shit, Nila. You couldn’t be any more stupid.
All this time I’d braced myself for sexual payments—bodily taxes and unwanted attention—but in reality I hadn’t stopped to think about the bare essentials of living. There was so much more Jethro could do to me than torment my body.
He could deprive me of nutrition.
He could prevent me from sleeping.
He could make me live in squalor and suffer illness after illness.
Daniel stayed facing the front, ignoring us. I risked my first question since the airport bar.
“You aren’t just going to use me. Are you?” My voice sounded strange after not speaking for so long.
Jethro stilled, his fingers twitching on my inner thigh. “So naïve. You’re worse than a pet. You’re like a child. A loveless girl who knows nothing of the big, bad world.” Breathing shallow, his hand moved higher and higher. “Pity I’m not turned on by little girls. Pity you don’t get me hard, my loveless, clueless Weaver. Then you might’ve been prisoner in my bed.”
In front of us, the car’s headlights illuminated a driveway. The woodland stopped, giving way from thicket to a huge expanse of manicured lawn and a large oval fountain. Birds of prey replaced angels and fair maidens, their talons dancing on top of water spray.
Jethro’s hand burned, never stopping his slow assault. My heart jack-knifed, pain shooting in my chest as panic replaced my blood. I’d wanted sexual contact for so long but not like this. Not taken. Not even wanted.
The car slowed, skirting around the fountain. We turned left, following the sweeping driveway.
And that was when I saw it.
The monstrosity that was my so-called new home.
The rising monolithic, French turreted, tower fortified, sweeping, soaring mansion. Tarmac turned to gravel beneath the tyres, pinging against the metal panels below. Jethro’s fingers crept higher, demanding I pay attention to everything he did.
“Welcome to Hawksridge Hall, Ms. Weaver. It’s going to be a pleasure entertaining you as my guest.” The sentence wrapped around me like a noose; my eyes snapped closed as his fingers brushed my core. Firm, unyielding, he cupped me through my knickers, sending snow to my womb with his vile fingers.
I bit my tongue, hating him. Hating myself. Hating everything to do with debts and vendettas and family feuds.
“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” Jethro whispered, pressing harder.
Everything clenched, repelling against his awful ministrations.
I tore my eyes open. “Not like this.” Dropping my voice, I locked eyes with him. “Please, not like this.”
The car rocked to a stop.
Daniel looked over his shoulder, his gaze dropping to the blatant position of Jethro’s hand between my legs. He smirked. “Welcome to the family. Don’t know how much you’ve been told about us, but forget everything.” His teeth glinted in the pooling light from the mansion. “We’re much worse.”
Jethro stroked me, drifting down to where the silk of my underwear gave a little, pressing against my entrance. “He’s right. Much worse.”
I shuddered as his finger bit into me. The unhurried, controlled way he touched me twisted with my mind. His violation was different than his brother’s. Still not wanted, but at least more easily tolerated.
He was the devil I knew. Not the devil I didn’t. In a morbid way, that made Jethro my ally rather than tormentor.
“I’ll look forward till we meet again, Weaver.” With another smirk, Daniel shoved open his door and disappeared.
Jethro’s fingers rocked into me, but I refused to give him any reaction—neither upset nor regret. Sitting with my hands balled, I asked, “Why are you doing this?”
Jethro chuckled. “The ultimate question. And now that we’re home, you’re about to be told.” Removing his hand, he opened the car door and climbed out.
All the blood in my body rushed between my legs—almost as if every molecule needed a cleansing—searching for relief from the hot, cold, tempting, vile way he’d touched me.
He looked so elegant in his dark grey suit, so refined with the glint of diamond on his lapel. Why did someone so horrid look so beautiful? It wasn’t fair. Nature’s cruel irony. In jungles, birds died from being attracted to the gleam of cavernous flowers. In rainforests, snakes and omnivores succumbed to toxin-riddled-jewelled frogs.
Beauty was the ultimate arsenal. Beauty was meant to deceive. It was meant to trick and beguile so their prey never saw death coming.
It worked.
And to a woman who made her life creating beauty for others and never being granted the ease of naturally acquiring it, Jethro was a double threat, both to my ego and lifespan.
Turning back to offer me his palm, Jethro waited for me to accept his token of help.
I ignored him.
I wasn’t naturally a defiant person, but there was something about him that made me become a brat. Pushing off the seat, I propelled myself awkwardly and stiffly to the open door. The moment I was in grabbing distance, Jethro snatched my wrist and jerked me from the vehicle.
Of course, standing for me was already a careful affair, mixed with an unknown substance that’d hijacked my motor controls, I didn’t land on my feet.
With a cry, I tripped out of the SUV, sprawling face first on the gravel below. The car suddenly cranked into gear and drove off. Leaving me alone and bruised before a manor worth millions.
“What on earth?” The gruff exclamation came from above—different from Jethro’s deep timbre, but powerful and full of supple authority.
“Goddammit, this is getting ridiculous,” Jethro muttered. “Are you going to be like this all the time?”
His strong hands lassoed around my waist, yanking me to my feet. The moment I was vertical I blinked, trying my hardest to find an anchor and remain standing. The world steadied and I shook Jethro’s lingering hold off my hipbone. “Yes, I’m ridiculous. Yes, I’ve suffered all my life. Yes, I know it’s a huge inconvenience for someone who wants to kill me that I’m already a little bit damaged, but did you stop to think—just once—that the reason I’m struggling more than normal is because of the stress you’re loading my system with?
“Have you never dealt with an upset stomach or a tension headache?” Waving my hand in his face, I snapped, “It’s the same thing. My body doesn’t handle upsetting circumstances well. Get over it or let me the hell go!”
It felt wonderful to let go of the anger bubbling inside. It purged me a little, giving me room to breathe.
Jethro remained steadfast, his eyes wide, mouth thin and unamused.
“Well, she has fight. All the fun ones did.”
The man who’d spoken stood on the second-to-last step of a humongous portico. The house loomed overhead, blotting out the moon and stars as if it were a living entity. Burnished copper gilded the many roofs and turrets, criss-crossing flowerbeds lived beneath soaring lead-light windows, and lattice planted grass grew on the side of the turrets. It wasn’t just a building—it was alive. Maintained, proud, a piece of impressive architecture that had weathered centuries, but been so well cared for.
I craned my neck left and right. The building continued on and on, at least ten stories high, with intricate alcoves, sweeping doorways, and a hawk embellishing every keystone.
It’s a work of art. I was a creator. My passion didn’t just lie in textiles, but in everything where a level of skill blared from every inch.
And Hawksridge Hall was majestic.
I wanted to hate it. I despised the family who owned it. But I’d always been a lover of history. I’d always pictured myself as a lady of a manor, with horses and gardens and refined dinner parties. I loved exploring stately homes, not for the furniture or statues, but for the drapery, hand-stitched wallpaper, and massive hanging tapestries.
Jethro took a step toward the older gentleman. “You said it would be easy. I can assure you, it wasn’t.” Throwing a cold look over his shoulder, Jethro motioned me forward. “Come here and pay your respects.”
I didn’t move.
The older man chuckled. He wore all black, and just like the man who brought my belongings in the parking garage in Milan, he wore a black leather jacket with a silhouette of a diamond on the pocket.
His hair was fully white, yet his face wasn’t too weathered. He had a goatee, which was more dirty grey than snow, and eyes were as light and unnerving as Jethro’s.
Instantly my back stiffened; my heart bucked in refusal. This man didn’t deserve respect. I wanted nothing to do with him.
Just as I knew the younger man in the car was Jethro’s brother, I knew without a doubt this was his father. This man was responsible for upholding the evil pastime of torturing innocence for something that should stay in the past. He was ultimately responsible for my demise.
Jethro stalked back, stole my arm, and marched me forward. Under his breath, he said, “Don’t annoy me. I’m warning you.”
Jerking me to a halt in front of his father, he spoke louder. “Ms. Weaver, let me introduce you to Bryan Hawk. Head of our family, President to his fellow riders, and current man in a long line of succession to wear the family name.”
He glared at me, making sure I listened. “He’s also known as Cut amongst his brotherhood. But to you, he will always be addressed as Mr. Hawk.”
Mr. Hawk grinned, holding out his hand. “Welcome to my humble abode.”
I shied away, not wanting to touch him, be close to him, or even have to tolerate talking to him.
Jethro growled under his breath, grabbing my elbow and holding me firm. “You’re one infraction away from sleeping with the hounds, Ms. Weaver. Try me. Disobey once more.”
His father laughed. “Ah, I remember those days. The fun, the discipline.” Climbing down the final step, he closed the space between us. His aftershave reeked of sadism and old money—if that had a smell. A horrid mix of spice and musk that gave me an instant headache, whilst his eyes stole everything about me from my reflection to my dismal future.
He cupped my cheek.
I flinched, expecting the brutality and roughness I’d come to expect from a Hawk, but he ran his thumb gently over my cheekbone. “Hello, Nila. It’s a pleasure to once again entertain a Weaver in our modest home.”
Hearing my name repulsed me. Jethro hadn’t used it yet—sticking to the impersonal address of my last-name. I hated that Mr. Hawk thought he had the authority to speak it.
Wanting to spit in his face, I focused on the house behind him—swallowing the urge. My gaze soared to the stained glass windows, the imposing spires, and impressive stonework. There was nothing modest about this dwelling, and he knew it.
I kept my lips clamped. I had a whole novel of horrible things I wanted to say, but Jethro’s seething bulk beside me kept my tongue in check.
Jethro let me go, pushing me into his father. “She’s been nothing but trouble. I can’t deny I’m looking forward to tomorrow.”
My heart leapt into my throat at the dark promise in his voice. What’s going to happen tomorrow?
Mr. Hawk dropped his palm from my cheek, wrapping his arm around my waist. With his free hand, he brushed wayward strands from my eye. “You look just like your mother. It’s a pity I’m not the one extracting in this particular instance, but rest assured, I will enjoy you once or twice.”
My stomach latched onto my heart, making me sick. Don’t ask. The question blared in my head. What did you do to my mother?
I’d been so young and full of righteous anger at her leaving my father. I thought she was the villain—the heartbreaker.
But she was the one who paid an unpayable price. And never returned.
Mr. Hawk’s eyes glinted. “I see Jethro hasn’t told you anything yet.” Trailing his hand from my hair to my lips, he stroked me gently. “That’s going to be a fun conversation, but for now I’ll let you in on a little family secret.” Crushing me against him, he whispered, “I’m the one who stole her. I’m the one who took debt after debt from her unwilling skin. And do you know what she begged for in her final minutes of life?”
My head swam. My world roared. Life as I knew it ended.
I hated him.
I loathed him.
I’ll kill you.
I’d never felt such heat, such insanely burning desire to cause harm. My teeth ached from clenching; my nails drew blood from my palms.
“She begged for your life. To end it with her and to let you live in peace.” His hand left my waist, grabbing my arse with a vicious grip. “Know what I told her?” His breath smelled of liquor and cigars, making me swallow his words. “I told her you were born a Weaver, you’ll die a Weaver. And that’s the simplistic way of our world.”
Shoving me away, I ping-ponged from father to son, coming to an abrupt halt in Jethro’s arms. The relief at being away from the man who’d murdered my mother made my limbs weak and jittery, but I couldn’t stop the hatred from gnawing a gaping hole in my soul. I needed it out. I needed it spoken so he would know the debt might not have ended with my mother but it would end with me.
It will.
“I pity you. I knew nothing about you, your sons, your warped perception of life until tonight. I may not know why you’re doing this but I do know one thing. I know that it’s the last time you’ll ever do it.”
“Quiet!” Jethro shook me. But I wasn’t scared of him. I wasn’t scared of any of them anymore. They were bullies. Sadistic bastards who’d met their match.
Struggling in his arms, I freed my hand, pointing a livid finger at Mr. Hawk. I lost my rage, tilting head first into lunacy. My temper gave me power over everything. My cursed balance. My sheltered beginnings. In that one moment of brazenness, I found a nucleus of strength I didn’t know I had.
My voice pitched as I yelled, “I’ll kill you! I’ll watch you die just like you watched my mother—I’ll kill you! You don’t deserve to live. I’ll kill you and—” I launched myself at him, only to stumble and go slamming back against a powerful form.
Jethro grabbed my shaking arm, pinning it to my side. His strong hold crashed me against his body, moulding my wiggling behind against his rigid front.
His body was hard and firm—exactly like the stone I thought he was. The bulge in his trousers pressed against my lower spine.
“You’ve pushed me too far. You just had to fucking push. No one threatens my family, least of all a girl who can barely stand without support. And a Weaver.” He spat on my feet. “Fucking filth.”
“Remove her from my sight.” Mr. Hawk sniffed. “Teach her her place, Jethro. I won’t put up with such stupid behaviour.” His eyes landed on me. “As for you. I’d hoped you’d show more promise. Think what you want of us, Ms. Weaver, but this isn’t a simple matter that will end quickly. You’re ours for however long we wish to keep you and you’ll learn proper manners if we have to beat it into you.”
Nodding at Jethro, he climbed the steps to the two-story-sized front door and disappeared.
The moment he vanished, my spine rolled and I wanted nothing more than to fall to my knees and cry.
What was I thinking?
My rage and hatred snuffed out like a candle in a storm. I’d never been so out of control. My emotions had held me hostage and I’d snapped—for the first time since my mother left—I’d succumbed to the intense freedom of bitterness.
Jethro dragged me backward, his dress shoes crunching against gravel. He didn’t wait for me to back-peddle, just clutched me hard, dragging me like a corpse. “You’ve surprised me twice tonight, and I haven’t liked either of them. You’ve pissed me off. So much so that—”
Slamming to a halt, he shoved my shoulder blades. “Get on your knees.”
I wheeled forward, crashing from standing to landing on all fours.
No!
I winced as the driveway bit into my palms; my knees throbbed as sharp pebbles cut into my skin. I looked up, my face swollen and achy from unpermitted tears welling as deep as a bottomless lake.
This was the truth. This humiliation and admittance of power, not the farce he’d painted.
Jethro towered above, his legs planted wide, face etched in livid anger. “I’m a firm advocator of rewarding good behaviour but after tonight you’ve proven there is nothing to reward. You’re wild, unwilling, and a spoiled brat who will learn her place.”
Leaning down, he grabbed my long hair, jerking it hard. “Did you honestly think, after an outburst like that, that you’d deserve the comfort of a bed? Why do it, Ms. Weaver, when you knew what was on the line?”
I couldn’t speak. My throat was pulled back, the pressure stopping all sounds and swallows.
“I have a good mind to fuck you right here. To smash whatever sense of entitlement or hope you’re holding onto.” He shook me.
My eyes watered at the pain.
“You’re not hearing me. This is your life now. I am your only friend. Stop. Pissing. Me. Off.”
You’re not my friend. I have one, and his name isn’t Jethro.
Kite.
I didn’t think I’d want to message him so soon, but I needed someone from the outside world. I needed reminding that the universe hadn’t entered an alternate dimension and there was still hope.
When I remained silent, Jethro snarled, “You’re sleeping with the dogs. They have better obedience than you, perhaps you can learn from them on what we expect.”
I sniffed, fighting so hard against tears.
I didn’t even care that I wouldn’t sleep in a bed. I was past worrying about sanitary conditions or nutritious food. All I wanted was freedom.
“Move,” Jethro breathed, his beloved silence smoothing his outburst from before. “Don’t make me show you how a good dog moves.”
He wants you to crawl.
It had begun.
This was the beginning. And I’d brought it upon myself.
He wants to destroy you.
Using my hair as the leash, Jethro paced beside me as I went from stationary to crawling. I crawled like an animal. I crawled like a pet. I crawled through manicured gardens, past ponds, and statues, all the way from manor to kennel.