Cut had cleverly strengthened my bars to a worldwide level—locked in by hearsay and propaganda.

Swallowing the sickness from vertigo, I slowly stood. The room still spun. The nausea still battered. But I had no options. Deliver myself willingly and pray I was strong enough to get through it. Or wait for them to claim me and administer a worse punishment.

Tears clawed my lungs as I dropped the towel.

An ant’s nest of hatred and helplessness crawled over my skin as I picked up the breaches.

A shudder hijacked my muscles as I pulled the abrasive wool over my feet and up to my hips. Instantly, I itched—rasping claustrophobia within the primitive trousers.

Keep going.

Gritting my teeth, I slipped into the cheesecloth shirt, cursing the see-through fabric and my dark nipples. I might as well be wearing nothing.

I can’t go out like this.

The maid suddenly appeared without knocking. Her eyes cast over me. “Great, you’re almost ready.” Pulling a hair tie from around her wrist, she gave it to me. “You need to tie up your hair, too. They said in a bun.”

I couldn’t speak.

It took all my power to keep from murdering her and bolting.

Taking the elastic, I gathered my straightened hair and twisted it into a rope before twirling it up on top of my skull and fastening it in place.

“You ready to go?”

Ignoring the maid, I padded over to the full-length mirror, hating the fact my chest was in full view beneath the cheesecloth.

My reflection.

A wild moan keened. I slapped my hands over my mouth.

I look…

I look…

My heart decided it would no longer beat. No longer strum to keep me alive. It turned into coal—no longer flesh or blood or diamond—just dirty, dusty coal splintering into kindling.

All my fears had come true.

I was about to pay the Third Debt.

And I knew who I was paying it for.

The Hawk ancestors had a family. I’d already paid for the husband’s trial for stealing by whipping. I’d paid for the sins of Mrs. Weaver by drowning the Hawk daughter for witchcraft. And now I was to pay whatever curse befell the Hawk son.

The little boy who worked so hard only to be rewarded with starvation.

I knew that with utmost certainty.

My reflection told the terrifying truth.

Dressed in breaches and a basic shirt with my hair scraped back, I no longer looked like a woman who wanted to seduce Jethro Hawk.

But a little boy about to be ruined for life.

The maid led me down the corridor, through countless living rooms and dayrooms, before stopping on the threshold of a smoke-hazed billiards den.

She didn’t say a word, just nodded at the open door. Pirouetting, she left me standing with my arm over my chest, trying to hide my freezing nipples. I couldn’t stop shaking. Couldn’t stop fearing.

“God’s sake, come in, Nila.” Cut snapped his fingers, never glancing away from the cards in his hands. The Hawk men sat around a low poker table in leather-studded chairs. The snooker table with its apple green velvet and low hanging Tiffany chandeliers was utterly ignored in favour of gambling.

Unwillingly, I stepped from corridor to room.

“Shut the door; there’s a good girl.” Cut glanced up, puffing on a cigar dangling from the corner of his mouth. He looked me up and down, his eyes lingering on my hidden chest. “Well…can’t say you look very attractive. Drop your arm; at least let us see some tits, so we know you aren’t truly a fucking peasant boy.”

My teeth clamped together as I fought every instinct to run. Forcing myself to ignore Cut, I focused on the man I loved—regardless of his mistakes, chilliness, and icy words.

Jethro sat with his family but somehow looked so removed. His eyes locked on mine. His face ashen and tight, cheekbones were blades, slicing through stretched skin. His posture spoke of a bound animal seething with the need to kill, while his jaw held a permanent clench of desolation and regret.

It hurt too much to look at him.

Kes caught my attention.

He gave me a sad smile, hiding everything he felt behind the incredible gift of illusion. He was a magician, deleting anything that might give him away. Even the connection we’d built the day he’d given me Moth didn’t let me see his thoughts.

Daniel, on the other hand, snickered, leaning back on two chair legs, chewing the end of his cigar. “Can’t say you’re pretty dressed like that…” His tone lowered. “But I’d still fuck you.”

Jethro tensed.

A gasp fell from my lips.

I stepped back, wishing I could ignore common-sense and run. Bolt down corridors and charge through doors. But there was no point. I would be caught. I would be hurt. And I would have to survive the debt regardless.

Jethro and Kes weren’t smoking, but they had a large tumbler of amber liquid beside them, glowing in the warm sidelights that cast more shadows than illumination. The room lurked in colour palettes of brown, maroon, and earth. Forest green drapery obscured the windows, while the carpet was a thick motif of a huge chessboard with black and white squares.

It truly was a parlour where games were played—the debts being the ultimate game of all.

“Jet, are you going to say something to our guest?” Cut narrowed his eyes.

Jethro’s knuckles turned white around his glass.

I stood motionless on the carpet, waiting…waiting for him to doom me to his heinous family once again.

Jethro tore his eyes from mine, glaring at the table. Kes nudged him subtlety.