Chapter Seven
Jethro
I couldn’t do it.
It was like looking after a needy, sickly, disobedient child. Bryan Hawk, my father and orchestrator of this mess, assured me it would be a simple matter of a few threats and blackmail.
She’ll come easy if you threaten the ones she loves.
Bullshit.
The so-called inexperienced dressmaker had her own agenda. Beneath the chaste little girl, lurked a devious woman who was so tangled and confused she was fucking dangerous.
Dangerous because she was unpredictable. Unpredictable because she didn’t know herself.
I was clueless on how to control her. I didn’t understand her.
For instance, what the fuck happened at the coffee shop? She’d gravitated toward me. She’d licked my thumb like she imagined it was my dick. She’d surprised me. And I didn’t do well with surprises.
My structured world—my rules and agendas—were not something that had room for twists and turns. Unless I was the one creating them. And I definitely didn’t have time for my cock to twitch and show an interest in the woman I meant to torture and defile.
I would get hard when she was alone on my estate. I would come with her gagged and subdued, hating me with the intensity of her forefathers.
Her pain was my reward. The fact she got me hard by being shy but so bloody tempting was completely unpermitted.
I checked my watch. The plane was due to leave in thirty minutes. Do it. You know you want to.
I couldn’t stomach her presence any longer. I couldn’t answer any more of her idiotic questions, or pretend I wasn’t raging to teach her a lesson. Her tripping and stumbling got on my nerves. Not to mention her blind love toward a family that no longer had any right to her.
She needed discipline, and she needed it now. Your hands are bound until you get her home.
If I had to listen to one more beg or witness another tear, I’d end up killing her just to shut up her loud emotions.
Nila craned her neck, trying to read the boarding passes in my hands. Flaw, my right hand man and secretary to the Black Diamonds brotherhood, had already checked us in. Along with dealing with shipping my new purchase, the Harley-Davidson, and staging the runaway scene at Nila’s hotel.
In precisely six hours, a housekeeper would find the photos, notes, and abandoned items, then the gossip columns would spread the story like a well incubated disease.
Nila Weaver’s found love.
Nila dispels rumours she’s in love with her twin by running off with some unknown English aristocrat.
My lips quirked at that. Me? An aristocrat?
If only they knew my upbringing. My history. If only Nila’s father had spent the years he’d had with her preparing her for this day—informing her of our shared heritage, then perhaps she wouldn’t look so fucking ill.
I’d told her the truth. Vaughn and Archibald Weaver were under strict monitoring. If they obeyed and went along with the ruse of Nila leaving for love, all would be harmonious.
If they didn’t—well, the Weaver line would be snuffed out with the aid of a silenced pistol. And we didn’t want that. After all, if there were no more Weavers, who would the Hawks rein over? Who would continue to pay the debt?
I looked at the woman destined to die for the mistakes of her ancestors.
She caught my eye. “Where are you taking me?” Her cheeks were colourless even though she had to be warm with the amount of layers she’d put on.
“I told you. Home.” The word scratched across her face like carving knives. Home to me would be hell to her. I should’ve been more understanding—I could practically hear her heart shatter—but I’d been born into a family where emotion was a weakness. I prided myself on being strong, unbreakable. Empathy was the downfall of any human.
The ability to feel their pain. The nuisance of living their trauma.
That inconvenient ability had been beaten out of me as a child. Lesson after lesson until I embraced the cold.
The cold was emotionless. The cold was power.
Nila sniffed, striding a few steps away. Her curves were hidden in her new wardrobe of dark purple dress that came to her ankles, and a denim jacket. I hadn’t permitted myself to truly look at her. She was skinny. Too skinny. But her black hair was thick and begged to be fisted.
Watching her dress in the parking garage irritated me. Her unsureness came across as coyness. Pulling the dress over her skirt was a reversed striptease. Her shaking fingertips had turned the ice in my blood into a lust I hadn’t felt before.
It wouldn’t take much to snap her petite frame. But despite her breakable body, her eyes gave a different story.
She ran deep.
I didn’t bother caring how deep. But it did tempt in a way I hadn’t expected.
A girl like Nila…well, that wasn’t something to be broken lightly.
Her complexities, subtleties, depths, and secrets.
Each layer begged to be unwrapped and enjoyed.
Only once she stood before me, stripped bare of sanity and dreams, would she be ready.
Ready to pay her final debt.
Nila rubbed her cheek, displacing another silent tear. That single fucking tear stopped everything, freezing over the unwanted feeling of excitement at what my future held. Her sniffle gave me a layer of obligation rather than anticipation.
I wasn’t going to, but she’s given me no choice. Fuck it.
Moving closer, my hands opened to throttle her—to give her something to truly cry about, but I restrained myself.
She looked up, eyes glassy.
I forced a smile—a half-smile, letting her believe her tears affected me, offering false humanity. I let her believe I had a soul and didn’t punish her for hoping. Hoping I was redeemable.
She bought it. Stupid girl. Allowing me to offer my arm as if it were some sort of consolation and guide her from purgatory into hell.