“Guttersnipe. Yes, I’ve heard it before.” Moving forward, I didn’t ask permission as I inspected her domain. Every part of me shook. I was angry, afraid, livid, terrified. Lying in the dark, bolstering my courage and fermenting in hatred hadn’t prepared me for face-to-face duelling. This was new—putting my thoughts into action.
Now that I knew Jethro was alive, I had something to risk.
A future.
Jethro’s alive.
I’m alive.
We can be alive together—far away from here.
If I became too impertinent, I could ruin my plans and destroy my future. But if I didn’t stand up to them, I might not see the next debt coming—just like I didn’t see the Third Debt until it was too late.
I had to be strong but aware, vengeful but intelligent—it was an exhausting place to be.
Bonnie’s room wasn’t what I expected. The peach coloured walls, white fireplace, and rose fleurs on the ceiling plasterwork all spoke of a law-abiding, cookie-baking grandmother.
How can a room fulfil the stereotype of elderly nana when the woman is anything but?
The wainscoting gleamed with gold wallpaper, while cross-stitch framed artwork graced every inch of wall space depicting bumblebees, dragonflies, and multihued butterflies.
I expected torture equipment and the blood of her many victims on the wall.
Not this…
I hated this room because it made me doubt. Had she been nice once upon a time? Had she become this hard-hearted dinosaur thanks to situations in her past? What had Cut done to his brother in order to turn his mother into such a beast?
Because it had to be his doing. Whatever happened with his brother reeked of sedition and backstabbing lies.
It doesn’t matter.
She is what she is.
And she’d pay for what she’d done.
Bonnie didn’t say a word, watching me with the signature Hawk attentiveness. The room throbbed with power; subjugation coming from her and rebellion from me. If our wills could battle, the tension would suffocate with unseen clashes.
I paused over a particular stitched oval, trying to make out if it was a praying mantis or a stick insect.
“Jasmine did them for me.” Bonnie’s voice was sweet venom. “Such a wonderful, obedient granddaughter. It was part of her etiquette and decorum training.”
My eyes widened. “She did all of them?”
Bonnie nodded. “You’re not the only one good with a needle and thread, girl.” Snapping her fingers, reminding me so clearly of her grandson who rested in some hospital, she said, “Come closer. I refuse to scream. And you need to pay strict attention.”
My socks ghosted over the pale pink flooring, sinking into a few sheepskin rugs before stopping beside Bonnie Hawk. My nose wrinkled at the familiar smell of rose water and overly sweet confectionary. I didn’t need to know her diet to guess she loved desserts.
She was rotten—just like her teeth from consuming too much sugar.
In my head, I cursed and hexed her, but outwardly, I stood calm and silent.
Do your worst, witch. It won’t be good enough.
She narrowed her eyes, inspecting me from head to toe. I let her, glancing out the window instead. Her chair rested beside a long table pressed up against the lead light glass overlooking the south gardens of Hawksridge. A water fountain splashed merrily, depicting two fawns playing a pipe. The colourful pansies and other flowers that’d run rampant when I first arrived had long since gone dormant, replaced by skeleton shrubs and the dull brown of winter.
“Do you have any skills in this arena?” Bonnie pointed at the hobby scattered over the table. The array of dried and freshly cut flowers painted the table in a rainbow of stamens and petals. Roses, tulips, lilies, orchids. The perfume from dying flora helped counteract the sickly stench of Bonnie.
“No. I’ve never arranged flowers, if that’s what you’re asking.”
She pursed her lips. “Hardly a lady fit for society. What skills apart from sewing do you have then? Enlighten me.” Reaching for a crystal vase, she snapped off a piece of green foam and shoved it into the bottom. “Well…go on then, girl. Don’t make me ask twice.”
What the hell is going on here?
The past few days had a strange consistency, as if I was stuck in quicksand. If I moved, it sucked me further into its clutches, but if I stayed still, it treated me as a friend—keeping me buoyant in its greedy granules.
What’s her point?
My back stiffened, but I forced myself to stay cordial. “I run my own fashion line. I can sew any item of clothing. My attention to detail—”
“Shut up. That is all one skill. One lonely talent. A frivolous career for a trollop such as yourself.”
Don’t retaliate. Do not stoop to her bait.
If her aim was to make me snap so she could punish me, then she’d lose. I’d learned from them how to fight.
My hand rubbed my lower back, checking my dirk was in place and ready to be used.
Wouldn’t now be the perfect time to dispatch her?
We were alone. Behind closed doors. Regardless of my past conclusion to kill Cut and Daniel first, I couldn’t waste an opportunity.
My arm tensed, agreeing.
Do it.
Almost as if she sensed my thoughts, Bonnie cooed, “Oh, Marquise? Can you come in here, please?”
Immediately, a door I didn’t see, camouflaged with matching wallpaper, opened. Marquise, a Black Diamond brother with shoulders like a submarine and long greasy hair pulled into a ponytail, appeared. “Yes, Madame.”