First Debt Read online

  His eyes locked on mine. “Tell me, Ms. Weaver. Are you sure you’re ready?”

  My heart bucked into panic mode. I’d taunted him and said I was, but now faced with willingly handing myself over and letting him do whatever he wanted, it was entirely different.

  When I didn’t move, he murmured, “No tears. No screams. Own this just like my ancestors did when it was done to them.”

  The Debt Inheritance came back to mind. What had my family done that was so heinous that it called for such horrendous payback?

  Swallowing hard, I inched closer to the post. “I need to understand why.”

  “Why?” His forehead furrowed. “Where exactly is the fun in that?”

  “Fun?” Oh, my God, he would enjoy this? What did you expect? I supposed I kept seeing the man who was human beneath the icy robot. It led me to false conclusions, which Jethro seemed to love to smash.

  “I suppose that is the wrong word.” Jethro stilled, his eyes filling with things I couldn’t decipher. He stood still for a long moment, before visibly shaking off whatever held him hostage. “Come here. Let’s begin.”

  My stomach fell into my toes. Making me come on my own made all of this worse. I was the sacrificial lamb willingly walking toward the pyre.

  Goosebumps broke out over my body as my feet whispered slowly toward Jethro.

  He sucked in a breath.

  The air went from humid to sharp with awareness. I hated that he had the power to tingle my skin and twist my belly. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right that I found him so attractive when I ought to be abhorred.

  My eyes fell on the cuffs dangling between fake flowers. I didn’t need to ask what he had planned. It was obvious, and I wouldn’t give him the enjoyment of dragging out the suspense and toying with me.

  Gritting my jaw, I pressed closer, holding my wrists up to the leather cuffs.

  Jethro quirked an eyebrow, his tongue darting out to lick his bottom lip. “What are you doing?”

  Gathering as much courage as I had, and hoping to God my vertigo would stay away, I smiled diabeticly sweet. “The cuffs are obviously there for a reason; I’m just saving you the trouble of instructing me.”

  Silence fell, rippling around us.

  His jaw worked. “Just like smugness, cockiness is not becoming on you, Ms. Weaver.” Leaning forward, his torso turned the already sharp awareness into biting attraction. His scent of woods and leather enveloped me. Against my wishes, my stomach clenched, and I breathed deeply.

  His nostrils flared, but he didn’t say another word as his strong, cold fingers latched around my wrist, tugging it higher to wrap the supple cuff around me.

  The chemistry between us—or was it just blind hate—crackled and fizzed, sending the hair on the back of my neck bristling.

  I couldn’t deny I was drawn to Kes—partly because I thought he was Kite and partly because he had an ease about him, a generosity that made me want to know more—but it was nothing, nothing, compared to the fierce hunger I felt when Jethro touched me.

  His lips parted as he buckled the cuff. Refusing to make eye contact, he remained focused as he cinched it tight.

  Moving stiffly, he captured my other wrist.

  A small gasp fell from my lips as his fingers kissed the paper-thin skin. His eyes held me hostage. The golden brown was now a swirling bronze, raging with the same demanding hunger I knew reflected in mine.

  “This sort of reminds me of the forest,” I whispered. “The trees around us—no one else.” My words fell like petals, waiting for Jethro to crush them beneath his glossy shoe.

  But…he didn’t.

  Tracing one hand from my wrist, along the inside of my arm, and right to my throat, he fisted my ponytail. With intensity that stripped my soul to the very essence of who I was, he pulled my head back slowly, sensually, full of sexual power.

  His eyes dropped to my mouth. “I’ll let you in on a little secret, Ms. Weaver.”

  I panted, my neck straining against his hold, but I made no move to break the poignant awareness.

  “You won that night, but I lied when I said it pissed me off.” His mouth dropped, his tongue licked my bottom lip with the barest of grazes. “I’ve never enjoyed coming in someone’s mouth as much as I did in yours.” He licked me again, quaking my frame. “In fact, I would willingly let you win again, if I received the same ball-shattering release.”

  My lips begged to connect with his. This single-minded lust between us was sacred. The only place where we were both equal, and heritage had no authority. I’d made a promise to use sex against him, but now I added to my promise.

  I will use him to make me stronger, better—invincible.

  I wanted to become a woman whose arsenal included lust and sensuality, regardless of my slight frame and inexperience.

  “Kiss me,” I murmured, tugging my hair gently in his hold.

  Jethro shook his head, his fingers tightening around my ponytail. Tracing the tip of his tongue once more on my bottom lip, he whispered, “I don’t kiss my enemies.”

  My heart became an inferno, sending flames blazing with every beat. “You just fuck them?”

  His mouth twitched into a roguish smile. “Only if they beg.”

  His body pressed against mine, his thigh going purposely between my legs.

  My eyes snapped closed as he rocked against my throbbing clit. “Would you beg, Ms. Weaver? How hot and frustrated do I have to make you before you’ll beg me to drive my cock inside you?”

  My brain spasmed at the thought. The answer? Not long. I would beg right now if it meant he would forget about the debt and take me back to his room. I wanted to see where he slept. I wanted to infiltrate the home ground of my opponent and undermine him right at the source.

  “You’re all talk. You won’t even kiss me, let alone fuck me.”

  Jethro yanked my head back. Pain shot down my spine. “How wrong you are, Ms. Weaver.” Then a vindictive smile replaced the black desire. “Very clever, though, I must admit.”

  I blinked, trying to dispel the fog of lust and keep up with him. “Why?”

  His thigh slid out from between my legs; his fingers untwined from my hair. “Very clever to make me focus on other things than the true reason of why we’re here.” Stepping back and sucking in a deep breath, he dragged a hand through his hair. “You keep on surprising me, and I keep on despising what you show me.”

  I laughed tightly. “Doesn’t look like you despise me.” I cocked my chin at the straining erection in his trousers. “I think you like me, and despite what you’re going to do and who you are, I still find you attractive.”

  And believe me, if I had a cure for that insanity, I’d take it without hesitation.

  Cruelly, he snatched my free wrist, wrapping the remaining cuff tightly. Quickly securing the buckle, he muttered, “The way you threw yourself into my brother’s arms hints you might have a desire for all Hawks.” His breath was hot in my ear as he spun me to face the post. “You’re just a conniving manipulator.”

  I cried out as he disappeared behind the post and hoisted my arms high with the aid of a hidden winch. Another jerk and my wrists burned in the supple leather. My torso smashed against the damp wood as my body weight transferred from my toes to my arms.

  “How does that feel?” Jethro asked, coming back around.

  My shoulders screamed; my blood throbbed with effort to reach my raised fingertips. I dangled with no chance at escape.

  How does it feel?

  It fucking hurt! It made my previous thoughts of lust seem ridiculous.

  All concepts of seducing him disappeared. I only wanted this over fast, so I could admit defeat and lick my wounds in private.

  “I asked you a question,” Jethro growled, his hand stroking my spine.

  I flinched at his touch. It was sacrilegious, because even now it still made my core clench with want. “It hurts. Is that what you want to hear?”

  Jethro’s torso pressed against my back, squashing my
cheek against the damp wood of the post. The crispness of plants and the musky scent of earth overpowered his smell, giving me a welcome reprieve from the man who drove me mad.

  “You look rather tempting like this, Ms. Weaver. Perhaps it will be me begging before this is done.”

  I couldn’t stop my skin shivering with awareness or my heart seizing with anxiety and desire.

  “Don’t touch me,” I hissed.

  With a small laugh, he pushed away, ceasing contact.

  I twisted my neck, never letting him from my sight. I hated having him so close. I hated that I had no power to stop him. I hated how he stood there, wrapped in silence, watching me like some mystery he had yet to solve.

  We didn’t speak, waiting to see who would break first.

  Finally, after a minute, he said softly, “I’m going to give you a history lesson, Ms. Weaver. You’ll listen closely and understand why you’re repaying this certain debt.” Pacing, he added, “Every debt will begin this way. The history will be told, then the debt repaid. You’ll be informed of what your ancestors did to mine. You will apologise and repent for their past sins, and only then will the extraction take place.”

  Coming close, his body heat burned me. His words were tiny whips lashing my ear. “If you do not repent and permit the debt to be paid, you will be beaten. If you do not accept why a debt has to be paid, the extraction will be taken twice. Do you understand?”

  Twice?

  Double horror.

  Double terror.

  Then…I laughed. Morbid, yes, but the image in my head was comical.

  “You mean to tell me, you’ll behead me twice?” I smiled. “Are you necromancers as well as lunatics? Please, inform me on how that will work.”

  His hand lashed out, spanking my denim-clad behind.

  I groaned, jolting in the binds. I couldn’t unravel the painful smarting from his strike and the throbbing in my nipples and clit.

  Shit. Don’t let him see that he’s broken my mind already. If he touched me, felt how drenched I was, I would never live with myself again.

  “I’ve had enough of your mouth, Ms. Weaver.”

  “Are you sure? Didn’t seem that way in the forest with my lips around you. Did you know that was my first ever blowjob?”

  He sucked in a breath. His hand landed in my hair, fisting the thickness and burning my scalp. His lips tickled my ear as he whispered, “You keep taunting me with what happened in the forest. Do you think just because you swallowed that I’m what…grateful? Sentimental? In love?” He shook me. “What, Ms. Weaver? Shall I not remind you it was you who clenched around my tongue so hard you almost fucking bruised me? Every lick and fucking taste I had of your pussy, I drove you wild.” He trailed the tip of his tongue from my ear to my cheek.

  I trembled, every part of me tightening.

  “We’re on even ground. Orgasm for an orgasm. Don’t think it gives you power, because it doesn’t.”

  I breathed hard, trying to find some resemblance of the hatred I’d nursed. But he pressed his body flush against mine, grinding his erection into the small of my back.

  He groaned under his breath. “What I wouldn’t give to fuck you. To stop your teasing and use you like you want me to.”

  Everything inside me charged, ignited, spindled out of control.

  The thought of having him inside me both repulsed and enticed. The mental image of us fighting this unknown battle while our naked bodies fought for domination sent scorching thrills through me.

  My breathing turned to pants. “Why haven’t you?”

  Damn, the words fell from my lips before I had time to censor them.

  Jethro’s hips twitched harder against me. He didn’t reply.

  The question hung like a flag fluttering in the lust-thick breeze. I couldn’t take it back, and Jethro wouldn’t answer it.

  Pulling his body heat away, he shoved his hands through his hair and paced the room. “Time for your history lesson.”

  I wriggled against the pole, dreadfully uncomfortable and vibrating with anger and desire.

  I hated the wetness between my legs. I hated that whenever he touched me, I would rather kiss then kill him, rather than flat-out destroy him.

  My body was hot and confused. Desperate for freedom. Ravenous for lust.

  “In 1460, the Hawks were nobodies. We had no land, no titles, no money of any kind. We were the lowest of the low and survived on the generosity of others. Luckily, after years of begging and living on the streets, my ancestor and his family managed to find employment in a household who were the opposite of everything they were.

  “At the beginning, it seemed like luck had finally shone upon them, and their days of thievery and struggles were at an end. What they didn’t know was it marked the end of their freedom, and, ultimately, their lives. They became slaves—available at the Weavers’ every beck and call for every frivolous demand. Not only did my ancestor work for the family, but his wife became their kitchen maid, his son their stable boy, and his daughter their scullery underling. A family of Hawks working for a family of Weavers.”

  Jethro’s voice was hypnotic, whisking me away from the greenhouse to a time where sewage flowed in busy streets and rat meat was as common as chicken in the slums of London.

  Jethro never stopped his tale. “They worked every hour—cooking, cleaning, fetching—ensuring the Weavers lived a life of well-tended luxury. Nothing was too much for them—they were the cogs that made the household run.”

  “So they were employees,” I butted in. “They were hired to look after my forefathers and no doubt given room and board as well as food and clothing.”

  Jethro stalked toward me. Fisting my hair, he snarled, “You’d think that, wouldn’t you? A fair trade for the amount of hours they slaved. But no. The Weavers didn’t believe in fairness of employment. They didn’t pay a cent—not to those who came from the gutter. But you’re right—they did provide board and lodging, but they taxed it so heavily, my family existed in the Weavers’ cellar with scraps from their table. Every year their unpayable taxes grew higher.”

  Sickness swirled in my stomach. “How do you mean?”

  Jethro let me go, continuing his stroll around the room. “I mean that every year they were worse off, not only working but paying their employers for the chance. Every year at Christmas, they were ordered to pay back their taxes of being privileged enough to live in the graces of the Weavers, and every year they couldn’t pay it back.”

  That’s awful.

  My heart hurt for such unfairness, of such unnecessary brutality. It can’t be true. No one could be that horrid. Then again, it happened so long ago. It was still insanity to make me pay for it.

  I gritted my teeth, fortifying myself against Jethro’s brainwashing. I couldn’t believe my forefathers were tyrannical employers. There would’ve been rules—even then. Surely?

  It’s sad, but it’s also hundreds and hundreds of years ago. Get over it.

  I said with half-hearted conviction, “They could’ve left and found other work. They didn’t have to put up with that treatment, even if it was true.”

  Jethro laughed coldly. “Seems so simple to you, doesn’t it, Ms. Weaver? Inhumane treatment, so leave.” He glowered. “Not so easy when your ancestor was raping my ancestor’s wife every night, and the mistress of the house had turned every law enforcer in the county against them. She spun such an elegant tale of espionage and thievery; no one would listen to the truth. Everyone believed the Hawks were cold-hearted criminals who were unappreciative of the generosity of the upstanding Weavers.”

  Jethro crossed his arms. “Can you believe the Weavers even managed to coerce the police to issue a standing warrant, stating if ever a Hawk stopped working for the Weavers, they would be punished? The law said they’d be thrown into the keep and tortured for their crimes, then murdered as an example to other misbehaving working class.”

  My stomach twisted into knots. I wished my hands were untied so I could clamp
them over my ears and not listen to Jethro's lies.

  This was sick. Terrible. Woefully unjust.

  Jethro moved closer, no sound, just like his beloved silence. “Needless to say, they were very unhappy. The wife tried to commit suicide, only for her daughter to find her and the Weavers’ best physician to bring her back from the dead. She couldn’t escape the nightly exploits of the man of the house, and day by day, her children starved from lack of proper care and nutrition.

  “So, one day Frank Hawk waited until the Weaver bastard had raped his wife for the second time that night and put her to bed with her ailing offspring. He waited until the house was quiet and everyone rested, before sneaking from the cellar and into the kitchens.”

  The image Jethro painted drove needles deep and painful into my heart. I couldn’t think of such horrible people or such a sorry existence. How could my ancestors have done such a thing?

  “He should’ve snuck up the stairs and slaughtered his employer while he slept, but his inner fire had been well and truly beaten out after years of abuse. He had no other drive but to stay alive in the hope redemption would save him.

  “That night, he only took enough to keep them alive, because no matter their rancid living conditions, he wasn’t ready to die. He wasn’t ready to permit his children to fade away. He was ready to find his self-worth again and fight. To find the rage to commit murder. And to do that, he needed strength.

  “Tiptoeing back to the basement, he and his family had their first good meal in years. Scotch eggs, crusty bread, and anything else he managed to pillage.” Jethro smiled, before continuing, “Of course, their meal didn’t go unnoticed.”

  I gulped, completely wrapped up in his tale.

  “The next day, the cook announced someone had been in her kitchen and stole. Mr. Weaver immediately turfed my family from their beds, finding evidence of misdeeds in the way of crumbs and hastily devoured food. He announced a crime had been committed; therefore, punishment must be paid.

  “He dragged Frank Hawk to the village square where he strung him up on the whipping post and left him to hang by his wrists for a day and a night in the dead of winter.” Jethro’s hands suddenly clasped mine, straining above me to thread his fingers through my digits—his touch cold and threatening.