Final Debt Read online

  Cut crossed his arms. “He’ll stay here until I say.”

  “But—”

  “No fucking buts.” Holding out his hand, Cut snapped, “You’ve said goodbye. Time to go.”

  “No!”

  Cut towered higher. “The longer you deny what will happen—regardless of your willingness—the longer Jethro has to go without medical help.” He cocked his head. “Does that encourage you now? Knowing you have the power to get him much-needed attention by behaving?”

  I hated I had the power to save the man I loved by obeying the man I hated.

  Gritting my teeth, I looked down at Jethro one last time. “I have to go.”

  He shook his head, his lungs rattling and wet. “No.”

  “I love you, Kite.”

  His eyes glossed with fear. “Nila…don’t. This isn’t the end. I don’t care what he says. I’m coming after you. I’ll stop the Final Debt. I promise.” He shook hard in his binds. “I fucking promise, I’ll stop it. You’re mine. I won’t let the Debt Inheritance have you. I won’t!”

  His pouring unhappiness and despair cracked my heart. I couldn’t let him drain himself of whatever reserves he had left. Cupping his cheek with my good hand, I guided his face to mine.

  I never closed my eyes and neither did he as I kissed him.

  His lips parted, his tongue threaded with mine, and we agreed he would fight for me. He would chase me. And who knew, maybe he would save me one last time.

  Cut shattered our moment, yanking me away from Jethro and dragging me toward the exit. My arm bellowed, but it was nothing compared to the internal shattering at leaving Jethro behind.

  At the door, Cut pulled me closer and I staggered in grey imbalance, imprinting Jethro on my soul forever.

  His chin cocked, keeping me in his sights for as long as he could. “Don’t give up, Nila. It’s not over.”

  Silent tears dripped from my eyelashes as Cut shoved me out the door and separated me from my soul-mate.

  The door closed behind me.

  Tears fell faster.

  Pain billowed thicker.

  And all I could do was whisper, “Goodbye.”

  “FUCK!”

  The door closed. Nila was gone. I remained crumpled on the floor like a discarded fucking prisoner.

  I’d been in worse binds.

  Have I?

  I liked to think I had and overcome them. That I would overcome this. But how?

  My stomach hadn’t unknotted since Cut started his creepy history lesson and worked up to the most horrendous thing I’d ever witnessed.

  The slam of the mallet on the love of my life’s arm. The scream as her bone broke.

  I shuddered.

  It won’t remain the worst thing you’ve ever witnessed if you don’t get your arse off the floor.

  The Final Debt.

  Jasmine had said Cut planned to carry it out before the week was finished.

  The moment he returned to Hawksridge, Nila would be dead.

  Ferocity spread through my veins, and for the millionth time, I wriggled and struggled, trying so fucking hard to get free.

  The ropes around my ankles had slid off the chair legs, but my wrists and torso remained tight.

  Think. There must be something you can do.

  Forcing my breathing to calm, I glanced around the cave. The table with remnants of cast-making equipment was too far away. I might be able to shuffle with the chair attached to my body, but it would waste valuable time and energy. Besides, Cut hadn’t used any sharp implements and the knife he’d utilised to slice Nila free had disappeared with him in his back pocket.

  Kes.

  It was times like this—when I’d fucked up and couldn’t see a way free—that he’d come to my rescue. He always came. Always answered his phone if I’d had a relapse, or shared a beer with me when I needed his welcome support.

  Kes was the only one I knew who could regulate and calm his emotions to the point of soothing rather than a battering ram. I didn’t know how he did it but being around him was the opposite of being around others.

  I miss you, brother.

  The door opened.

  My eyes shot to it, my heart leaping with hope.

  Nila…

  Only, it wasn’t Nila.

  Marquise stomped inside. His burly size and Black Diamond leather jacket blocked the exit as he turned and relocked the door. He didn’t say a word, merely raised an eyebrow in my direction and sat in the chair Nila had when Cut broke her arm.

  He. Broke. Her. Arm.

  Motherfucking bastard.

  I’d felt her pain, bewilderment, and terror as the mallet crushed her. I’d felt her fear that she wouldn’t make it through airport security with the bushel of diamonds in her cast.

  I wanted to tell her to scream when she boarded the plane. Let the pilots know she had contraband and ought to be detained. If she was caught, they’d hold her, possibly convict her, and she’d remain alive in prison until I could figure out a way to free her.

  If she was locked up, Cut couldn’t kill her, and I could hire the best attorneys to dismiss her case. I could show the entire world what my family had been up to. I could rip open the truth and finally, finally show what money could do.

  What loyalties it could buy.

  What sins it could cover up.

  How happy middle-class families were duped by the few who held the wealth of the globe.

  If it meant I’d go to jail, so be it.

  At least my conscience would finally be clear and Nila would be alive.

  And Cut would rot right beside me in an eight by eight cell, never seeing his precious Hawksridge or diamonds again.

  The daydream shattered as I twisted to glare at Marquise. I couldn’t get free on my own. But he could help me.

  “Free me and I’ll pay you two million pounds.” I tugged on the ropes around my wrists, inhaling hard against the bruising binds across my chest. The car accident battered me and my vision hadn’t stopped spluttering with the massive headache. I hadn’t kept my promise to pay the driver who’d brought me here, and I hadn’t done what I’d vowed by rescuing Nila.

  This entire trip had been one big fuck up. However, I would trade ever feeling whole again, every good thing I’d ever done, if I could rewind time and stop Cut from breaking Nila’s arm.

  Marquise grinned. “Your grandmother has paid me far more for my loyalty.” Crossing his arms, he glared. “Stop talking. I won’t let you go for any amount.”

  “What about a title? An estate of your own? Shares in our companies?” I spat the lingering taste from my tongue thanks to the awful gag. “Everyone has a price. Name it.”

  Marquise inspected his ragged fingernails as if he was a fucking king on his throne. “I’ll get all of that if I remain true to Bonnie.” He sniffed. “So shut the fuck up.”

  I exhaled heavily. For now, he wouldn’t budge, but he would. I just had to find his weakness. Everyone could be bought. We’d learned that prime example through years of bribery and control.

  My mind returned to Nila and Cut, keeping count of time and distance slowly separating us.

  I have to get free.

  A shrill tune ripped around the cave.

  Marquise slouched and pulled out his phone. He stabbed the screen, holding it to his ear. “Yes?”

  Silence as he listed to instructions.

  “Still on the floor and tied up. Yes, will do. Got it.”

  He hung up, a sinister smile spreading his lips. “Looks like you should get comfortable, Hawk. Got orders not to let you up until the Prez is on a plane. And then…he wants me to give you an extra special surprise.”

  Of course…

  I didn’t expect Cut to let me survive—not after trying to kill me. He might have a sick fascination with making me survive in a world where Nila didn’t exist, but he understood the moment I was free, the moment I had a chance, he would be dead.

  It was only a matter of time if he let me live.

&nbs
p; He won’t let me live…

  I clenched my jaw. “What’s the surprise?”

  I already know.

  Pain and then death.

  Cut wasn’t overly original.

  Marquise clenched his fists, showing scabbed knuckles and ropy forearms. “You’ll see.”

  CUT GRIPPED MY unbroken arm tighter, hauling me faster through the airport.

  He’d manhandled me and corralled me ever since we’d left Jethro in the mine and flew by Jeep to a small doctor’s surgery on the outskirts of Gaborone.

  While the African doctor nodded and smiled and arranged my arm for x-rays, Cut had washed his face and changed his clothes, discarding the dirt-smudged jeans and white shirt in favour of black slacks and shirt.

  The doctor didn’t remove my cast, and he didn’t show me the x-rays once the decrepit machine had whirred and snapped grainy pictures of what Cut had done to me.

  Once the large black and white images were tucked safely into his briefcase, Cut allowed me five minutes to wash as best I could in the surgery’s small bathroom. The blood from Daniel and the car accident siphoned down the plug hole, revealing scratches and bruises in their colourful glory.

  I had no makeup to cover the marks and no choice but to change into whatever clothing Cut had grabbed from my suitcase on the way out from Almasi Kipanga.

  Unfortunately, he hadn’t selected any of the clothing I’d artistically amended, leaving me without scalpels or knitting needles, leaving me vulnerable.

  The one good thing about the doctor’s surgery was the sweet-eyed man gave me a homemade honey muesli bar—either noticing the way I ogled his sandwich sitting on his desk as he x-rayed me or the wobbles of weakness as Cut dragged me outside.

  I didn’t think much of his practice, considering he didn’t check if my arm was set correctly, or there was nothing majorly damaged inside, but I inhaled the food offering before Cut could snatch it away.

  With Cut’s timeline, he envisioned my head in a basket within a few days. Who cared if my arm was set wrong? It wouldn’t be needed much longer.

  That’s what you fear.

  But it isn’t what will happen.

  I curled my fingers, testing the pain level of the break. My grip was weak, and it burned to move, but I still had mobility. My fingers still worked, which I was thankful for. I couldn’t stomach the thought of never being able to sew again or hold intricate needles and lace.

  Cut had stolen so much—he couldn’t steal my entire livelihood and skill, too.

  “Hurry up.” Cut pulled harder.

  I staggered beside him, breathing hard as every footstep jarred my aching arm. The pain resonated beneath muscle and skin, a hot discomfort stripping me of energy.

  The moment we’d arrived at the airport, Cut had abandoned the Jeep in a long-term car park and only bothered to carry his briefcase. At the time, I wondered if we’d be questioned for suspicious behaviour travelling long-haul with no luggage. But I’d rolled my eyes and hid my snort.

  This was Cut Hawk.

  This part of Africa belonged to him—no doubt the airport security would belong to him, too.

  “For God’s sake, Weaver.” Cut slowed, forcing my half-trotting, half-lagging footsteps to fall in line with his. “We’ll miss the plane.”

  Fresh throbs brought scratchy tears to my eyes.

  “I want to miss the plane. I want to go back for Jethro.”

  The entire travel I couldn’t stop thinking of Kite. Of him bleeding and feverish tied to a chair. Of him having no choice but to watch as I was taken.

  The muesli bar I’d eaten roiled in my stomach. “You’ll keep him alive…won’t you? You’ll keep your promise not to hurt him.”

  Cut smiled coyly. “I wouldn’t worry your pretty head about it. Soon, trivial things like that won’t matter to you.”

  The veiled hint at my death should terrify me. I should fight and scream and act like a terrorist to prevent boarding the plane. But the fear of interrogation and imprisonment kept me silent.

  Cut was insane, but there was only one of him. One beating heart to stab. One life to extinguish. If the police took me, I wouldn’t know who or how to fight. I’d be alone.

  Yes, but you might stay alive.

  Perhaps in England I would cause a fuss. But not here. I didn’t trust the Hawk’s power in Africa. Cut might have the means to murder me even in the custody of the law. Buy a cop—arrange a convenient suicide in my cell.

  No, I’ll wait.

  I would return to England, to my home, to a land I knew and could gamble my life with better odds.

  Checking us in, Cut never let me go as the agent handed over our passports and boarding passes. Dark-skinned security and airport personnel didn’t look our way as Cut guided me roughly through customs and immigration to the baggage x-ray.

  The closer we got to the metal detector, the more my heart galloped.

  Don’t think about the diamonds.

  Cut whispered in my ear, his fingers digging into my bicep. “If you bring unwanted attention or do anything stupid, I’ve given Marquise strict orders to make Jethro pay.”

  I shivered, joining the queue to pass through the detector.

  My heart permanently relocated into my mouth as my turn fast approached and I held my broken arm protectively. I didn’t know if I hugged it for the pain or the illegal diamonds. Either way, the flush and wax of my skin played right into Cut’s masquerade that I was under the weather from agony rather than smuggling.

  The woman officer smiled, waving me forward. “Come through, ma’am.”

  I shuffled through the arch, cringing as it beeped.

  “Stand there.” The woman came closer, waving her wand over my front and back.

  I squeezed my eyes, expecting her to detain me. Terrified she’d find the millions of pounds worth of diamonds and sentence me to death by hanging.

  What would be better? Hanging or guillotine?

  What kind of morbid thought is that?

  Cut stepped through without setting off the alarm and gave me a smirk as he collected his briefcase off the x-ray belt. He stood close by, not interfering as the woman did one more pass and the wand failed to beep.

  She dropped her arm, waving for me to go. “Have a nice flight.”

  “Uh—uh, thanks.” I scurried forward, sweat dripping down my spine with nerves. An itch developed on my forearm beneath the cast, slowly driving me mad as Cut placed his hand on the small of my back and guided me into the departure lounge.

  “See, wasn’t so bad, was it?” He spoke quietly, not making eye contact as we dodged travel-weary passengers.

  My uninjured hand ached from holding the cast. I wished I could keep it close to me but not have to hold it. Wait…

  That was what was missing.

  I stopped in the centre of the duty-free shop we’d cut through. “A sling. I need a sling.”

  Cut frowned. “What?”

  I held up my arm. “It hurts. I need to keep it close so it doesn’t bump or dangle, but my other shoulder is sore from the car accident. I need a sling.”

  When his lips curled with dismissal, I rushed, “Besides, a sling will only add evidence to the break. It doesn’t have to be much. Just something to give me some relief.”

  Cut scowled, his throat working as he swallowed. “Fine.” Storming toward a bookshop, he quickly bought me a canvas tote bag and asked the sales clerk to cut it straight down the centre.

  Guiding me from the store, he quickly cradled my arm with the sliced tote and knotted the handles around my side and shoulder, creating an imperfect but practical sling. The ease and quickness in which he’d done such a tender thing made me freeze.

  If I was honest, I hadn’t expected him to listen, let alone help me.

  “You—you—” I looked away, hating him but grateful. “Thank you.”

  Cut stiffened, his golden eyes meeting mine. “I wouldn’t thank me, Ms. Weaver. You know I didn't do it out of concern for your well-being.”r />
  Now that my other hand was free, I pushed hair out of my eyes and relaxed a little. “No, but you can’t hide there’s more to you than just a crazy man hell-bent on ruling everyone.”

  He smirked, the skin by his eyes crinkling. “You might have figured out Daniel, but you’ll never figure me out, so don’t bother.” Stepping closer, we formed a little island as flowing passengers darted around us. The fear for Jethro and the nervousness in my gut layered my aching muscles, but I didn’t move back. I didn’t show a weakness that Cut’s proximity irked and irritated.

  His gaze fell to my lips. “You’re strong, Nila. I’ll give you that. You remind me so much of Emma that it’s sometimes hard to remember you aren’t mine. That you aren’t her. You might think it would be a good thing for me to think of you kindly, but it wouldn’t, believe me.” He lowered his voice. “Your mother ripped out my heart before I cut off her head. And nothing will give me more pleasure than doing the same to Jethro and you.”

  My lungs stuck together, unable to gather oxygen.

  Cut cocked his head, smiling at my dumbfoundedness. “Why does that continue to shock you? Why do you, even now, still look for the good in others?” Patting my hand, he looped his fingers through mine and pulled me back into motion. “You should know by now no one is what they say they are, and everyone deserves to pay for something. People have been covering up or blaming their mistakes on others for centuries. I take control of mine. I do the best I can to better myself and I refuse to let you or anyone else stand in my way.”

  I didn’t speak—what could I say to that?

  We moved through the large departure gate, heading toward the plane.

  Cut smiled as he pulled out our documentation for the gate staff. His gaze met mine. “This is the easy part.” Handing over the boarding passes, Cut guided me down the air bridge, keeping me close to him, controlling me at all times. “It’s the stress of landing that’s the hard part.”

  Landing.

  English security.

  Maximum penalties for lies and incorrect declarations.

  Marching onto the plane, we moved down the aisle, through first class, through business, right into the dregs of economy.

  Cut pushed me into a row with a window and aisle seat. “Sit.”