Fourth Debt Read online

  My heart stopped.

  What does that mean?

  Marshall nodded. “That is correct, Mr. Daniel. I, personally, am lucky enough to have met your mother, Ms. Weaver. She was a fine young woman who loved you very much.”

  I thought the pain of Jethro’s death had broken me past any other emotional agony.

  I was wrong.

  The mention of my mother crippled me. A sob wrapped wet tentacles around my lungs.

  Don’t cry. Do not cry.

  I would never cry again. Not as long as these people lived.

  I’ll slaughter you all!

  Jasmine arched her neck condescendingly. “Instead of torturing an already tortured girl, let’s get on with it, shall we?” Her eyes gleamed. “Leave the emotional battery to me once the legalities are straightened out.”

  Cut chuckled, eyeing his daughter with newfound awe. “Jasmine, I must say, I never knew you were so capable.”

  Bonnie preened like some proud mother hen. “That’s because I told you to leave her to me.” White tendrils of hair escaped her chignon, wisping in the low-lit room. “She’s stronger than Jet, Kes, and Dan combined. And it’s all thanks to me.”

  I wanted to vomit. Or slash her to pieces. Either would work.

  How could someone of that age, who should be tender and kind, be so heartlessly cruel?

  Jasmine merely nodded like a princess accepting a compliment and turned her attention back to the life-stealing, blood-sucking, soul-leaching lawyer. “You may continue, Mr. Marshall.”

  Marshall stretched his wrinkly face into a smile. “As you wish, Ms. Jasmine.” Waving at his partners, he said, “Ms. Weaver, before we begin, we must honour the common niceties. I am principal director of the firm Marshall, Backham, and Cole. We have provided legal counsel and been sole conservator of the Hawk family for generations. My father was proud to be of service and his father and his father before him. There is nothing about the Hawk legacy that we are not a part of.” His eyes narrowed. “Do you know what I’m saying?”

  I stopped breathing.

  A part of everything?

  So outsiders were aware of what went on inside these walls? Lawyers knew what the Debt Inheritance entailed and yet they were okay with it?

  My body throbbed with another flush of fury.

  I didn’t just want to steal three lives but theirs, too. The corridors of Hawksridge Hall would flow with blood by the time I eradicated the amount of people in on this ancient serial killing spree. Their innards would drape the walls, and their bones would rot the foundations with their malicious ideals.

  That’s all they are.

  Rich, eloquent, intelligent murderers hiding behind false pretences of contracts and signatures.

  Would they sign a new contract giving me the right to slash their throats and tear out their hearts in payment for atrocities committed?

  It doesn’t matter.

  I didn’t need their permission.

  I focused on the table, on the swirls of wood grain, rather than his face. If I looked up, I wouldn’t have the strength to stay in my chair. “You’re saying you presided over my ancestors’ executions? That you helped bribe away the truth and protect these sick bastards?”

  Cut shot to his feet. “Nila!”

  I ignored him, my fingernails digging into my palms. “You’re saying you helped change the law and enabled one family to destroy another? You’re saying you had my ancestors killed?”

  I slammed my chair back, my voice reaching a glass-shattering octave. “You’re saying that you can sit there, talk to me, tell me whatever bullshit you’re about to do, all the while knowing they mean to chop off my head, and you don’t have a problem with that?”

  Jasmine snatched my wrist. “God’s sake, sit your arse down.”

  “Let go of—” I cried out as Daniel grabbed my hair and shoved me forward. I lost my footing; my face smashed against the table. Instantly, blood spurted from my nose, pain resonating in my skull.

  Sickness drenched my senses with agony.

  “Drop her, Daniel!” Cut yelled.

  Daniel’s fingers were suddenly torn from my hair, letting me slouch backward, landing in my chair. Jasmine fought off her brother, slapping him away. “Don’t fucking touch her. What did I say? I’m in charge. I’m the oldest.”

  My eyes watered as more blood gushed from my nose. I didn’t think it was broken, but the room spun with an induced vertigo wave.

  God, what was I thinking?

  The plan was to remain cool and invisible, looking for the perfect chance.

  Now I couldn’t think straight with pain.

  “You’re not in fucking charge, Jaz. She’s mine.” Daniel pointed at Marshall. “Tell her. Amend it, so my sister can shut the fuck up about the rules.”

  Marshall looked awkwardly at Cut. “Sir?”

  Cut ran a hand over his face, slowly sitting back down. “No, the conversation we had yesterday still stands.” His lips turned up at the rapidly building stain from my nosebleed. Every red drip redecorated the table and the front of my cardigan. “Someone get her a damn napkin.”

  Jasmine shuffled in her wheelchair, pulling out a white handkerchief. “Here.” Shoving it into my hand, her eyes flickered with compassion.

  It only made me hate her more.

  Scrunching up the material, I held it to my nose, getting sick joy from destroying the white perfection. The stuffiness made me breathless, and my eyes drifted to the corner where initials had been embroidered.

  JKH

  I dropped it.

  Oh, my God.

  My hand splayed open, tinged with crimson and sticky but unable to hide the two tattoos on my fingertips. JKH.

  Jasmine kept her brother’s handkerchief.

  Why? To rub salt in already hollowed wounds or to laugh over fooling him just like she’d fooled me.

  I locked eyes with her, pouring all my rage into my stare. “You’ll pay for what you’ve done.” Glancing at Bonnie and Cut, I added, “You’ll all pay.”

  Marshall cleared his throat loudly. “I think the little interlude has come to an end. Shall we continue?”

  “Yes, let’s,” Bonnie sniffed. “Never seen something so unruly in all my life.” Sniffing in my direction, she tilted her chin. “Another word out of you, Weaver, and you won’t like the consequences.”

  Daniel moaned, “But Grandmamma—”

  “Buzzard, zip it,” Cut growled. “Sit down or leave. But don’t fucking talk again.”

  Daniel muttered under his breath but plonked back into his chair.

  Jasmine grabbed the red-sodden material and shoved it under my nose. “Hold this, shut up, and don’t get into any more trouble.”

  The skirmish ended; no one moved.

  Silence hovered thick over the table.

  The only sound was the heavy ticking of a grandfather clock by the gold ladder leading to the limited editions above. Side lamps had been switched on, filling the large space with warm illumination, while curtains blocked any remaining light that dared trespass on priceless books or fade cherished words.

  Finally, Marshall sucked in a breath. He rearranged his fountain pen again. “Now that we’re all on the same page, I’ll carry on.” Looking at me, he said, “For the rest of this meeting, you may address me as Marshall, or by my first name, which is Colin. These are my colleagues.”

  Pointing to the man closest to him: a potbellied, watery-eyed bald guy, he continued, “This is Hartwell Backham, followed by Samuel Cole, and my son Matthew Marshall.”

  My nose ached but the bleeding had stopped, leaving me stuffed up. I glowered at the men. There wasn’t an ounce of mercy in their gazes.

  They were here to do the job they’d been entrusted. Their loyalties were steadfast. Their intentions unchangeable.

  I doubted they saw me as human—just a clause in a contract and nothing more.

  Daniel poked me under the table. “After your little stunt, the least you can do is be nice.” His voi
ce deepened. “Say hello.”

  Yet another way to make me obey. He didn’t care about pleasantries—only about making me submit to his every childish whim.

  I sat straighter.

  I’ll do nothing of the sort.

  Jasmine nudged me. “If you won’t listen to him, listen to me. Do it.”

  I glared at her. “Why should I?”

  “Because you belong to her, you little cow.” Grabbing her cane, Bonnie struck her chair leg as if the furniture would turn into a horse and gallop her away from there. “Start. Now.”

  Marshall launched into action. “Of course, Madame Hawk. My apologies.” Slapping open the file in front of him, his partners copied. Ledgers flung open and pens uncapped.

  “Let me assure you that we’re honoured to once again provide service to your impeccable family,” Marshall twittered like a buffoon.

  Cut groaned, steepling his fingers. “Lose the arse kissing. Did you bring the file or not?”

  Paper scattered the wooden tabletop like fallen snowflakes, reminding me all over again of the icy way Jethro protected himself—the arctic coolness and thawing as I slowly made him want me.

  The pain in my nose shot to my heart.

  He’s dead.

  He’s dead.

  Don’t think about him.

  Marshall selected a certain page. “I did.” Looking at his son—the blond buzz cut douchebag—he pointed at a box by the exit. “Grab that will you, Matthew?”

  Matthew shot to his feet. “Sure.” In a whisper of cashmere suit, he went to retrieve the large white box.

  Curiosity rose to know what was in it. But at the same time, I was past caring.

  More bullshit. More games.

  None of it mattered because I was playing a different game. One they wouldn’t understand until it was too late.

  Jasmine scooted her wheelchair back a little, giving Matthew access to the table.

  He smiled in thanks, placing the heavy box before his father. Marshall stood up and opened the lid while his son sat back down.

  I sniffed, trying hard to clear my nostrils of blood. The pounding headache made everything fuzzy—a struggle to completely follow. I wanted to be coherent for whatever was about to happen.

  No one spoke as Marshall removed reams and reams of paper and stacked them in neat piles on the table. The more he withdrew, the more aged the paper became. The first pile was pristinely white, neat edges, and uniformed lettering from a computer and printer.

  The next stack was thin and cream-coloured, smudged edges, and the fuzzy blocks of a typewriter ribbon.

  What is going on?

  The third was yellowed and crinkled, shabby with torn edges, and the spidery scrawl of human penmanship.

  And the final stack was moth-eaten, the colour of coffee, and swirling calligraphy of an art lost long ago.

  That colour…

  Its coffee bean shade was similar to the Debt Inheritance scraps Cut had given me at my welcome luncheon.

  Could it be…

  My attention zeroed in on Cut.

  “Do you hazard a guess as to what that is, Nila?”

  I shivered at the fatherly way he said my name, as if this was a family lesson. Something to be proud of and honoured to be an exclusive member.

  I don’t need to guess.

  I cocked my chin. “No, I don’t.”

  He chuckled. “Come now. You already know. I can see it in your eyes.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Jasmine huffed. “Just be honest. For once in your life.” Her voice dropped to a harsh curse. “Don’t make this any worse, for God’s sake.”

  Whoa…

  After everything she’d done. After cuddling up to her father after he shot Jethro and Kes and promising me a world of hurt for being responsible for such a tragedy, she had the audacity to make it seem as if I were unappreciative and uncooperative.

  Not going to fly anymore.

  Screw being meek and quiet.

  I’d tried that.

  Now, I snapped.

  Turning to face her, my hackles rose. The claws I’d grown when I’d first arrived unsheathed, and I wanted nothing more than to drag them across her face. “I’d watch what you say to me…bitch.”

  The room sucked into a dark hole, hovering in space, glacial and deadly.

  The curse hovered between us, not fading—if possible, only growing louder the more the silence deafened.

  I never swore. Ever. I never called people names or stooped to such a crass level. But since Jethro had died, I’d sunk steadily into profanity, and the power of that simple word bolstered my courage a thousand times.

  I loved the righteous power it gave me.

  I loved the shock factor it delivered.

  Jaz gaped. “What did you just call me?”

  I smiled as if I had a mouthful of sugar. “Bitch. I called you a bitch. A motherfucking bitch, and I think you’ll find the name suits you.”

  Bonnie slapped her cane onto the table, cracking the palpable tension. “Watch your tongue, hussy. I’ll have it ripped out before you can—”

  Jaz held up her hand. “Grandmamma, let me handle this.” Her eyes narrowed to bronze blades. “Let me get this straight. I’m the bitch? I’m the bitch for loving my brothers so much that I now want to avenge their deaths by killing the person who took theirs? I’m the bitch because I gave everything to Jethro, including the use of my legs, and don’t deserve to honour his memory by making you suffer?”

  Her face turned red. “Excuse me if you don’t think I’m worth that, Ms. High and Fucking Mighty. Perhaps, we should kill your brother and see what sort of person you’d turn into.”

  My heart exploded at the mention of harming Vaughn. “Don’t you dare touch him.”

  “Address me properly and we’ll see.” Jasmine shoved her face close to mine. “Behave yourself and your twin will walk away when you die. Don’t, and his head will be in the basket beside yours.”

  Oh, my God.

  I couldn’t breathe.

  I couldn’t even speak through the horrors of what she’d said.

  “If you so much as touch him—”

  “You’ll what? Kill me? Yeah, right.” Jaz rolled her eyes. “Like anyone believes you’re capable of that, little Weaver. Even Jethro knew you could never hurt him and that’s why he—”

  I slapped my hands over my ears. “Stop it!”

  Daniel broke out into loud guffaws. “Well, fuck me, sis. You’re kinda badass.”

  Jaz looked at her younger brother. The harsh glint in her eyes increased with maliciousness. “You have no idea, baby brother.”

  Cut clapped his hands. “Marshall continue. My mother must rest, and we have a lot to cover. Ignore any further outbursts and get on with it.”

  Marshall nodded. “Yes, sir. Of course.”

  Jasmine twisted away from me, facing the lawyers. She breathed steadily with no adverse reactions to our verbal war.

  The lawyers shuffled and stacked their files. No one was fussed that Jaz had just announced every sordid detail. That she’d admitted to holding me and my twin hostage or that they callously planned a double homicide.

  And why would they?

  They belonged body, heart, and soul to the devil born Hawks.

  Marshall pointed at the piles of paperwork. “Mr. Hawk has advised me that you were shown the original document labelled the Debt Inheritance. Is that correct, Ms. Weaver?”

  My muscles quaked with the need to bolt or fight. Both would be preferable. Sitting sandwiched between Jaz and Daniel only wound me tighter.

  My mind ran with profanity.

  Fuck you.

  “Answer him, Nila,” Cut said.

  “You already know that that’s correct.”

  Marshall warmed to his task, finally having one of his questions answered without Armageddon breaking out.

  God, I wish you were here, Jethro. Sitting beside me, granting me strength.

 
I was all alone.

  “Fantastic. Well, that document is just the first of many that you’re about to become acquainted with.” Laying his hand on the oldest looking stack, he lowered his voice. “These documents are the originals, passed down through our firm and our connection with the Hawks to keep safe and protected. In here exists every note, amendment, and requested clause update. It has been lodged in accordance with the times and royals in power, drifting through kings, queens, and ultimately, prime ministers and diplomats.”

  My headache came back at the nonsense he spouted. “You’re telling me people in power kept signing these…when they knew all along what it was?”

  Hartwell Backham answered, his voice rich as burnished copper. “Don’t underestimate the power of a family crest or the name of the oldest law firm in England. We have garnered centuries of goodwill, and our clients sign what we suggest. They trust our judgement and don’t have time for consuming activities such as reading every document that crosses their tables.”

  There was so much wrong with that sentence, it astounded me.

  “You’re saying that—”

  Marshall interrupted me, doing what Cut had told him and powering through my retaliation. “Over the years, the Debt Inheritance has had to…how shall I say? Adapt.”

  I couldn’t argue. I couldn’t win.

  All I could do was sit and silently seethe.

  “All contracts are amended at some point or another, and this is no different.” Marshall uncapped his fountain pen. “I hope that’s self-explanatory, so I can skip to the next topic.”

  “No, it isn’t self-explanatory.” I snarled, “What you’re saying is all this talk of being set in stone and law-abiding is actually not—it’s revised to suit your benefits with no input from my family?”

  My stomach roiled at the unfairness. How could they change the rules and tote it over our heads like gospel? How could they notarise something without both parties agreeing?

  Who were these corrupt, money-grubbing lawyers?

  Cut tutted under his breath. “Don’t force me to gag you, Ms. Weaver.” His eyes blackened as if I’d offended his moral code.

  What moral code?

  He was scum.

  “Everything we do is within the parameters set by our current law. We’ve made sure nothing is carried out until it’s first written, signed, and witnessed.”