First Debt Page 7

  There he went all pomp and ceremony again. No curses. No snapping. No spikes of emotion of any kind.

  He stayed away to distance himself, regroup.

  I had affected him. So much so, he’d needed three nights to deal with it.

  A hot douse of power shot through my veins.

  “Why did you leave me on my own for days?” I held up a hand. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining. The wait-staff did an impeccable job of keeping me fed, and the downtime was rather welcome after the manic few years I’ve had travelling and working non-stop, but it is a little odd.”

  He sedately placed his hands into his corduroy pockets. His eyes were completely unreadable—it was like trying to decipher a damn vault. “Please, tell me what you find so odd. Then perhaps I can help you.”

  If I hadn’t seen the passionate man in the forest—if I hadn’t wrapped my lips around his throbbing cock and swallowed his cum—I might’ve shrunk back in reprimand. I might’ve feared the silence more than his temper, because it heralded something terrible coming.

  But now…now I saw it for what it was.

  It’s a coping mechanism.

  We all had them. Mine was permitting my father and brother complete control over me. My only freedom from that was running until I passed out on my treadmill.

  Jethro didn’t run, but he did use something extremely effective to push aside the tangled emotions I knew he felt and embraced the glacier he pretended to be.

  “Never mind,” I whispered. “I understand.”

  Beneath the power in my veins, a small cloud of depression settled. I’d worked hard breaking his arctic exterior. I’d thrown my all into showing him pleasure that he could find by giving in to me. The fact he’d been so affected that he’d had to shut down and hide should’ve pleased me.

  But really, it reset everything. I was back at the starting line.

  For a second, I slouched in defeat. Did I have the energy to go through the arguing and battle of wills again?

  Tilting my head, I stared at him. He clenched his jaw, not giving anything away.

  My spine straightened as resolution fortified my defeat. So be it. I would do it all over again. And again. And again. Until he realized he couldn’t win. Not against me.

  I was strong enough to break him ten times, a hundred times. I was strong enough to kill him and his twisted family before he dispatched me. I meant to keep my vow that I was the last Weaver they would ever hurt.

  Jethro crossed his arms. “Considering you no longer have any more frustrating questions, I presume you’ll oblige and get up, like I ordered.”

  Without a word, I shoved back the covers and climbed from the warm sheets. “Where are we going?”

  Jethro’s eyes fell on my naked legs. I’d worn black and pink shorts with a matching camisole to bed.

  “Did I say you could ask questions?” Moving smoothly, he stepped away. Roaming sleek and sharp around the room, he gathered mismatched clothes that were draped on chairs and a sixteenth-century dressing table then came back toward me. Dumping them at the end of the bed, he said, “Get dressed. I’m going to count to ten. If you aren’t decent, I don’t care. I’m dragging you out of here naked or clothed—it’s entirely your choice.”

  I wrinkled my nose at the attire. I had more of an understanding about my enemy, but I still feared him. I didn’t want to go anywhere. I didn’t want to be commanded or dragged—

  “One.” His eyes glittered.

  He couldn’t be serious.

  “Two…”

  Quickly, I reached for a peach t-shirt with Victorian lace on the collar and denim shorts.

  “Three.”

  Shit, how could I get dressed with him standing there? I couldn’t strip so blatantly.

  He’s seen you naked. You ran through a forest with nothing on. He’s tasted you, for God’s sake. Seriously, why are you suddenly precious about it?

  “Four.”

  Biting my lip, welcoming my rational common sense, I hastily tore off the camisole and let it flutter through the air.

  Jethro sucked in a breath at my exposed breasts. “Five.”

  Tugging the t-shirt over my head, I dropped my hands to my hips.

  “Six.”

  Locking eyes with him, I shimmied out of the shorts, letting them puddle around my ankles. I had no underwear on.

  I searched for the lust that’d burned in his gaze a few nights ago. I sought to witness just a hint of the Jethro who’d wrapped his fingers in my hair and driven his cock down my throat.

  He merely cocked an eyebrow at my naked pussy and continued to count. “Seven.”

  Anger siphoned through my heart. Stepping into the shorts, I snatched them up and fastened the zipper.

  “Eight.”

  Remembering Jethro’s tendency to use my long hair as handle bars and worse, as a leash, I quickly smoothed the black thickness into a messy ponytail and secured it with a hair tie from my wrist.

  “Nine.”

  The diamond collar sat around my neck—ridiculously expensive considering my understated outfit, making my breathing a little irregular. Slipping my feet into a pair of sparkly flip-flops on the floor, I was done.

  I smirked. “Finished, oh impatient master.”

  Jethro stiffened. “Record speed, Ms. Weaver. I’m impressed.” He held out his hand. “Give me your phone.”

  I blanched. “What? No!”

  He leaned closer, his temper shimmering just beneath the surface of his cool exterior. “Yes. I won’t ask again.”

  For a second, I wondered if I could hit him over the head and run. So many scenarios of running had entertained me these past few days. I’d tried to pry the diamond collar off. I’d tried to open the window. I’d tried to pick the lock on the door.

  But nothing worked. Aside from death, I wasn’t getting out of there.

  I’m coming, Threads.

  My heart seized at the thought of Vaughn charging in here trying to save me, only to be slaughtered by the men holding me captive. I couldn’t let that happen.

  Gritting my teeth, I turned and plucked my phone from the tangled sheets. Reluctantly, I passed it to his awaiting palm.

  His fingers curled around the delicate device. “Thank you.”

  I couldn’t tear my eyes from it. My only link to the outside world. My only avenue of freedom. I didn’t realize until that moment how much I valued it and how stir-crazy I would go if deprived of the simple things, such as texting Kite.

  Admit it, you’re screwing yourself up over him.

  The past few days Kite had been…different. The messages from the night before last came back to mind.

  Kite007: Have you ever noticed how things you’ve always been told were wrong are the only things that feel right?

  Needle&Thread: That’s rather deep coming from the man who only wants to sext and avoid personal subjects.

  Kite007: If I said I wanted one night of blatant honesty, no douche-baggery, no bullshit of any kind, what would you say?

  Needle&Thread: I’d say you’d completely lost it and wonder if someone with a heart had stolen your phone.

  Silence.

  I’d been justified in not letting my guard down. After all, I’d tried many times to get him to be a little kinder, more human toward me, but he’d always shot me down. But as ten minutes turned into twenty and still no reply, I’d felt guilty for hurting someone who obviously needed to talk.

  Why didn’t he talk to others who knew him? Find solace in friends who would understand? My earlier conviction of him being Kestrel had faded a little after the initial panic attack. Since his vicious remark, asking how I knew about his owning a motorcycle, we’d both skirted the issue as if we were both afraid to pick at that particular wound.

  It was best to let it scab over and not spew forth poison that wouldn’t be able to heal.

  This blindness—this naivety about our true agendas and names—was strangely hypnotic, and I didn’t want it to change. I didn’
t want to let him go yet, and I would have to if I knew the truth.

  Needle&Thread: Kite, I’m sorry. No bullshit. No games. One night only to be ourselves and let the stark, painful truth come out. I’m here to listen if you want. If you’ve had second thoughts that’s fine, too. Either way, I hope you have a great night.

  It’d taken a while, but finally he’d texted back.

  Kite007: Sometimes, it seems as if those who have nothing in life have everything, and those who have everything have nothing. Sometimes, I want to be the one who has nothing, so I can appreciate all the things I think I’d miss. But the scary thing is, I don’t think I’d miss a single fucking thing.

  My heart fluttered. It was as if he’d pulled my fears straight from the darkness inside me.

  Needle&Thread: I understand completely. I love my family. I love their faults as well as their perfections, but I can’t help being angry, too. By keeping me safe and sheltered, they made me become someone who was a lie. I now have the hardship of figuring out the truth.

  Kite007: The truth of who you truly are?

  Needle&Thread: Exactly.

  Kite007: We’re all a product of obligation. A carbon copy of what is permitted in the world we’re born into. None of us are free—all raised with expectations to fulfil. And it fucking sucks when those expectations become a cage.

  I couldn’t reply. Tears had spilled unbidden down my cheeks. I shook so much, I’d dropped the phone.

  If Kite was Kestrel. He was hiding just as much as me. A man camouflaging everything real in order to protect himself in a family of monsters.

  Jethro snapped his fingers in front of my nose, breaking my daydream.

  My heart galloped at the thought of never being able to text Kite again, especially now we’d broken some barrier and admitted we had more in common than seeking sexual gratification.

  “You’re a thousand miles away. Pay attention.”

  I blinked, forcing myself to lock onto Jethro’s golden gaze.

  “I was giving you an idea of how today would go. You asked me to inform you, remember, back in the woods?”

  Blinking again, I nodded. “Yes. Can you repeat?”

  He chuckled coldly. “No, I will not repeat. I showed kindness in bracing you against today’s events, yet you couldn’t grant me the courtesy of listening. I refuse to reiterate myself.”

  Rolling my shoulders back, I tried not to worry about what my future held and only on what was important. “Please, I need my phone back.”

  Jethro shook his head. “No.”

  My heart sprinted. “But you said I could use it.”

  “I did.” His lips twitched. “I also said you had to ask permission in order to do so. I want to check your history. Make sure you’re not disobeying the rules.”

  Shit, why didn’t I delete my inbox?

  “The rules?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Rules, Ms. Weaver. I don’t have many, but I did request you didn’t contact your brother. If you’ve obeyed, you have nothing to worry about, and I’ll return the phone to you.”

  Shit.

  Not only had I been texting V, I’d also shared more with Kite than I wanted Jethro to see.

  If Kes was Kite, Jethro would know of the connection I had with his brother. He would use that knowledge. He would hurt me with it.

  I can’t let that happen.

  I wanted to scream.

  Standing as tall as I could, I said, “My brother knows.”

  Jethro went still, his face tightening. “I suppose I should thank you for your honesty. I thought he would by now. The Weaver men aren’t ones for letting us take their women. Even with the correct paperwork.”

  I glared. “You knew he would come for me?”

  Jethro nodded. “I suspected, and your father, too. It’s been the case for hundreds of years. Do you really think your father didn’t come and try to rescue your mother?” He laughed. “What sort of man do you think he is?”

  A man I never knew.

  Jethro smirked, seeing my answer flicker in my eyes. He reached out, tenderly tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “To lose faith so soon in the ones you hold most dear is the worst crime of all, Ms. Weaver. I hope, for your sake, he never knows how you doubted him.”

  “Why are you telling me this? Isn’t it better for you if I feel cut off and abandoned?”

  He shook his head, his fingers dropping from my ear to cup the back of my neck. “No. Where’s the fun in that? You were loved. You are loved. It’s more bittersweet to know the men who tried to protect you are now on the outside trying to break in to free you. It’s much more fun when there are more players in the game.”

  I whispered, “I don’t understand you at all.”

  He grinned, looking positively light-hearted. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

  “It wasn’t a compliment.”

  He gripped my neck harder. “Regardless, I like it.” His eyes drifted from mine to latch onto my mouth. The air between us went from sharp to lust-laden. His tongue came out, tracing his bottom lip.

  My core warmed. I was too weak to ignore the masculine call of him, even while hating his guts.

  His thumb caressed the column of my neck, both in a threat and a tease. “You won the other night. We both know that. But you won’t win today. Today is mine. Today, you obey.”

  I couldn’t breathe. His mouth came so close to mine, making me drunk on the anticipation of kissing.

  He’d tormented me with the illusion of a kiss ever since we’d met: in the coffee shop, by the stables as I squirmed on his fingers, and now here. His lips were a fraction away from claiming mine. His breath smelled of mint and sin, and his fingers dug into my nape with everything he kept hidden.

  A kiss could very well be the one thing that could shatter the icy wall he hid behind once and for all.

  I swayed forward, trying to capture his mouth.

  He reared back, clucking his tongue. “So eager, Ms. Weaver. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you like the taste of me.” His brow lowered to darken his eyes. “You seemed to enjoy what I shot down your throat in the woods.”

  That was how he wanted to play? Fine. I would play dirty. I had nothing left but to tear away any illusion of being an innocent seamstress and embrace this nonsensical war. I wanted to roll in dirt and filth; I would meet him on the battlefield and never back down.

  “I did enjoy it. But not as much as you enjoyed sticking your tongue inside me.” Smiling coyly, I whispered, “Admit it, Jethro…admit that your mouth waters to have more of me. I bet your cock is hard right now, thinking of going where your lucky lips have been.”

  I quaked with an odd combination of fear and confidence. “You could do it, you know. I wouldn’t stop you. In fact, if you want to know the truth—the deep, dark, bitter truth—I want you to fuck me. I want to feel you fill me, thrusting into me, stretching me to the point of pain. Want to know why?”

  Somehow, I’d started this masquerade to get under his skin, but I’d successfully gotten under my own. My breath became a pant. My skin sparked with need. My core twisted with wetness.

  Jethro’s lips parted, his fingers clutching harder and harder around my nape. “I know what you’re doing, and no, I don’t want to know why.”

  The air throbbed thick and hot, threading around us with blatant need. “I don’t care. I’ll tell you anyway.” Licking my lips, I murmured, “I want you to fuck me, Jethro Hawk, so you can see that you may own my body, but you will never own my soul. By taking me, you’ll finally realize that I’m the strongest one here. That I can manipulate you into wanting me.”

  Taking a huge risk and gambling with my life, I reached up to cup his cheek.

  He flinched but didn’t move away. “The moment when you fill me, you’ll see. That moment when you douse me in your cum, you’ll be completely in my power. I’ll own you. A Weaver owning a pet Hawk.”

  And when I’d collared and blinded him, I would use my bir
d of prey to hunt on my behalf. I would teach him to tear out the hearts of my enemies and obey my every whim. Because I was done being controlled. I was done being a girl.

  I’m unconquerable.

  Silence fell thick and cloying. We both didn’t move, our breathing ragged and torn.

  Then Jethro released me, stepping back with unmeasured steps. “Confidence will only hurt you in the end.”

  The back of my neck tingled from where he’d held me. “I guess we’ll see. Unless you plan never to sleep with me.”

  Ignoring that, he snatched my wrist and dragged me toward the door. “Enough. I’m done with your games.”

  I stumbled after him, following the muddy wake of his anger. “Where are we going?”

  His voice dropped to a hiss. “First, you have a history lesson, and then…”

  My heart fell into my toes as he wrenched open the door and tugged me into the corridor.

  I couldn’t help myself. I had to ask. “Then?”

  Smiling cruelly, he said, “Then it’s time for payment. Today is your First Debt, Ms. Weaver. The Debt Inheritance has begun.”

  FUCK IT ALL to hell.

  It’d taken the longest session of my life to claw back my chilly shell. It’d taken more out of me than even the first lesson taught by my father.

  But within ten minutes, Nila fucking Weaver had found the smallest of cracks and used a crowbar of words to snap it wider.

  Too bad for her, I wasn’t giving in today. I had a job to do—a mandate to fulfil—and I would carry it out to the best of my ability. If I didn’t, everyone would see. And everyone would know that the firstborn son was weak.

  I’d been watching Kestrel and his sneaky smiles. I’d been stalking Daniel and his maddening glares. They both wanted what I had. And I wouldn’t give my father any reason to think I couldn’t tame Nila like any self-respecting Hawk. Cameras around the house would report how I treated Nila to Cut and the Black Diamond brotherhood. Spies would be on the lookout, judging my final test to ensure the Hawk fortune was going to the right brother.

  This was the ultimate test. The Debt Inheritance was more than history and payments—it was an important sequence of events that every firstborn Hawk had to complete in order to inherit his legacy.