Debt Inheritance
Page 7

Jethro smiled coldly. “Ah, there’s the conundrum, Ms. Weaver. You’re not keeping me. But I’m keeping you.”
I stopped with my hand over his, unsuccessfully trying to pry his fingers off my arm. “What?” The dreaded drunkenness of vertigo took that moment to tilt my world.
Jethro took my weakness as an opportunity, pulling me toward the door. He didn’t give me any support other than the harsh hold on my upper arm, leaving my untouched coffee on the table. “I’m leaving. And you’re coming with me.”
The door jangled as we exited in a flurry of bustle and feathers. I gasped as a frosty gust cut through the warmth lingering on my skin, decimating all remainders of the café. Luckily the shock in temperature helped steady me and I fought.
Slamming my heels into the pavement, I snarled, “You seem to have the wrong information. I’m not going anywhere with you.”
Jethro didn’t reply, dragging me effortlessly across the road to the shadowy entrance of an alley and his bike.
An alley?
He couldn’t mean what he’d threatened…could he?
You want me to make you scream.
I fought harder. But no matter how much I struggled, he didn’t break his stride or look back.
Tripping forward, I winced as my flesh bruised beneath his hold. I angled my nails, preparing to drag them over his forearm, but he stepped onto the curb and yanked me forward. The inertia propelled me into a spin, slamming me painfully against his motorcycle.
My black hair whirled over my shoulder, sticking to the fear perspiring on my chest. I struggled to keep up—to believe how stupid I’d been. I prided myself on being smart, but I allowed the temptation of sex to cloud my judgement.
Jethro glowered; his suit as crisp as his unflappable control. “My information is perfectly correct. And you are going somewhere with me. Climb on.”
I tore my elbow from his hold and shoved his chest. “Wrong. Let me go.”
He growled under his breath. “Stop, before you get hurt.”
I pushed him again, focusing on the ridiculousness of my night, rather than the rapidly expanding terror in my heart. “I told you. I came in a limo; there is no way I can travel on a two-wheeled death machine.”
Jethro rolled his shoulders, maintaining his cool. “I gave you one rule—never ask questions. I’m giving you another—don’t ever argue with me.”
My heart raced. Glancing around, I searched for late night stragglers, party goers, moon-light walkers—anyone who could intervene and save me. The roads were empty. No one. Not even a scurrying rodent.
“Please, I don’t know what game you’re playing—”
He shook his head, exasperation in his eyes. “Game? This isn’t a fucking game.” Glaring at my dress, he encroached on my space. Pressing his lips together briefly, he muttered, “I hope you’re wearing something beneath this.”
My lungs stuck together. “What? Why?”
“Because you’re going to be indecent if you’re not.” With a savage jerk, he tore the endless seams, stitching, and hard work of my dress. The rip sounded like a scream to my ears. Horror swarmed as the outer layer fluttered to the ground, followed by organza, feathers, and beadwork.
My jaw hung open. “No—”
Jethro spun me around, his hands skating over my lower back. “You’re like a damn pass the parcel.” With strong fingers, he tore the second layer of heavy ebony silk.
The sound of shredding broke my heart. All that work! My father would be pissed to see his expensive material littering the dirty pavement. My blood existed in the needlepoint from pricking my fingers. My tears soaked the train from overworking. He couldn’t do this!
I couldn’t speak—struck mute by shock.
“Good God, another?” Jethro spun me back to face him. I swished in the remaining starchy petticoats—the tool beneath the dress that granted such volume.
I can’t do this anymore.
I plastered my hands down my front, seizing the remainder of my gown. “No, pleas—”
Jethro ignored me. With one last brutal tug, he tore the petticoat off, disposing it on top of the already ruined layers.
Tears glassed my eyes. “Oh, my God. What did you do?” The cool Milan air swirled around my naked legs, disappearing up the thigh-length satin skirt I wore to prevent chafing from the petticoat underwire. My entire ensemble—destroyed. I’d been the only female in a household of men. I’d spent an entire lifetime covering up my girlish body with lace and camisoles and tulle. Femininity was something I created rather than lived. To see it demolished on a filthy sidewalk enraged me to the point of tyranny.
Gone were my tears. I embraced furiousness. “How could you?!”
Shoving him away, I fell to my knees, trying to gather the rhinestones and swatches of handmade lace. “You—you ruined it!” All around scattered couture fashion. Diamantes glittered on bland concrete. Feathers twitched, dancing away on the breeze.
“I’ll ruin a lot more before I’m through.” Jethro’s barely uttered words existed, then…didn’t, snatched by a gust of wind.
I glared up at the man I’d stupidly returned for—all because a stranger hurt my feelings. A man I’d allowed to manipulate me and make me heinously wet in a coffee shop. “Does it make you feel better? Destroying other’s things? Don’t you care that you just ruined something that took hours upon hours to create? What sort of cruel—”
“Stop.” He held up a finger, scolding me like a little child. “Rule number three. I don’t like raised voices. So shut up and stand.”
We glared; silence was a heavy entity between us.
He was right. I was so, so stupid. He’d successfully hurt me more than anyone since my mother left. His callousness gave no room for hope or tears. And I knew it all along. I’d seen his coldness. I’d felt his hardened will. Yet it didn’t stop me from being an utter fool.
Grabbing a puddle of cloth, I yelled, “Leave me alone!”
“Goddammit, you’re testing me.” He ducked suddenly, grabbing my bicep and hauling me to my feet. He shook me—hard. My corset dug into my hipbones now that it had no bustle or layers to rest upon.
“You don’t get to ask any more questions. You don’t get to yell or act ridiculous. This is happening. This is your future. Nothing you say or do will change that—it will only change the level of pain you receive.” He shoved me backward against his bike. “Your dress is conveniently no longer an issue. Get on. We’re leaving.”
Fury exploded through my heart, thankfully keeping my terror at bay.
Don’t think about his threat. Focus on making him yell. Loudness. I needed commotion to garner attention and safety. The more nuisance I made, the more likely someone would come to my rescue.
“You just ruined my showpiece. That dress was already sold to a high-end boutique in Berlin! You think I want to go anywhere with you after you ruined over two months’ worth of work? You’re insane. I’ll tell you how this is going to go—”
“Ms. Weaver, shut the fuck up. I’m done with this charade.” His face remained impassive, but the muscles beneath his suit bristled. Moving horribly fast, he tugged my long, unfettered hair, crowding me against his bike. Wincing against the pain in my scalp, I tripped, splaying over the leather seat.
Looking around quickly, he relaxed when he noticed we were still alone. “If you knew me, you’d know how I react to incorrect statements about my mental health. If you were smart, you would know never to raise your voice and to maintain proper conduct in public.”
He bowed his head, brushing his nose threateningly against my ear. “But seeing as you don’t know me, I’ll withhold the punishment—for now. But a word of warning, Ms. Weaver. Just because I don’t lower myself to the unattractive use of volume, doesn’t mean I’m not pissed. I’m very fucking pissed. I gave you an order, and you’ve disobeyed numerous times already. This is the last time I’ll ask politely.”
Pulling away, he grabbed my middle and with strength that terrified, plucked me from the ground and plonked me on the back of his bike, side-saddle.
Giving a mock salute, Jethro said, “Thank you for obliging me. I’m so glad you decided to climb aboard.” With a scowl, he noticed my high heels. Dropping to one knee, he tore them off my feet, throwing them over his shoulder. They disappeared in the clouds of decimated fabric behind him.
I truly was Cinderella, only my prince threw away the glass slipper and stole me away before midnight struck. My prince was evil. My prince was the villain.
I couldn’t breathe.
Run. Kick him. Do not let him take you.
All manner of horrible situations ran wild in my head. I’d been brought up in a safe neighbourhood, instilled with common-sense and morals. Yet nothing had prepared me to fight for my life against a lunatic who came across as sane.
“You can’t do this. I don’t want to go with you.” I tried to jump off, but Jethro’s sleek bulk prevented me from moving. He loomed upright like a terrible sentence—a judgement of my past and present. “You have no choice. You’re coming with me. Your wishes have no relevance.”
Stabbing him in the chest with my fingertip, I shouted, “My wishes are completely relevant. You can’t take me against my will. That’s called kidnapping.” My body flushed with hot anger. “Let. Me. Go. Before I scream.”
Vaughn. Shit, I wanted my brother. The amount of times he protected me growing up from bees, and badgers, and boys who picked on me at school.
Vaughn!
Jethro shook his head. “It’s too late. For any of that. And don’t scream. I don’t do well with screamers.” He chuckled mirthlessly. “Unless I’m the reason for said scream and we’re in private.”
I ignored the ‘scream topic’ and focused on the horrible ultimatum. Too late? What’s too late? I wasn’t on some countdown where my life ended as I knew it. I didn’t agree to any of this!
I didn’t, but maybe father did.
The thought stopped me like a knitting needle to the heart. He’d introduced me to Jethro—over any other man. He’d encouraged me to go with him—against my brother’s wishes.
Jethro might’ve been able to hoodwink my father, but I saw his true colours, and I wasn’t going to tolerate it any longer. This fiasco had gone on long enough.
I opened my mouth to scream. I was done being scared and manipulated by a soft-spoken psychopath. I wanted normal. I wanted a shower and the sweet oblivion of sleep.
My lungs expanded with a plea. “Help—”
Jethro lashed out, slapping a cool palm over my lips. The first sign of uncontrollable emotion blazed in his eyes. He sighed heavily, shaking his head. “I’d hoped you’d be more intelligent than that.”
I slapped him.
The sharp ringing of flesh against flesh froze time. I didn’t move or breathe or blink. Neither did Jethro.
We stared at each other until all I knew was gold from his eyes. The air dropped from autumn to blustery winter the longer we glowered, freezing over with his temper. It could’ve been a second or ten, but it was Jethro who broke the brittleness between us.
His cold fingers trailed from my mouth to my throat. Wrapping tight. Unforgiving. The action showed the truth—the inhuman truth. This man was fastidiously groomed and softly spoken, but beneath it all raged a devil in disguise. His touch told endless information of the man he tried to hide. He was the ultimate in camouflage.
He was iron-fisted and remorseless.
Tilting my neck with bruising fingers, he murmured, “Obey and I won’t hurt you. Fight me and I’ll make you scream.”
Every muscle in my body jolted. The decimation of my dress no longer mattered. All I cared about was running as far and as fast as I could. Tears bubbled in my chest; I bit my lip to stop the rapidly building sob from escaping.
Jethro never let go of my throat. “I’m not here to kidnap you. I’m not here to knock you out or drug you. Call me old-fashioned, but I’d hoped you’d come willingly and prevent both of us an inconvenience.” Stroking my hair with his free hand, he cupped the back of my skull. “You’re probably wondering why I said you have no choice but to come with me. Because I’m a fair man and believe in equality—even between hunter and prey—I’ll tell you.”
His breath was the only warm thing about him, scalding my skin with words I didn’t want to hear. “I’m here to extract a debt. The reason for that debt will be revealed when I’m good and ready. The method of payment for that debt is entirely up to you.”
My brain swam, trying to understand. “What—”
His fingers tightened, cutting off my air supply. Choking, the instinct to fight overrode my frozen terror. I squirmed, scratching my nails over his wrists.
My nails didn’t affect him—if anything, it made him calmer. Tutting under his breath, he said, “The first thing you should know about me is I never forget. If you draw blood trying to get free, I’ll only repay in kind. It’s worth remembering, Ms. Weaver.”
His gaze fell to my clawing fingers, tightening his own until I fought against what I truly wanted and let them slide from his wrists.
“Good girl,” he murmured. Pulling back, he unwound his digits one at a time from my throat. Meticulous in slowness. Terrifying in control.
I only repay in kind. His voice echoed in my head. I balled my hands in my lap, hoping I wouldn’t lash out or do anything he might deem repayable. I wanted to hurt him so much I trembled. I wanted him bleeding on the pavement so I could run.