Final Debt
Page 13

Daniel burned red with fury but swallowed his retorts.
Cut let me go.  “Come. Let’s take a closer look.” He raised my bound hands, kissing my knuckles as if this was a perfectly normal night on a perfectly normal vacation. After his outburst, he looked positively carefree. Happy…
How can you be happy, you bastard?
I vowed on every fallen tree and hacked up dirt that I would wipe the smug smile off his goddamn face.
“Come along.” Cut strode ahead, jerking me behind him.
My ballet flats skidded on pebbles as I struggled to match his pace. Greyness danced on the outskirts of my vision, but I refused to give in to vertigo.
I was already in a perilous situation. I wouldn’t let my body subject me to more.
My mouth dried up as we moved forward on the tiny path. The deeper we headed, the more claustrophobia clawed. The track had been carved from the mountain, steadily curving with bare earth on one side, damp and musty, and a steep drop on the other, giving no second chances if you tripped.
One wrong step…
If I could guarantee Cut’s demise, I’d throw myself over the edge and take him with me.
African men and women bowed as we traded the narrow path for a wider road, exchanging foot power for an electric golf cart.
The simple cart was nothing like the armoured Jeep we’d driven in.
Once Cut had returned from his errands, he’d bundled me into another car and driven Daniel, Marquise, and me to the mine. I didn’t have a watch and my phone—which I missed like a lost limb—remained in the U.K. But I guessed the trip took about twenty minutes before arriving at the wound of Almasi Kipanga.
I’d held my breath as a wall the size of China loomed in the distance. Gates soared high; the perimeter fortified with electricity, barbed wire, and countless notices in Swahili and English warning of mutilation and death if they were caught stealing.
“Get in, Nila.” Cut’s rough hand pushed me into the backseat of the mud-splattered golf cart. Daniel sat beside me, while Marquise, silent as always, took the front beside Cut.
The deeper into the chasm we drove, the more Cut’s pride shone. He looked upon this place like it existed because of him. Like he was the creator, founder, and architect.
But it wasn’t him. He couldn’t take credit for something that’d been here since the dinosaurs roamed. Nor take pride in something the earth had created. He’d done nothing. If anything, he’d tainted the preciousness of diamonds and smeared them with the blood of his workers.
The battery whir of the cart could barely be heard over the squelching of mud as we descended down the serpentine road into purgatory.
Workers milled everywhere. Some with buckets on a yoke, others driving diggers and dump trucks full of earth. Armed guards stood sentry every few metres, their hands ready to shoot for any infraction. The air reeked of malnourished slavery.
Daniel caught me staring at one man as he dumped a pick-axe and bucket beside a growing tower of tools. “You’d be surprised where people will stuff a diamond, Weaver. The imagination can make a human body quite the suitcase.”
I bit my tongue. I wouldn’t speak. Not because Cut told me not to, but because I was done trying to figure him out. Jethro had redeemed himself, Kes never had anything to redeem, but Daniel…he was a lost cause.
The questions Cut gave me permission to ask had lost their shiny appeal. I didn’t care. I truly didn’t bloody care.
“Like what you see?” Cut asked as we neared the looming entrance to the belly of hell. Driving into the open-aired entrance was bad enough. The thought of entering the pitch-black crypt sucked all my courage away.
Apart from the obvious destitution of the workers, Cut’s treasure trove looked like any other mine—no diamonds strewn on the ground or sparkling in large barrels in the African night. If anything, the pit was dusty, dirty…utterly underwhelming.
I faced him with an incredulous look. “Like what I see? What exactly? Your love of hurting people or the fact that you murder whenever it benefits you?”
“Careful.” His golden eyes glowed with threats. “Half a kilometre below ground gives many places to dispose of a body and never be found.”
I looked away, wishing I had use of my hands so I could wring his neck. Perhaps, I’ll dispose of you down there.
My hoodie didn’t offer much warmth against the cool sky, but knowing my knitting needle rested in easy reach mollified me.
If I wasn’t tied up, of course.
My fingers turned numb from the tight rope around my wrists.
The lack of sleep and overall situation made my nerves disappear. “Threats. Always threats with you. There comes a time, Bryan, that threats no longer scare, they just make you look stupid.”
Cut sucked in a breath. I didn’t know if it was my use of his given name or my retaliation, but his gaze darkened with lust. “Was I threatening when I killed Jethro or Kestrel? That was decisive action—cutting out the tumour before it infected the host.”
“No, I call that insanity growing more and more rampant.”
His throat constricted as he swallowed. He didn’t say a word as he guided the golf cart to a stop beside a sheer rock wall. The air temperature dropped even more as shadows danced around the mouth of the mine. In front of us, a large opening beckoned. There were no welcome mats or happy wreaths on the door, just rough timber frames, well-tracked mud, and the occasional light disappearing into the belly of this monstrous beast.
Cut launched from his seat and plucked me from mine. “You’ll learn that I don’t believe in threatening, Nila. I believe in action. And tonight, once we return to camp, you’ll find that you’ll crave action, too.”