I opened my mouth to tell him. But what was the point?
He was owned by Cut. Just like diplomats, lawyers, and royals.
He didn’t care.
The remnants of the flu, the vertigo attack, and the fact I hadn’t slept all night caught up with me. Dropping my eyes, I padded to a black leather chair and sat. Trying to clear my thoughts, I hung my head in my hands.
How the hell do I get out of this?
Backing toward the cockpit to free up the gangway for Cut, Daniel, and Marquise, the pilot said, “Pleasure to fly you again, Mr. Hawk.”
“Nice to be back.” Cut nodded, choosing a seat beside the one I’d slumped into. Placing the folder on the small table bolted to the floor, he asked, “All flight plans logged?”
I glanced up, familiarizing myself with the black and chrome interior. Everywhere I looked, the Black Diamond logo embossed everything. From leather seats to plush carpet to window shutters and napkins.
The plane had three zones: two black couches faced each other at the end, a large boardroom table took up the middle section with bolted swivel seats, and eight single chairs took up the front part, looking like any first class on a normal airline.
Not that I’ve ever flown first class.
My heart stuttered. The last time I’d been on a plane, Jethro had drugged me and stolen me from Milan to England on a red-eye. He’d allowed me to text Kite in the bar; all the while hiding it was him.
This far exceeded that flight in luxury, but it was just another glorified cage. And the one person I’d grown to love didn’t even know I’d disappeared.
The captain nodded. “Yes, all logged and ready to go. We’ll have to refuel in Chad as normal, but it should be smooth sailing down to Botswana.”
I froze, gripping the soft leather armrests. “Botswana?”
Africa.
I’d be unprotected and unprepared in the middle of a lion and hyena-infested countryside, captured by men who were worse than the wildlife.
Daniel had told me in the corridor, but I hadn’t calculated the ramifications. Now I was on a plane about to take off—about to leave England. My motherland. My safe zone.
Oh, my God. How will Jethro get to me in time?
He wasn’t fully healed. He needed to put whatever plan he’d organised into action. Even if Jasmine got word to him, he would still be too late to help.
I’m on my own.
My fingers fiddled with the pocket of the hoodie I’d slipped on before Daniel stole me from my quarters. A long knitting needle rested unseen. The needle wasn’t flimsy or weak. Single pointed, metal construction, approximately thirty-five centimetres long. If my hoodie hadn’t had a big front pocket, I wouldn’t have been able to conceal it.
I wasn’t much of a knitter—preferring to sew rather than deal with yarn and wool, but on this occasion, it’d become my most favourite implement.
Please, let it be enough.
I didn’t have bullets or blades, but I did have my namesake. Hadn’t I promised I would become a needle rather than thread? That I would be sharp, ruthless? Able to puncture and defeat?
The bubbling anger and capable fight returned, settling into my soul. I might be on my own, but I’d achieved a lot. I’d learned how to fight monsters and win.
So what I wouldn’t be in England?
I would make Africa my personal battleground.
Cut looked at me, a vicious smile on his lips. “Not just to Botswana, Nila. To the diamond mecca. To our mine.”
His words echoed Daniel’s from before.
Stroking the hidden needle, I narrowed my eyes. “Why?”
Cut laughed quietly, accepting a flute of champagne from a blonde-haired stewardess. “Why do you think?”
The captain cleared his throat. “If you don’t need me, sir, I’ll leave you to it.” With a quick salute, he disappeared into the cockpit, leaving Daniel to slink down the aisle and choose the seat behind me. Marquise kept going, not saying a word, just throbbing with sheer muscle.
The plane became a sardine can, imprisoning me with three men I despised.
“You want to tell her or shall I?” Cut glanced at Daniel.
Daniel leaned forward, fisting my newly cut hair. Every time I thought of the recently sliced strands, I froze with sadness then warmed with contentedness. Jethro had righted his brother’s wrongs. Fixing his family’s brutality with gentle soothing.
The new style only solidified my will to win. I would avenge. And my hair would grow back while they decomposed in their tombs.
I sat dead straight, vibrating with hatred as Daniel murmured, “I told you already, Weaver. It’s time for a few catch-ups. You still owe us for the Third Debt. You still owe us for the Fourth Debt. And once your debts are paid, there’s the matter of the Final Debt to call it even.” He laughed, running his monstrous fingers over my scalp. “It’s extremely convenient that the rest of the Fourth Debt takes place away from the estate. Not just for the change of scenery but so my fucking sister stops meddling.”
Pain burned where he held my hair.
Cut stroked the back of my hand. “Yes, Jasmine proved she’s strong and got her way with the new laws for the inheritance, but my dear daughter and her high and mighty morals won’t be welcome where we’re going.”
My voice reigned with righteousness. “She’ll never forgive you for what you’ve done.”
Cut cocked his head. “What makes you think she has a choice? We’re family. All sins are forgivable by those who share the same blood.”
He was owned by Cut. Just like diplomats, lawyers, and royals.
He didn’t care.
The remnants of the flu, the vertigo attack, and the fact I hadn’t slept all night caught up with me. Dropping my eyes, I padded to a black leather chair and sat. Trying to clear my thoughts, I hung my head in my hands.
How the hell do I get out of this?
Backing toward the cockpit to free up the gangway for Cut, Daniel, and Marquise, the pilot said, “Pleasure to fly you again, Mr. Hawk.”
“Nice to be back.” Cut nodded, choosing a seat beside the one I’d slumped into. Placing the folder on the small table bolted to the floor, he asked, “All flight plans logged?”
I glanced up, familiarizing myself with the black and chrome interior. Everywhere I looked, the Black Diamond logo embossed everything. From leather seats to plush carpet to window shutters and napkins.
The plane had three zones: two black couches faced each other at the end, a large boardroom table took up the middle section with bolted swivel seats, and eight single chairs took up the front part, looking like any first class on a normal airline.
Not that I’ve ever flown first class.
My heart stuttered. The last time I’d been on a plane, Jethro had drugged me and stolen me from Milan to England on a red-eye. He’d allowed me to text Kite in the bar; all the while hiding it was him.
This far exceeded that flight in luxury, but it was just another glorified cage. And the one person I’d grown to love didn’t even know I’d disappeared.
The captain nodded. “Yes, all logged and ready to go. We’ll have to refuel in Chad as normal, but it should be smooth sailing down to Botswana.”
I froze, gripping the soft leather armrests. “Botswana?”
Africa.
I’d be unprotected and unprepared in the middle of a lion and hyena-infested countryside, captured by men who were worse than the wildlife.
Daniel had told me in the corridor, but I hadn’t calculated the ramifications. Now I was on a plane about to take off—about to leave England. My motherland. My safe zone.
Oh, my God. How will Jethro get to me in time?
He wasn’t fully healed. He needed to put whatever plan he’d organised into action. Even if Jasmine got word to him, he would still be too late to help.
I’m on my own.
My fingers fiddled with the pocket of the hoodie I’d slipped on before Daniel stole me from my quarters. A long knitting needle rested unseen. The needle wasn’t flimsy or weak. Single pointed, metal construction, approximately thirty-five centimetres long. If my hoodie hadn’t had a big front pocket, I wouldn’t have been able to conceal it.
I wasn’t much of a knitter—preferring to sew rather than deal with yarn and wool, but on this occasion, it’d become my most favourite implement.
Please, let it be enough.
I didn’t have bullets or blades, but I did have my namesake. Hadn’t I promised I would become a needle rather than thread? That I would be sharp, ruthless? Able to puncture and defeat?
The bubbling anger and capable fight returned, settling into my soul. I might be on my own, but I’d achieved a lot. I’d learned how to fight monsters and win.
So what I wouldn’t be in England?
I would make Africa my personal battleground.
Cut looked at me, a vicious smile on his lips. “Not just to Botswana, Nila. To the diamond mecca. To our mine.”
His words echoed Daniel’s from before.
Stroking the hidden needle, I narrowed my eyes. “Why?”
Cut laughed quietly, accepting a flute of champagne from a blonde-haired stewardess. “Why do you think?”
The captain cleared his throat. “If you don’t need me, sir, I’ll leave you to it.” With a quick salute, he disappeared into the cockpit, leaving Daniel to slink down the aisle and choose the seat behind me. Marquise kept going, not saying a word, just throbbing with sheer muscle.
The plane became a sardine can, imprisoning me with three men I despised.
“You want to tell her or shall I?” Cut glanced at Daniel.
Daniel leaned forward, fisting my newly cut hair. Every time I thought of the recently sliced strands, I froze with sadness then warmed with contentedness. Jethro had righted his brother’s wrongs. Fixing his family’s brutality with gentle soothing.
The new style only solidified my will to win. I would avenge. And my hair would grow back while they decomposed in their tombs.
I sat dead straight, vibrating with hatred as Daniel murmured, “I told you already, Weaver. It’s time for a few catch-ups. You still owe us for the Third Debt. You still owe us for the Fourth Debt. And once your debts are paid, there’s the matter of the Final Debt to call it even.” He laughed, running his monstrous fingers over my scalp. “It’s extremely convenient that the rest of the Fourth Debt takes place away from the estate. Not just for the change of scenery but so my fucking sister stops meddling.”
Pain burned where he held my hair.
Cut stroked the back of my hand. “Yes, Jasmine proved she’s strong and got her way with the new laws for the inheritance, but my dear daughter and her high and mighty morals won’t be welcome where we’re going.”
My voice reigned with righteousness. “She’ll never forgive you for what you’ve done.”
Cut cocked his head. “What makes you think she has a choice? We’re family. All sins are forgivable by those who share the same blood.”
