Second Debt
Page 44

Until I learned the truth.
But I also had other questions—many, many questions.
It hadn’t escaped my notice that she sewed. There’d been an in-progress cross-stitch on her bed, along with a paper chart folded haphazardly. Was she like me and enjoyed the simple creation…or…was it more sinister?
Could she be more Weaver than Hawk?
And if she was…what did that mean?
I tossed and turned, unable to shut off the voices inside my head forming outlandish conclusions.
Just as the dawn stole the stars, sleep finally crept over me.
But it wasn’t restful.
Yet more questions chased me into dreamland.
Why did Jasmine never come down from her room?
And who truly wielded the power of the Hawks?
THE WEEK AFTER the polo match passed uneventfully.
Tuesday, I went for a hunt on Wings.
Wednesday, I saw Nila at breakfast before leaving to hide in my office until sundown.
Thursday, I was out late dealing with a special shipment of pink diamonds already purchased and due for delivery to a private yacht docked for one night in Southhampton.
Friday, I tried one last time to ‘fix’ myself, but Jasmine was right. The ice no longer worked, no matter what I did.
But I had a better option—a new regimen that Nila had selflessly given me.
Saturday, I spent the afternoon with Kes and the Diamond brothers playing poker in the billiards room of the Hall—deliberately giving my heart time to adjust to the life-shattering change of what’d happened between Nila and me.
I was ready to admit to myself that my world had changed.
It was time to face what I’d been running from all my life.
However, the next day smashed my hopes and dreams and hurled me right back into the darkness where I belonged.
The last day of the week…the day that belonged to love and togetherness, only brought pain and sadness.
Sunday, I received the worst news of all.
“Jethro, come with me, please.” Cut popped his head into my bachelor wing.
I jumped as if I’d been caught red-handed, just like I’d done most of my life whenever he’d appeared out of nowhere. Sliding a pillow over the tiny sharp knife I used to open the old cuts on my soles, I glowered at my unwanted visitor. “Come where?”
Nila had given me hope that soon I could stop hurting myself in such a way, but until I could be sure what she felt for me was irreversible, I had to use something to keep me in check.
Ice wasn’t working—pain would have to do.
Cut’s gaze fell to my scarred feet. “Do you need a session?”
The concern in his eyes was the key ingredient to how he’d been controlling me for so many years. He made me believe that he was there for me. That he wanted to help me. That I was the chosen one and deserved to inherit all that he had to give.
Of course, it was all bullshit.
Neither of us could erase what had happened between us that night. The night where we used Jasmine so terribly in a fixing session that we’d stepped over an uncrossable line. I’d refused. Over and over and over again.
He’d pushed and pushed and pushed.
I’d snapped.
I’d almost killed him.
And he’d said the words that were a noose around my neck and shackles around my feet for the rest of my days.
“Do you think your life is a gift? Do you think I can’t take it away? I’ve been so fucking close to killing you, boy. A fraction away from ending the embarrassment of knowing what you are. I only hesitate because I believe you can change. You carry my blood. You cannot be such a disgrace. I won’t let you be such a disgrace.”
I was only alive because he hoped he’d finally cure me. Every year that passed, he hovered over the birthday cake made especially for his firstborn and contemplated killing me with cyanide.
Or a hunting accident.
Or a shipment gone wrong.
So many ways to dispatch me. I lived in constant awareness of traps and mercenaries ready to steal my God-given right to breathe.
All because I didn’t conform.
He also told me what would happen if he did kill me. What he would do to not just Jasmine but Kestrel, Daniel, and anyone else I held dear—not that there were many. He couldn’t care less if it meant he would be left with no heir. He believed he was invincible and lacked the fundamental trait of a father: love.
He didn’t love his children. Shit, he didn’t even like us.
Therefore, we were disposable if we displeased him.
That sort of panic…that sort of fear…continued to have a hold on me. No matter my age or strength—I’d lived beneath the shadow of death for so long, I didn’t know any other way.
I was a fucking idiot.
Placing my feet into a pair of moccasins, I shook my head. “Thank you for your concern. But I’m fine.”
Cut cocked his head. “You’re a terrible liar.”
Gritting my teeth, I stood up and smoothed down my black t-shirt. I wore no colour today—only black. I should’ve known that the colour would bring only darkness.
“I’m still following your orders. I’m still loyal.”
Cut smiled coldly. “For now.” He ran his fingers around his mouth, eyeing me up and down. “However, we shall see if you pass the next test.”
My heart lurched. Tests weren’t new. I’d been made to complete many of them as I grew—to prove that a son like me could become a man like him.
“What did you have in mind?”