Third Debt
Page 17

His eyes landed on Nila, glowing gold with triumph. “Ah, welcome, my dear. So glad to see you after this dreadful time apart.” He raised his tumbler of cognac. “It wasn’t the same without you here. Was it, Kite?”
I no longer hated my bird of prey nickname. I no longer despised my father using it. In fact, it was an honour. Before, it was a constant reminder that I was born and bred to be something I could never be—now it was a badge of distinction. I’d somehow achieved the impossible and become the perfect fucking son.
Smiling at Nila, I answered, “No. It wasn’t the same without her.”
If only she knew what’d happened while she was off playing seamstress with her brother. If only she knew what Cut had done to me, what I’d done in return. She wouldn’t have come willingly. She would’ve done anything to avoid being my prisoner again.
“Jethro…” Her voice trailed off, her eyes never leaving the table. “What is the meaning of this?”
Cut laughed. “Come now, child. You can’t play that card with us. You know as well as I do what you’ve done to deserve this.”
“Please!” Nila plastered herself against the door, jiggling the doorknob with her hand. It was pointless. I had the key in my pocket. “You don’t have to do this.”
Cut slowly placed his empty glass on the table and stood. Undoing his cufflinks, he rolled up his sleeves, systematically and refined, never rushing. “I think you’ll find, my dear, that we do.”
Nodding in her direction, he ordered, “Jet, enough dallying. Grab the girl and let’s get on with this.”
“Be my pleasure.” I advanced on Nila.
Blues and greys decorated the room. The wallpaper was an oriental silk that was so vibrant, the indigo pattern bounced off Nila’s black hair.
“Stop it,” Nila snarled. “Don’t.”
Standing in front of her, I held out my hand. “This can be easy or hard. Your choice.”
“I hate it when you do that! Can’t you see I don’t want a choice?!”
I narrowed my eyes. What the fuck did that mean?
Cut chuckled. “You want us to take full responsibility for what’s happening to you, is that right? When will you admit that you’re the same as us? Doing something willingly doesn’t mean you’re going to hell, pretty girl. But fighting us at every step doesn’t mean you’ll go to heaven, either.”
I waved my hand, openly revealing the tattoos on my fingertips. “Your choice, Nila. Own free will or restraints.”
Nila visibly trembled. A curtain fell over her face, blocking all thoughts.
In a quick move, as if her courage would desert her, she pushed off from the door and brushed past me.
I smiled, dropping my hand. “Good girl.”
“Where?” Nila snapped when she stood by the table, her body vibrating with tension.
“Climb on,” Cut said.
With ferocity coating her face, Nila scooted onto the table and lay down. She lay there as if she was in a coffin. Her hands clasped tight on her lower belly, her chest rising and falling with panic.
She refused to look at either of us, glowering at the ceiling.
Cut patted her arm. “See…that wasn’t so hard now, was it?”
She stiffened, her fingers turning white.
Cut stroked her gently. “I must admit. I missed your presence in my home.” He smiled wider. “You’re such fun to torment.” He traced her collarbone. “However, these past few weeks have been rather enlightening. In fact, I’m delighted with the outcome and only have you to thank for it.” Throwing a look my way, he grinned. “You gave me my son. My real son. And for that I will always be grateful to you, my dear.”
Bending over, he pressed a soft kiss on her mouth.
Nila shuddered, twisting her head to the side.
I just stood there.
No feeling.
No jealousy.
No remorse.
“Don’t fight it,” Cut murmured. “Don’t ruin what you’ve started.”
Nila pressed herself deeper onto the table, no doubt trying to become invisible but not succeeding. I moved closer, taking the side opposite my father. Her eyes met mine, wide and feral. She sent a silent message, so loud and obvious I was sure my father saw.
Why are you doing this?
I thought you cared for me?
I had no intention of replying. If she opened her naïve little eyes, she would see my answer without me spelling it out for her. This was what happened to those who broke promises. She was a true Weaver. And I was finally a true Hawk.
Cut continued to drag his fingertip along Nila’s throat, following the contours of the diamond collar. “As much as it’s a pleasure to have you living under my roof, Ms. Weaver, I do have one requirement. I hope you don’t begrudge me my small request.”
Cut reached into his pocket and pulled free the single reason why we were here. He held up the item for her to see.
Gritting her jaw, her eyes popped wide.
The syringe glinted in the lowlight chandelier.
Fight and flight filled her body. “Wait. You don’t have to drug me. Jethro, tell him. Tell him you don’t have to drug me. I came on my own accord! I already promised I wouldn’t run. I won’t. I give you my word.” A single tear rolled down her cheek. “I’ll behave. You can trust me. God, please trust me. I’ll behave now.” Her breathing turned shallow and fast. “I don’t want to be drugged. I don’t want to be lost. Please!”
Cut laughed, hushing her spew of words. “I know all that, my pet. Calm down before you give yourself a heart attack.”
Nila paused, hope lighting her gaze.
Cut smiled softly. “This isn’t to subdue you.”
“What—what is it then?”
“I’ll let my son tell you that.” Brushing some hair that’d fallen over her eyes, he pressed another kiss against her mouth. She tensed but permitted the touch, not twisting her head away.
The fear of being manipulated by a substance had well and truly subdued her. I’d have to remember that. If only she knew that some drugs were better than life—that they made existing so much more pleasurable.
Cut stood tall. “I’ll leave you two lovers alone.” Stroking between her breasts, he smiled. “You’re free to do what you please for the rest of the morning, but I expect to see you dressed and presented for your meeting at noon.”
Handing the syringe to me, he said, “I’m watching you.”
Taking the implement, I nodded. “You don’t need to. Consider it already done.”
Cut stared, searching my reply. He would find no lie in my tone. No secrets in my voice. I meant what I said: it was already done. Being around her for a few hours hadn’t changed me. I was stronger than that and wouldn’t relapse.
He clapped me on the back. “I believe you.”
And there it was. The one thing I’d wanted all my fucking life.
Trust.
Acceptance.
There was no trace of animosity or disbelief. He’d fully accepted me. I couldn’t be more grateful. I have no intention of jeopardising what I’ve waited so long to gain.
Not for Nila. Not for anyone.
With a fatherly squeeze, Cut moved toward the door and left. The moment he’d gone, Nila turned her glassy black eyes on me. “Please, Jethro. Whatever he’s told you to do—please don’t do it. You know me. I know you. What we have—don’t destroy it.”
Ignoring her, I tapped the glass of the syringe, making sure there were no air bubbles.
“There’s nothing between us, Ms. Weaver.”
“Please!” She sat up, clutching my forearm. “You don’t believe that.”
My temper boiled over. Grabbing her throat, I growled, “Self-control or I will restrain you. Lie. Back. Down.”
Shivering, she shook her head. “What happened to you?” She tried to capture my cheek, but I dodged her grasp.
“Touch me again and you won’t like what happens.” I snatched her bicep. “If you move, this will hurt a lot more than if you’re still.” I poised the needle above the fleshy part of her arm. “And to answer your repetitive question, nothing happened. I’m not doing this because he told me to. I’m doing this because I want to.”
Piercing her skin, I pressed the plunger.
Tears fled to her eyes, twinkling like black stars. She winced as the cool liquid fled from syringe to flesh.
It only took a second to empty the injection. The moment it was gone, I withdrew the needle and tossed it into the stainless steel tray beside the table.
A small droplet of blood swelled from the puncture wound.
Plucking a tissue from the box on the sideboard, I handed it to her.
Taking it reluctantly, she asked sadly, “What is it? What did you just give me?”
I ran a hand through my hair. “Call it a pre-emptive.”
Nila frowned. “Pre-emptive against what?”
“Any plans you might have.”
My temper glowed as I remembered her note to her brother. Had she come to the same conclusion my father had, or was she still blindly believing I felt something for her? Silly, girl.