The room held its breath; the air hovered stagnant and poised.
Then Cut let Nila go, rubbing his hands as if he’d touched something foul. “Next time you address me, my dear, make sure it’s with respect, otherwise I won’t be so lenient.”
“That goes for me, too, Nila,” Daniel said. “Don’t forget we own your life; best to treat us like gods if you wish to survive longer.”
Striding forward, I looped a fist in Nila’s long hair, tugging her firmly but not cruelly, reminding her that as long as she obeyed me, she would be safe from other Hawks.
Don’t you see I’m bad, but I’m not the worst?
“I’ll remember,” Nila snapped, moving backward until her shoulder brushed my bicep. That small point of contact sent tendrils of heat licking through my blood.
Kes grinned, hiding the fact that he’d just controlled the situation. “So, are we going to just stand around glaring at each other or what?” He moved forward, nudging me out of the way and slinging an arm over Nila’s shoulders.
She sucked in a breath but didn’t fight his guidance as he moved her away from me. He pecked her on the cheek and whispered something into her ear.
My jaw clenched as she willingly went with him, drifting away.
I hated their bond. The bond I’d made happen by letting her believe Kite was Kes.
She hated me for what she’d seen at the cemetery. Therefore, she should hate my brother, too. He wasn’t innocent. Not by a long shot.
I took a step forward, intending to steal back what was mine. But I stopped as Kes squeezed her and laughed at something he’d said. She didn’t respond. Just like she’d shut down around me, she tolerated Kes’s touching. But the moment his hold loosened, she ducked from his arm and placed distance between them.
Her attention was divided between the men surrounding her, but mainly, it was turned inward, barely acknowledging her predicament of being in a room full of Hawks.
What had she done? And how did she turn off so successfully? I wanted to know her trick. So I could do it.
Kes beamed, gathering Nila’s willowy frame and tucking her firmly against him again as if she’d never left. Raising his voice, he asked, “Where’s the party? And when does it start?”
Cut scowled, pouring himself another finger of cognac. “You always were too jovial, Kestrel. Tone it down. You’re getting on my nerves.”
Kes’s gaze met mine for a second.
“Don’t want to be on Daddy’s nerves now, do you?” Daniel cackled. His attention never left Nila as Kes manhandled her to a black couch and sat down.
Her dark eyes flickered between me and my family—never locking onto one of us for long, hiding her thoughts.
“Enough, Daniel.” Waving his now empty glass, Cut added, “Retrieve the box.”
Daniel shook his head, inching toward Nila. “In a moment, Pop.”
Nila sat up straight, her nostrils flaring in fear and repulsion as Dan squatted before her. “Hello, pretty Weaver. Just say the word and I’ll steal you from my brother. I’m sure you’re bored of him by now.” He placed a hand on her knee, gathering the material of her skirt. “I’m the one you want, admit it.”
I couldn’t stand by and tolerate this bullshit.
“Fuck off, Dan.” I prowled forward, fists clenched. I wanted to throw him across the room. With every step I took, I was exceedingly aware of Cut watching me.
My father said, “Jet, don’t interfere.”
It took everything to obey, but I ceased and stood still.
Nila didn’t flinch, nor look in my direction. Her lips curled in distaste. “Stop touching me, you arsehole.” Her voice was just a whisper, but it echoed dangerously in the room. “I’m not yours to toy with so do me a favour and leave.”
My mouth twitched.
The atmosphere thickened, fizzing with intensity like a fuse on a bomb.
“I rather like touching you.” Daniel’s fingers tightened.
I stomped forward, unable to stop myself. “Hands off, Dan.” Don’t show too much. I squeezed my eyes for a second, trying to find some sanity amongst the animosity between us. “She’s mine.”
Daniel chuckled, making eye contact. “Just ‘cause you have a plaything doesn’t mean you’re better than me. She belongs to all of us.”
“Not until I say—”
Cut slammed his glass onto the coffee table, rattling the bones of his deceased pet. “Must I mediate every time my sons are in the same fucking room?” Running a hand over his face, he growled, “Kes, seeing as Daniel won’t listen, you go get the box. Dan, shut the fuck up. Jet, control yourself and sit down.”
Kes gave me a look. I knew what he thought, but now was not the time to discuss our family issues. He rose from the couch and headed toward the sixteenth-century sideboard by the entrance.
Moving forward, I kicked Daniel out of the way and took Kes’s spot beside Nila.
Daniel stumbled from my boot before rising in a fit of fury. “One of these days, brother.”
I stood up, towering over him—willing him to raise a fist. “One of these days, indeed, brother.”
Dan breathed hard through his nose. I waited for him to punch me, but he had enough control to snicker and retreat.
“For God’s sake,” Cut muttered. “I raised a bunch of idiots.”
Dan moved to his father’s side. “Only one, Pop. And pity for you, he’s the firstborn.”
My nostrils flared. Fuck, I wanted to knock him out.
Something warm and soft touched the back of my hand. I jumped, looking down at Nila. Her hair cascaded over her shoulder in a wash of ink. Her eyes wide and gleaming with a silent request.
Sit down.
Do what you’re tasked to do.
Protect me.
Her message filtered into my soul, switching my irritation to protection. My legs bent, depositing me beside her. A small gap existed between us, but it didn’t stop my skin from prickling with awareness or her chest from rising when I placed my palm next to her hip and touched her once with my pinky finger.
Her eyes shot to mine, holding the fierce whip of connection.
The blackness of her eyes reflected my lighter ones, showing the strain and anger I couldn’t contain. These wordless moments seemed to happen frequently between us.
Sucking in a breath, Nila broke eye contact and shifted away.
“Got it,” Kes said, moving back toward us.
I risked another glance at Nila. She refused to look at me, her attention split between my father and Kes, who carried a smallish box in his hands.
“What’s going to happen?” Nila whispered, her body swaying a little toward me.
Forcing myself not to inhale her scent, I shrugged. “The tally. It should’ve been done the same day I took the debt.”
Kes set the box before us on the coffee table. It clunked into place with the finality of pain.
This would hurt. For both of us.
“I forgot to do it that day.”
I’d forgotten because I’d permitted myself to feel her grief and pain while I washed her back and wrapped her in bandages. I’d forgotten because I’d shamed myself by masturbating all over her while she’d hung whipped and bleeding.
Nila’s eyes bounced around the Hawks towering over her in a ring of authority. “Do what?”
Could others hear the trace of terror hidden beneath her snappy anger or was I the only one? The only one cursed to listen to her fears and feel her confusion?
No one was laying a hand on her. I didn’t care if I had to draw Hawk blood to make that a reality. She would stay mine until the end.
With a smirk, Daniel leaned over and opened the lid of the Tally Box. “Ready, brother?”
I looked at Cut, but he just crossed his arms, watching to see how I would proceed. Bastard.
I swallowed. I would forever wear these marks. When Nila paid the Final Debt and was dead, I would remain alone and without her. Cursed by her presence every time I looked at the
tally.
My father wore his from what he did to Nila’s mother on his ribcage. I’d seen it over the years—the marks of coming of age—of being a full-blown Hawk worthy of inheriting the legacy.
“Tell him where you want it to go, Nila.” Cut looked at my charge.
She trembled with tension. “Want what?”
Daniel shifted closer, his eyes slithering all over her. My skin crawled at the thought of him touching her. Hurting her.
Fucking arsehole.
Closing the distance between Nila and me, I pressed my thigh against hers—hoping she’d understand that we were in this together. Just like I’d told her. Her life was my responsibility and I wouldn’t fail.
“I’ll pick,” I said.
“You aren’t allowed, Jet,” Cut muttered. “It’s Ms. Weaver’s decision.”
Cut moved around the back of the couch, and ran his hands through Nila’s hair. She bit her lip as he kept her still, hemming her inside the barricade of his fingers. “Time to choose, my dear. Where do you want to wear the mark?”
“The mark?”
“The mark of the debts.”
WHAT THE HELL is happening?
Ever since I’d crawled out of bed after seeing my ancestors’ graves, I’d been different. Remote, cold. To be honest, I didn’t recognise myself.
I’d tried to work, to drown my thoughts with patterns and sewing, but I couldn’t stop thinking of the past. How did the other Weaver women cope? How did they justify their captivity and pay the debts in full?
In one month, I’d made more progress with Jethro than I’d hoped, yet now, I wanted nothing to do with him. I’d lied when I told him I’d only slept with him to prove he had a soul. I’d lied to myself, hoping I would believe it. But nothing could sway the truth or hide the tingling connection that stitched us together—for better or for worse.
As much as I needed him on my side, I couldn’t come to terms with what his family had done.
His text kept repeating inside my head; the words making no sense but somehow holding a promise of understanding if I only gave it time to unriddle.
Somehow, I had to do the impossible by pretending to care all while hating his guts. It was easier said than done when face-to-face with the evidence of his family’s crimes.
Seeing the tombstones of my ancestors hurt me deep, terrified me of my future, but worse than that—it showed me just who I’d become.
I was a deserter. A betrayer to the Weaver name.
How could I wield my heart in a battle that I wouldn’t win? And how could I ignore the fact that by letting Jethro into my bed, I’d let him turn me into a Hawk?
Cut tugged hard on my hair, snapping my attention back to my current predicament. His alcohol-laced breath sent fumes into my lungs as my scalp burned from his hold. “The marks of the debts must be done. Chose a place. Quickly, my dear.”
I squirmed on the black couch. Cut wrapped his fingers deeper into my hair, flaring worse pain. “I don’t understand what you want.”
I had no idea what they were talking about or what they expected. Being surrounded by four men—all of whom I despised—would’ve given me a heart attack when I first arrived. Now, I only drew deeper into myself.
Even vertigo had lost its power over me. I’d stumbled a little as Jethro had dragged me up the stairs, but he hadn’t noticed. If Vaughn ever saw me again, he wouldn’t recognise me.
Daniel tapped the box, its contents shielded by a lid engraved with birds of prey and the Hawk family crest. “Don’t have all day, Weaver. Pick.”
I tried to shake my head, but Cut’s fingers clutched my skull, keeping me prisoner.
“Pick what? I have no idea what you’re saying.”
Jethro tensed, his body tight and unyielding. “You paid the First Debt. A mark has to be made to acknowledge that fact.” His golden eyes landed on mine and for the first time since I’d asked him to kiss me, I didn’t give into a flutter or tingle. I’d slipped too many times this morning. When he’d kissed me before, he’d poured so much passion down my throat I couldn’t help but respond.
It made me hate myself.
I couldn’t deny that I appreciated him beside me. He was my only salvation against his father and younger brother. But I refused to let him manipulate me.
He’s Kite.
Liar.
Con artist.
Deceiver.
He swallowed hard, feeding off my refusal to give in to him. His emotions were locked away, sparkling with snowflakes rather than desire. But it didn’t stop the lashing of awareness binding us together.
“Choose, Ms. Weaver. Then we can leave,” Jethro said.
“I—”
Cut let me go, moving to perch on the couch arm. He loomed above. “You have to select a place to wear the marks. In this decision, you have full control. Each debt that you repay is recorded. On video, in the ledger, and…on skin.”
My heart plummeted into my feet. “What?”
Cut snapped his fingers, ordering Daniel to produce whatever was in the box. The carved wooden lid opened, revealing its treasure.
I leaned forward, trying to glimpse what was inside. My mouth hung open at the glint of needles, vials of ink, and alcoholic wipes.
Oh, my God.
“What—” I swallowed. “You can’t mean—”
Jethro said, “The tally is a tattoo. Permanent, and for all intent, non-erasable.” His black t-shirt and dark jeans made it seem as if he bristled with bleak acceptance. “After every debt, you earn a mark.”
My stomach twisted. “So, it’s not enough to take pain from me in way of debts—you have to drill me with ink, too?”
Cut replied, “It isn’t just you who has to wear the tally.” Pointing at Jethro, he added, “My son will wear the mark, too. And it’s entirely up to you where it goes on your body. But bear in mind that it will match on Jethro. A mirror image. Like for like.”
I shivered. “Excuse me?”
Jethro leaned closer, granting comfort from a body that’d been in mine. “Pick a place, Ms. Weaver. Just pick. I have things to do and want this over.”
His sudden temper left my mouth hanging open. Everything he was and pretended to be filled me with rage. “I hate you.”
Jethro’s jaw twitched. “Doesn’t change anything. Now…where do you want it?”
Daniel smirked, gathering the tattoo equipment and installing a small cartridge of black ink into the hand-held gun. “I suggest you pick, or I’ll just mark you where I think it would look best.” He rubbed his chin. “Your forehead, perhaps.”
I sank into the couch, wanting to run from this madman. Kes smiled softly, standing beside his moronic brother. “It doesn’t hurt, Nila.” He pointed at his bird tattoo on his forearm. “A few stings and then you get used to it. But in your case, the mark will take a few minutes, instead of a few hours.”
I stared coldly in his direction. When he’d hugged me before, I’d had the overpowering urge to push him away. To slap him. To scream at him to drop the act and show the truth. If Jethro struggled to hide his true self, then Kestrel was a genius at it.
I had no clue who he was.
The thought that any of these men were on my side or understood what I faced was laughable after seeing my family’s graves. I wanted nothing to do with them.
Not anymore.
Instead of seducing Jethro to make him care enough to free me, I now just wanted him dead. I could see the allure of martyrdom. If I had a bomb, I would willingly strap it to my chest and press the trigger if it meant I could take out these men when I died.
Kes lowered his voice. “I’ve seen the scars on your back. I know the pain you endured from the First Debt. If you can survive that—you can definitely survive this.”
I couldn’t breathe. Not only had they taken everything, but now they wanted to mark my body—yet another reminder of my fate.
When I didn’t respond, Kes tried again. “You don’t have to say anything, just point to where
you want the mark then you can go.”
Go? Go where? Home? To the nearest black market and buy a bazooka to destroy them?
Kes moved closer, crowding me so I had a Hawk in every direction. “It won’t hurt. Much.”
Jethro snapped.
Soaring upright, he shoved Kes away and snatched the Tally Box from Daniel. “You’re fucking suffocating us. Give us some space, for Christ’s sake.”
My heart twitched.
Jethro’s temper was lethal, his position in the family high up the ranking pole, but the passion underlying his command sounded suspiciously like he’d picked my side over them.
I should’ve been overjoyed.
I should’ve done everything in my power to thank Jethro and encourage him to fall for me.
But I had nothing left but hate.
Kes chuckled. “Don’t worry, Jet. Just trying to make it easier on Nila.” He planted his hand on Jethro’s shoulder, squeezing tight.
I expected Jethro to shrug him off and punch him. Instead, he relaxed slightly, nodding as silent communication ran between the brothers.
What the hell does Kes know about Jethro? And how does he use it so effortlessly to keep his brother calm?
Daniel stole my hand, running a sharp fingernail along the centre of my palm. I jumped, gasping in pain and surprise. I yanked my hand back, trying to dislodge the crazy creep.
No way did I want him infecting me.
A hand was the one part of a person’s body that touched so much. The first point of contact for new experiences. A five-fingered tool to get through life.
“Stop touching me.”
Jethro slapped his brother’s hand aside, allowing me to tuck my palm between my legs.
Cut growled, “Stop chitchatting and get it done. You have five seconds to decide where the tally will go, Ms. Weaver. Otherwise, I shall decide for you.”
Jethro sucked in a harsh breath, watching me from the corner of his eye.
Your fingers.
What? I shook my head at the idea. It was a stupid place for a tattoo.
It makes sense.
My reasoning laid out my conclusion in crystal clarity.
I intend to use my hands to slaughter them in the future.
If my fingers wore their mark—bore the signs of pain extracted at their whim—it was only fair that they extracted pain in return. My hands were currently virgins in murder, but soon they would smother in their blood.