She shook her head. “Offend? No. Surprise? Yes. But…I knew he’d fallen in love with you. I could feel it in him.”
“Feel it?” V wiped crumbs off his t-shirt. “That’s a strange thing to say.”
I turned to face him. “She’s a VEP.” After Jethro’s lesson the other day, I felt cocky to know the term. To know the technical name for a condition so common in people that it’d become a regular flaw, according to society.
V scrunched up his nose. “What the hell is that?”
Jaz chuckled. “No. And Nila has it wrong. I’m empathic to the point of emotional sensory but nowhere near as bad as Jethro. I don’t call myself anything different. Just attuned to my brother—same as you’re tuned to each other.” She waved at V and me. “You’re twins. There are differences between you, but overall, you share enough genetic make-up to sense each other on a deeper level.”
Vaughn nodded. “That’s twins for you.”
Jaz smiled. “Twins and Empaths.”
A loud noise slammed a few rooms down.
We all froze.
The inhabitants of Hawksridge were waking up.
I hated that answers had to come later, but I would hate it even more if we were caught. “As much as I want to continue talking, I think…it’s time to hide.”
Jaz nodded, rolling toward the door. “You’re right.” Without looking over her shoulder, she said, “V, I’ll take you back to your room.”
My heart twitched at the casual way she called my twin by his nickname. I wanted to tell her she had no right. But, then again, I had stolen her brother. I’d forced myself into his life and replaced her with myself.
Suddenly, I understood Jaz a whole lot more. She liked me because I was good for her sibling. But at the same time, she despised me taking him away from her.
Rushing forward, I opened the door a crack but put my foot out to prevent her from disappearing. Bending down, I whispered, “I just want to thank you. You have my word I won’t hurt him—ever again. I’m in this for life, and I hope you know that I would never take him away completely.” I smiled. “I’m very good at sharing.”
“Sharing what?” V asked, coming to place his hands on Jaz’s shoulders.
The unthinking action after a night of escapades and contact spoke more than words ever could. They were relaxed around each other. Whatever had happened had formed a trust far quicker than Jethro and I had built.
I’m…I’m jealous.
But also, strangely happy.
“Nothing.” I backed up, smiling at V.
Jaz understood, though.
She shrugged, dislodging V’s touch. “I think there’s hope for you and me, yet, Nila Weaver.” Patting my hand, she wheeled into the corridor.
V followed, pausing to kiss me on the cheek. He’d draped the two jumpers I’d given him over his shoulder and hugged his pilfered food. “I’ll see you when I see you, I guess.”
Sooner, rather than later.
I squeezed him hard. “Everything will be okay. You’ll see.”
Jaz sucked in a breath. “I hope so. If Kes and Jet make it, there will be hope for all of us.” Her eyes captured mine, dark thoughts lurking in the depths. “One thing’s for sure. It’s no longer Hawk versus Weaver. We’re the new generation. We’ve inherited the sins of our forebears.
“But we’ll be the ones who will change history.”
NILA LAUGHED.
I looked up from my report on the latest smuggling shipment and covered my eyes from the overwhelming sunshine behind her.
She stood haloed in golden warmth—like the goddess I worshipped daily. She was ethereal, magical…mine.
“What’s so funny?”
She skipped to my side and took my hand. The instant her skin touched mine, my heart tripped over. Even after all this time together, even after entwining our lives completely, I was still hopelessly smitten. She was my queen—the custodian of my soul—just like I’d promised when I’d given in to her the night I told her everything.
With a tender smile, she placed my hand on her growing belly.
My jaw clenched with a mixture of all-consuming love, pride, and protectiveness.
She’s carrying my child.
We made this unborn creature together.
Half her, half me. It would be a Weaver and Hawk. Seamstress and diamond smuggler.
Ours.
“He kicked.”
“Really?” I pressed my hand harder.
The firmness of her belly didn’t move.
Nila’s face fell. “He’s stopped.”
I gathered her close, pressing a kiss on her cotton-covered bump. “You keep saying he. We haven’t found out the sex yet. It could just as easily be a girl.”
She shook her head, her long black hair soaking up the sun as if she somehow harnessed its power. I loved her hair. I loved how free it made her.
“It’s a boy.”
Tugging her onto my lap, I kissed her lips. This woman utterly beguiled me. “What if I don’t want a boy? What if I want a little girl who is as perfect as you?”
“He’s coming to.”
“Move aside, please.”
Loud beeps filled my ears. Pain swamped. Heaviness shackled. Agony battered from all directions.
Fuck, make it stop.
I didn’t like it here. I wanted to go back. Return to where the sunshine glowed and my wife carried my child.
More pain crescendoed. I gave up fighting.
Fuck, make it stop…make it stop!
My heart accelerated, shoving me head-first into my wish.
With a sigh, I let go of my body, ignored the summons trying to drag me back to life, and fell.
“You want a girl?”
I nodded. “More than anything.”
“And what if I want a son?”
“You’ll just have to wait.”
Nila giggled. “Wait?”
I pulled her close, inhaling her soft scent of wild-flowers and summer. “Until we have another one.”
“Mr. Ambrose. Come on.”
The warm illusion shattered again.
I tensed, preparing for pain to welcome me back. There was no pain. Only a fog. A metallic blanket blocked the fever and excruciating agony. For the first time in forever, I could think without being handicapped by suffering.
With the discomfort gone, it opened the gates for everything else to become known.
My body was tired. Beyond tired. Bone weary and sluggish.
I don’t want to be here.
I missed my dream world where everything was sunshine and smiles, away from whatever memories snarled on the outskirts of comprehension.
I want to forget…just for a little longer.
Sleep gripped my mind, tugging me backward, slipping me under the surface and delivering me back to Nila.
“Another one?” She swatted my chest, laughing in the bright afternoon. “Getting a bit greedy, don’t you think?”
I nuzzled her neck. “Greedy? I wouldn’t call it greedy.”
Her lips parted as I trailed kisses up her throat, skirting her chin, hovering over her mouth. Her breath cracked and shortened, waiting in anticipation of a kiss. “Oh? What would you call it?”
I paused over her lips. I wanted so badly to kiss her. To drink her taste and pour my love down her throat. I wanted so desperately to heal her. To forget about the past and remind both of us that it was over. That we were free.
“I call it building a better future.”
Nila’s head tipped back. I captured her nape, keeping her locked in my control. My mouth watered, still millimetres from kissing her.
“How many?” she whispered as my lips finally touched hers.
My tongue slipped into her mouth, tangoing with hers, dancing the same dance we knew by heart. I would recognise Nila even if all my senses were stolen. I would know her if I was blind, deaf, and mute. I would always know her because I could feel her. Her love had a certain flavour—a sparkling liquor that intox
icated me whenever I let down my walls and felt what she felt, lived what she lived.
I murmured, “As many as we can.”
“Mr. Ambrose, you have to open your eyes.”
That damn voice again. And that name…it was wrong. That wasn’t my name.
Once again, I tried to ignore the tugging, wanting to fall backward into sleep, but this time the gates were shut. I couldn’t slip.
I hovered there—in an in-between world where darkness steadily became lighter and the world slowly solidified.
The pain was still blanketed, the tiredness not as consuming, but there was strangeness everywhere.
Strange smells.
Strange noises.
Strange people.
Where am I?
“That’s it, wake up. We won’t bite.”
I cringed against the false, upbeat tone. I didn’t tolerate insincerity and whoever encouraged me hid his true thoughts.
My condition was the first sense to return with full force, feeding off the man beside me—the man who cared, worried, and clinically assessed me. In his mind, I belonged to him. My progress, my recovery—it was all testament to his skills as my…
Doctor.
The unfamiliar place and unfamiliar smells suddenly made a lot more sense.
Bright lights were brighter and the blanket hiding me from pain lived deep in my veins.
Drugs.
I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak. I could barely breathe.
But I was alive.
And mistakenly being called Mr. Ambrose.
The beeping sound flurried faster as I slipped back into all facets of my body. Fingers to fingers. Toes to toes. It was like dressing in expensive cashmere after weeks of wearing scratchy wool. It was home.
“He’s coming to.”
“That’s it. We’re here. No need to fear. You’re safe.”
The doctor’s voice reached into the remaining darkness in my brain, plucking me to the surface. My eyes were heavy drapes, musty and full of moths, refusing to open.
A wash of frustration came from nowhere—tugging me faster from my haze, slamming me into a body I no longer wanted.
My eyes opened.
“Great. Awesome job, Mr. Ambrose.”
I promptly closed them again. The room was too bright, too much to see.
“Give it a moment and the discomfort will pass.” Someone patted me on the shoulder. The drumbeat resonated through my body, awakening everything else.
I tried again, squinting this time to limit the amount of light.
The scene before me crystallised from a sea of wishy-washy watercolours to shapes I recognised.
I knew this world. Yet I don’t know these people.
I was back in a broken body, battered within an inch of my life. I was cold and feeling nauseous, and interminably tired. I preferred my dream world where Nila was safe, we were happy, and there was no mad evil threatening to tear us apart.
The doctor clasped my hand—the one free of an IV needle.
I tried to tug away but my brain failed to send the message, leaving me in his grasp. “You gave us quite a scare, Mr. Ambrose.”
I swallowed, forcing my emaciated throat to lubricate. “Th—that isn’t m—my—” I cut myself off before I could finish.
My name…what was my name…?
It only took a fraction.
I’m Jethro Hawk. Heir to Hawksridge, firstborn, and recently murdered by his own father. Everything of my past, my trials, and my love for Nila slotted into perfect place, leaving me clearheaded and aware.
As far as my father knew, I’d died when the bullet meant for Jasmine tore into my body. Whoever had delivered me to the hospital was on my side. And the name was a mask keeping me safe.
A flash of agony made its way through whatever painkillers they’d given me, kick-starting me onto another subject. “W—who are y—you?”
The doctor studied me. His brown handlebar moustache and shock of unruly hair didn’t match the somber light green scrubs he wore or the softness of his hand around mine. He looked like an eccentric farmer, someone more at home hugging a chicken, than nursing a patient back to life.
“My name is Jack Louille. I was the surgeon who operated on you.” His eyes cast down to my stomach, covered in starchy white sheets. “It was touch and go for a bit, but you responded well to treatment.”
“W—what treat—treatment?”
He beamed, a rush of pride emitting from him, his emotions of a job well done and workplace satisfaction buffeting me. “I don’t know how much you remember, but you were shot.”
I nodded. “My m—memory is fully in—intact.” The more I spoke, the more my throat found it easier to talk.
“Ah, that’s great news. As you are aware then, a bullet sliced through your side.” He leaned over me. “I don’t need to tell you how close it came to being a fatal wound. An abdominal injury can rupture intestines, liver, spleen, and kidneys. There are also major vessels that can be nicked—all of which equal a lower possibility of survival—especially in your case, since you were unable to seek treatment straight away.”
Why was that?
I couldn’t recall.
Memories of time skipping and fire hissing tried to make sense. Kestrel had been beside me…
Kes!
I lashed out, grabbing the doctor’s wrist. My body flared with agony, but I ignored it. “The other m—man. Is he here, t—too?” I didn’t dare say his name. I doubted he would be under it anyway—same as me.
Doctor Louille paused, his happiness at my recovery fading as helplessness smothered his thoughts. “Your brother is still with us, but…we don’t know for how long. His injuries were more extensive, less straightforward to operate.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll tell you about him soon. First, let me explain your condition and then you need to rest. There is time for everything else later.”
No, there is no time.
If Kes wasn’t doing well, I wanted to see him before it was too late.
I need my brother. My friend.
“You’re what I call an extraordinary luckster.” Louille smiled. “I once had a patient who slipped in the bath and shattered a window. The glass sliced his neck but missed the jugular and carotid artery. Do you know how nearly impossible that is? But he was lucky. I’ve had many patients that, by right, should be dead but somehow tricked death into leaving them alone.” He patted my shoulder. “You’re the latest luckster. The bullet sliced through the high side of your abdomen, passing through the muscles surrounding core vitals, and never entering the abdominal cavity. You would’ve passed out from the overload of adrenaline and pain, and it would’ve been horrendously messy and bloody, but here we are.”
My head pounded.
Here I was.
I’ve been given a second chance.
I wasn’t so rotten that I deserved to die; wasn’t so evil to merit a one-way ticket to hell.
I’m not going to waste it.
I would use this new life to fix all my wrongs and ensure I deserved the luck I’d been given.
“H—how l—long?”
Doctor Louille ran a hand over his moustache. “You were in surgery for three hours and asleep for three days in intensive care. Your vitals were finally strong enough to wean you off the sedative and let nature take its course.”
Three days?
Three fucking days!
Shit, what about Nila?
My heart clanged out of control. An exorbitant amount of adrenaline swamped me. Hurling myself upward, I lurched for the edge of the bed. Pain be damned. Motherfucking bullet wound be damned.
Three days!
“I—I have to g—go.”
Louille slammed his hands on my shoulders, pushing me back against the mattress. “What the hell are you doing? I just told you you were lucky. You trying to ruin that luck?”
I struggled, seeing a clock ticking closer to Nila’s death everywhere I looked.
Nila!
; Three days!
What had they done to her in that time?
“Let—let me g—go!”
“No chance in hell, buddy. You’re my patient. You’ll follow my rules.” Louille’s fingers dug into my biceps, holding me in place. “Calm down or I’ll restrain you. You want that?”
I froze, breath wheezing in and out. My stomach gnashed with agonising pain.
Three days…
My energy disappeared. A wash of sickness almost made me vomit. Oh, fuck. The room turned upside down.
Louille sympathised, letting me go. “The nausea will pass. It’s the morphine. Just lie still and you’ll be okay.”
All I could think about was Nila and the fact I’d abandoned her.
Fuck!
“Molly, perhaps increase Mr. Ambrose’s dose and arrange a sedative.”
“No!” I’d already lost so much time. No way in hell would I lose anymore. I needed every minute awake to heal and run back to my woman.
My eyes fell on a girl in the background. A nurse with blonde hair in a bun and a clipboard in her hand. Her emotions were shuttered, barely registering on my condition. Either she guarded herself well or the nausea kept my sensitivity to a minimum.
Forcing myself to remain sane—at least until the doctor left so I could plan my escape—I asked, “H—how long will I h—have to s—stay here?”
“Why? You got some skiing trip to attend in Switzerland?” Doctor Louille laughed. When he noticed I was dead serious, he cleared his throat. “I estimate three weeks to be fully fixed. Two weeks for the wound to heal and another week for the internal bruising to recede. Twenty-one days, Mr. Ambrose, then I’ll sign the discharge papers and send you on your merry way.”
Three weeks?
Fuck, I couldn’t wait that long.
Even three days drove me insane.
I shook my head. “I can’t be a—away for that l—length of ti—time.”
Don’t give up on me, Nila.
I had to be there to keep her safe. She couldn’t be subjected to more horror—especially at the hands of my bastard father and brother.
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
My heart squeezed like a fucking lemon, cauterizing my insides with citric acid at the thought of her being so vulnerable and alone.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Ambrose, but you’re not fit to leave. And you’re under my care until I say you are.” Turning his attention to the nurse, he waved her closer. “Give me that phone number. We best let the family know he’s awake.”
Third Debt Page 12
