Jethro took a step toward the older gentleman. "You said it would be easy. I can assure you, it wasn’t." Throwing a cold look over his shoulder, Jethro motioned me forward. "Come here and pay your respects."
I didn’t move.
The older man chuckled. He wore all black, and just like the man who brought my belongings in the parking garage in Milan, he wore a black leather jacket with a silhouette of a diamond on the pocket.
His hair was fully white, yet his face wasn’t too weathered. He had a goatee, which was more dirty grey than snow, and eyes were as light and unnerving as Jethro’s.
Instantly my back stiffened; my heart bucked in refusal. This man didn’t deserve respect. I wanted nothing to do with him.
Just as I knew the younger man in the car was Jethro’s brother, I knew without a doubt this was his father. This man was responsible for upholding the evil pastime of torturing innocence for something that should stay in the past. He was ultimately responsible for my demise.
Jethro stalked back, stole my arm, and marched me forward. Under his breath, he said, "Don’t annoy me. I’m warning you."
Jerking me to a halt in front of his father, he spoke louder. "Ms. Weaver, let me introduce you to Bryan Hawk. Head of our family, President to his fellow riders, and sixteenth man in a long line of succession to wear the family name."
He glared at me, making sure I listened. "He’s also known as Cut amongst his brotherhood. But to you, he will always be addressed as Mr. Hawk."
Mr. Hawk grinned, holding out his hand. "Welcome to my humble abode."
I shied away, not wanting to touch him, be close to him, or even have to tolerate talking to him.
Jethro growled under his breath, grabbing my elbow and holding me firm. "You’re one infraction away from sleeping with the hounds, Ms. Weaver. Try me. Disobey once more."
His father laughed. "Ah, I remember those days. The fun, the discipline." Climbing down the final step, he closed the space between us. His aftershave reeked of sadism and old money—if that had a smell. A horrid mix of spice and musk that gave me an instant headache, whilst his eyes stole everything about me from my reflection to my dismal future.
He cupped my cheek.
I flinched, expecting the brutality and roughness I’d come to expect from a Hawk, but he ran his thumb gently over my cheekbone. "Hello, Nila. It’s a pleasure to once again entertain a Weaver in our modest home."
Hearing my name repulsed me. Jethro hadn’t used it yet—sticking to the impersonal address of my last-name. I hated that Mr. Hawk thought he had the authority to speak it.
Wanting to spit in his face, I focused on the house behind him—swallowing the urge. My gaze soared to the stained glass windows, the imposing spires, and impressive stonework. There was nothing modest about this dwelling, and he knew it.
I kept my lips clamped. I had a whole novel of horrible things I wanted to say, but Jethro’s seething bulk beside me kept my tongue in check.
Jethro let me go, pushing me into his father. "She’s been nothing but trouble. I can’t deny I’m looking forward to tomorrow."
My heart leapt into my throat at the dark promise in his voice. What’s going to happen tomorrow?
Mr. Hawk dropped his palm from my cheek, wrapping his arm around my waist. With his free hand, he brushed wayward strands from my eye. "You look just like your mother. It’s a pity I’m not the one extracting in this particular instance, but rest assured, I will enjoy you once or twice."
My stomach latched onto my heart, making me sick. Don’t ask. The question blared in my head. What did you do to my mother?
I’d been so young and full of righteous anger at her leaving my father. I thought she was the villain—the heartbreaker.
But she was the one who paid an unpayable price. And never returned.
Mr. Hawk’s eyes glinted. "I see Jethro hasn’t told you anything yet." Trailing his hand from my hair to my lips, he stroked me gently. "That’s going to be a fun conversation, but for now I’ll let you in on a little family secret." Crushing me against him, he whispered, "I’m the one who stole her. I’m the one who took debt after debt from her unwilling skin. And do you know what she begged for in her final minutes of life?"
My head swam. My world roared. Life as I knew it ended.
I hated him.
I loathed him.
I’ll kill you.
I’d never felt such heat, such insanely burning desire to cause harm. My teeth ached from clenching; my nails drew blood from my palms.
"She begged for your life. To end it with her and to let you live in peace." His hand left my waist, grabbing my arse with a vicious grip. "Know what I told her?" His breath smelled of liquor and cigars, making me swallow his words. "I told her you were born a Weaver, you’ll die a Weaver. And that’s the simplistic way of our world."
Shoving me away, I ping-ponged from father to son, coming to an abrupt halt in Jethro’s arms. The relief at being away from the man who’d murdered my mother made my limbs weak and jittery, but I couldn’t stop the hatred from gnawing a gaping hole in my soul. I needed it out. I needed it spoken so he would know the debt might not have ended with my mother but it would end with me.
It will.
"I pity you. I knew nothing about you, your sons, your warped perception of life until tonight. I may not know why you’re doing this but I do know one thing. I know that it’s the last time you’ll ever do it."
"Shut up!" Jethro shook me. But I wasn’t scared of him. I wasn’t scared of any of them anymore. They were bullies. Sadistic bastards who’d met their match.
Struggling in his arms, I freed my hand, pointing a livid finger at Mr. Hawk. I lost my rage, tilting head first into lunacy. My temper gave me power over everything. My cursed balance. My sheltered beginnings. In that one moment of brazenness, I found a nucleus of strength I didn’t know I had.
My voice pitched as I yelled, "I’ll kill you! I’ll watch you die just like you watched my mother—I’ll kill you! You don’t deserve to live. I’ll kill you and—" I launched myself at him, only to stumble and go slamming back against a powerful form.
Jethro grabbed my shaking arm, pinning it to my side. His strong hold crashed me against his body, moulding my wiggling behind against his rigid front.
His body was hard and firm—exactly like the stone I thought he was. The bulge in his trousers pressed against my lower spine.
"You’ve pushed me too far. You just had to fucking push. No one threatens my family, least of all a girl who can barely stand without support. And a Weaver." He spat on my feet. "Fucking filth."
"Remove her from my sight." Mr. Hawk sniffed. "Teach her her place, Jethro. I won’t put up with such stupid behaviour." His eyes landed on me. "As for you. I’d hoped you’d show more promise. Think what you want of us, Ms. Weaver, but this isn’t a simple matter that will end quickly. You’re ours for however long we wish to keep you and you’ll learn proper manners if we have to beat it into you."
Nodding at Jethro, he climbed the steps to the two story sized front door and disappeared.
The moment he vanished, my spine rolled and I wanted nothing more than to fall to my knees and cry.
What was I thinking?
My rage and hatred snuffed out like a candle in a storm. I’d never been so out of control. My emotions had held me hostage and I’d snapped—for the first time since my mother left—I’d succumbed to the intense freedom of bitterness.
Jethro dragged me backward, his dress shoes crunching against gravel. He didn’t wait for me to back-peddle, just clutched me hard, dragging me like an already dead corpse. "You’ve surprised me twice tonight, and I haven’t liked either of them. You’ve pissed me off. So much so that—"
Slamming to a halt, he shoved my shoulder blades. "Get on your knees."
I wheeled forward, crashing from standing to landing on all fours.
No!
I winced as the driveway bit into my palms; my knees throbbed as sharp pebbles cut into
my skin. I looked up, my face swollen and achy from unpermitted tears welling as deep as a bottomless lake.
This was the truth. This humiliation and admittance of power, not the farce he’d painted.
Jethro towered above, his legs planted wide, face etched in livid anger. "I’m a firm advocator of rewarding good behaviour but after tonight you’ve proven there is nothing to reward. You’re wild, unwilling, and a spoiled brat who will learn her place."
Leaning down, he grabbed my long hair, jerking it hard. "Did you honestly think, after an outburst like that, that you’d deserve the comfort of a bed? Why do it, Ms. Weaver, when you knew what was on the line?"
I couldn’t speak. My throat was pulled back, the pressure stopping all sounds and swallows.
"I have a good mind to fuck you right here. To smash whatever sense of entitlement or hope you’re holding onto." He shook me.
My eyes watered at the pain.
"You’re not hearing me. This is your life now. I am your only friend. Stop. Pissing. Me. Off."
You’re not my friend. I have one, and his name isn’t Jethro.
Kite.
I didn’t think I’d want to message him so soon, but I needed someone from the outside world. I needed reminding that the universe hadn’t entered an alternate dimension and there was still hope.
When I remained silent, Jethro snarled, "You’re sleeping with the dogs. They have better obedience than you, perhaps you can learn from them on what we expect."
I sniffed, fighting so hard against the tears.
I didn’t even care that I wouldn’t sleep in a bed. I was past worrying about sanitary conditions or nutritious food. All I wanted was freedom. All I needed was some time alone to gather my scattered self-worth and remember who I was.
"Move," Jethro breathed, his beloved silence smoothing his outburst from before. "Don’t make me show you how a good dog moves."
He wants you to crawl.
It had begun.
This was the beginning. And I’d brought it upon myself.
He wants to destroy you.
Using my hair as the leash, Jethro paced beside me as I went from stationary to crawling. I crawled like an animal. I crawled like a pet. I crawled through manicured gardens, past ponds, and statues, all the way from manor to kennel.
I STRETCHED, LOOKING up at my ceiling. The plasterwork around the huge chandelier never failed to let me know who I was.
A Hawk.
The intricate rosettes and architraving was a testament to my namesake. Birds of prey swooped, hunted, and devoured small animals from above.
My hard cock lay heavily against my stomach. My hands clenched beneath my head. I was so fucking close to breaking the rules and taking Nila last night. She’d pushed me too far. I’d wanted to see how smart her mouth could be with my dick jammed down her throat.
I should’ve taken her.
Removing my hand from beneath my pillow, I grasped my morning wood and stroked. My eyes snapped closed as I imagined a different outcome to last night.
Nila’s pink plump lips opening. Me sliding inside her mouth. My balls tightening as her timid tongue welcomed my cock. She’d lick me just like she’d done my thumb. Eager, inexperienced—a novice with so much to give.
I’d rock forward, holding her head, giving her no choice but to take more of my length.
I’d thrust harder, driving her from accepting to choking.
Fuck.
My hand worked tight and fast. The large bed creaked as I arched my back, giving into the fantasy of blowing down Nila Weaver’s throat.
Fuck, yes. Take it. Yes.
My quads tightened, and I groaned as the first spasm of release shot from my balls, creating a sticky mess on my stomach.
Choke on it. Love it.
Fantasy Nila kept sucking me, drawing another wave of pleasure. I liked her a lot more with my cock in her mouth. She was silent. Incapacitated.
I shivered as the last spurt of my orgasm joined the mess. I opened my eyes.
"Goddammit." I hadn’t meant to do that. I should’ve summoned a club whore to come and suck me off. Masturbating wasn’t necessary when there were countless willing women ready to service me at the snap of my fingers.
Fuck it. It was a long night. I deserved a little…unwinding.
It’s going to be an even longer day.
I might’ve blown my load with an imaginary vision of Nila on her knees, but it would soon become real. Today, Nila would be initiated. She’d be welcomed. And not just by me.
I wonder how frustrating she’ll be when three men use her at the same time.
Swinging my legs out of bed, I prowled across the thick red carpet toward my private bathroom.
I smiled, perversely happy with the day’s upcoming activities. The next few weeks weren’t about debt repaying or vengeance, they were about hospitality and welcoming a new Weaver into the Hawk household. She had much to learn, her place to recognise, and all thoughts of who she was torn from her soul and burned.
I’d use her. My father would use her. My two younger brothers would use her. Shit, it was open season for the first few weeks until she snapped and went from fighting to docile. Then the repayments would begin.
After spending some time alone with her, I knew the handful she was. Despite her disobedience, I rather liked her fire. Pity that fire would snuff out almost instantly. She’d probably crack on the first activity.
I paused, searching inside to see if I cared. To see if I had enough ice inside to do everything expected of me. She was pretty, I had to admit. She had a certain intrigue. But she was just a woman.
A woman who confuses you.
Scowling, I shoved the thought away. She confused me which wasn’t a good thing. It was almost as bad as surprising me.
One moment she seemed so sure and strong. The next she was brittle and breakable. And her bloody vertigo was getting on my goddamn nerves.
No. I was more than happy to let my fellow brothers share the work in ruining her. It would be over faster, and I could go back to my life before I knew of the stupid scroll stained with the blood of the first Weaver woman.
The sun spilled like a golden carpet, leading the way from bed to shower. My room was vacant of personal touches but reeked in history of past owners. Rococo style dressers, Victorian designed chairs. The wallpaper was embossed maroon leather with gold accents.
The entire space was brooding and temperamental. I would’ve preferred clean lines. White—which was the silence of the colour palette—with stone furniture and metal chairs. I liked to be surrounded by an unfeeling atmosphere but I’d never be permitted to change this area.
It was sacred.
All because it’d been the bedroom of all Hawk men who’d inherited a Weaver woman. Their last breath was taken in this room. It held the ghosts of Nila’s ancestors and would one day absorb hers, too.
The birthday present of new spurs and a heinously wicked whip glinted on the eighteenth century sideboard. At the time, I’d thought it was a piss poor present for turning twenty-nine, but in retrospect I’d have a lot of fun using them on Nila rather than my horse.
The best present was due next year. The true inheritance I’d been waiting for. One much better than a woman or her tears or even the permission to draw her blood. When I turned thirty, I would own it all.
Everything. All mine.
The fantastic ruling of Primogeniture meant as firstborn son, I inherited the lot. My brothers wouldn’t get penny. My sister not a single diamond. They would survive by my charity. Just like my father.
The brotherhood. The mines. The yachts. The cars. Hawksridge. And every property overseas.
Mine.
Bryan Hawk, Cut to those in the Black Diamond brotherhood, would be second to me. The way of our ancestors ensured young authority remained in control of an estate that’d spilled enough blood to fill a moat around our gates.
My father would retire, and I would be king.
I’d upgrad
e from living in the bachelor wing with its pool room, theatre, office, weaponry, solarium, six bedrooms, and six bathrooms to having the pick of a fifty room, two ballroom, and a dungeon-equipped house to play in.
And by play, I meant make women scream.
That was the only time they were allowed to break my rule of quietness. The only time I enjoyed their begging.
Collecting new clothing from my walk-in wardrobe, I glimpsed myself in the mirror. My lips curled in disgust at the sticky mess on my stomach. I had a good mind to get Nila and make her lick me clean.
That was her fault.
My mind drifted back to her—against my will. She’d not only taken up valuable space in my head, but my day’s structure as well. There would be no hunting today or inspecting the latest diamond shipment.
There’d be no business or travel.
All my energy and focus belonged to the woman who was a waste of my time.
Another daydream of forcing her to her knees stopped me on the outskirts of the bathroom. Would she cry or scream as I fucked her from behind? Perhaps she’d surprise me again and moan in ecstasy. I planned on taking her that way—the animalistic way. After all, she did spend the night with the dogs. It would only be fitting.
Dumping my clothes on the vanity, I strode into the four-headed quartz shower. I had no need to strip. I slept naked.
Always did.
It was part of the rules.
Living at Hawksridge, the grandest and most exclusive motorcycle club compound in all of England, came with strict unbreakable rules. Our brotherhood was different. We were smart, cunning, focused.
Any man found sleeping with clothes on was in for a night of pain. We might have left the dark ages behind but my family upheld strictness.
We made our fortune in the most transferable precious item there was. And we’d learned a lot from past mistakes on how to treat those who tried to steal them.
No clothes at night and random cavity searches by day.
All to protect our legacy. The way we made our money. The way we rose from penniless thieves at the beck and call of the Weavers to gathering a wealth that morphed to obscene a few centuries ago.
Captured Boxed Set: 9 Alpha Bad-Boys Who Will Capture Your Heart Page 74
