Captured Boxed Set: 9 Alpha Bad-Boys Who Will Capture Your Heart
Page 79
A new unwanted respect curdled in my stomach. Jethro said his mines. Their mines. Diamonds were pure, but the method of collection had a chequered history of death and violence.
They didn’t just play the part of untouchables. They were untouchable.
No!
My tugging fingers turned frantic. I arched my neck, searching with an edge of insanity for a weakness in the soldered white gold and gemstones. It had to come off.
It has to.
I didn’t have the strength to die. I didn’t have the martyrdom to let them do this. Not for family. Not for fortune. I’m weak. I don’t want to die!
Jethro grabbed my wrists, effortlessly pulling my arms away from my throat. My eyes opened and all I saw was malevolent stone. There was no compassion in his light-brown eyes. No sympathy or even guilt. How did he have the power to be so close to me—to grow hard wanting me—and know all along my fate?
Only a special person could do that. A person who wasn’t born of this world, but brimstone and fire. From hell.
I struggled in his hold, breathing hard. The collar settled heavily, still spreading its heinous ice. "I was wrong about you," I hissed.
Jethro placed my hands by my sides, then let me go. He shrugged, running a palm through his thick salt-and-pepper hair. "I’ve been nothing but forthright and honest from the beginning. You’re the one who spun a lie from the truth. You’re the one who ignored everything I was telling you."
Turning to face the table, he wrapped a cold arm around my waist. "And now it’s time to face the reality of everything you tried to ignore."
Mr. Hawk, with his ridiculous tweed and leather outfit, stubbed out a smouldering cigar. "Did you tell her?"
Jethro stiffened. "I forgot."
His father reclined into the high-backed chair and folded his hands on his stomach. "You were meant to tell her when you put it on. It’s called the Weaver Wailer and it belonged to…"
A loud screeching sound exploded in my ears. My stomach rolled. Vertigo spread its nullifying tentacles through my brain.
It’s the necklace. The one she wore when she came back the final time.
Jethro looked down, trying to capture my eyes, but I wouldn’t do it. I couldn’t do it. I kept my vision blank, looking resolutely over his shoulder. "I think you’ve already guessed who it belonged to." Lowering his voice, he whispered, "The last person to wear this collar was your mother. She wore it for two years and twenty-three days before it was…forcibly removed. It carries not only the diamonds of my bloodline, but also blood from yours. We, of course, clean it thoroughly after every owner, but if you look closely, I’m sure you’ll see the tarnish of their lives given in return for their crimes."
"Nila, when you’re a big girl, you can wear my clothes, shoes, and jewellery, but you have to grow a little taller before that day." My mother laughed, looking down at me on the floor of her walk-in wardrobe. I’d not only raided her jewellery box and draped myself in gemstones, but wore a feather boa with a baggy one piece swimming suit and giant high heels. I thought I looked incredible. For a seven-year-old.
Holding up the pearls around my neck, I said, "Promise? I can have these when I’m your size?"
She ducked, pulling me into a hug. "You can have everything of mine. Why?"
I smiled. I knew the answer to this. "Because you love me."
She nodded. "Because I love you."
The memory came and went, stealing the firm ground beneath my feet and sending me headfirst into nausea. Spirals, loop de loops, and spin-cycles all churned my brain until I didn’t know up from down.
It wasn’t vertigo this time, but grief.
Crushing, crashing grief. A grief I hadn’t suffered, because all my happy memories of her had been blocked by the wall of hatred. She was supposed to be the bad guy for leaving my father. I’d been safe from hurting. Safe from reliving everything with the knowledge of how precious she was. How tragic her life became and for two years after she’d left. Two years we didn’t try and save her.
The Hawks had stripped her from me and torn away any armour I had against missing her. She wasn’t the bad guy. They were. They would all die for this. They would rot for eternity. I would find a way.
Please, let me find a way.
I wore a necklace every firstborn woman in my family wore before they were murdered—I was owed serious revenge. Disgusting, painful revenge.
A sob escaped my mouth. I couldn’t fight the spinning anymore and doubled over. With a sickening splash, I threw up all over Jethro’s shiny black shoes.
"Fuck." He jumped back, not that there was much mess. It’d been almost twenty-four hours since I’d eaten—I had nothing to waste or purge. But the dry heaves wouldn’t stop racking my frame.
"For fuck’s sake, Jet. Get her under control. We don’t have all day." Mr. Hawk’s voice shouted across the room.
Cold hands grabbed my shoulders, jerking me from bowed to straight. I moaned as my head sloshed with pain.
"Stop embarrassing me," Jethro snarled.
Embarrassing him? Bastard. Arsehole. Son of Satan. I glowered with tear-swimming eyes into Jethro’s cold uncompassionate gaze. Something flicked over his gold irises—a dark shadow. That was the only warning I received before his hand came up and struck me around the side of the head.
I thought I was brave. I thought I was strong. But I’d never been struck before. Daniel’s slap in the car last night didn’t count. This abuse had come from a black place—a place inside Jethro where unsurmountable anger boiled. And it was endless. He may be a glacier on the outside, but in there…in his heart…he steamed with pressuring rage.
Crashing to my knees, I curled my smarting head into my arms. I came from a family who loved each other so much, a disappointed look or stern word was enough to break your heart. Physical abuse wasn’t something I knew. It wasn’t something I could prepare for.
Jethro grabbed my hair, pulling me upright. I held onto his wrists to prevent the tearing pain. My blurry gaze focused on his grey shirt and perfectly creased jeans.
He glared. "You’ll clean that up, but for now you have other things to attend to."
Not letting go of my hair, he carted me toward his father. Every step I took, I tried to hide my exposed breasts and ignore the breeze between my naked legs. The pinafore Jethro had put on me barely covered my stomach let alone valuable places. Places I would give my entire design line to have covered. The stupid maid cap tilted to the side, clinging to my tangled hair.
I couldn’t count how many men existed around the table, but their eyes never met mine. Most were glued to my chest or mesmerized lower down as I side-shuffled to hide as much of my decency as possible.
But it wasn’t just their eyes sending spider legs scurrying over my flesh. It was the huge immaculate paintings of men wearing white wigs, elegant coat and tails, and hunting regalia glaring down from the dark red walls.
Their eyes weren’t lifeless but full of distain—somehow they knew a Weaver was in their midst and the crackling fireplace was useless to stop my chill.
My sentence was to be carried out with ancestors and family heirlooms as witnesses.
The moment we came to a stop beside Mr. Hawk, sitting in his ornate dining chair, Jethro jerked my neck back. His flawless face filled my vision. "You are no longer free. Look. See your future and understand there’s no sweet talking, begging, or bargaining your way out of this. You wear the collar. You’re ours completely." Jethro’s voice was artic, glittering with power.
The collar cut into my skin. I wanted to spit in his face.
Shoving me toward Mr. Hawk, the old man snaked an arm around my naked waist, tugging me onto his lap.
"Obey and make me proud, Ms. Weaver," Jethro said, crossing his arms. He shifted to stand behind his father’s chair, removing himself from the role of authority, becoming merely a spectator.
He’s never called me Nila.
The stupid thought came and went on a heartbeat. Jethro was yet to
use my first name.
I shuddered, feeling overwhelmingly sick again.
Jethro was awful but being disowned and handed over to a room full of men was worse. I would’ve given anything to avoid was what about to happen. I would willingly trade all my nights in a bed and return to the kennels. The hounds were loving, kind…warm.
I sat frozen on Mr. Hawk’s lap.
His hand rested on my upper thigh, not violating but terrifying. "Now that we all understand each other, I want you to look at something for me, Nila. Then the festivities will begin. Every man you serve, you’ll receive another snippet of your history. Only once you’ve completed your task will you know the entire story and will be free to spend the afternoon either in the steam baths below the house as a reward or in solitary confinement in the dungeons as punishment, depending on how well you please us."
I couldn’t understand how my body still functioned. Shock turned my limbs to statues, fear made me mute—I died inside until there was no part of me left. But still my heart kept pumping; my blood kept flowing—staying alive only for their sick pleasure.
The weight of my mother’s collar bit into my neck and a question came from no-where. My mother was a Weaver. Her mother before her was a Weaver. But wouldn’t they have changed their names according to the surname of their husbands?
I blinked, trying to remember my father’s last name.
I can’t.
"You look confused. I’ll permit you to ask a question before we proceed," Mr. Hawk said, settling me higher on his knee.
I fought my cringe, struggling to formulate the words. "My mother’s maiden name was Weaver, but she would’ve changed it when she got married." I glanced at Jethro behind his father’s chair. He tilted his chin, looking down his nose.
Mr. Hawk shook his head. "That son of mine hasn’t explained anything has he." Twisting in the seat, he glanced at Jethro. "What exactly have you been doing? You know information is what grants us control. We’re the ones in the right. How can she hope to accept her situation if you keep her in the dark?"
Jethro clenched his jaw but remained silent.
Rolling his eyes, Mr. Hawk faced me again and smiled. "I’ll give you a brief history lesson, then you must begin your duties." Reaching up, he tugged the maid’s cap on my head.
Every inch of me crawled, but I didn’t move away. I was hungry for knowledge. Starving to know just how they continued to control my family with no fear of police interference or retribution.
Mr. Hawk reclined, his thumb drawing small circles on my upper thigh. "It all began with one man, who you’ll find out about in a little bit. He had children, gracing them all with the Weaver name. Now, from that day on, the power of the family name travelled with the firstborn girl. No matter if she married, divorced, or suddenly wanted to change her name to something whimsical, she wasn’t permitted. Whoever she married, it was a condition that the man change his name so that their offspring always bore the Weaver name and continued the line of succession of the debt."
Why did they do it? Why keep a name that only brought misery? My mind hurt trying to understand the Hawk’s power.
"You, I believe, are the seventh woman to be taken. And the claiming can happen anywhere between the ages of eighteen and twenty-six."
"You have rules on ruining someone’s life?"
His forehead furrowed. "What do you think we’re doing, Nila? Everything we’re doing is following a strict set of rules—laid out in utmost simplicity and must be followed."
"If you’re following rules, then follow the rules of today’s society. You think I accept what you’re telling me? That all of this is legal?" I spat the last word. "You think its common place to threaten my family, steal me away, and imprison me with a collar of diamonds that won’t come off until I die? You’re completely insane. And wrong. And—"
"No one—especially a Weaver—has the right to speak to me like that." Mr. Hawk’s fingernails bit into my thigh. "What part are you not understanding, girl? We haven’t threatened your family—they are under observeillance to ensure their best behaviour. We didn’t steal you away—you came voluntarily, remember? And as for the collar—you should be proud to wear it. It’s the most treasured piece in the Hawks antiquities."
I bit my lip as his fingernails pierced harder.
His voice dropped the scholarly softness, sliding into strictness. "I see you need more concrete evidence. Fine. The diamonds you wear are worth millions. The diamonds we’ve sourced have been used to trade, buy services, bribe officials, own prime ministers, even control diplomats and royalty. No one is above the allure of a flawless diamond, Ms. Weaver. Everyone has a price. Lucky for us, we can afford any price."
His tone sharpened. "Does that answer your rude question?"
What response could I give? There was nothing I could say or do to ignore my entire situation. They might have some misplaced belief that they were in the right—but that didn’t matter. Because they owned the very people I would need to save me.
My shoulders dipped; I sighed.
Mr. Hawk grinned. "Glad you’re coming to your senses, girl. Don’t under estimate us, Nila Weaver. We’ve had the law on our side for hundreds of years. We still have the law on our side and that won’t change. You are nothing more than a single woman who left the world’s spotlight because she fell in love. You are already consumed and forgotten."
His fingernails stopped slicing my leg; he patted me gently. "I apologise that my son didn’t inform you of this. It’s his job to be implicitly open with you. To ensure you accept your new standing quickly." He threw a glare at Jethro behind us.
Jethro locked his jaw, his eyes unreadable.
Mr. Hawk bounced me on his knee. "Now, no more questions. Serve my Diamond brothers and earn your right to more information."
My heart shot up my throat. "Serve them how?"
Mr. Hawk shook his head. "Ah, I just told you, no more questions. I have no doubt Jethro would’ve been rather firm on that instruction. Silence is the key to pleasing us." He pinched my lips together. "Don’t say a word until we permit it, and you’ll be rewarded."
I’m to be a blow-up doll with no voice or soul?
Looking down, I fought against the urge to tear my face from his grip.
He didn’t let me go. And I couldn’t keep fighting the urge. So I did the only thing I could. Slowly, I nodded, losing another battle against the trickling tears cascading silently down my cheeks. They continued their unhindered sad journey down my neck, through the collar, to my naked nipples below.
The sun glinted through the window, blinding me for a second on the diamond pin in Jethro’s shirt. His eyes were tight and narrowed, glaring at the room of leather-jacketed men; his face resolute and frozen.
Freeing me, Mr. Hawk ordered, "Lean forward, and retrieve the first bit of parchment."
I sat unmoving. I didn’t want to wriggle on his lap. I didn’t want to give any reason for things to grow or hands to grope.
Jethro lashed out from behind, catching me by surprise. He didn’t hit me, but grabbed my diamond collar and snapped a leash to the back. Tugging the restraint, he muttered, "Lesson one. You’ll do as your told the second you’re told it. Otherwise, you’ll choke until you do."
He moved to the back of the chair, leaving my line of sight. The moment he was gone, the pressure on the collar increased, digging into my larynx, cutting off my air supply.
Just let him strangle you.
It would be easier.
But as my body crushed against Mr. Hawk from the pressure, and the natural instinct to fight took over, I knew I couldn’t be so weak. There was no point in being stupid. If I was plane-wrecked in a jungle, I would obey the law of the wild—doing absolutely anything to survive.
Wasn’t this the same thing?
I was in a den of beasts and they were trying to help me by teaching me their law. If I obeyed, I would live. Entirely simple. Stupidly simple.
No sound, Nila. Not one word. Switch o
ff. Retreat into that spot inside and get through this.
I could do it by adapting, by learning. I refused to be hurt for punishments I could avoid.
Jethro sensed my acquiescence at the same time as his father. I didn't know what gave me away—the slouching of my shoulders, the soft puff of sadness? Regardless, they knew I wouldn’t fight. They’d won.
Jethro released the pressure on my throat, removing the leash and dangling it over the back of the chair as he moved back to his position. Mr. Hawk angled my face, pressing a wet kiss on my cheek. "Good girl. You’re learning."
I didn’t even flinch. I was as cold as his son.
Embrace it.
Locking eyes with Jethro, I kept myself anchored while his father’s hand slipped inside the stupid pinafore and found my breast.
Jethro gritted his teeth, but never stopped glaring into my blank gaze.
I tensed, willing every molecule to stay frigid and unattached. There was freedom in drifting—as I’d learned in the kennel—and I let my mind go.
I would be Jethro and remain stone cold on the outside. But inside I would be Kite and cut the strings of my soul—soaring where they’d never touch me.
No matter what they did.
My head bowed as Mr. Hawk pressed up, grinding a hard cock against my naked arse. "Read the parchment."
My hair fell in a thick black curtain, obscuring half of the men who watched with eager eyes. They weren’t panting, but they reminded me of hungry dogs just waiting for permission to attack and kill.
My hands didn’t shake as I reached for the parchment. I lowered my eyes to read. I was silently amazed at how collected and aloof I seemed. Shocked that I’d so easily turned off. What did that say about me? I’d just learned about my mother. Spent the night with a pack of dogs. Am I really that adaptable? Or was shock to blame?
The parchment used to be whole—it was age-stained, blood-marked, and torn. Glancing upright, I noticed the remaining pieces scattered around the table. A treasure hunt to read what would be my sentence.