First Debt

by Pepper Winters

  The table froze; men looked from the skinny seamstress to their leather-jacketed leader.

  Cut tensed. “No, I haven’t forgotten.”

  “I meant what I said,” Nila growled. “I will kill you. You can pretend you’re kind and keep me in good health, but I will never forget what you’ve done.”

  I stood up, slapping my palms loudly on the table. “Ms. Weaver!”

  Her head snapped in my direction, her dark eyes blazing. “Was I talking to you? You’re as bad as he is. I have a good mind to kill you, too.”

  My heart raced, shedding the glacier in favour of excitement.

  Excitement? How the hell did she confuse me and draw out such lubricous reactions? “Oh, you can try. We’ll see who wins. A seasoned hunter or a fumbling dressmaker? I know who I’d place money on.”

  Nila shoved her chair back, standing in one swift move. She looked as if she would hurl herself over the table to slap me.

  Cut shouted, “Out! All of you.”

  Shit.

  Tearing my eyes from the trembling, angry woman before me, I muttered, “Cut, let me—”

  Punish her.

  Fuck her.

  Ruin her in my own way.

  Anything to stop you from touching what’s mine.

  My father pursed his lips, pointing at the doors. “Out. I won’t ask again.”

  The Diamond brothers stood up, their chairs sliding over thick carpet, before disappearing out the door in creaking leather and boots.

  Daniel, Kes, and I didn’t move.

  Nila stood locked in place.

  Cut raised his eyebrow. “I believe I just gave an order?”

  “What? All of us?” Kestrel asked, disbelief in his voice.

  Cut didn’t reply, only glowered until the power of his rank, and the fact he was not only our father but our president, overrode our rebellion.

  My brothers stood.

  I gritted my teeth as Kes placed a hand on Nila’s shoulder, sharing a look with her that made my stomach fucking shake off any pretence of ice and go nuclear with fury.

  Nila smiled softly, standing and moving toward the exit.

  “Not you, Ms. Weaver. You and I are going to have a little chat,” Cut said quietly.

  Nila closed her eyes briefly, blocking her panic. When she opened them again, all that remained was reckless confidence.

  I wanted to say something, but my tongue tied into a useless piece of meat.

  “Out, Jethro. I won’t ask again.”

  Nodding once at my father, I moved stiffly. Nila refused to meet my eyes as I stalked out of the room, following my two siblings.

  The last thing I heard as the doors closed was my father’s voice. “Now that we’re alone, my dear, I have something I want to share with you.”

  I COULDN’T MOVE.

  My knees locked against buckling. My heart thundered from fighting with Jethro. I hated myself for missing him. The instant the door closed behind him, I couldn’t stop the overwhelming urge to follow.

  It’s because you think you understand him enough to predict his next atrocity.

  I supposed that was right. Locked in a room with the man who killed my mother was a lot worse than being with the son I began to see as more than just a cold piece of ice.

  “Sit, Nila.” Mr. Hawk smiled from the head of the table. I was grateful he didn’t come toward me or request that I go to him. But it did nothing to stop fear, repulsion, and rage from saturating my heart.

  Pouring himself some orange juice from the carafe beside him, he muttered, “You have such a low opinion of us.”

  Slowly, I sank back into my chair. Gripping the lip of the table, I forced myself to stay calm and ready to fight. “What do you expect? You stole me then let your men lick me.”

  “Did they hurt you?”

  His question hung heavy between us.

  I wanted to lie and say yes they’d hurt me. Mentally scarred me. But that wouldn’t be the truth. If anything, they’d been the first step into finally embracing the strength I’d always been afraid of. Hurt me? Yes, they’d transformed me into a stranger.

  I tilted my chin, looking down my nose. “It was wrong.”

  “Was it? You seemed to find it pleasurable.”

  I refused to let my cheeks pink.

  “To give an unwilling woman to a room of men is wrong. Gross. Against the law.”

  He chuckled, sounding way too much like his son. “Let me lay this out for you, seeing as Jethro currently seems to be struggling with following orders and discipline.” He placed his elbows on the table. “Obey, and you will have free reign of my home, go where you please, direct my staff as you see fit, and truly become one of us. I don’t have the time nor the inclination to keep you trapped in a tower with only the occasional scraps to keep you alive. That, my dear, in my experience doesn’t make a good pet, nor does it make a willing Weaver to pay back the debts owed.”

  There was so much information in that small speech, I grasped at each word with eager fingers.

  Jethro struggled with discipline?

  Free reign?

  Willing?

  I wanted answers to all my questions, but I focused on the one I needed most. Twisting the truth a little, I asked, “Why do you say that about Jethro? He’s been nothing but freezing cold since we met.”

  Mr. Hawk smiled. “Yes, he’s been doing well with that. I’m rather proud of him.”

  My heart seized. What did that mean?

  He added, “You seem to think these debts will be monstrous. Shall I put your mind at rest, so you may relax and enjoy our hospitality?”

  There’s nothing you can say to make me relax while under your heinous roof.

  “No. I’ll never enjoy anything you offer me.”

  He scowled. “The First Debt will be the easiest. The simplest extraction of payment for something your ancestors did. The next will be slightly more taxing and so on and so forth, until all debts are accounted for.”

  I know that, arsehole. Your son told me.

  Smirking, he added, “The timeframe for each debt will be decided by Jethro and myself, depending on your acceptance of your new life. And rewards will be given when you fully cooperate.” Taking a sip of juice, he finished, “Don’t worry about your future; we have it completely under control.”

  Ugh, I couldn’t stand his egotistical attitude. “You do realise none of this is legal. The Human Rights Act abolished selling people into slavery. You can’t keep me forever.”

  Mr. Hawk went deathly still. “I see you’ve been researching while cooped up in your room.” Wiping his mouth, he muttered, “No amount of laws or rules will save you, Ms. Weaver. The debts between our two families trump all that.”

  Only in your sick, twisted mind.

  Changing the subject, I crossed my arms and snapped, “Jethro already told me how the debts would be laid out. Tell me something new.”

  Mr. Hawk froze. “He did what?”

  Oh, God. Jethro’s weakness around me was to my advantage. Why did I say that? Why tip off his tyrannical father to his son’s hidden softness?

  Backtracking, I muttered, “He told me while dragging me back after hunting me down.” Holding up my scratched arms from tree branches, I hoped the evidence of being mistreated at Jethro's hands would mollify him. “He hunted me with the same dogs he made me sleep with. You should be proud of your son, sir. He’s a monster.”

  A monster with a heart buried deep beneath that snow you make him embrace.

  Mr. Hawk smiled coldly. “I’m rather surprised and impressed by his initiative. That wasn’t discussed, nor part of the planned activities, but perhaps I underestimated him.”

  Standing, he threw his napkin from his lap onto the table. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I’m late to another meeting. I’m sure Jethro will come collect you.”

  Bowing, as if I were the Lady of the Manor all set for a day of cross-stitch and sedate relaxation, he pressed his fingertips to his mouth and blew a gentle kiss. �
��Good day, Ms. Weaver.”

  My ingrained manners almost repeated the polite parting; I bit my tongue.

  Don’t you dare. He’s the devil, not some kind-hearted father figure.

  Keeping my lips glued together, I remained silent.

  Mr. Hawk passed my chair, stopping briefly to run his hand through my ponytail.

  I shivered as the soft tug of his fingers whispered through the black strands.

  “Such a pretty thing. I can see I’ll have to step up my lessons with my son to ensure you both behave.”

  My heart lurched, speeding around my chest.

  What the hell did that mean?

  Staying stiff and unyielding, I didn’t mutter a sound as he tugged once on my ponytail, then disappeared from the room.

  I was left alone in the cavernous space with the beady eyes of past Hawks watching my every move. The glittering chandeliers above twinkled with sunlight spilling in from leadlight windows.

  Little rainbows danced across my knuckles, reminding me of the design that’d come to me when I stood naked and about to run for my life. Fractals from the diamond collar around my neck had inspired rather than repulsed.

  That seemed like an age ago.

  My old life had faded so fast; it seemed almost dreamlike. Had I really been heralded as the next star of London couture?

  It seemed surreal and something I didn’t even crave. I hated the limelight. So how did I think I could walk headfirst into a career where I would forever have to sell myself in order to peddle my creations? I would no longer be holed up in a room full of calico and satin with assistants. I would be the face of Nila—my brand.

  The show in Milan had taken every reserve I had. And that had been the first one.

  I would never have survived.

  Yet another part of my life where the Hawks had meddled and granted me a reprieve. I hated that they’d shown me a different way of existing—one I was better suited to than my own heritage.

  The longer I sat there, the more my mind skipped from subject to subject. My fingers itched to text my brother and Kite, but bloody Jethro had my phone.

  I have to get it back.

  I didn’t know what I waited for. Someone to come and claim me? Jethro to ensnare me and cart me off to do whatever horrible things he planned next? But no one came to fetch me or demand I follow.

  Staff, a mixture of men and women in smart black and white uniforms, entered the room to clear away breakfast.

  They smiled kindly, going about their business as if life was normal. Completely fucking normal.

  I deliberated staying in the dining room where it was moderately peaceful with the bustle of staff and gentle clinking of crockery, but I couldn’t look at the table without flushing and suffering a dreadfully unwanted spasm of lust at the memory of Jethro’s tongue.

  My skin crawled to think that I found comfort in the very same room men had stripped me bare—not just my body, but my sanity, too—and delivered me into this new fate.

  I have to leave.

  Standing, I stumbled forward as the room went blank.

  I groaned as I clutched frantically at the table, only just managing to stay on my feet as a heavy black wave of vertigo stole my vision and hijacked my limbs.

  “Miss, are you okay?” a sweet maid asked. I couldn’t see her as my vision remained blocked.

  “Yes, I’m fine. Just stood up too fast, that’s all.”

  I began counting down from ten silently. By the time I hit three, my vision suddenly shed the blackness, splashing colour and images onto my retinas.

  I sighed in relief.

  Swallowing back the small wash of sickness, I smiled at the maid and made my way to the double doors. I pushed them open, heading into the corridor.

  The attack had been the first one today.

  I didn’t want to admit it, but the last two days of peace locked in my room had done me a world of good. I would never tell the truth to Jethro, but my episodes seemed to have relaxed their lunatic need to torture me. Either a mixture of my new strength or just the vacation from overworking…my body had found a sustainable equilibrium.

  For now.

  Looking around, I frowned.

  No one.

  The corridor was empty with only glittering polished weapons and immaculate tapestries for company.

  Where is everyone?

  Mr. Hawk did say I could roam free. Should I see if that was true?

  Hesitantly, as if I expected someone to jump out from behind a suit of armour and attack me, I drifted left—the same direction where Jethro had dragged me toward the exit and given me my one and only chance for freedom.

  Peculiarly, knowing that I’d had my shot and failed granted a sense of indulgent serenity. I lacked that drive to run, because I knew there would be no point. As much as I wanted to escape, it took away the obligation of trying to get free by knowing it was impossible.

  I couldn’t get it balanced in my head. But there it was.

  Another truth I’d been made to face—another facet of myself I had to come to terms with.

  Deciding not to go outside, despite the pleasant sunlight, I turned right down another corridor. Following the ribbons of pathways, I moved toward the bowels of the house.

  After a few minutes, the rumble of voices came from an ajar door.

  I froze.

  I didn’t want to get caught doing something I wasn’t supposed to, but I couldn’t stop my abhorrent curiosity.

  Tiptoeing closer, I peeked inside.

  There were two men in leather jackets, laughing as they packed guns into a satchel. I leaned forward for a better vantage. Guns?

  The floorboards creaked beneath my toes, whipping their heads up.

  My heart sank. Kestrel and Flaw.

  “Nila,” Kes said, dropping the bag on a wingback chair. Striding quickly to the door, he dragged me into the room.

  The décor was best described as old-world comfort. A saloon of sorts with glass cases full of antiquities and soaring shelves of leather-bound literature. The huge windows permitted sunshine to illuminate dust motes and drench the slightly faded geometric carpet.

  My skin tingled beneath his touch.

  I backpedalled, tugging on his hold. “Let me go.”

  Kes grinned. His broad jaw, dimple in one cheek, and muscular frame was so different to Jethro. Jethro was sleek, refined—a true diamond. Kes was more of a diamond in the rough.

  His fingers squeezed mine in welcome. “A pleasure to see you again.” He poked his head back into the corridor. “And wait…no brother to fight for your affections?”

  I couldn’t untwist my tongue to reply; my mind was otherwise occupied with all things deception. Kite. Is he Kite?

  When I didn’t reply, Kes let me go and moved deeper into the room. Smiling, he asked, “Exploring the place?”

  My heart raced at the way he watched me. Eager, interested, and…inquisitively kind. The crude text messages and short temper of Kite all tripped and tangled in my mind. He was such an arrogant arse via text messaging, but he seemed open and…understanding in person.

  Of course, he understands. He’s been talking to you for a month. Having phone sex with you. Masturbating to the messages you sent.

  I shuddered in disgust and embarrassment.

  It’d been fun when we’d had the power of anonymity. Now, faced with what I’d said, it was downright mortifying.

  How can I get you to admit what I know? Correct that—what I think I know.

  How could I be so sure that the tall, strong Hawk before me was Kite?

  “Cat got your tongue?” Kes cocked his head.

  “I think she’s bowled over by your welcoming charm,” Flaw chuckled.

  My attention diverted to him. To the biker who ruptured my life by planting false photographs and standing by as I fell prey to a heartless hellion.

  I wanted to tell them what I really thought. I wanted to ask why they were being so nice to me all of a sudden, but the only word
I could catch hold of was Kite.

  Kite.

  Kes.

  Kite.

  Get it together. Until you know for sure, don’t let on.

  Straightening my shoulders, I inched forward. “No one has caught my tongue, and I wouldn’t kid yourself that I’m speechless thanks to a welcome from either of you.”

  “Oh, she has a backbone,” Flaw said, grinning.

  Kes’s golden eyes, so like Jethro, Daniel, and Mr. Hawk, searched mine. “She has more than that. Her entire body is made up of steel.”

  My knees locked into place. I wanted to scream at him to speak the truth, then strike him down for lying to me.

  What did that mean? Some cryptic clue that he knew I knew along with some vague acknowledgement that we weren’t strangers? That he was my…friend?

  No, he’s not my friend.

  He’s my enemy in disguise.

  I couldn’t let myself be swayed by anyone’s motives.

  Sticking my nose in the air, fully embracing an uppity heiress, I said, “You’re just like the rest of them.”

  Kes blinked. “Pardon?”

  “Don’t ‘pardon’ me. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

  The messages, you idiot.

  Flaw stepped forward, looking at both of us. Standing just outside my personal space, he extended his hand. “I think we got off on the wrong foot. I’m Flaw. Real name’s Rhys, but we never go by birth names in this place.”

  I couldn’t stop anger heating my cheeks. “You think I wish to shake your hand? The same hand that went into my room, packed up my belongings, and wrote a note to my father explaining my disappearance?”

  Flaw held up a finger. “Technically, that wasn’t for your father but for the paparazzi who followed you around. But I will take responsibility for breaking into your room and packing.”

  The way he talked and moved reminded me a little of my brother. Both were black-haired with lanky frames. A crippling pang of homesickness filled me. “Were you there?”

  Flaw frowned. “There? Where there?”

  I balled my hands. I didn’t remember him being there, but then again my attention at that welcome luncheon was skewed. I’d been more focused on the pieces of parchment rather than tongues. “Were you one of the ones who…licked me?”