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.”