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 off. 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.
Not every man had a piece, but at a quick count, I guessed four to five shards of secret-tarnished paper were out there, waiting for me to read.
Looking back to the parchment in my hands, my eyes landed on the crest I’d grown fast to recognise of hawks, women, and diamonds. It took pride of place at the top of the letter with intricate calligraphy and penmanship.
Taking a deep breath, I read.
On this date, the eighteenth day, of the eighth month, of the year of our Lord sixteen-seventy-two, we hereby convene to settle the unsightly claims and forthwith family disruptions between Percy Weaver and Bennett Hawk.
We call upon the royal sovereignty to grace this binding agreement upon the two houses, to put aside flagitious slander, and immoral actions, and settle this as gentlemen.
As esquire over this binding estate, I have mention Percy Weaver and family, including church-sanctified marriage to Mary Weaver, and his thrice offspring of two boys and one girl are also governed by the degree found today, or they shall hang by the neck until dead for heinous crimes found unjustifiable by the court of England so help me God.
It ended.
I stopped reading but didn’t move. Not a breath. Not a fidget. It was true then. My family had done something to justify all of this.
But what could be so awful to earn a contract spanning generations of repayments?
Mr. Hawk bounced me again, tweaking my nipple. “Finished?”