Debt Inheritance (Indebted #1)(22)

But unlike my mother, there was a simple note placed upon the dresser.

“Turn it over. I took the liberty of asking for a close-up, so you can read what you wrote as your final goodbye,” Jethro murmured, stealing the photo from my fingers and tapping the fresh one revealed beneath it.

I curled over my knees, cradling the glossy replica of a goodbye letter penned in my hand. The writing was exactly like mine, even I couldn’t tell the forged sweeps and cursive from reality.



It’s time I came clean.

I’ve been lying to you for a while now.

I’ve fallen in love and decided that my life is better with him. I’m done with the deadlines and unachievable pressure placed on me by this family.

I know what I’m doing.

Don’t try and find me.

Nila.



I looked up. My heart collided with my ribcage, bruising, hurting. So much pain. I couldn’t contain the sorrow when I thought of V reading this. To be left behind by both his mother and sister.…

“They won’t believe this. They know me better than anyone. They know I wasn’t in a relationship. You said Tex knows all about you and why you’re doing this. Please—”

Jethro laughed. “It’s not for your family, Ms. Weaver. It’s for the press. It’s for the world stage who will make this fiction a reality. Your brother will find out the truth from your father, I’m sure. And if they behave, they’ll both remain untouched. Believe me, this isn’t to hurt them—if I wanted that, I have much better means.” He cupped my cheek, brushing away long strands of my hair. “No. This was just an insurance policy.”

“For what?” I breathed.

“So no one believes your family when they break and try to find you. They’ll be all alone. Just like you. Controlled by the Hawks who’ve owned the Weavers for almost six hundred years.”

Six hundred years?

“But…”

Jethro sniffed, his temper building like a ghost around us. “Stop crying. The images portray the truth. It proves you did what you did and no one can be angry or distrustful.”

“What did I do?”

“Ah, Ms. Weaver, don’t let shock steal your intelligence. You. Left. Voluntarily.” He waved at the photo. “This confirms it.”

“But I didn’t,” I whimpered. “I didn’t leave—”

Jethro tensed. “Don’t forget so soon what I taught you. You are the sacrifice and you…” His eyes dared me to finish his sentence, to admit to everything I’d done by protecting my family. His fingers twitched between his legs, looking like he wanted to strike.

I’d never been good at confrontation—not that my father yelled often or Vaughn and I argued. I’d grown up with no need to fight. I knew how precious my family was. My mother left, proving just how heartless someone could be if they didn’t hold onto love. So I’d held on with both hands, feet, every part of me. Only to have it torn away so easily.

You’d rather they lived and never saw them again than die because of you.

Hanging my head, I murmured, “A sacrifice comes of their own free will, therefore I left voluntarily.”

Jethro nodded, patting my thigh like the pet he thought I was. Covering the photos with his large hand, he pressed down until my elbows gave out and I lowered them. “Good girl. Keep behaving and the next part won’t be too hard to bear.”

Another rush of tears suffocated me, but I swallowed them back. He’d told me to stop crying. So I would.

Jethro stood, reaching down to scoop up the awful photos and duffel bag of belongings. “Come. We have to go.” He didn’t offer me his hand to climb to my feet.

The simple act of raising myself from cold concrete to freezing air taxed my already fractured world. Rolling vertigo pitched my balance, sending me reeling backward. My arms shot out, searching for something to grab hold of.

With drunken eyes, I begged Jethro to catch me, but he just stood there. Silent. Exasperated. He let me trip and fall.

I cried out as I collapsed on the ground. My fingernails dug into the rough flooring, holding on while the parking garage danced around like a nightmarish carrousel. Pain radiated from my hipbone, but it was nothing compared to the overwhelming nausea.

Stress.

It wouldn’t be Jethro who ended up killing me, but the inability to deal with a gauntlet of emotions.

Closing my eyes, I repeated Vaughn’s silly nursery rhyme. Find an anchor. Hold on tight. Do this and you’ll be alright.

“Get up, goddammit. Stop acting the victim.” A pinching hand grabbed under my arm, jerking me to my feet.

I doubled over, holding my stomach as another wave of sickness threatened to evict the only food I’d had today—a luncheon prior to the rehearsal of the runway show.

“You’re useless.”

When the debilitating wave left, I glared up. “I’m not useless. I can’t control it.” Breathing hard, I begged, “Please, let me talk to my brother. Let me tell him—”

“Tell him what? That you’re being taken against your will?” Jethro chuckled. “By the look on your face you seem to think I’ll forbid you having any outside communication—cut you off from everything you hold dear.” Letting me go, he scooped my heavy hair from my neck, giving me a reprieve from the sticky heat of not feeling well. “Contrary to what you think, I have no desire to dictate what you can and can’t do.”