Debt Inheritance (Indebted #1)(23)

Twisting my hair, tugging lightly, he added, “This may surprise you, seeing as you have such a low opinion of me, but you can go online, keep your mobile—even continue to work if you wish. I told you before—this is not a kidnapping. It’s a debt. And until you understand the full complications of the debt, I suggest you keep what’s happening to yourself.”

I couldn’t understand. I was being stolen, yet was allowed access to avenues that could bring me safety. It didn’t make sense.

“You’ve made a decision to come with me, and it’s irreversible. You can’t change your mind, and you can’t change the payments required, so why make others worry on your behalf?” His eyes glinted. “I suggest you become good at pretending if you wish to maintain the pretence of freedom. I won’t stop you from creating extra worry and strain for yourself.” Bowing over me, he smiled. “It only makes my job easier.”

Grabbing the black rope he’d made from my hair, I stepped away from him. “You’re insane.”

He gave me a sideways look, rummaging in the duffel to grab a handful of clothes. Closing the distance between us, he shoved the balled items into my stomach.

Oxygen exploded from my lungs from the force.

Jethro pulsed with anger. “That’s twice you’ve questioned my mental state, Ms. Weaver. Do. Not. Do. It. Again.” Running a hand through his hair, he growled, “Now get dressed. Time to go home.”





I COULDN’T DO it.

It was like looking after a needy, sickly, disobedient child. Bryan Hawk, my father and orchestrator of this mess, assured me it would be a simple matter of a few threats and blackmail.

She’ll come easy if you threaten the ones she loves.

Bullshit.

The so-called inexperienced dressmaker had her own agenda. Beneath the chaste little girl, lurked a devious woman who was so tangled and confused she was f*cking dangerous.

Dangerous because she was unpredictable. Unpredictable because she didn’t know herself.

I was clueless on how to control her. I didn’t understand her.

For instance, what the f*ck happened at the coffee shop? She’d gravitated toward me. She’d licked my thumb like she imagined it was my dick. She’d surprised me. And I didn’t do well with surprises.

My structured world—my rules and agendas—were not something that had room for twists and turns. Unless I was the one creating them. And I definitely didn’t have time for my cock to twitch and show an interest in the woman I meant to torture and defile.

I would get hard when she was alone on my estate and her screams echoed in the woods. I would come with her gagged and subdued and hating me with the intensity of her forefathers.

Her pain was my reward. The fact she got me hard by being shy but so bloody tempting was completely unpermitted.

I checked my watch. The plane was due to leave in thirty minutes. Do it. You know you want to.

I couldn’t stomach her presence any longer. I couldn’t answer any more of her idiotic questions, or pretend I wasn’t raging to teach her a lesson. Her tripping and stumbling f*cking got on my nerves. Not to mention her blind love toward a family that no longer had any right to her.

She needed discipline, and she needed it now. Your hands are bound until you get her home.

If I had to listen to one more beg or witness another tear, I’d end up killing her before the fun began.

Nila craned her neck, trying to read the boarding passes in my hands. Flaw, my right hand man and secretary to the Black Diamonds brotherhood, had already checked us in. Along with dealing with shipping my new purchase, The Little Black Dress Harley-Davidson, and staging the runaway scene at Nila’s hotel.

In precisely six hours, a housekeeper would find the photos, notes, and abandoned items, then the gossip columns would spread the story like a well incubated disease.

Nila Weaver’s found love.

Nila dispels rumours she’s in love with her twin by running off with some unknown English aristocrat.

My lips quirked at that. Me? An aristocrat?

If only they knew my upbringing. My history. If only Nila’s father had spent the years he’d had with her preparing her for this day—informing her of our shared heritage, then perhaps she wouldn’t look so f*cking ill.

I’d told her the truth. Vaughn and Archibald Weaver were under strict monitoring. If they obeyed and went along with the ruse of Nila leaving for love, all would be harmonious.

If they didn’t—well, the Weaver line would be snuffed out with the aid of a silenced pistol. And we didn’t want that. After all, if there were no more Weavers, who would the Hawks rein over? Who would continue to pay the debt?

I looked at the woman destined to die for the mistakes of her ancestors.

She caught my eye. “Where are you taking me?” Her cheeks were colourless even though she had to be warm with the amount of layers she’d put on.

“I told you. Home.” The word scratched across her face like carving knives. Home to me would be hell to her. I should’ve been more understanding—I could practically hear her heart shatter—but I’d been born into a family where emotion was a weakness. I prided myself on being strong, unbreakable. Empathy was the downfall of any human.

The ability to feel their pain. The nuisance of living their trauma.

That inconvenient ability had been beaten out of me as a child. Lesson after lesson until I embraced the cold.