Debt Inheritance (Indebted #1)(28)

The journey had torn my heart into shreds. Every step I took, I battled to break whatever spell he’d placed me under. Every breath I took, I fought to speak.

If I had the power of speech, I would’ve screamed that I had a bomb. I would’ve taken detainment and a full body strip search to flee from Jethro’s undeniable, possessive hold.

My entire undoing and decimation was done in utter silence. And the bastard just sat there, holding my hand, nodding at the air-hostess when she said what an elegant couple we were.

He let me dissolve into misery. He lapped up my unshed tears, and I’d seen a glimpse of the monster I’d given my life to. Thousands of feet above the earth, I’d witnessed the cold gentleman mellow into something resembling a happy lover. Someone who’d won and got their way.

“Welcome home, Ms. Weaver,” Jethro whispered against my ear.

I tried to cringe from his mouth, to huddle against the door, but the damn drug kept me locked beside him.

I blinked, inwardly sobbing, outwardly a perfect porcelain doll.

Everything had been stolen. My sense of touch, ability to speak, muscles needed to run.

A man in his early twenties appeared from a large pillar of the archway. Manifesting from the dark like a ghoul on Halloween. Jethro stiffened.

The new arrival opened the front door, sliding into the seat and nodding at the elderly man driving us. “Clive.”

The driver nodded in return, gripping the gear stick with an arthritic hand, and engaging the car once again. He hadn’t said a word since picking us up at Heathrow. Perhaps he doesn’t have a tongue? Jethro and his family probably ripped it out to protect their sadistic secrets.

We inched forward, trading the soft lighting of a hawk engraved logo for the deep darkness of forest. I stared out the window into pitch black. From Italy to England, from night to night. The engine purred, following a quaint road slicing through dense woodland.

I wanted to run. And scream. I wanted so much to scream.

Jethro scowled as the newcomer twisted in his seat, awkwardly facing us. I struggled to make out his features thanks to the dark, but the high beams of the SUV cast shadows enough to see.

“Jet.” He gave a mock salute.

Jethro scowled. “Daniel.”

“This her?” The man trailed his eyes from my lips to my breasts to my demurely placed hands in my lap. “She looks like a Weaver.”

Jethro sighed, sounding bored and annoyed. “Obviously.”

Daniel reached over, grabbing my knee. His touch sent shivers of repulsion over me, even through the cotton of my dress.

I felt that.

I held my breath. Sense of touch was the first sign of the drug wearing off. I knew when Jethro touched me, because of the pressure of his fingers. They acted like a punishment, a leash, and a reminder that my life was his. But up till now I hadn’t been able to feel temperature or texture. Neither hot nor cold. Gentle or soft.

But now I could.

It’s fading.

I hoped joy didn’t show on my face. If I could move, I could escape. Oh, Nila. Don’t be so stupid.

My joy fizzled out as fast as it’d arrived. There would be no escaping. It was yet another thing I knew just by what Jethro wasn’t saying. I’d learned something in the short flight here. His silence told me more than any part of him. His silence shouted too loudly to be ignored.

I was dead already. My last breath hinged only on how quickly he tired of his new toy.

Keeping my emotions buried, I stared blankly at the man who dared touch me. His lips pulled into a cruel smile; his fingers tightened until every inch of me wanted to jerk away.

Jethro sat still, letting him touch me.

Daniel’s nose was slightly crooked from a bad break, face fuller, body softer than Jethro’s, but there was no denying the family resemblance. Jethro was cold stone with sharp contours, gravelly voice, and imposing personality while the younger brother had more animation.

If it wasn’t for the greed glowing in his eyes, I would’ve preferred him. But despite Jethro’s granite exterior and sharpness, I knew in my heart I was better off being his plaything than this new Hawk.

There was something missing inside him.

A soul.

With a sneer, the man ran his palm up my inner thigh, bunching the material of my dress. “I must say you’re very well behaved.” He dug his nails into my delicate flesh, only a hand distance from my crotch. “You don’t flinch.” His hand suddenly left my thigh, connecting with a loud, stinging slap on my cheek. The force of his strike sent my useless body falling into Jethro. “You don’t cry.”

My face smarted and throbbed, making my heart race. I squeezed my eyes, wishing the sense of touch hadn’t returned. I didn’t want pain. I didn’t want any of this.

Jethro grunted, pushing me upright with a rough shove to my shoulder. “She’s not normally like this. Couldn’t shut her up, or stop her endless questions. So I drugged her.”

The man’s eyebrow rose. “With what?” Eyes slithering over my chest, he planted his hand back on my leg. Pushing my dress out of the way, he inched higher and higher and higher on naked skin.

I wanted to curl into a ball and cry until I drowned from tears. I wanted oblivion from this nightmare. But the drugs kept me sitting prim and willing, a perfect toy to play with.

There are others. Many others who have the right to help me ensure the debt is fully repaid. The sentence had been on repeat in my head ever since Jethro whispered it on the plane. Was that why he permitted his brother to manhandle me? Would I be given to him to do as he pleased?