Debt Inheritance (Indebted #1)(36)

The brotherhood. The mines. The yachts. The cars. Hawksridge. And every property overseas.

Mine.

Bryan Hawk, Cut to those in the Black Diamond brotherhood, would be second to me. The way of our ancestors ensured young authority remained in control of an estate that’d spilled enough blood to fill a moat around our gates.

My father would retire, and I would be king.

I’d upgrade from living in the bachelor wing with its pool room, theatre, office, weaponry, solarium, six bedrooms, and six bathrooms to having the pick of a fifty room, two ballroom, and a dungeon-equipped house to play in.

And by play, I meant make women scream.

That was the only time they were allowed to break my rule of quietness. The only time I enjoyed their begging.

Collecting new clothing from my walk-in wardrobe, I glimpsed myself in the mirror. My lips curled in disgust at the sticky mess on my stomach. I had a good mind to get Nila and make her lick me clean.

That was her fault.

My mind drifted back to her—against my will. She’d not only taken up valuable space in my head, but my day’s structure as well. There would be no hunting today or inspecting the latest diamond shipment.

There’d be no business or travel.

All my energy and focus belonged to the woman who was a waste of my time.

Another daydream of forcing her to her knees stopped me on the outskirts of the bathroom. Would she cry or scream as I f*cked her from behind? Perhaps she’d surprise me again and moan in ecstasy. I planned on taking her that way—the animalistic way. After all, she did spend the night with the dogs. It would only be fitting.

Dumping my clothes on the vanity, I strode into the four-headed quartz shower. I had no need to strip. I slept naked.

Always did.

It was part of the rules.

Living at Hawksridge, the grandest and most exclusive motorcycle club compound in all of England, came with strict unbreakable rules. Our brotherhood was different. We were smart, cunning, focused.

Any man found sleeping with clothes on was in for a night of pain. We might have left the dark ages behind but my family upheld strictness.

We made our fortune in the most transferable precious item there was. And we’d learned a lot from past mistakes on how to treat those who tried to steal them.

No clothes at night and random cavity searches by day.

All to protect our legacy. The way we made our money. The way we rose from penniless thieves at the beck and call of the Weavers to gathering a wealth that morphed to obscene a few centuries ago.

Stepping into the shower, I turned on the hot spray. Smiling at the mirrored wall, I cupped my cock, washing the residue of my indiscretion.

The next time I come, I’ll be inside the woman I inherited.

With my cock in my hand, I nodded at my reflection.

I’m a Hawk but blood doesn’t flow in my veins. I’m born of a substance unbeatable by any other—diamonds. I’m a smuggler. I’m a dealer. And I’m about to become…a killer.





NEEDLE&THREAD: I’m warm and in bed. Surprisingly I slept better than I thought I would. Did you have a good night? Did you lie in your bed and picture me pleasuring you? What did I do to you? Tell me, Kite. I want you to transport me from reality and give me a fantasy stronger than my present humdrum life.

Kite007: Forward this morning, aren’t we? You’re that desperate to talk about my cock? Not that I’d ever say no—but I’m rather impressed by your forwardness. Tell me more…beg.

Needle&Thread: Beg? How does one beg for something they need rather than want? Would you prefer me on my knees? Or perhaps on my back ready for whatever you wanted to give me?

Kite007: Fuck. What’s got into you? Beg. Imagine I’m standing over you with my hard cock in my hand. I’m throttling it—my fist working so f*cking hard at the thought of you spread-eagled and fingering yourself. Give me a visual. Now. Then I might reward you.

Needle&Thread: I’m exactly as you said. Begging, whimpering, touching myself until my whimpers turn to pants and my begs turn to moans. I’m wet for you. I’m hot for you. Please, Kite. Give me my fantasy. Give me something warm to hold onto.

Kite007: What the f*ck is this about? How can I come when you sound f*cking weird?

Needle&Thread: Weird? I’m not. I’m giving you what you want in return for what I need.

Kite007: Is that supposed to make sense, ‘cause I don’t understand bullshit code. Fuck, you’re seriously making me do it.

Needle&Thread: Do what?

Kite007: Ask you! Okay, fine. What’s got your panties so bunched that you’re coming onto me so strong. What happened to my timid naughty nun? Why the f*ck do you sound so different?

I stared at my phone, heart rate skyrocketing. I’d tried to play it coy and courageous. I thought I’d pulled off the pantomime that I was still myself, still living my content but uninspiring life.

Obviously not.

I re-read my past replies, unable to see the difference. Had I changed that much already?

There was nothing soft about Kite. There was no reason for me to seek him out when I had enough bastard in my life thanks to Jethro. It made no sense to let him use me—but it did in a strange way. It made sense because I willingly gave him control over me—something I needed in my rapidly spinning out of control life. While Jethro was determined to undermine, throw away, and rule every inch of whatever little power I had left, Kite gave it back in some strange, wonderful way.