Debt Inheritance (Indebted #1)(55)

It took more courage and energy than I had. But I managed to suck in a breath and release the stress swirling in my system. I had too many other things to focus on to care about an unorthodox dinner soirée.

No speaking.

I had to pretend I had no tongue. Otherwise, waitressing would be the least of my problems.

Glancing back at the men, they grinned, knowing I had no choice but to continue.

Jethro’s voice ghosted behind me like a dark cloud. “You’re the main course, Ms. Weaver. Each brother gets a taste—anywhere he chooses. You’d be wise to allow it.”

My heart thundered. Anywhere?

But if it was just a lick—was that so bad? Perhaps this dinner party might not be as awful as I’d feared. A lick I could tolerate. A touch I could handle. Full penetration would drive my mind from its sanctuary straight to an asylum.

It was as if Jethro knew that. Pushing me, little by little, past my comfort zone.

I moved to the next leather-jacketed man. This one was skinny but had an edge of violence. His shaved head shone as he helped himself to the food before placing his finger in the top of my pinafore and pulling me down to his level.

His tongue lashed out, tracing my cheekbone all the way to my ear.

Shuddering, I swallowed back my repulsion.

You can handle it.

The moment he’d finished, he said, “Thank you, Ms. Weaver.”

What did they want for me—permission that it was okay? That I was grateful?

Standing upright, I struggled to move. Struggled to keep going when I knew how many more licks I’d have to earn before it was over.

“Proceed, Ms. Weaver. Don’t disappoint me.” Jethro’s gravelly voice invaded my ears. Damn him. Damn all of this.

Swallowing hard, I moved to the next.

He was handsome. Quite like Jethro in a stockier, less devilish kind of way. He had dark hair with flecks of grey and a bird of prey tattooed on his forearm.

Never taking his eyes from mine, he took a few items, then hooked a strong arm around my waist and pushed up my maid’s uniform. His lips pressed a kiss on my hipbone, the wet tease of a tongue hidden by the warm pressure of his mouth.

Every inch of me revolted but I didn’t flinch.

Smirking, he let me go. “Thank you, Ms. Weaver.”

It was the smirk that gave him away.

He’s another Hawk.

The man nodded, sensing my connection to his pedigree. “I’m the second brother,” he said softly. “I doubt you know my name seeing as Jethro gets to have all the fun—but I’ll tell you—so you know who to scream for when my older brother goes too far.” He crooked his finger, hinting for me to move closer.

Despite myself, I bent. There was something about this brother. Something different.

His light-brown eyes—a Hawk family trait it seemed—crinkled at the corners as he said, “I’m Kestrel.” Pointing at the tattoo on his arm, he added, “Like the bird.”

“Leave her alone, Kes. Other brothers want a turn.” Jethro’s demand snapped from behind.

Kestrel chuckled. “Easy there, Jet. Only playing with my food.” He sat back, motioning me to continue.

How many sons did Mr. Hawk have? How many must I submit to when Jethro had had enough of me? I didn’t have the mental protection to sleep with an entire family of evilness.

My eyes didn’t linger on him and I wasn’t permitted to speak, but I wanted to know more about him. I wanted to know why I had a sense of kinship—no matter how slight.

Tense, I darted around his chair, moving to my next customer.

The next man had piercings in his eyebrow and lower lip. Blue-black hair, so similar to Vaughn’s, tore my heart out as he bent his head over my arm and dragged a pointed tongue toward my elbow.

V.

Tears threatened. V was everything to me. I couldn’t stand to think of him while this happened. I should’ve messaged him back. I was cruel to leave him in distress.

Closing my eyes, I put one foot in front of the other, moving toward the next man.

And then the next.

And the next.

Each one thanked me once they’d tasted, acting like gentlemen rather the lair of monsters they truly were.

With every lick, I froze, standing tense and hating while they dragged their saliva all over my skin.

Thankfully, the lack of hunger tripped time, merging the men and tongues into a merry-go-round of nightmares. I lost track of who licked where, hiding myself away and focusing on the weight of my platter growing lighter and lighter.

But not one person tasted my breasts or *.

It sent me into a state of uncomfortable awareness. They were men. Taunting a woman who they’d been given permission to taste. Why hadn’t they gone for the prized locations?

The unknowing and waiting sent my skin crawling more than their eager tongues.

The next man I served was older with a greying moustache and wispy hair. He licked my neck, nuzzling my hair before taking his fill of food.

I went to move, in a trance, to the next diner.

But the older man captured my hip and presented me with the next part of the parchment.

My trance evaporated, leaving me hungry for information. This was why I permitted this. I let myself be governed by history. The double meaning of the thought didn’t escape me. You were taken because of history. You’re staying because of history.