Debt Inheritance (Indebted #1)(63)

Mr. Hawk was the first to move. He placed his elbows on the table, linking his fingers together. “I was wrong. You’re nothing like your mother. She had a brain. She was smart.” His voice dropped the chivalrous country man edge, deepening into violent snaps, “You, on the other hand, are wilful and stupid. You don’t see that we are your family now. The moment you slept under my roof you became a Hawk by means of acquisition.”

I laughed. “I’m still a Weaver then because I didn’t sleep under your roof.” My kitten claws sharpened. I’d never been a fighter, but something called to me. Something intoxicating and lethal.

He leaned forward, anger etching his face. “You will learn your place. Mark my words.”

I wanted to fight. I’d listened to their damn history lessons, it was time they listened to mine. “I may not have records so perfectly kept as yours, but I do know my family is innocent. Whatever happened back then was between them—not us. Leave it in the past. My family created a business of making clothes. We dressed the royal court but also donated to the poor. I’m proud of where I’ve come from and for you to—”

“Jet!” Mr. Hawk pinched the bridge of his nose. “Shut her up.”

Jethro immediately slammed a hand over my mouth.

I froze. I knew I’d brought whatever punishment was about to happen upon myself. I couldn’t blame anyone, but I wouldn’t let myself regret what I’d said. I believed I was a good person. So were my twin, father, mother, and ancestors.

“You just had to push,” Jethro hissed. “I’m going to draw blood for this.”

My heart rabbited but I forced myself to remember one important fact.

They can’t hurt you too much.

There would be pain. There would be agony. But they meant to keep me alive. I had debts to repay before my life was stolen.

Never taking his eyes off mine, Mr. Hawk, ordered, “Jethro. Teach this woman that Hawks are a forgiving family but there are times when strictness is required in lieu of allowing little tantrums like this to occur.” His eyes switched from mine to his son’s. “Take her. Deal with her. I don’t want to see her again until she’s lost the misplaced righteousness she seems to think she’s owed.”

Jethro nodded, jostling our bodies. His fingers unglued from around my mouth and he grabbed my wrist. Every part of me shrank from his overbearing body, throbbing temper, and granite golden eyes, but I forced myself to stand tall.

I growled, “Whatever you do won’t matter. What happened before will never happen again.” I would never let my body rule my mind no matter what he did. “You may be able to hurt me but you should know how pathetic it is for a man to hurt a woman. That isn’t power. It’s a weakness!”

He grunted under his breath. “Motherf*cking Christ.” His temper increased until the large room pulsed with it.

Another wave of vertigo grabbed my brain. But I managed the impossible, fighting through the grey unsteady wave—staying on my feet. I did it.

I fought the imbalance thanks to letting myself unlock so many facets of who I truly was. I stood proud and naked, wearing only dried saliva and bruises.

Jethro jerked me closer, scowling into my eyes. He swallowed his anger until nothing outward showed—no annoyance or amazement—he was as opaque as a black iceberg and just as sharp.

“If you will, Ms. Weaver.” Suddenly he let me go, waving toward the double doors behind me. They opened wide as if staff waited on the other side for his command.

When I didn’t move, he snapped, “Now.”

My arms wanted to wind around my body. I wanted to hide from his intense gaze, but I fought every instinct, every urge, and elegantly pirouetted on my toes. I left the room as demurely and proudly as possible. Without a backward glance.

The moment the doors slammed behind us, Jethro grabbed my elbow, prowling forward as if the flames of hell craved his soul. I went from walking to jogging to keep up with his pace.

My vision lost its clarity for a moment, fading in and out as another wash of unbalance tried to steal me, but Jethro didn’t give me time to give in. He didn’t give me time to care that he dragged me down a corridor so wide it could’ve been a hall. He didn’t let me inspect the countless weapons—swords, bayonets, crossbows, and knives—or catch the eye of surprised staff.

I breathed hard when we finally crashed through one of the many exterior doors and were welcomed from brooding red corridor to bright early-autumn sun.

Jethro kept walking, not letting me catch my breath.

Dragging me down the four huge steps, I winced as the gravel bit into the soles of my feet. But he didn’t care. He didn’t even notice.

Our feet kicked up pebbles as he headed toward the treeline several metres from the house. I’d never seen this side of the property before. But the grounds were just as expansive and impressive as the other perimeters and just as dangerous.

This was my cage. Leaves and thorns and brambles.

And I’m naked.

The moment gravel was replaced by soft grass below my toes, Jethro tossed me away. I would’ve fallen if I wasn’t malleable and given up fighting his momentum. I stumbled forward, arms soaring outward as if I could suddenly leave the world behind and fly. Fly away. Fly free.

The moment I came to a halt, I spun to face him.

Jethro was right behind me. He fisted my hair, twisting my neck.