Debt Inheritance (Indebted #1)(7)

“I am?” I took a step backward, clutching my phone. There was no denying Jethro Hawk was good looking and seemed to be successful judging by his attire, but if I was allowed to date, I wanted Kite007, not this cold outlander.

“You are.” Jethro held out his hand, his gaze noosing me tighter in their golden cage. “I’m taking you somewhere special.”

“She isn’t going anywhere with you unless she wants to, dickhead.” Vaughn puffed out his chest, placing a hand on my lower back. “Tex—tell him.”

My eyes flew to my father. What existed in his gaze sent frost crackling through my blood. His lips were tight, eyes bright and slightly glassy. But his cheeks were dark with rage. He glowered at Mr. Hawk. “I’ve changed my mind. Not tonight.”

Vaughn huffed, nodding in agreement. The thick soup of male testosterone choked my lungs.

Jethro smiled coolly. “You’ve given me your word, Mr. Weaver. There are no rain checks.” Aiming his sharp smile my way, he purred, “Besides, Ms. Weaver and I have a lot to discuss. It’s time we got acquainted and tonight is the night.”

“Excuse me while you all fight over me. But what about what I want?” I crossed my arms. “I’m tired, overworked, and not in the mood to entertain. Thank you for your interest, but—”

“No buts, Ms. Weaver. It’s been arranged and discussed. You will come with me because it’s the only way your night will end.” Jethro lowered his head, watching me from beneath his brow. “I promise you’ll have a good time. And I mean you no harm…do you really think your father would permit me to take you out otherwise?”

Coldness etched his gaze.

Aloofness whispered from his posture.

Calculation radiated from his every pore.

I’d never been so intimidated or so intimately challenged.

My father might have permitted this, but he didn’t condone it. Somehow Jethro had achieved the unachievable and convinced my father he was dateable material. If he could manipulate Archibald ‘Tex’ Weaver, I didn’t stand a chance…and yet…despite the arrogance and chilly fa?ade, he intrigued me.

My father had kept me captive my whole life. This was the first man to stand up to him and grant a glimmer of freedom.

The fear disappeared, leaving a flicker of interest. If this was the only man I could spend an evening alone with, I would take it. I would practice my non-existent flirting skills and grow my confidence so I could ask Kite007 out again. And next time, I wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Sucking in a gulp, I placed my hand gently into Mr. Hawk’s. His touch was as cold as his demeanour and just as strong. I froze as his fingers tightened around mine, tugging me forward. “Good decision, Ms. Weaver. I look forward to getting to know you better.”

My lungs dragged in his scent of leather and woods. Words deserted me.

The show disappeared along with my worry and thoughts of Kite007. Gone was the urge to return to an empty hotel room. This man was pure danger, and I’d never sampled anything but safety. “And you, Mr. Hawk,” I murmured.

My date smiled, transforming his face from handsome to ruthless. “Please, call me Jethro.” Changing our grip from handshake to handhold, he pulled me forward—away from my family, away from the men I’d known all my life, and toward a future I had no understanding of.

Vaughn’s hand fell from my lower back.

I didn’t look back.

I should’ve looked back.

I should never have placed my hand into that of a monster’s.

That was the last day of freedom. The last day that was my own.

Individuality and uniqueness—those two words were so precious once upon a time. I’d been brought up with a gruff but fair father and a brother who I would marry if it wasn’t incest, believing I was unique, different, never before created.

I hated being lied to.

I hated even more believing those lies until the truth decided to come for me.

Turned out, I was never an individual; I was a possession to trade.

I was never unique; someone had lived my life many times before, never free, never whole.

My life was never mine.

My destiny was already written.

My story began the night he came for me.





IT WAS TOO easy.

I’d stolen her right before her father and brother. I’d taken her with no blood shed or bones broken.

Power wasn’t threats or uncivilised fighting. It wasn’t brawn or hard-won arguments.

Power was holding something so absolute, a man would do what he was told—all the while cursing your very soul. True power wasn’t wielded by gangs or even loudly-spoken governments.

True power. Limitless power—only graced a fair few. It gave those lucky few the ability—the nobility, to be courteous and polite. All while holding their f*cking balls in their hands.

Archibald Weaver was one such example.

I shook my head, disbelieving how the so-called enemy of my family handed over his only daughter. The same daughter I’d seen in tabloids as a rising star of designers. The same offspring who was never photographed with a man on her arm or seen sneaking out of a restaurant with a hidden lover. He’d wanted to kill me. I had no doubt he would try to kill me.

But he would fail.

Just like he failed to protect her.