Final Debt (Indebted #6)(106)

I had enough of my father’s blood on my hands. I’d hurt myself and him.

But I knew he wouldn’t let me have the happy ending I desired if I left him alive.

Eventually, he would want vengeance. Eventually, he would forget the lesson I’d taught and come back for me—come back for Nila.

I can’t let that happen.

I had to end it.

It’s the only way.

Climbing off the rock was a million times harder than it was to sit down. My body seized; I tripped forward as my head swam. How much longer could I stay awake without needing serious medical attention?

Not very.

Forcing my legs to work, I left my place of solitude and returned to the barn. My fingers shook as I turned and locked the door.

Cut didn’t make a sound. He’d passed out just before I’d left. Tearing my eyes from the almost unrecognisable shape of my father, I headed toward the table and selected a small knife.

No matter that history tarnished the blade, the sharpness still remained.

Moving toward Cut, his chin lolled on his chest, his arms splayed high while his legs spread wide. His arms and legs were abnormally long while his body couldn’t stretch any more without skin tearing as well as bones.

Blood seeped down his torso in a crisscross lattice from the whip. Beneath his wounds, the faint lines of the Tally Mark tattoos from Emma decorated his ribcage. Emma had been the one to choose the position, just like Nila chose fingertips for ours. I hadn’t seen his tally in so long; I’d almost forgotten they were there.

He had more than me and he’d carried out the Final Debt.

That was the main difference between us.

Dedication versus empathy.

Sighing, I did my best to gather my shredded power. The blade turned warm in my hand. Tearing my eyes from him, I moved to the rack and groaned as I bent in half to twist the small wheel.

Slowly, the rack reclined from perpendicular to parallel.

Cut still didn’t move.

Placing the knife by his unconscious head, I unbuckled his wrists then his ankles. The ankle I’d shattered hung at an unnatural angle, mottled and black with bruising.

My heart clenched that I could ever be so cruel, battling with childhood memories and adulthood obligations. Along with his ankle, I’d also broken his arm for Nila’s in Africa. I’d smashed his kneecap and rearranged an elbow.

I’d done such nasty shit to the man who made me.

Don’t think about it.

Snatching back my knife, I tapped his grey-covered cheek. “Wake up.”

Nothing.

I tapped harder. “Cut, open your eyes.”

His lips twitched, but his mind remained asleep.

“Goddammit, don’t make me get the water.”

I hit him, harder this time. His face slipped sideways against the table, slowly cracking the cocoon his mind had built. Whatever chrysalis he’d formed against his agony wouldn’t stop him from living through the next.

It took a few swats, but finally, his eyes opened.

For a while, confusion battered him. His gaze darted to the ceiling, coming to focus on me. I didn’t move as he took note of his over-stretched joints, broken parts, and lurched with blundering pain.

I was the nail being hammered by his thoughts, deeper and deeper, harder and harder into my soul. After tonight, I needed solitude and aloneness. I needed to gallop away and never live through something like this ever again.

“Get up.” Slinging his useless arm over my shoulder, I plucked him from the rack.

He screamed as I slipped him off the table. Regardless of his agony, he tried to move, but his limbs were no longer operational. His legs didn’t support his weight, and he fell to the dusty floor with a cry.

I went with him.

We fell in a mass of body parts, sitting side by side, our backs resting against the rack.

He gasped but didn’t try to untangle himself. Shock quickly deleted much of his overwhelming injuries, letting him rest for a moment without suffering.

The fact he found peace for a second let me find it as well.

I shared in his silence, letting the air wrap around us in a dusty hug.

For a while, I didn’t speak. What could I say? Over the past few hours, I’d proven I was as much a monster as he was. I hadn’t found reconciliation or closure. I’d only found sadness and cruelty.

But words weren’t needed.

My father, the man who’d raised me, hurt me, and ultimately cared for me in his own twisted way, slowly laid his head on my shoulder and gave me the first righteous thing of his life.

“I’m sorry, Jethro. For everything.”

My heart clamoured as tears sprang to my eyes.

I couldn’t speak.

Cut didn’t wait for a reply. He knew he was dying. His body was broken beyond repair. There would be no healing or walking away from this. His time on earth had come to an end, and now was the time to relinquish his sorrows and regrets.

His voice was a croaky thread, but my eyes pricked with his every word.

“I know how badly I treated my children. I know I was never entitled to what I took. I let power and bloodlust cloud me. I can’t amend what I did, and I can’t bring back the lives I stole, but I can ask for your forgiveness.”

His head turned heavier on my shoulder, dampness soaking into my sweat-clogged shirt from his tears.

“I need to know you forgive me, Kite. I need to know you accept my apology.”