Final Debt (Indebted #6)(109)

Occasionally, he looked up, reciting his pledge while staring into the camera. More often than not, his eyes remained downcast, reading his Last Will and Testament quickly.

My hands only shook harder the closer he got to finishing. My fever fogged my eyesight, and his voice threatened to put me in a trance.

I needed to rest and fast.

Finally, he finished.

Once his declaration was verbalized, I turned off the camera and placed it beside me for safe-keeping.

I looked at the same speck he stared at, unable to move forward but knowing I had no choice. “Thank you. Not for me, but for Jaz and the workers we employ. You’ve kept them in their homes and jobs.”

A thought pricked me.

I’d planned on dismantling the diamond smuggling ring once Cut was dead, but his unselfish act of preserving the company and giving back my birthright reminded me it wasn’t a matter of shutting down something just because I wanted to. We had people relying on us. I had to do right by them. I couldn’t steal their livelihoods.

“Take care of those you love, Jethro.” Cut coughed. “Don’t ever let corruption turn you into me.”

His words said one thing, but his heart another. He’d done what he’d been taught. But now, he wanted to go. He wanted the pain to stop, and I wouldn’t deny him that.

He’d done what any human would do on their death bed. Apologised for past transgressions and accepted forgiveness for those he violated.

His soul was no longer burdened.

Picking up the knife once again, I placed my hand over his, squeezing his useless fingers around the hilt. His tendons and ligaments were no longer attached to signals from his brain. Completely disabled for the rest of his short life.

His eyes met mine. “You’ll do it, after all?”

I shook my head, guiding his hand to hover over his heart. “No.”

“Then what?”

“I can’t kill you, but I can’t allow you to live in such pain any more.” My own bones howled in sympathy. My spine ached and brain overwhelmed with agony.

“You’ll help me?”

I nodded.

“You’re a good son, Kite.” His head fell forward, using up the last of his energy. His lips landed on my forehead and kissed me.

I sucked in a breath, fighting against everything that’d passed between us. I accepted his kiss. His blessing. We held an entire world in a silent conversation.

I wished there was another way. I wished I didn’t have to do this.

But Cut nodded, signalling he was ready.

Who was I to deny his final wish when I’d taken so much from him?

Without breaking eye contact, I leaned on his fist, puncturing his heart with the sharp blade.

So much pain to make him see.

And now, a quick death to make him free.

His forehead furrowed as the knife sank into his chest. He groaned as I twisted the hilt, tearing through the muscle and killing him as fast as possible.

He’d already suffered enough. I wanted him to leave without pain.

His forehead touched mine as I bowed over his dying form. His pulse thundered in his neck. His soul clung tight to his perishing body. And as the final gasp left his broken chest, I closed my eyes and kissed his cheek.

“Goodbye, Dad.”

I did what I could never stomach and tethered myself to his last flickering thought. I held tight as he slipped into the afterlife. I lived his final farewell.

His eyes shot their message as well as his heart. “Take care of those you love, Kite. Don’t ever doubt I was proud of you. So, so proud.”

And then…he was gone.



It didn’t take long to source enough kindling and set up a small pyre inside the barn.

All I wanted to do was rest. To sleep. To forget. But I wouldn’t leave my father’s corpse undealt with. That would be sacrilege. His immortal soul was free. His mortal remains had to be, too.

It took the last of my energy to move his dead body into the middle of the barn and rest it on top of the kindling. Once his hands were linked on his chest, and his broken limbs placed straight and true, I worked on building a last goodbye.

Moving as quickly as I could, I wedged more tinder around his lifeless corpse. Trudging from forest to barn, I built up enough fuel to create a fire that would last all night, a fitting send-off for my cruel father.

Once I’d buried Cut in branches, I hauled the rack closer, scooped every torture device off the table, and scattered them around him. After the fire, I wanted no remains or reminders of what went on in this place.

Stepping back, I checked my handiwork before moving toward the utility cupboard storing bleach and gasoline. The bleach had been for blood and the gasoline for the bonfires we’d occasionally had out here to cull a few trees.

Fighting the dregs of energy in my system, I poured the sharp smelling petrol over my father’s corpse, the rack, the floor, the very walls of the despicable barn.

Only once every item and inch of the place had been drenched did I strike the match.

Taking the camera and Cut’s last confession to a tree a safe distance away, I returned to stand by the doors and fling the sulphur rich flame onto the slick trail of gasoline.

Nothing happened.

The flames didn’t catch. They went out.

Fuck.

My hands shook hard as I struck another match—letting the fire chew some of the stick before tossing it to the glistening floor.