Final Debt (Indebted #6)(11)

I stood there forever, hugging myself. My knees shook, threatening to dump me to the floor.

What have I done?

I knew what I’d just done.

I’d made whatever my future held worse.

Why? Why did I antagonise him?

Because this was it. The end. There would be no going back from here. No second chances. They would take from me. Tear apart everything I had to give. And I hoped to God I would take from them before it was over.

With numb fingers, I stroked my knitting needle hidden in my hoodie pocket.

Stay strong. Don’t stop fighting.

Daniel’s silhouette graced the outside of the tent as he snapped his fingers at Marquise. His lumbering form marched closer, waiting for orders.

“Stand here. Arm your weapon. If she tries to run, shoot her.”

Tears tried to crest but I shoved them down. This wasn’t Hawksridge. Daniel wasn’t Jethro. And this was no longer a game. The stark truth couldn’t hide: I was in deep shit.

Marquise nodded. “Right-o.”

Sticking his head back into the tent, Daniel grinned. “Just so you’re aware, if you try to run, you’ll know what Jethro and Kes felt when they died by bullet. How’s that for a bedtime story?”

His boots crunched on the deck as he leapt to the dusty ground and left. Marquise popped his head inside, only to give me a cold smile before zipping up the mosquito screen across the door.

Cocking his gun, he turned his back on me.

Alone.

Finally.

I didn’t waste any time.

I didn’t know how long Cut would be, but it wouldn’t be long enough. I needed to switch off any sentiments or remaining hints of the girl I’d been and prepare to become a ruthless killer.

Snatching my suitcase, I hauled it to the bed and unzipped it. Every garment and item were in disarray. When Daniel ordered me to pack, folding wasn’t a top priority.

Tossing clothes that didn’t have weapons sewn inside to the floor, I hurriedly selected the fleece jacket with a scalpel hidden in the collar and the leggings with a pair of delicate scissors smuggled in the waistband.

Daniel wanted me to have a shower?

Fine. I would shower.

I would prepare.

And I would go to war when he returned.





ECONOMY CLASS.

Public airline.

The worst possible environment for a man like me.

I huddled in my seat, gritting my jaw; doing my best to remember the exercises I’d been taught.

Focus on my own thoughts.

Concentrate on inner pain. Pinch, slice, do whatever it takes to put that barrier up.

Fixate on mundane influences: reading, looking at nature.

I swallowed a groan.

None of it worked.

Glancing around the plane, my condition picked up on homesickness, regret, excitement, loss, and fear. Every person had their own thoughts and those thoughts flew kamikaze in the small space.

Squeezing my eyes, I focused on my ice. Cut had done one thing right raising me. He’d taught me how to focus on hatred and selfishness, shutting everyone out—even their pain.

The lesson hadn’t been easy. If I slipped or didn’t succeed, Jasmine bore the brunt. Cut understood that the pain of those I loved affected me triply hard. In a way, forcing me to listen to his emotions of discipline and control, while blocking out my sister’s agony and unhappiness, gave me the strength to combat the influx of paralyzing emotions from others.

Even while she was hurt right in front of me.

I could stomach my own pain, but when it came to hers…

Just like I can’t stand Nila’s now I love her.

Forcing those memories away, I did my best to relapse into the capsule of snow, but even as the tendrils of ice made their way around my heart, one person centred in my thoughts.

Jasmine.

Because of me, she would never walk again. And that was another reason why I couldn’t abandon her when Nila begged me to leave last night in the stables. Why I owed Kes and Jaz everything because, without them, I would’ve died years ago.

Maybe I should’ve died years ago.

Maybe Nila would’ve remained safe, and Kes wouldn’t be fighting for his life.

Kes would’ve been next in line. If Cut followed the Debt Inheritance rules—without turning into the power hungry bastard he’d become—with the firstborn dead, the contract couldn’t be fulfilled and both Kes and Nila would’ve been free. Nila would’ve married someone far away from the Hawks and would’ve given birth to a daughter as beautiful as her.

Only to be ruined a generation later.

The ice I tried to cultivate thawed, leaving me wretched.

It wasn’t the thought of future debts, but the thought of Nila married and happy with another that flayed me alive.

She was mine. I was hers. We were meant to fall in love and finish this. Just like Owen, my doomed ancestor, and his love, Elisa, never could.

Fuck, Nila.

What had she lived through in the hours we’d been apart? What had they done to her since I’d failed her?

“Juice?”

I opened my eyes, glaring at the stewardess. Her emotions bounced between job satisfaction and claustrophobia. She loved to travel but hated to wait on passengers. If I listened harder, I would’ve learned most of her secrets and guessed a lot about her life.

“No.” I looked out the window. “Thank you.”