Final Debt (Indebted #6)(122)

I looked briefly at the carpet, forcing myself not to drown in her sudden fear. “An ending of sorts, or a beginning, depending on how you look at it. Either way, you need to see and decide for yourself.”

Straightening her shoulders, holding onto non-existent bravery, she brushed past me.

Her eyes widened as I switched on the light, drenching the wall-to-wall cabinets of files. In the centre were a large table, a TV, VCR, and DVD player.

Everything she’d need to read and witness decades of hardship.

Nila covered her mouth as realisation came swift. “It’s all here. Isn’t it?”

I nodded, steeling myself against her sudden outwash of rage. “It is.”

“I can’t—I don’t….” She backed away. “Why did you bring me here?”

Stalking forward, I opened the one cabinet where I’d seen Cut deposit all things relating to Emma.

Nila stepped again, her bare feet tripping with a sudden wash of vertigo. I rushed to her side, but she pushed me away, balancing herself with practiced ease. “Jethro…I don’t. I don’t think I can look.”

“I’m not saying you have to. I’m giving you the option if you wish, that’s all.” I moved back to the filing cabinet and grabbed the largest file. Carefully, I carried it to the table. “It’s your call, Nila.” Heading to the door, I murmured, “I love you. Remember that. Come find me when you’re ready.”

“Where are you going?”

I smiled sadly, hating leaving her but knowing she had to do this on her own. She needed to say goodbye, consolidate the horror of what my father did, and work through her hate to come back to me. “Tomorrow is Kes’s funeral. Tonight, we should have one for your ancestors. Send the dead away all at once, eradicate the estate of the ghosts living in its walls.”

For the longest moment, she stared. She didn’t say a word. She looked as if she’d bolt or fly out the window. Then, finally, an accepting tear rolled down her cheek. “Okay.”

I nodded. “Okay.”

It was the hardest thing I’d ever done, but I turned and closed the door behind me.

Heading down the stairs and away from the Hall, I disappeared into the woodland and gathered branches, kindling, and twigs for the largest bonfire Hawksridge had ever seen—minus the barn that’d wiped Cut from existence.

I enlisted the help of Black Diamond brothers and carted every torture equipment and vile method of pain onto the lawn, ready to be burned.

The Iron Chair, Scold’s Bridle, Heretic’s Fork, Ducking Stool, whips, thumb screws—every mortal thing.

I didn’t want such heinous items living beside us any longer.

Hawksridge Hall would evolve with us; it would embrace happiness and learn to accept sunshine rather than darkness.

Nila might be in a room full of ghosts.

But I intended to purge them free with fire.





“DO YOU ACCEPT the payment for this debt?”

Cut’s voice echoed in the room, sending chills down my spine.

Silent tears oozed down my cheeks as the old video played footage of my mother and him. She stood in a pentacle of salt beside the pond. The ducking stool hovered in the background and the white shift she wore fluttered around her legs.

The memories of the day I’d paid the Second Debt merged with the horrifying scene before me.

She held herself like I had that day: hands balled, chin defiantly high.

“No, I don’t accept.” Her voice was lower than mine, huskier and more determined. She’d said in one of her diary entries that I was a stronger woman than her.

I didn’t agree.

My mother was royalty. She might not wear a crown and blue blood might not flow through her veins, but to me, she was so queenly she put Bonnie to shame.

Bonnie was younger, her hair not quite white and her back not as bent. She clasped her hands in front of her, watching the altercation between Emma and Cut. The way Cut stared at my mother belied the lust he felt for her. His fingers grew white as he fisted, regret shadowing his gaze.

Regret?

Cut turned out to have so many avenues and trapdoors. I’d always believed he was mad. A barking, raving lunatic to do what he did. But what if he became who he was because of circumstance? What if he fell for my mother just like Jethro fell for me? What forced him to take Emma’s life if he loved her?

“Get on with it,” Bonnie snapped when Cut didn’t move.

He flinched, but it was Emma who forced Cut to obey.

She scrunched up her face and spat on his shoes. “Yes, listen to the wicked witch, Bryan. Do as you’re told.”

Acres of unsaid tension existed between them. They had a connection—strained and confusing—but linking them regardless.

Cut cocked his head. “You know your orders don’t work on me.”

My mother balled her hands. Her perfect cheekbones and flowing black hair defied the whistling wind, hissing into the camera like a thousand wails. “Do your worst, Bryan. I’ve told you a hundred times. I’m not afraid of you, of your family, of whatever debts you make me pay. I’m not afraid because death will come for all of us and I know where I’ll be.”

She stood proudly in the pentagon. “Where will you be when you succumb to death’s embrace?”

Cut paused, the grainy image of his face highlighting a sudden flash of nerves, of hesitation. He looked younger but not adolescent. I doubted he’d ever been completely carefree or permitted to be a child.