Final Debt (Indebted #6)(13)

“What happens if the explosives set off a disaster and he gets crushed?” My eyes widened at such a dangerous occupation.

Daniel shrugged. “That’s why we only send one. If he doesn’t make it, then tough shit. We don’t evacuate, we just seal.”

I swallowed my disgust. “You kill men in so many ways.”

“Thanks for the compliment.”

My eyes narrowed. “It wasn’t.”

“I don’t care.” Daniel smirked. “I’m taking it as one.”

I wanted to wipe that idiotic greed and insanity and entitlement right off his heinous face. “I wouldn’t be so bloody cocky if I were you. You act as if killing an employee is a sport—that they’re as disposable as broken tools.” Tilting my chin at Cut, I snarled, “But your father doesn’t just stop there. What makes you think you’re safe, Daniel? When all signs point to you being the reject and least desirable?”

“Why you—” Daniel fisted my hair, jerking me from his father’s grip. His free hand shot to his belt where a dirty rag was stuffed in his pocket. “Gonna shut you up once and for—”

Cut yanked me back, tucking me under his arm once again. “I don’t know what happened between you two while I was gone, but stop squabbling like spoiled brats.”

Squeezing me, he murmured, “Now, Nila. Behave, be silent unless spoken to, and you’ll get to visit something not many people get to see.”

Cut glared at his son. “Calm the f*ck down and be a man, Buzzard. Nila’s right. At this point, you’re less than desirable. And if you keep it up, I’ll be the one extracting the Third Debt without you. I don’t share with ingrates.”

I shuddered with loathing.

The thought of Cut touching me any more than he was now shrivelled up my insides until they turned to ash.

Daniel burned red with fury but swallowed his retorts.

Cut let me go. “Come. Let’s take a closer look.” He raised my bound hands, kissing my knuckles as if this was a perfectly normal night on a perfectly normal vacation. After his outburst, he looked positively carefree. Happy…

How can you be happy, you bastard?

I vowed on every fallen tree and hacked up dirt that I would wipe the smug smile off his goddamn face.

“Come along.” Cut strode ahead, jerking me behind him.

My ballet flats skidded on pebbles as I struggled to match his pace. Greyness danced on the outskirts of my vision, but I refused to give in to vertigo.

I was already in a perilous situation. I wouldn’t let my body subject me to more.

My mouth dried up as we moved forward on the tiny path. The deeper we headed, the more claustrophobia clawed. The track had been carved from the mountain, steadily curving with bare earth on one side, damp and musty, and a steep drop on the other, giving no second chances if you tripped.

One wrong step…

If I could guarantee Cut’s demise, I’d throw myself over the edge and take him with me.

African men and women bowed as we traded the narrow path for a wider road, exchanging foot power for an electric golf cart.

The simple cart was nothing like the armoured Jeep we’d driven in.

Once Cut had returned from his errands, he’d bundled me into another car and driven Daniel, Marquise, and me to the mine. I didn’t have a watch and my phone—which I missed like a lost limb—remained in the U.K. But I guessed the trip took about twenty minutes before arriving at the wound of Almasi Kipanga.

I’d held my breath as a wall the size of China loomed in the distance. Gates soared high; the perimeter fortified with electricity, barbed wire, and countless notices in Swahili and English warning of mutilation and death if they were caught stealing.

“Get in, Nila.” Cut’s rough hand pushed me into the backseat of the mud-splattered golf cart. Daniel sat beside me, while Marquise, silent as always, took the front beside Cut.

The deeper into the chasm we drove, the more Cut’s pride shone. He looked upon this place like it existed because of him. Like he was the creator, founder, and architect.

But it wasn’t him. He couldn’t take credit for something that’d been here since the dinosaurs roamed. Nor take pride in something the earth had created. He’d done nothing. If anything, he’d tainted the preciousness of diamonds and smeared them with the blood of his workers.

The battery whir of the cart could barely be heard over the squelching of mud as we descended down the serpentine road into purgatory.

Workers milled everywhere. Some with buckets on a yoke, others driving diggers and dump trucks full of earth. Armed guards stood sentry every few metres, their hands ready to shoot for any infraction. The air reeked of malnourished slavery.

Daniel caught me staring at one man as he dumped a pick-axe and bucket beside a growing tower of tools. “You’d be surprised where people will stuff a diamond, Weaver. The imagination can make a human body quite the suitcase.”

I bit my tongue. I wouldn’t speak. Not because Cut told me not to, but because I was done trying to figure him out. Jethro had redeemed himself, Kes never had anything to redeem, but Daniel…he was a lost cause.

The questions Cut gave me permission to ask had lost their shiny appeal. I didn’t care. I truly didn’t bloody care.

“Like what you see?” Cut asked as we neared the looming entrance to the belly of hell. Driving into the open-aired entrance was bad enough. The thought of entering the pitch-black crypt sucked all my courage away.