Final Debt (Indebted #6)(20)

“Because in order to be paid you have to take me. I don’t have the money on me.”

“This a scam?”

“No scam.”

The guy leaned forward, his eyes narrowing for battle. “Tell me who you are.”

I smiled.

My name carried weight in England, just like it carried weight here.

However, here I was more than an heir to a billion dollar company. I was more than a lord, and master polo player, and vice president to Black Diamonds.

Here, I was life.

I was death.

I was blood and power and royalty.

“I’m a Hawk.”

And that was all it took.

The man lost his indignation, slipping into utmost respect. He turned and opened the door of his dinged-up 4WD, bowing in welcome. “It would be an honour to drive you, boss. I know where you need to go.”

Of course, he did.

Everyone here knew of our mine. They knew it was untouchable. They knew not to raid or pillage. That sort of respect went a long way in this country.

I clasped his hand in thanks. “You’ll be repaid. But I expect you to drive fast.”

“No problem.” He smiled broadly. “I know how Hawks fly.”

I curled my hands, unable to ignore the ticking time bomb in my chest.

Nila.

Glaring at my driver, I ordered, “Do whatever it takes, but I want to be at Almasi Kipanga before sunrise.”





“LET HER GO.”

Daniel dropped his hold.

I spun to face them. I didn’t know why; I knew what was about to happen and should hide. Hide deep, deep inside. Hide from everything they would do to me.

However, I preferred to stare at the devil than go into this blind. I would rather pay attention, so I knew that I fought. That I’d won against whatever Cut had made me drink. That he hadn’t taken my refusal away from me.

I won’t let myself submit.

I vibrated and throbbed. I still begged for a release.

The drugs from the bonfire ran rampant in my veins. Cut had let me dance. He’d cut the rope from around my wrists and sat beside the fire and watched. At times, I caught him pressing a fist between his legs; others, I thought I witnessed affection on his face.

Every step, I succumbed more and more to the drugs. Every drumbeat, my * clenched. If Jethro had touched me, I would’ve dropped to all fours and begged him to f*ck me.

I wouldn’t have cared about people or fires or watchful gazes. I would’ve given myself completely in to the fantasy and thrown myself into every debauched act imaginable.

But he wasn’t there.

And buried beneath lust and shameful wetness, I remembered enough to be disgusted at my urges. Below the tremors of salaciousness, I hung on with fingernails so I didn’t double cross every moral I had left.

The more I danced, the more the fire chased away the chill of the night sky, coating my skin with dew.

The sweating and heat helped.

Perspiration helped shed a little of the drug’s claws, bringing me back from untamed animal to a woman I vaguely recognised.

I’d won.

Against the hardest battle of my life.

But now, all that existed was desire and the knowledge there was nowhere for me to run.

Not this time.

No Kestrel to fake it. No Jethro to save me.

Just Daniel, Cut, and me in this flimsy fabric tent.

Drumbeats pounded outside, the occasional whoop and incantation fading into the starlit sky. I’d never battled myself so hard. Never tried to cling to right and wrong when faced with impending doom and wanting so f*cking much to give in.

Sex.

They wanted sex.

And whatever they’d given me made me want it bad, too. Terribly bad. Stupidly, fearfully bad.

But I couldn’t.

I couldn’t forget. I wouldn’t forget.

And so my body split further into two, quaking and twitching, demanding I give in.

Cut came closer, cupping my cheeks with his rough hands. My skin sparked beneath his touch and I hated, hated, hated myself for the way I swayed closer, focusing on his mouth and heat and charred smell from the fire.

He chuckled softly, running his thumb over my bottom lip.

It took everything, absolutely everything, inside not to open for him and suck his finger.

“You’re still fighting, little Weaver. I suggest you give in.”

Never!

I moaned as he kissed me, encouraging me to just let go. Cut no longer played by whatever ancient rules that’d bound him. He played a different game. He seemed younger, softer…and the occasional similarity between him and his eldest son shot confusion into my brain like the worst vertigo attack.

He’s not Jethro.

He’s not!

I might’ve given in to the music and danced. I might’ve become one of the clan as I cavorted around the burning blaze. But now I would control myself, even if it meant shackling everything my body wanted and ensuring I was taken against my will.

Rape would destroy me.

But willingly participating…I would rather die a thousand times on the threatened guillotine.

“Do you need me to go into details, Nila?” Cut ran his nose along my jaw. “You know what happened to our ancestor. He was buggered from one a.m. to one p.m. He was shared. There were no rules on what could be done to his body. He was given as a debt.”