Final Debt (Indebted #6)(75)

Now I had an audience; my plans shifted slightly.

Be patient.

She’d grow cocky again and send the brother away. And when she did…

Playing along, for now, I moved toward the table. “What are you going to do?”

She didn’t reply as she shuffled toward a chair, dragged it closer to the bench, and perched on the padded seat. “What do you think, you stupid girl? You’re carrying our money. I want those diamonds. Your arm is currently worth more than your entire family history.”

“I don’t believe that. My family earned its wealth through skill and hard work. Weaving and sewing for dukes and duchesses. We didn’t lower ourselves to smuggling stones and calling it hard work.”

She spluttered. “Soon that tongue of yours will no longer be attached.”

“Why? You plan on cutting that off along with my head?”

She smiled coldly. “Such a temper.”

I smirked back. “I’ve learned from the best.”

I would never bow to her again. Never.

Bonnie huffed, busying herself with an attachment for the small power tool. “Stand here.”

Looking over my shoulder, I calculated how much time I would have before the brother managed to stop me. If I slashed her throat with a pair of scissors, would I have enough seconds or not?

Mulling the problem of murder, I moved to where she pointed.

“Don’t move.”

I didn’t move; too consumed with my own ideas to care about hers.

Bonnie grabbed the Dremel in shaking, arthritic hands and switched on the battery-operated machine. A loud buzzing filled the room as she ordered me to remove my sling and place the cast on the table.

The ache in the broken bone had faded a little, or maybe my body had become fed up with letting me know it was hurt. Either way, I did as she asked. Obeying for now—purely biding my time.

How should I do it?

Cutting shears to her jugular?

A fire poker to her heart?

My fingers around her throat, strangling, strangling?

I flinched as the sharp teeth of the Dremel chewed through the cast, removing the heat and itch. It didn’t take long for Bonnie to slice from wrist to elbow. Her hands shook, trying to pincer it open—her age not granting enough power to break the mould.

“Open it,” she commanded, growing weary. A sheen of sweat covered her brow, a grey tinge painting her skin.

My heart skipped to see her struggling. Her heartbeats were numbered. My mind started a countdown.

One beat.

Two beats.

Three beats.

Four.

My hand was steady as I cracked open the cast, almost as if contemplating murder worked wonders for my peace of mind. I winced as the cast fell away, destroying whatever support I’d had.

Once the pieces hit the table, Bonnie immediately scooped them into the bucket. They sank into the water and vinegar mixture.

Air bubbles popped on the surface, faster and faster.

She caught me looking. “Allow me to teach you a few things before your final hour. The vinegar dissolves the plaster. Once it’s reduced to nothing but sludge, the water will be sifted, any wayward diamonds scooped from the bottom, and washed in preparation to go to Diamond Alley for processing.”

She snapped her fingers. “Give me the rest of the cast. I know the pouches are hidden in the padding.”

Fifteen beats.

Sixteen beats.

Seventeen beats.

Eighteen.

Pain amplified as I slipped out of the cushion and handed over the plastic tray. My arm held marks and indents from the padding, red from the cast’s itch. However, the swelling hadn’t gone down. An angry bruise already marred my skin, black and purple and blue.

Immediately, she scooped the diamonds out and placed them beside the bucket. “Once they go to Diamond Alley, then where do you think they go?”

Nursing my arm, I tested my fingers. They worked but with no power or grip. If I had any chance at killing her, I’d have to work through the agony and force my limb to obey. Otherwise, I wouldn’t stand a chance.

“Well, Ms. Weaver?” Bonnie slapped the table. “I asked you a question. Answer it.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. You mistook my disinterest for attention.” I rolled my eyes. “I don’t care.”

“You should.” Prodding my vulnerable break, she hissed. “Hurts, doesn’t it?”

Flinching away, I fought the pain as I grabbed the edge of the table. A horribly frustrating and terribly timed vertigo wave attacked me. I hung my head, anchoring my feet to the floor, riding out the vicious swell.

She chuckled as the greyness subsided, leaving behind the serendipitous knowledge that Bonnie’s flower shears rested only a finger breadth away.

Scissors.

Blood.

Death.

She didn’t notice my sudden hope and fascination with the weapon within reach.

Wrapped up in her own importance like a fluffing peacock, she looked at the brother by the door.

She pointed at the bucket and pouches. “Take those downstairs and make sure each diamond is accounted for.” Her eyes narrowed. “I’ll know if any go missing and you’ll be subjected to a cavity search once the diamonds are bagged and labelled.”

The man came forward, cringing a little at the thankless task and the reward he had to look forward to once completed. “Yes, ma’am.”