Final Debt (Indebted #6)(82)

Angus pleased me but only because he had a gift not many others had. He could read people and only show them what would be appropriate to the situation. He was a chameleon within my ranks, but he was family and did what he was told. So he was left to his own devices.

Jasmine listened and obeyed, but she was rebellious in her heart like her older brother. Yet she was my only girl and despite myself, I doted on her. I wanted a mini-me. It would take time, but eventually, she would see the light and mimic all that I did.

However, recent events made me see what a foolish wish that was. I didn’t show how much she hurt me when she picked sides against me. She needed to be disciplined. I knew that. But…for some reason, my ruthless laws faded when it came to Jasmine. I couldn’t hurt her—not when she’d already been hurt so much.

I shouldn’t have been so weak toward her. It would remain my greatest regret.

And Daniel.

Well, not having a committed mother screwed him up from the start. He was a needy, attention-seeking, reckless child. Strictness didn’t work with him. Time-out. Smacks. Nothing. At least he idolized his father and ensured he wouldn’t turn out like Peter or Alfred. That was his only saving grace—that and the fact he was blood and obeyed me.

And now, my beautiful family—the son I’d groomed who’d pleased me so much; the grandson who’d disappointed and destroyed everything—would now have to fend without me.

My legacy was long. I was proud of what I’d achieved.

The Hawk name was who I was.

I was born to become a Hawk even if it was only through marriage.

I’d strengthened our lineage. I’d played my part precisely.

And death could never take that away from me.





“YOU!”

Cut stumbled to his feet. His fists clenched and every muscle in his body spasmed with hatred.

I forced myself not to run as he shot across the room, weaving and wobbling. I tensed for the pain of him tackling me, hitting me, delivering his sadness and rage into my flesh.

Fear of his inevitable revenge and repercussions of my actions wouldn’t let my knees unlock to flee. I wouldn’t look weak by running.

Not anymore.

I’d achieved two out of the three lives I promised I’d steal. Those were good odds. I might not achieve every goal before my life was done, but I wouldn’t turn my back on two victories.

Cut was broken. I did that. I broke him. His reign over the House of Hawks still stood strong and powerful, but I was the mole beneath him. Digging through foundations, chewing on support beams, gnawing at everything he held dear.

So no.

I wouldn’t run because there was nowhere to run to, and I’d earned the right to stare at my defeated before he defeated me.

Those thoughts sucked to a violent stop as Cut charged toward me.

Whatever conclusion spilled into my head must’ve filled his. Perhaps in the same order—the knowledge he looked upon a worthy competitor and not just a Weaver—or the newly forming plan to strip me of everything now I’d stripped him.

Either way, he slammed to a halt, breathing hard—almost as if he didn’t trust himself if he touched me. Giving time to gather his scattered self and focus on so many new developments.

“You killed her.”

I balled my hands. “I wanted to, but I didn’t.”

His breathing billowed like dragon smoke from his nose. “You did. You f*cking did!”

“It was a heart attack. Her own body killed her.”

“Lies. Just like you lied about Daniel. It was you.”

My spine straightened even as I winced at what my truth would bring. “I did.”

His fists shook. “You f*cking bitch.” He wanted to strike me—it lived in every cell—but at the same time, there was something else…relief? Traitorous gratitude instead of mournful grief?

Did he hate his mother as much as the rest of us?

Pain from my arm gave me false bravado. “Can I help that I learned from you? You killed two of your sons. I only killed one.”

Cut lowered his chin, glowering beneath his brow. “They were my sons. Mine to do what I like. They were only alive because of me. I created them.”

“You might’ve created life, but they created themselves into the men they are.”

He went deadly still. “They?”

I swallowed.

Shit.

“Kestrel is f*cking alive, too?” His eyes bugged, ignoring the death of his mother so easily. “You’re telling me I didn’t murder either of my children, yet you killed my youngest, the one I’d promised to make my heir?” His voice gruffed. The air tinged with…regret?

Relief and regret—two very contradictory emotions I never expected Cut to feel.

What does that mean?

Backing away, I held up the scissors. “I said nothing of the sort.”

Cut prowled toward me, slower this time, as if he couldn’t comprehend such blasphemous facts. “They. You said they. Who’s they?” His gaze flew around the room, to the open door, to his dead mother. “What do you mean by that? Where is he? Where the f*ck is Kestrel if he didn’t die with the bullet in his godforsaken heart?”

Kes was anything but godforsaken. God chosen perhaps. Protected and watched over and given friends who ensured his healing and safety.