Final Debt (Indebted #6)(89)

Once Nila was safe and Hawksridge secured, I would need to be alone. I knew the symptoms of system failure. I knew when I’d reached my limit. A wash of nausea climbed up my gullet, and my hands shook as I wrapped fingers around the gun Dec handed me.

I was borderline.

Overtiredness and over-empathy would end up killing me if I didn’t kill Cut soon.

“Come on.” I waved for the men to line up behind me, a black line patrolling from the stables toward the Hall.

Leaving the cars behind, I guided the men up the hill toward the house. We stuck to the trees as much as possible, moving in short waves. Weapons were drawn as we crested the hill and made our final descent.

I didn’t say a word, too focused on seeking weakness and attack points of my family’s home. I searched the shadows for Kill and his men, trying to see where they hid, but spotted no one.

The closer we got to the Hall, the more my heart pounded.

V and Tex shadowed my every move and luck kept us shrouded long enough to sidle up to the ancient architecture and fan out around the buttresses of Hawksridge.

Left or right?

I couldn’t decide.

Dining room wing or staircase leading to boudoirs and parlours?

The wind howled over the orchard, sounding like someone screamed.

I froze; my head tilted toward the dining room wing…the ballroom wing.

The noise came again.

Haunting.

Lamenting.

Dragging chills over my flesh.

It came again, shrill and cut short.

It wasn’t the wind.

Fuck surprise.

Fuck the regimented ambush.

Fuck everything.

Nila!

I held my gun aloft and charged.





“READY TO DIE, Nila?”

Cut’s voice physically hurt me as he forced me up the crudely made steps and onto the wooden foundation. My heart tore through my ribcage.

Jasmine screamed from across the room. Her cry split the ballroom apart, tears staining her pretty cheeks. “Please.”

Tears of my own threatened to wash me away, but I wanted to remain dry-eyed. I wanted to remember my last few moments in perfect clarity and not swimming with liquid.

Cut wrenched my arms behind my back; I groaned with agony from my break. The twine wrapped around my wrists, bending my forearm unnaturally.

“Please. Don’t—”

Cut spun me around with his large hands on my shoulders. His golden eyes glowed with apology, and at the same time, resolution. “Hush, Nila.” His lips touched mine, sweet and soft, before he marched me to the kneeling podium and pressed hard. “Kneel.”

“No!”

“Kneel.” His foot kicked out, nudging the back of my knee, shattering my stability and sending me cracking into place. I cried out as the pain in my kneecaps matched the pain in my arm. Like a snapped needle, I lost my sharpness, my fight.

The ballroom splendour mocked me as I bowed unwillingly at the foot of my executioner.

Velvet and hand-stitched crewel on the walls glittered like the diamonds the Hawks smuggled—a direct contrast to the roughly sawn wood and crude craftsmanship of the guillotine dais.

“Don’t do this. Cut…think about what you’ve become. You can stop this.” My voice mimicked a beg, but I’d vowed not to beg. I’d seen things, understood things, and suffered things I never thought I would be able to endure. I’d been their plaything for months, their adversary for years, their nemesis for centuries. I refused to cry or grovel. I wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.

I know the history of the Hawks. I know I’m stronger than they are.

“I want to live. Please, let me live.”

He cleared his throat, masking any thoughts of hesitation. “In five minutes, this will all be over.” Cut bent to the side and collected a wicker basket.

The wicker basket.

I didn’t want to think about what its contents would be.

He placed it on the other side of the wooden block.

My heart jack-hammered, thudding faster and faster until lightheadedness made me sick.

My lungs demanded more oxygen. My brain demanded more time. And my heart…it demanded more hope, more life, more love.

I’m not ready.

Not like this.

“Cut—”

“No. No more talking. Not after everything you’ve done. My son. My mother. You think you’ve stolen everything I care about, but I’m going to steal so much more from you. From Jethro. And when I find out where Kestrel is, I’ll steal from him, too.” Ripping a black hood from his pocket, he didn’t hesitate. No fanfare. No pauses.

“No!” I cried out as the scratchy blackness engulfed my face, tightening by a cord around my throat.

The Weaver Wailer chilled me. The diamond collar that’d seen what I’d seen and whispered with phantoms of my slain family prepared to revoke its claim and detach from around my neck.

This was it.

The Final Debt.

Cut pushed my shoulders forward.

I struggled, willing my wrists to unlock, to find a weakness in the rope to get free.

A heavy yoke settled over the top of my spine.

No. This can’t be it. This can’t be!

“Goodbye, Nila.”

The breeze of Cut moving to the side sent goosebumps over my nape. My breath clouded the hood. My eyelashes jewelled with unshed tears.