First Debt (Indebted #2)(28)

I tilted my chin, looking down my nose. “It was wrong.”

“Was it? You seemed to find it pleasurable.”

I refused to let my cheeks pink.

“To give an unwilling woman to a room of men is wrong. Gross. Against the law.”

He chuckled, sounding way too much like his son. “Let me lay this out for you, seeing as Jethro currently seems to be struggling with following orders and discipline.” He placed his elbows on the table. “Obey, and you will have free reign of my home, go where you please, direct my staff as you see fit, and truly become one of us. I don’t have the time nor the inclination to keep you trapped in a tower with only the occasional scraps to keep you alive. That, my dear, in my experience doesn’t make a good pet, nor does it make a willing Weaver to pay back the debts owed.”

There was so much information in that small speech, I grasped at each word with eager fingers.

Jethro struggled with discipline?

Free reign?

Willing?

I wanted answers to all my questions, but I focused on the one I needed most. Twisting the truth a little, I asked, “Why do you say that about Jethro? He’s been nothing but freezing cold since we met.”

Mr. Hawk smiled. “Yes, he’s been doing well with that. I’m rather proud of him.”

My heart seized. What did that mean?

He added, “You seem to think these debts will be monstrous. Shall I put your mind at rest, so you may relax and enjoy our hospitality?”

There’s nothing you can say to make me relax while under your heinous roof.

“No. I’ll never enjoy anything you offer me.”

He scowled. “The First Debt will be the easiest. The simplest extraction of payment for something your ancestors did. The next will be slightly more taxing and so on and so forth, until all debts are accounted for.”

I know that, arsehole. Your son told me.

Smirking, he added, “The timeframe for each debt will be decided by Jethro and myself, depending on your acceptance of your new life. And rewards will be given when you fully cooperate.” Taking a sip of juice, he finished, “Don’t worry about your future; we have it completely under control.”

Ugh, I couldn’t stand his egotistical attitude. “You do realise none of this is legal. The Human Rights Act abolished selling people into slavery. You can’t keep me forever.”

Mr. Hawk went deathly still. “I see you’ve been researching while cooped up in your room.” Wiping his mouth, he muttered, “No amount of laws or rules will save you, Ms. Weaver. The debts between our two families trump all that.”

Only in your sick, twisted mind.

Changing the subject, I crossed my arms and snapped, “Jethro already told me how the debts would be laid out. Tell me something new.”

Mr. Hawk froze. “He did what?”

Oh, God. Jethro’s weakness around me was to my advantage. Why did I say that? Why tip off his tyrannical father to his son’s hidden softness?

Backtracking, I muttered, “He told me while dragging me back after hunting me down.” Holding up my scratched arms from tree branches, I hoped the evidence of being mistreated at Jethro's hands would mollify him. “He hunted me with the same dogs he made me sleep with. You should be proud of your son, sir. He’s a monster.”

A monster with a heart buried deep beneath that snow you make him embrace.

Mr. Hawk smiled coldly. “I’m rather surprised and impressed by his initiative. That wasn’t discussed, nor part of the planned activities, but perhaps I underestimated him.”

Standing, he threw his napkin from his lap onto the table. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I’m late to another meeting. I’m sure Jethro will come collect you.”

Bowing, as if I were the Lady of the Manor all set for a day of cross-stitch and sedate relaxation, he pressed his fingertips to his mouth and blew a gentle kiss. “Good day, Ms. Weaver.”

My ingrained manners almost repeated the polite parting; I bit my tongue.

Don’t you dare. He’s the devil, not some kind-hearted father figure.

Keeping my lips glued together, I remained silent.

Mr. Hawk passed my chair, stopping briefly to run his hand through my ponytail.

I shivered as the soft tug of his fingers whispered through the black strands.

“Such a pretty thing. I can see I’ll have to step up my lessons with my son to ensure you both behave.”

My heart lurched, speeding around my chest.

What the hell did that mean?

Staying stiff and unyielding, I didn’t mutter a sound as he tugged once on my ponytail, then disappeared from the room.

I was left alone in the cavernous space with the beady eyes of past Hawks watching my every move. The glittering chandeliers above twinkled with sunlight spilling in from leadlight windows.

Little rainbows danced across my knuckles, reminding me of the design that’d come to me when I stood naked and about to run for my life. Fractals from the diamond collar around my neck had inspired rather than repulsed.

That seemed like an age ago.

My old life had faded so fast; it seemed almost dreamlike. Had I really been heralded as the next star of London couture?

It seemed surreal and something I didn’t even crave. I hated the limelight. So how did I think I could walk headfirst into a career where I would forever have to sell myself in order to peddle my creations? I would no longer be holed up in a room full of calico and satin with assistants. I would be the face of Nila—my brand.