First Debt (Indebted #2)(41)

I wanted to beg for mercy. For him to stop this ridiculous ancient tally and let bygones be bygones, but no sound came as he shoved my tattered t-shirt to my shoulders, exposing my back. His fingers were firm and unyielding as he reached in front and undid the button on my shorts.

“Please,” I moaned as he undid them and shoved them to my ankles.

Jethro didn’t reply, nor did he ask me to kick the discarded shorts away. I let them stay—imprisoning my ankles, just like the cuffs imprisoned my wrists.

Leaving me naked and quivering with fear, Jethro disappeared.

I didn’t try to follow him with my eyes. I kept them squeezed tight, shivering and trembling, wishing I was anywhere but here.

Jethro tapped me on the shoulder a few moments later, his touch harsh and demanding. “Open your eyes.”

I reluctantly obeyed, focusing on his flawless face and cold, unforgiving gaze.

He dangled a flogger in front of my vision. It held a multitude of leather strips with knots in regular intervals down the strands. “Have you seen one of these?”

I nodded.

I was a designer. I garnered inspiration from everything and anything, including different lifestyle choices, eras, and kinks. However, there was nothing sexually playful about this one. It was mean and meant to hurt.

I balled my hands, cursing the pins and needles in my fingertips as blood rushed faster. “Yes.”

“And do you think it was a just punishment for stealing something, all to keep his family alive?”

I shook my head. “No.”

Jethro agreed, “No. Especially in the dead of winter where his body was frozen and brittle, and the slightest touch would’ve been agony.” He ran his finger down my shoulder blades. “You’re warm, in a humid room. Your skin is supple and flushed. Pain won’t register as badly as if I’d placed you inside a freezer or dumped you in ice water before we started.”

He dropped his voice. “Want to know another secret, Ms. Weaver? Want to know something that could potentially get me into a lot of trouble?”

My eyes flared. The way he asked…he was serious. I twisted, trying to catch his eye, but he remained just out of looking distance. “What?” I breathed.

Jethro pressed his body against mine again, digging his belt buckle painfully into my lower back, sandwiching my naked skin harder against the post. “I was supposed to do that. Supposed to make you so cold, I could snap your arm with one touch. You were supposed to be numb and chattering with chill so that every lash would make you scream in endless agony.”

I swallowed hard, fear lacing my blood. “Why—why didn’t you?” Even my heart stopped beating in fear of missing his answer. I needed to find a way to understand this man, before it was too late.

He dropped his voice to barely a whisper, “Because no one should have to be as cold as I’ve been taught.” He suddenly stepped back, letting the flogger hang down in his grip.

He snapped, “I suggest you hug the post, Ms. Weaver. This is going to hurt.”





NILA IMMEDIATELY DID as I said.

With no hesitation, she pressed her body harder against the post, doing her best to hold on despite the restricting cuffs.

Every muscle in her back stood out: every ridge and valley from her trim arse to her taut shoulders. Bruises from vertigo stained the flawless white. Scratches from trees and nature marred her with violence. Every rib stood out as she stopped breathing and locked her knees.

I couldn’t have her passing out from lack of oxygen. She had to stay with me. We were in this together.

Gathering the knotted torture device, I murmured, “Do you repent? Do you take ownership of your family’s sins and agree to pay the debt?”

Nila pressed even harder against the post, as if she could morph into the wood and disappear.

When she didn’t reply, I coaxed, “I asked you a question, Ms. Weaver.” Running the flogger through my hands, I stepped closer. “Do you?”

She sucked in a breath, her ribcage straining against her blemished skin. “Ye—yes.” Her head bowed, and her lips went white.

I nodded. It was on record. I’d asked and she’d agreed—that was all I needed.

Taking my place for deliverance, I murmured, “I want you to count.”

Her eyes shot wide, her cheek squished against the bark of the post. “Count?”

I smiled. “I want to hear you acknowledge every lash.”

With my heart in my chest, I spread my thighs and jerked my arm back. I told her the truth about disobeying the order to lock her in the chiller. If my father found out, I could be in serious shit.

We both could.

I hadn’t found the balls to delve into the reasons why I hadn’t obeyed the procedure. All I could focus on was delivering the First Debt. Then I could get out of here. Then I could get some peace.

“Don’t stop counting,” I grunted. My arm sailed forward, sending the four-stranded flogger whistling through the air.

For a split second, I suffered an out-of-body experience. I saw myself. I witnessed the anger and power on my face. I watched as if I wasn’t the one wielding pain but an outsider. And I wondered what it would be like to belong to a different family. To have a different upbringing.

But then the experience stopped, slamming me back into my body.

The flogger sliced through the thick silence.