First Debt (Indebted #2)(49)

Fire filled my belly. He wanted me. I knew that much. He wouldn’t have come all over my back if he didn’t. And there was something inside me—some all-knowing part that not everything was as it seemed. Sometimes he was so sure—so resolute and unswerving in the belief of what he said—and other times, it was a lie. A big, fat, obnoxious lie that even he struggled to hide.

“I told you at the coffee shop. If and when I take you, it will be on my terms. Fucking hard and nasty. I won’t kiss you, touch you—because I don’t care. I’ll just f*cking take, and you’ll wish you hadn’t taunted me.”

“You’ll take me against my will?”

Liar—you stopped before.

He froze, a cold veneer creeping over his features. “Exactly. You begged me to take you. Well, keep begging because I’m not ready to grant you my cock just yet.”

I tilted my head. “You’ll give in. I’ll win.”

He laughed loudly, the tension dispersing. He looked at me as if I were a feral puppy who he’d been temporarily wary of but now thought was ridiculous. “Back to winning. Always winning with you, Ms. Weaver.”

I nodded. “If there is no winner or loser, what else is there?”

Partnership.

The thought appeared from nowhere. Partnership. I tasted the word, wondering just how likely an alliance could be between this law-bound Hawk and me—his victim.

Could I not only seduce him but use him against his family? I’d thought it before, but it’d been frivolous, something I said to make myself feel powerful…but what if…

The idea was absurd…but…

Jethro moved, placing his palm squarely on my bandage-bound chest and pushing me backward onto the bed.

I hissed at the pressure of the mattress on my whipped flesh.

“Stop your silly games, Ms. Weaver. It’s time to rest.”

His eyes glinted. “You’ll need it for tomorrow.”





DAMN HER.

Fuck her.

She was worse than my f*cking father with her manipulation and guile.

I needed a session.

For the first time since I’d turned eighteen, I needed help. I wouldn’t be able to fix myself on my own. I hated to do it to her. It was the epitome of cruel.

But the only person who could help me remember why I couldn’t let go of the ice in my veins was my sister.

Jasmine.

I’m a Hawk. Remember that f*cking fact and own it.

Stalking through the house, I tried to find my father. I didn’t want to do this. I hated that we used our own flesh and blood this way. But I had no choice.

Not if I wanted to remain strong.

Not if I wanted to remain true.

A child was the product of his upbringing. They had certain obligations to live up to, expectations to obey, and scripts to follow. Elders knew better.

It was time to embrace my life path completely, rather than fight against it.

I was done fighting against it.

It was too f*cking hard.

He’d told me it would only bring confusion and pain.

He was right.

Time to stop fighting and become my father’s son.

Once and for f*cking all.





TWO WEEKS PASSED.

Fourteen days where I didn’t see a hint of Jethro.

Where he’d gone and why was a mystery, and I’d like to say I didn’t care.

But…I’d never been a good liar.

No matter the itch of curiosity, I continued to live and didn’t let his disappearance undermine my resolve.

I didn’t mope in my room. I formulated my attack plan and executed it.

The first three days were hell. My back cracked and bled whenever I moved. I stayed confined to my bed with only the ceiling for entertainment and food delivered by softly smiling maids.

I craved my phone. I missed the freedom of conversing with the outside world.

By the fourth day, I risked a shower and unwound the bandage from my back to twist and stare in the mirror.

As much as the pain crippled me, my skin had knitted together and scabbed nicely. The shallower cuts were nothing more than a pink mark. And the deeper wounds were well on the road to recovery.

I would always bear the scars. A new wardrobe of silver lashes marking me firmly with ancient scandals. However, the body was a miraculous thing—healing itself from crimes of hate and unpayable debts.

I just hope my soul is as curable.

The hot water had killed to begin with, but slowly I grew used to the pain and washed away the whipping and turbulence Jethro had left me with.

On the fifth day, I dressed in a floaty black dress that had no elastic or grabby material that would irritate my back and stepped from my room. I had cabin fever, and as much as I didn’t want company, I needed a change of scenery.

Drifting toward the dining room, I jumped whenever I heard the slightest noise. I felt guilty for wandering, even though I’d been told I could. And as much as I wanted to see Jethro, to demand my phone was returned, I didn’t have the strength to fight with him yet.

It was well past breakfast, which was fine because I’d had mine in bed, and there were no Black Diamond men around.

Where is everyone?

Hawksridge Hall had an eerie way of hiding people from view. The huge spaces making it seem as if I were all alone. I might not want to suffer through Jethro’s company, but his younger brother wasn’t blacklisted.