Second Debt (Indebted #3)(18)

Daniel chuckled, making eye contact. “Just ‘cause you have a plaything doesn’t mean you’re better than me. She belongs to all of us.”

“Not until I say—”

Cut slammed his glass onto the coffee table, rattling the bones of his deceased pet. “Must I mediate every time my sons are in the same f*cking room?” Running a hand over his face, he growled, “Kes, seeing as Daniel won’t listen, you go get the box. Dan, shut the f*ck up. Jet, control yourself and sit down.”

Kes gave me a look. I knew what he thought, but now was not the time to discuss our family issues. He rose from the couch and headed toward the sixteenth-century sideboard by the entrance.

Moving forward, I kicked Daniel out of the way and took Kes’s spot beside Nila.

Daniel stumbled from my boot before rising in a fit of fury. “One of these days, brother.”

I stood up, towering over him—willing him to raise a fist. “One of these days, indeed, brother.”

Dan breathed hard through his nose. I waited for him to punch me, but he had enough control to snicker and retreat.

“For God’s sake,” Cut muttered. “I raised a bunch of idiots.”

Dan moved to his father’s side. “Only one, Pop. And pity for you, he’s the firstborn.”

My nostrils flared. Fuck, I wanted to knock him out.

Something warm and soft touched the back of my hand. I jumped, looking down at Nila. Her hair cascaded over her shoulder in a wash of ink. Her eyes wide and gleaming with a silent request.

Sit down.

Do what you’re tasked to do.

Protect me.

Her message filtered into my soul, switching my irritation to protection. My legs bent, depositing me beside her. A small gap existed between us, but it didn’t stop my skin from prickling with awareness or her chest from rising when I placed my palm next to her hip and touched her once with my pinky finger.

Her eyes shot to mine, holding the fierce whip of connection.

The blackness of her eyes reflected my lighter ones, showing the strain and anger I couldn’t contain. These wordless moments seemed to happen frequently between us.

Sucking in a breath, Nila broke eye contact and shifted away.

“Got it,” Kes said, moving back toward us.

I risked another glance at Nila. She refused to look at me, her attention split between my father and Kes, who carried a smallish box in his hands.

“What’s going to happen?” Nila whispered, her body swaying a little toward me.

Forcing myself not to inhale her scent, I shrugged. “The tally. It should’ve been done the same day I took the debt.”

Kes set the box before us on the coffee table. It clunked into place with the finality of pain.

This would hurt. For both of us.

“I forgot to do it that day.”

I’d forgotten because I’d permitted myself to feel her grief and pain while I washed her back and wrapped her in bandages. I’d forgotten because I’d shamed myself by masturbating all over her while she’d hung whipped and bleeding.

Nila’s eyes bounced around the Hawks towering over her in a ring of authority. “Do what?”

Could others hear the trace of terror hidden beneath her snappy anger or was I the only one? The only one cursed to listen to her fears and feel her confusion?

No one was laying a hand on her. I didn’t care if I had to draw Hawk blood to make that a reality. She would stay mine until the end.

With a smirk, Daniel leaned over and opened the lid of the Tally Box. “Ready, brother?”

I looked at Cut, but he just crossed his arms, watching to see how I would proceed. Bastard.

I swallowed. I would forever wear these marks. When Nila paid the Final Debt and was dead, I would remain alone and without her. Cursed by her presence every time I looked at the tally.

My father wore his from what he did to Nila’s mother on his ribcage. I’d seen it over the years—the marks of coming of age—of being a full-blown Hawk worthy of inheriting the legacy.

“Tell him where you want it to go, Nila.” Cut looked at my charge.

She trembled with tension. “Want what?”

Daniel shifted closer, his eyes slithering all over her. My skin crawled at the thought of him touching her. Hurting her.

Fucking arsehole.

Closing the distance between Nila and me, I pressed my thigh against hers—hoping she’d understand that we were in this together. Just like I’d told her. Her life was my responsibility and I wouldn’t fail.

“I’ll pick,” I said.

“You aren’t allowed, Jet,” Cut muttered. “It’s Ms. Weaver’s decision.”

Cut moved around the back of the couch, and ran his hands through Nila’s hair. She bit her lip as he kept her still, hemming her inside the barricade of his fingers. “Time to choose, my dear. Where do you want to wear the mark?”

“The mark?”

“The mark of the debts.”





WHAT THE HELL is happening?

Ever since I’d crawled out of bed after seeing my ancestors’ graves, I’d been different. Remote, cold. To be honest, I didn’t recognise myself.

I’d tried to work, to drown my thoughts with patterns and sewing, but I couldn’t stop thinking of the past. How did the other Weaver women cope? How did they justify their captivity and pay the debts in full?