Second Debt (Indebted #3)(24)

Jaz patted the window seat, folding up her pattern chart and moving aside some of the threads. “Want to talk about it?”

Did I? Did I want to admit the havoc Nila wreaked on me, or was it best not to talk about it and hope the power she had disappeared?

I shook my head. “Let me just hang here.”

She smiled. “No problem. I’ll just continue doing what I’m doing.”

She knew me so well.

Her jaw-length black hair flicked at the ends in some fashionable haircut she’d recently adopted and her button nose and heart-shaped face was too kind to be around my brothers. Jasmine Hawk looked exactly like our mother. And only eleven months younger than me, she was practically my twin.

I wouldn’t admit it to Nila, but I understood her connection with her brother. There was something to be said for finding a kindred soul in a person who’d been there right from the beginning.

I probably wouldn’t have survived without Jasmine. I owed her everything.

“Relax, Kite. Let it go.” Her small hands smoothed down her pretty woollen dress. She always looked immaculate in old-world fashions, which was utterly depressing as she never stepped foot off the grounds.

I’d tried many times to take her for a ride, on either Wings or my motorbike, but she claimed she was perfectly content looking through a window and watching others enjoy the world.

One of these days I would drag her out and show her how much she missed by playing Rapunzel in her tower.

Picking up her cross-stitch, Jaz gave me one last smile and continued to work on yet another masterpiece of our imposing monolithic home. Considering she didn’t fit the Hawk traits like me, she was extremely patriotic to her heritage.

Threading her needle, she said, “Rest, brother. I’ll watch over you.”



I woke with a chill.

Gloomy dusk had replaced the grey morning. “Damn, what time is it?” I sat up, holding my head as a rush of nausea battered me. It was always the same. The sickness at the end of a long day. Especially if I’d been subjected to my family for long periods of time.

Jasmine was still in her chair, her legs covered in a blanket she’d crocheted. Her fingers flew, drawing a needle with orange thread through the hoop of her recent cross-stitch.

Not bothering to look up, she replied, “You slept through dinner again. But it’s okay. I had the servants bring you up some cold cuts.” She motioned toward the sideboard by her bed. Resting on the polished surface was a silver dome covering a plate.

I sighed, running both hands through my hair. Chuckling softly, I said, “You know me too well.”

Her eyes met mine. “I know what you are but not who you’re becoming.”

I froze.

It wasn’t uncommon for Jasmine to state such poignant weighty things. She was wise—an old soul. Someone who I leaned on far too much.

Knowing she had questions, I stood up wearily and went to retrieve the meal. Returning to my place, I sighed. “Am I supposed to understand that or is it a helpful way to ruin my sleep tonight?”

She giggled softly. “I think you’ve ruined your sleep by napping here all afternoon.”

Even though she watched me with impatience and expectation, I felt nothing from her but love. Unconditional acceptance.

I sat back contentedly.

Finally, I could breathe again.

Nila tangled me into knots, drove flames through my icicle-ridden heart, and forced me to confront parts of my personality I wished were dead. But Jasmine…she soothed me. She granted me strength in her silence and a place to heal in her adoration.

Pulling the silver cover off, I picked up a piece of honey-cured ham and placed it into my mouth.

Jasmine reached for her glass of sour apple. She refused to drink anything else—water and sour apple quenchers—that was it. “So…you ready to talk yet?”

I ignored her, placing another piece of ham on my tongue.

She huffed, wrapping her tiny hands around her glass. Her fingers were almost as delicate as Nila’s. They were both proficient at needlepoint and of similar build. Everything inside knew they’d probably get along.

But I wanted to keep the two women of my life separate. I had my reasons.

Nila couldn’t know who I truly was and I wouldn’t be able to keep my secrets if she met Jasmine.

Jasmine knew the truth. The whole truth. The truth that could potentially cut my lifespan into pieces and steal my inheritance on the eve of it becoming mine.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. Pulling it free, I scowled at the screen. The alert on keywords surrounding my family and the Weavers flashed with new information.

My blood boiled at the latest leak online about our private affairs. I’d been watching him, just waiting for him to do something stupid.

That little shit-stirrer has gone too far this time.

“I have to make a call.”

Jasmine shrugged. “I don’t mind. Do what you need to do.”

Gritting my teeth, I dialled the number and placed the phone against my ear. I did my best not to crush the device in my fingers. I was angry. Fucking pissed. If I had time to drive to London and tell him in person, I would. Only, I would invariably end up using my fists—not my voice.

“Hello?”

My heart thundered viciously.

“Hello, Vaughn.”

“Uh, hi…who’s this?”