Second Debt (Indebted #3)(49)

I moaned, trying my damnedest to shove aside the lingering after effects of the attack, and struggled weakly as Jethro turned his attention to my grey blouse.

Without a word, he undid the pearl buttons, quickly and methodically with no hint of sexual interest or burning desire.

My limbs were endlessly heavy. I lamented the unjust fate of my last name as he pushed my stretchy black leggings to the floor.

Leaving me dressed only in a white lace bra and knickers, Jethro snagged a calico shift and dumped it over my head.

I blinked nauseously as he tugged my arms through the holes as if I were a child.

What was going on? Where was the man who’d held me while he came inside me? Where was the softness…the gentleness?

The minute I was dressed, he demanded, “Take off your shoes.”

I stared into his gaze, looking for a smidgen of hope. I wanted to reach inside and make him care again.

He stood taller, a flicker of life lighting up his features. “Don’t. Just…it’s better this way.” He sighed heavily. “Please.”

I tensed to fight. To argue. But his plea stopped me.

Ironically, I was the one about to be hurt—made to pay a debt I had no notion of—yet he was the one most in pain.

He needed to stay in his shell to remain strong.

Despite my misgivings and terror bubbling faster and faster in my blood, I couldn’t take that away from him.

I’d fallen for him. What sort of person would I be if I willingly stripped him bare when he wasn’t coping? Even if he’d been tasked to hurt me?

Only a stupid, love-struck one.

Do something, Nila. It’s you or him.

Wrong.

Grabbing his hand, I pressed our tattooed indexes together and summoned all my courage. “We’re in this together. You told me so yourself.”

He tensed; his face twisted with unmentionable emotion. Hanging his head, he nodded. “Together.”

“In that case, do what you need to do.”

We stood awkwardly, both wanting to say things that would break the fragile bravery of the moment, but neither strong enough.

Finally, he nodded, and pointed at my shoes.

I didn’t argue or reply.

Kicking off my jewelled flip-flops, Jethro led me silently out the door and through the Hall.

Every footfall sent my heart higher and higher until every terrified beat clawed at the back of my throat. I’d been scared in my life. I’d bawled my eyes out when Vaughn had almost drowned at the beach. I’d become almost comatose with terror when I knew I’d never see my mother again.

But this…this marching toward the Second Debt turned my blood into tar. I moved as if I were underwater, suffering a terrible dream I couldn’t wake from.

I wanted my twin. I wanted him to make it better.

Leaving the Hall behind, Jethro continued to march me over the freshly mowed lawn, past the stables and kennels where Squirrel and a few foxhounds lounged in the autumn sun, and over the hill.

His footsteps were interspersed with an occasional limp—barely noticeable. Was he hurt?

The shift I wore protected me from nothing. The breeze disappeared up the sleeves and howled around my midriff, creating a mini cyclone within my dress.

My trembles ratcheted higher as goosebumps kissed my flesh.

“What—what will happen?” I asked, forcing myself to stay strong and stoic.

Jethro didn’t reply, only increased his pace until we crested the small incline. The moment we stood on the ridge, I had the answer to my question.

Before us was the lake where Cut and his sons had fished for trout on his birthday. It was a large manmade creation in the shape of a kidney. Willow trees and rushes graced its banks, weeping their fronds into the murky depths.

It would’ve been peaceful—a perfect place for a picnic or a lazy afternoon with a book.

But not today.

Today, its shoreline didn’t welcome ducks and geese, but an audience all dressed in black.

Cut, Kes, and Daniel waited with unreadable stares as Jethro propelled me down the grassy mound and closer to my fate.

Cut seemed happier than I’d seen him since I’d arrived, and Daniel sucked on a beer as if we were at his favourite ballgame. Kes had the decency to hide his true feelings behind his mysterious secrecy. His face drawn and blank.

Then my eyes fell on the woman before them.

Bonnie Hawk.

The name came to me as surely as if she wore a name tag. This was the elusive grandmother—the ruler of Hawksridge Hall.

Her lips pursed as if my presence offended her. Her papery hands with vivid blue veins remained clutched in her lap. Her white hair glowed as she sat regally, poised better than any young debutant, not an elderly croon. The chair she sat in matched her bearing, looking like a morbid throne with black velvet and twilled claw-foot legs.

A staff member stood beside her with a parasol, drenching the dame in shade from the noonday sunshine.

It hurt to think the sun beamed upon such a place. It didn’t pick favourites when casting its golden rays—whether it be innocent or guilty—it shone regardless.

I looked up into the ball of burning gas, singeing my retinas and begging the sun to erase all memory of today.

Bonnie sniffed, raising her chin.

Cut stepped forward, clasping his hands in glee. “Hello, Ms. Weaver. So kind of you to join us.”

“I didn’t exactly have a choice.” I shuddered, no longer able to fight the terror lurking on the outskirts of my mind. Claws of horror sank deep inside me, dragging me further into panic.