Second Debt (Indebted #3)(68)

Where is he?

I needed to make sure Jethro hadn’t had second thoughts. That we were still together—still true.

“I see Jet revived you.”

Daniel’s voice made my head snap up. He sat between two bikers, gnawing on a sausage.

Crap, I hadn’t seen him. If I’d known he was here, I would’ve forgone an entire day of food.

Daniel sneered. “He’s such a soft-hearted prick. If it were me, I would’ve just let you drown.”

My fingers curled around the back of a chair. “Lucky for me, you’re not firstborn.”

Daniel lost his smirk. His face grew black. “Not lucky for you, though, little Weaver.”

What did he mean by that?

Then the doors swung wide and Jethro appeared.

The man who’d drugged me, kidnapped me, and stolen my heart strode quickly to my side and took my elbow.

Every atom wanted to sway into his support. Every cell demanded I turn and kiss him.

But I couldn’t.

I couldn’t let Cut see what’d happened.

It was one thing to be blatant in my hate for Jethro at the beginning, but now it proved a hard task to pretend. I had to openly despise him, all while suffocating my heart from showing the truth.

It took all my willpower, but I sidestepped out of Jethro’s hold. “Don’t you think you did enough yesterday? Don’t touch me.”

Jethro sucked in a harsh breath.

Daniel chuckled, smacking his lips. “Seems you’re as hated as us now, brother. Congratulations.”

Jethro’s eyebrows knitted together, his gaze flaring with hurt.

I willed him to understand.

The tightness suddenly faded around his mouth, his forehead smoothing into a perfect mask.

He knows.

His gaze met mine. With a barely noticeable nod, he agreed to our deception. A second later, a cold shield slammed over his face as effortlessly as breathing. He glittered with ice, so pure, so sharp.

If I didn’t bear the marks of his teeth and fingertips from loving me so roughly last night, I would’ve doubted what was real.

I swallowed hard.

It’s only a trick.

It’s what needs to happen.

It was us against them now. This was the biggest secret of all.

My attention dropped to what he held in his left hand.

The Tally Box.

The room had been fairly silent since I entered, but now hushed anticipation filled the space.

“Glad to see you remembered,” Cut said, taking a sip of his coffee.

Jethro nodded at his father, pulling out a chair for me. “Sit, Ms. Weaver. There’s something we need to do.”

Unable to hide my flinch from bending sore joints, I settled into the offered chair.

Only once I sat did Jethro take the seat beside me.

Folding his long legs beneath the table, he shuffled closer. His aftershave and natural scent of woods and leather trickled into my lungs, causing my heart to squeeze.

My mouth popped open as something pressed against my knee.

Jethro refused to meet my eyes, but I knew it was him, touching me…comforting me, granting me strength.

I sucked in a breath as he nudged me harder. The pressure sent combustible lust fizzing through my blood.

The heavy weight from last night settled on my chest. Words I wanted to spill gathered thickly, drowning me. I wanted to talk to him. I wanted to ask questions and hear his answers.

I want to know him.

Every inch.

Jethro continued to lean his leg against mine. He did it so calmly, all the while pretending nothing was different.

“Get on with it, Jet,” Cut ordered, his attention locked on us.

Jethro nodded curtly. “Of course. Don’t rush me. I think I’ve proven I’m more than capable of doing what needs to be done.”

Cut smashed his lips together.

Jethro’s eyes narrowed as he opened the Tally Box.

My heartbeat sped up as he lifted out the apparatus he would need. Keeping my attention on the needle and ink, I rubbed my foot against his ankle.

He tensed, but continued on as if everything was fine.

Last night, he’d given me power over him in the form of his life.

I knew things no one else did.

And after today, I would know everything.

Jethro was mine, and I would help save him, just like he said. We could change our fates from the plague of his family.

“Hold out your hand,” Jethro murmured, ignoring the table of onlookers.

My heart raced as he held up the tattoo gun.

Pressing my knuckles against the wood of the table, I bit my lip as he turned on the gun.

His hair had grown longer and it fell over his forehead. My fingers itched to brush it away, to press below his chin and bring his mouth to mine.

The air shimmered between us, growing thicker with lust.

My * ached from him taking me so roughly last night, but I wanted more. I wanted it harder, deeper, faster. I doubted I’d ever have enough.

Jethro bristled, fighting against the building heat humming where we touched. When it came to touching in public, we had no armor against the truth.

My gaze shot to Cut. My feelings were far too obvious—he’d see…he’d know. However, his attention zeroed in on his son, his hands steepled before him.

I gasped as the sharp needle bit into my skin. I endured the tiny teeth as they stained me with ink. The burn this time was faintly familiar, filling with memories—becoming part of the design as much as his initials.