Second Debt (Indebted #3)(69)

It only took a moment.

Jethro reclined, eyeing up his penmanship. There, on the pad of my middle finger, he’d completed another .

A debt for a debt.

A tally for a tally.

The residual pain couldn’t compete with my other aches and bruises. It was rather refreshing to have a wound that was sharp, rather than bone-deep and throbbing.

Jethro turned off the gun and handed it to me.

Wordlessly, he splayed his beautiful long fingers and never stopped looking at me as I inked my ownership on his mirroring finger.

My lines were straighter this time, more confident. I embraced the marks because now it only bound us tighter together, rather than recorded a new debt.

When I’d finished, he had two branded fingers.

Like for like.

Same for same.

Jethro nudged my foot again, keeping his face blank and almost cruel. I pressed back, never looking up as I turned off the gun and placed it back in its box.

Awareness scattered over my forearms. I couldn’t stop a gentle sigh as Jethro deliberately brushed my pinky with his, tucking away the discarded vial and locking the lid.

Cut muttered, “Good to see you learned from your past mistake and things are following accordingly.” Waving at the sideboard groaning with food, he added, “Eat, both of you. You have a large schedule.”

My throat closed at the thought of what that could mean.

Cut narrowed his eyes. “Jethro, you’re in charge of the Carlyle shipment. The stones arrive in a few hours. You know what to do.” Turning his cold glare on me, he smiled. “And, Nila, you’ve been summoned by my mother, Bonnie, for tea in her boudoir.”

My heart raced.

Jethro threw me a look.

What about our plans?

He glared at his father. “Ms. Weaver was subjected to enough yesterday.” His voice lowered as he spoke through clenched teeth. “Give her a few days, for f*ck’s sake.”

Knives and forks screeched across crockery as the Diamond men turned to see Cut’s reaction.

Cut fisted his hands on the table. “Don’t you—”

“Um, sir?”

All heads turned to the youngest member of the Black Diamonds, a twenty-year-old man named Facet. His floppy blond hair and kind eyes were a direct contradiction to the leader he now addressed.

Cut’s forehead furrowed. Black anger covered his face. “What? What is so f*cking important you interrupt me mid-sentence?”

Facet shifted awkwardly. “Sorry, sir. Won’t happen again. But, eh…we have company.” His eyes flew around the room, looking for someone to help bear the brunt of his leader.

No one moved.

The guy sucked in a breath, reluctantly delivering his news. “I tried to stop them from entering the grounds. We did what you said. But they ignored us.” Sweat gleamed on his upper lip. “Even the gatekeeper at the lock house couldn’t stop them.”

“What the hell are you talking about, boy?!” Cut exploded.

Facet jumped. “They have a warrant, sir. They—they barged past, regardless of our warnings. We reminded them that we own their department—that our brotherhood is beyond their reach.” He hung his head. “It didn’t do any good.”

The entire table sucked in a breath.

Warrant?

Could it be?

Jethro went deathly still beside me. Every connection we shared froze, no longer a two-way street of togetherness and affection. A road block slammed into place, masking his every thought.

I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. My heart squeezed as he stared fiercely at the opposite wall, refusing to look at me.

“Jethro—” I breathed.

His jaw locked; snowflakes flurried around him as he pulled more and more away from me. Goosebumps dotted my flesh.

Cut roared, “Tell those f*cking pigs to get off my land. Their warrant means jack-shit.”

“Sir, I’ve told them. But they won’t listen. They say—they say they’re here for—”

Jethro burst out laughing—a cold, cynical chuckle. “That low life piece of shit. He did this. They’re here for her.” He looked at the ceiling, his face twisting into nightmares. “Of course, they f*cking are.”

A warrant could mean many things. It might not have anything to do with me. Yet a screeching, tearing noise echoed in my ears. It’s my soul. The awful ripping sound was my soul splintering in two. If they had come for me…that meant…

I’m saved.

I’d wished for this very thing to happen.

I’d prayed for this. I’d begged for this.

Escape.

So, why—if it was true—did I wish to run to my quarters and hide?

I don’t want to leave him.

I can’t leave him.

Not after last night.

Jethro balled his hands, his eyes sharp and deadly. He snarled at Facet, “Tell them they can’t f*cking have her.”

My heart squeezed. Pain blazed through me with more agony than I thought possible. He wouldn’t give me up. He couldn’t give me up.

We were one now. It’d been written in the stars and on our very skin.

Escape.

The word slithered through my brain, bringing forth thoughts of London and home. I shook my head, trying to dislodge the steadily building allure.

You could go home.