Third Debt (Indebted #4)(38)

Leaning into him, I murmured, “What boundaries are those? I don’t remember boundaries when I was last here. Oh right, yes I do. No going on the chase where my family is buried. No going on the second floor. No running away. No talking to Vaughn. However, I don’t remember you ever telling me to stop touching you or telling you how I felt.”

His shoulders bunched. “Don’t get cocky, Nila. No more games. I’m done trying to win—”

“That’s because you always lose.”

Jethro’s eyes flashed. “I never lose. Unfortunately for me, my opponent hasn’t been playing fair.”

“What do you mean?” My forehead furrowed. “Everything I’ve tried to do—”

“Was to manipulate me. I was stupid to believe otherwise, but my eyes have since been opened. Regrettably for you, I will no longer be so easy to control.”

Leaving the Hall by the main entrance, we stepped down the imposing stairs and crunched onto the gravel below.

“You were never easy to control, Jethro, and it was never about that. It was about finding someone I never thought I’d find. It was about falling in love—”

He yanked me to a stop. “Don’t mention love in my presence again. You don’t love me, and I certainly don’t love you.” Grazing his knuckles over my jaw, he smiled frostily. “Never underestimate my desire to fit in with my family, Ms. Weaver. And remember that I’m now immune to your distractions. Life at Hawksridge is going to be a lot different from now on.”

I wanted to shout and scream. I wanted to attack him and kiss.

“You don’t know anything, Jethro Hawk.”

“Ready?” George appeared with his incessant camera.

Jethro wrapped his arms around me. Our tense standoff was silenced for a moment. He gave me no choice but to liquefy in his arms, smile demurely, and pretend everything was perfect for one of the fakest photographs ever taken.

“I know more than I need to,” Jethro murmured, his breath hot and enticing on my neck. “I know everything I need in order to complete my task.”

George darted forward. Sylvie, with her bouncing blonde hair, checked the sunlight with handheld sensors. The day was cool but bright; a brilliant autumn backdrop for Vanity Fair’s extravaganza.

“Perfect. Don’t move,” George said.

“Oh, I hadn’t planned on it,” Jethro whispered just for me. He rocked his hips into my arse as he cradled me in his arms. His head bowed as he nuzzled my hair. “You smell just as good as I remember.”

“Oh, you remember that, do you?” I cocked my chin, glaring at Hawksridge and doing my utmost to remain unaffected by Jethro rubbing himself on my lower back. “And here I thought you’d forgotten everything to do with me.”

“I haven’t forgotten a thing.”

“That’s not true,” I whispered sadly. “You’ve forgotten what I said to you the night you brought me back in the springs. You’ve forgotten that I said I was in love with you. That it didn’t come with conditions or commands. That I couldn’t hate you for what you did yesterday or tomorrow.” I sighed, nursing the pain deep inside. “Don’t you see what I’m offering you? Cut doesn’t love you, Jethro. He’s the one controlling you. Choose me. Love me. And we can be free together.”

Jethro growled under his breath. “Stop wasting your time. It’s not going to happen.”

George pranced closer, clicking his camera, capturing us for eternity.

“You’ll see, Kite. Eventually, you will see, and I hope for both our sakes it isn’t too late.”

That was the last time we talked while we became the perfect models for George. For the next hour, we were told where to stand, how to smile, what to do. Photographs were taken in front of Hawksridge, in the stables with the foxhounds threading around our feet, and beneath the apple trees in the orchard.

With each click of the shutter, my heart fell a little more. I had no doubt the pictures would turn the world from suspicion to adoration. The rumours would die. The questions would disappear. And life would move on.

Exactly as the Hawks intended.





SCREW HER AND her conniving plans.

I wanted to f*cking throw something, punch someone, and surrender to the rapidly building hailstorm inside.

You need a top-up.

I thought my dosage was perfect, but it was useless against her. The intensity she projected—the feral energy and righteous anger. It was enough to f*cking cripple my walls and blow away my numbing fog.

Not going to happen.

I’d come so far. I wouldn’t go back. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t survive and not just because Cut would kill me, but because I couldn’t live that way any longer. I wasn’t f*cking built for this disease. I’d done my penance. Twenty-nine long years of it.

Pulling the small bottle from my pocket as I entered my quarters, I placed two pills on my tongue and swallowed them back.

Nila hadn’t even been back a day and I’d already tripled the amount I normally took.

And when I kissed her.

Fuck!

What was I thinking?

To get so close to her? To taste her again?

I’d planned on an impromptu ad-lib for the article, but it f*cking backfired on me.

I stormed into my bathroom and tore off the grey suit I’d worn for the Vanity Fair interview. Cold sweat drenched my back. Goosebumps covered my skin as I stripped the rest of my clothing and stepped into the shower.