Third Debt (Indebted #4)(64)

He swallowed and for an enchanted moment, we stood together. Breathing, touching, living. Then his mask slipped into place, the emotions in his eyes vanished, and his hands captured mine, tearing them away from his chest.

“Hello, Ms. Weaver.”

Was his coolness because of the low murmur of voices of Black Diamond brothers eating behind him? Or was it the drugs he’d once again befriended?

“Don’t.” I shook my head. “Don’t keep doing—”

He took a step back. “I can imagine you’ve worked up quite an appetite.”

“Excuse me?”

“Then again, I would think now that you have your own horse, you’d be out more often—yet you haven’t left your quarters since.”

My heart fell through the floor.

Freedom. Laughter. Friendship with Kestrel.

“You saw that?”

He sneered. “You mean did I see you riding the horse I wanted to give you? Did I see you laughing the way I planned with my brother? And did I see the way you revelled in the freedom I wanted to show you—then yes.” His eyes narrowed. “I saw all of it.”

Before I could say a word, he left.



Needle&Thread: This was a mistake, V. I don’t know what possessed me to come back here without a thought-out plan. I need to think of another.

I did have a plan: get pregnant with his child and nullify the debt.

And look how that turned out.

Last night, Jethro showed me just how much I’d hurt him by living the best I could within the parameters he’d set. I’d found happiness with Kes. I’d proven I wasn’t broken and still found joy in simple things.

I wanted to find happiness with Jethro. I wanted to runaway together. To prove that our love transcended duty and family honour—but Jethro wasn’t prepared. How could one person be so committed to finding another way, when the other was stuck in the same warped trap from his childhood?

I was angry, upset. But most of all, stricken for the way I’d made him feel. It wasn’t logical, but I felt responsible for his pain.

And until we’d talked and made amends, I couldn’t rest.

The moment the Hall retired to slumber, I tiptoed to his chambers and tried to enter. But the private door in the parlour leading to the bachelor wing was locked. And no matter how much I poked and prodded, I was no expert on lock-picking.

I’d returned, mournful and frustrated, to welcome the sunrise of a new day.

All I could think about was the mistakes upon mistakes I’d made. With my brother, father…my lover.

What power did I have if I cut myself off from everybody? What hope of survival could I wish for if I was all alone?

Sitting in the silk upholstered loveseat beside my window, I drowned in dysphoria.

I didn’t want to eat or sew or read.

I just wanted to…exist.

To pretend I had a simpler life and one not so tangled in treachery.

My phone remained silent in my hands, the screen glowing with invitation to mend bridges between Threads and Kite.

A text said a thousand things. It allowed the reader privacy and time to absorb. Good news and bad were easier to face. Easier to accept.

Uncurling my legs, I opened a new message.

I had no idea what to write, so I turned off my mental critique and let my fingers decide for me.

Needle&Thread: Kite...how did everything change? My heart beats for you, my soul craves yours. During the Second Debt we shared everything. We were free. I hate this distance now. Talk to me. Tell me what you’re thinking. You give me nothing, but I see everything. Trust me. Come to me tonight. Let me show you I’m yours forever. This doesn’t have to be complicated. I love you. Love is simple, kind. Love is forgiveness. Can we forgive each other before it’s too late?

Tears ran silently over my cheeks as I pressed send.





“JETHRO.”

I looked up from my phone. My father came into my quarters, fastening a diamond cufflink through his black shirt.

I couldn’t stop reading Nila’s text. Over and over again. Her words embedded into my soul, and no matter what happened in the future, I couldn’t carve them out.

Once again, she’d proven her power over me was undeniable, forcing me to face the conclusion I’d finally admitted to myself yesterday.

Nothing would work.

No one would fix me.

I couldn’t continue to be responsible for my brother or sister.

I couldn’t continue to live in constant fear of being murdered or cast out.

It was time to take what was mine—regardless of the aftermath, and I couldn’t do it on my own.

Last night, I’d swallowed a tablet and visited my sister for the first time in almost two months. She’d been cross and short-tempered, but once I laid out my plan, she’d thawed.

Like the perfect sibling, she’d forgiven me and gave me what I needed to face what must be done.

Then, I’d visited Kestrel. I’d apologised, admitted my douche-bag behaviour, and asked for help. Just like Jasmine, he’d granted absolution and listened to my struggles. I hid nothing, revealed everything. For the first time since we hit adulthood, we were completely in-tune and equal.

Lucky for me, after my bout of honesty, he was only too happy to agree to my ludicrously ambitious plans.

Killing Cut wasn’t an option—for now.