Third Debt (Indebted #4)(70)

What Nila was about to go through would break her.

What I was about to go through would destroy me.

And no amount of pills could save us.

I just had to hope. Had to pray. Had to scheme.

Had to motherf*cking implore that tonight I would win over Bryan ‘Vulture’ Hawk.



Clang.

The final chime struck midnight.

Two hours of torture.

Two hours of gambling.

Only Daniel was out; his chips distributed between Kes, Cut, and myself. My own stack dwindled, calling for drastic measures of going all in with an unbeatable hand. Kes was the winner, keeping Cut chasing as they puffed like chimneys and drank thousands of pounds worth of cognac.

Every few seconds, my attention wandered to Nila. She hovered like a ghost, jumping at my father’s commands and pre-empting his requests by stocking crisps and emptying ashtrays.

Her presence distracted the hell out of me, but the fact that she refused to look at me drove me insane. She wouldn’t let me silently explain or encourage.

She’d cut me out. In fact, she’d shut down emotionally. The only hint of feeling was dismal resignation.

“Your turn, Jet,” Kes prompted, pointing at the flop.

I ran a hand through my hair. My mind wasn’t on the game, only the f*cking chimes of the clock.

One a.m. was the starting bell.

One more hour to go before the catastrophe began.

“I fold.” Throwing the cards face down on the felt, I took another sip of my drink. The liquor formed a decent barrier with the drugs in my system, relaxing me enough to remain myself and not fester on Cut’s intentions.

We continued to play.

Nila lingered in the background, and second by second, we all inched into the future. The setting was slightly different to what’d happened that fateful night—we weren’t in a local drinking hole and Nila wasn’t a tavern wench—but her role as waitress was the same.

Kes dealt the next hand.

He’d stopped smoking and slowed his pace on the cognac. His eyes were clear, hands steady. He’d fortified himself just enough with liquid courage but hadn’t slipped into drunk.

I’d been an * to him the past few weeks, yet he’d forgiven me before I’d even apologised. He was a true friend. A steadfast ally.

But will you ever be able to look at him again without killing him after tonight?

That question gnawed at my heart until I was riddled with holes.

I honestly didn’t know. In order to save Nila, I might lose my brother.

But it was a chance I had to take.

Another round ensued.

The solid ticks of the grandfather clock pierced my eardrums. All I could think about was the time.

I flopped. Kes raised the stakes. Cut won. Daniel continued to guzzle.

New round.

I was the dealer. I handed out cards, waited for bets, did my part, then delivered the river. My hand was shit. The worst all evening, but I couldn’t play this f*cking farce any longer.

“All in.” I shoved my small chip pile into the centre and glanced at the clock.

12:55 a.m.

I sighed.

Shit.

Kes threw me a look, his back tensing. Our knees touched, agreeing that from now on, I was on my own.

Nila sucked in a breath, dragging my attention to her. Her eyes were wide, confusion painting her cheeks from our shared message. She shrank further into the borrowed clothes she wore.

The last few minutes ticked past. We kept playing as if we weren’t all exceedingly aware of what was about to happen.

“All in,” Kes mumbled, shoving his substantial pile into the centre.

Cut glanced at us, rubbing his chin. “You boys are playing with fire.” Backhanding his own chips, he spread them over our tidy towers and slapped his cards face up. “All in. Show me the final card.”

Daniel chuckled. “This will be interesting.” He leaned forward, pinched the deck, and slammed down the rest of the river.

The moment I saw who won, the clock chimed one.

Clang.

Kestrel.

He’d won.

Of course, he did.

Just like he’d won the girl.





THE SINGLE TOLL of the clock sent mayhem racing through my blood.

One a.m.

Closer to the witching hour than daybreak—curtained by deep darkness where sins and perfidious acts occurred with no repercussion.

Fear.

Endless fear.

It compounded, amalgamated until I couldn’t breathe.

Time screeched to a halt as the four Hawks discarded their game and turned their eyes on me.

I backed away, clutching my heart.

No!

My voice became a dried-up riverbed with no words to flow.

Jethro placed his elbows on the table, running his hands through his tinsel hair. His shoulders heaved as he fortified for whatever came next.

Cut slapped him on the back, muttering something beneath his breath.

Kes glanced at me then away. His body stiff and bristling.

He knows.

He knew what was about to happen. He knew and couldn’t look at me.

Oh, God.

My fear turned to petrified terror.

Daniel stood up first.

Cut nodded as the little creep moved toward me.

“Come here, Nila Weaver. It’s time.”

I shook my head, backing up until I bumped into a blood-red wingback. “Don’t touch me.” My gaze shot to Jethro. He stood bowed like an ancient tree that’d weathered far too many storms. His body was knotted and twisted, eyes tight and strained.