Third Debt (Indebted #4)(71)

“I said, come here.” Daniel lunged, grabbing my arm and jerking me against him. “Oh lookie. I’m touching you.”

I bared my teeth, struggling in his foul grip. “Get your filthy—”

“Nila…” Kestrel stood, clearing his throat.

I paused, waiting for him to say something more. If his older brother wouldn’t stop this atrocity, perhaps he would. Maybe I should’ve put my faith in Kes all along.

However, he only shook his head, his face once again hiding everything.

Cut reclined in his chair, snapping his fingers. “Proceed, Daniel.”

“No, wait!”

Daniel dragged me forward. “Come along, whore.” Yanking me to stand in front of him, he snatched my hands and secured them behind me with a silk sash. “Can’t have you scratching or running now, can we?” He laughed under his breath.

Jethro trembled.

Please, stop this!

He didn’t see my silent message as he tossed back another finger of cognac and warily turned to face me. The binds around my skin were tight, already cutting off blood supply.

Cut watched his son closely, not giving instruction but overseeing his every move.

Planting his legs on the chess piece carpet, Jethro said, “Nila Weaver, tonight is the night you will pay the Third Debt. Do you have anything to say before we begin?”

I fought against my restraints as Daniel hovered behind me. He’d secured them too well—they wouldn’t budge. “Please…whatever you’re about to do. Don’t do it.”

Cut laughed softly. “Such a waste of words, Ms. Weaver.” Nodding at Daniel, he ordered, “Seeing as she has no respect for speaking. Gag her.”

“Wait!” I turned feral. “No!” I darted forward, but Daniel dragged me back. I squirmed in his hold, turning into a snake hoping to slither from his trap.

But it was no use.

Within a moment, his wiry strength caught me, subdued me, and threaded a piece of red cloth through my lips. I bit down on it as he tied the knot behind my head, effectively bridling me like a domesticated pony. The material pressed uncomfortably on my tongue.

“Can’t speak now, can you, Weaver?” Daniel tapped my cheek.

Jethro!

Jethro ran a shaky hand over his face.

How could he permit this? Didn’t I mean anything to him?

“Now you have no option but to listen; it’s time for your history lesson.” Cut angled his chair, looking like a king on the carpet chessboard about to slaughter a simple pawn with no concern. “Listen carefully, Nila. Understand your sins. Then the night will proceed exactly as it did all those years ago.” He looked at Jethro. “Continue, son.”

With lethargic steps, Jethro took his place in centre stage. He looked paler than a vampire and just as ridden by death. Daniel’s body heat repulsed me; I rode the ragged gallop of my heart, trying to calm down enough to persevere.

Jethro’s measured, chilly voice filled the smoky room. “Many years ago, your ancestors loved to gamble. As happenstance would have it, most of the time the gamble paid off. Weaver possessed luck and used that luck in business, pleasure, and monetary gain.” His voice thickened but never faltered. “On occasion, the head of the Weaver household would visit the local pub to play two-up, rummy, and poker.”

My eyes drifted to the finished game of littered chips and empty glasses, seeing the scene and understanding whatever happened to me would be a direct correlation to that night.

“However one not-so-good year, the Weavers’ luck ran out. Not only was his wife accused of witchcraft and the Hawk daughter sacrificed for her sins, but his skill at cheating cards was no longer a talent but a flaw.

“The news got out that he was a conniving thief, and the local gentry invited Weaver to a game at the local establishment to trip him up. Weaver went—as he always did. And cheated—as he always did.

“When the game was over, however, Weaver hadn’t won. The cards had been switched, and Weaver folded with no money to pay back his losses. His playing companions demanded he pay his debts right there and then.

“Of course, he had no funds. He had a profitable business and textile enterprise. He owned silk shipments and exotic inks worth thousands of pounds, but his pockets were lined with lint and buttons, not paper and coins.”

Jethro took a breath, his back straightening the longer he talked. I didn’t know if it was anger at what my ancestors had done giving him power or that he somehow had a plan.

“They gave him an ultimatum. Pay the debt or lose his hand like so many other thieves. The police weren’t there. It was late. Alcohol had been consumed, and men were at their worst. Lust. Greed. Hunger. They wanted blood and wouldn’t settle for less.

“Weaver knew he couldn’t pay. He stood to lose an appendage if he didn’t provide something worthwhile to make up for his lies. That was when his eyes fell on the servant boy he’d brought with him to help tend to his needs during the game. The underling to the butler, the ragamuffin who worked in the cellars. The Hawk son—last offspring of my ancestors.”

If I wasn’t gagged, I would’ve lamented in horror for such a plight.

Poor boy. Poor, hungry existence. Whoever he’d been, he’d suffered an awful upbringing watching his father punished, mother raped, and sister drowned. He’d lived through enough strife to last a hundred lifetimes only to end up sisterless—hopeless—all alone and dealing with a mob of intoxicated men.