Final Debt

by Pepper Winters

  I sat.

  Stretching, he placed his briefcase in the overhead lockers before sitting smoothly and unhurriedly beside me.

  The moment he settled, I asked, “Why a commercial airline? Why not the private jet we flew in on?”

  “Why do you think? Because the private plane would be far too easy. This way is much harder.”

  My eyes widened. “Harder?”

  “Harder on you.” His voice lowered into a threat. “This way you have to sit with hundreds of strangers, wondering if they suspect you. You’ll have to hide your fear when we land and lie through your teeth when they question you. The stress of being watched, of being surrounded by countless people, of having to lie—it’s to show you how hard it is to transport a secret. You’ll value the cost so much more.”

  Reclining, his long legs spread out in front of him. “You’ll learn what it’s like to protect something so precious by any means necessary.”

  I swallowed. “You forget I don’t care about your diamonds. I don’t care if they find them.”

  His eyes narrowed. “It’s not the diamonds I’m talking about, Nila. It’s my firstborn rotting in Almasi Kipanga watched over by Marquise. You fail, and he dies in the most horrifying ways. You win, he lives even when you die. It’s a fair trade—don’t you think?”

  I bit my lip against the torrent of hate and helplessness.

  I couldn’t reply. It would be an explosion of retorts and profanity.

  Reaching between our wedged hips, he yanked out one end of my seatbelt. “Now, buckle up, Nila. You can never be too safe.”

  “I’ll never be safe as long as you’re alive.”

  I will kill you.

  I’ll find a way.

  His eyes darkened. “Careful.”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  Cut smiled, looking the perfect distinguished gentleman travelling on business. “Because William Hawk smuggled his wealth numerous times. He completed his grandmother’s legacy, but despite his hard work and terrible history, the king wasn’t satisfied with taking half of his profits, he wanted it all.”

  Cut gathered tension around him, suffocating me. “So William went one step further. He gave the king his dues, he paid taxes, indulged in bribery, and ensconced himself in the good graces of the court, but he managed to keep the exact location of our family’s mine a secret.

  “And the stones, well, he used extra ships he purchased to smuggle quantities the king could never contemplate. He sacrificed millions in order to cement his place, but he also saved untold wealth by being smarter than the pompous arse on the throne.”

  Another flush of agony washed over me from my arm. I hugged the cast, slipping it free from the sling to rub the gauze, wishing I could rub the pounding break beneath. “I don’t care what you think. I don’t care how much money or power you have. One day, karma will catch up and make you pay.”

  Cut ran his hands through his hair, smoothing the white strands into snow perfection. “You can make empty threats all you want, Ms. Weaver, but the truth will forever stand.”

  “What truth?”

  “The truth you can’t make someone pay when they’re completely untouchable.”

  I tore my eyes from his, glaring out the window.

  Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong.

  Your son was a prince to your empire, untouchable, unkillable—a Hawk.

  Yet, I touched him.

  I killed him.

  I murdered him.

  And I’ll murder you, too.

  One hour into the flight.

  I groaned in agony as the pressure of the cabin swelled my broken arm.

  * * *

  Two hours into the flight.

  Food was served. Some overly microwaved rubbery concoction with salad and a slimy strawberry cheesecake. I devoured the entire tray, even the hard-as-a-brick bread roll. Food helped replace a small piece of the emptiness inside me.

  * * *

  Three hours.

  I squirmed beside Cut dying for pain-killers. He barricaded me in, sitting in his aisle seat like my jailer. My bladder protested and my thoughts swam with Jethro.

  * * *

  Four hours.

  I lost my promise not to cause issues and pressed the button for an air-hostess. Cut glowered when the woman with coiffed red hair appeared. Ignoring him, I begged for some Panadol, some Advil, anything to lessen my pain.

  She looked at Cut.

  He shook his head.

  I never did get my painkillers.

  * * *

  Five hours.

  I stared out the window, counting stars, following wisps of clouds and pleading with the universe to keep Jethro safe.

  “Stop fidgeting.” Cut narrowed his eyes at my tapping fingers and dancing legs.

  “Let me walk the cabin. I need to stretch.”

  And use the bathroom.

  His jaw twitched. “Five minutes, Nila. If you’re any longer, or I suspect you’re disobeying me, I’ll give you a taste of Diamond Dust.”

  “Diamond Dust?”

  His lips curled. “You remember…the drug Jethro gave you from Milan? The magical substance that turns you mute and obedient while you can scream all you want in the inside?”

  I gulped.

  I completed my stretches and a bathroom break in four minutes.

  * * *

  Six.

  Seven.

  Eight.

  Nine.

  Ten hours.

  Clammy sweat broke out over my skin. Adrenaline drenched my system the closer we flew to England. The cast itched with hot imprisonment, eerily heavy with its tormenting cargo. Lack of sleep clouded my mind and I swore the facets and sharp edges of diamonds burrowed their way into my flesh, gnawing me like a worm gnawed an apple.

  * * *

  Eleven hours.

  The captain announced our upcoming arrival. Breakfast was served and cleared away in record time. Cut smiled and patted my hand. “Almost there, my dear. Almost home.”

  I cringed, looking out the window.

  I just want this to be over.

  * * *

  Eleven hours and forty minutes.

  The plane left clouds for earth, flying me toward my greatest challenge and worst debt yet. It wasn’t my pain on the line. It wasn’t Vaughn’s like the night with the dice. It was Jethro’s.

  The man I’d willingly given my heart to. The man I said I would marry. The man who needed me as much as I needed him.

  If I failed, he would die.

  And not just die but be tortured until he begged for death.

  My ears popped and my arm distended as the airplane tyres skimmed the horizon before skidding onto tarmac.

  I didn’t speak as we taxied to the gate. Cut filled in arrival cards, running his fingers possessively over my passport.

  My stomach performed circus tricks and trapeze stunts as the air-bridge attached and the flight attendants announced we could disembark. Passengers exploded into action, grabbing cases, children, and blocking the aisle in their rush to leave.

  None of them were aware of what a monumental task sat before me.

  Stay calm.

  Don’t think about what’s in your cast.

  Cut grinned, standing upright and holding out his hand. “Ready, Nila?”

  I longed to scream and tell the truth. I wished I could tell everyone what I smuggled. If they knew, perhaps they could take away the worry that I wouldn’t make it.

  Jethro.

  Think of Jethro.

  You’ll do this because of Jethro.

  Standing, I took Cut’s hand for balance and followed the other passengers onto English soil.

  “Miss?”

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  I turned slowly, doing my best to swallow my nerves. “Yes?”

  “You don’t have any hand luggage to put on the x-ray belt?”

  I blinked, holding up the line waiting to go through the body scanner. The new equipment did a better job tha
n the metal detector in Africa. Upgraded facilities, shrewd airport staff, and suspecting officers kept my heart permanently lodged in my throat.

  “Oh, no. No bag.”

  The middle-aged security guard wrinkled his forehead. “No luggage on a long-haul trip?”

  My stomach hurled itself against internal organs, knotting with kidney and spleen. “Well, I—”

  “She’s with me.” Cut slung his black briefcase onto the conveyor belt, raising his eyebrow as if daring him to deny it.

  I froze.

  Why had he come to my rescue? Wasn’t it his intention to make me sweat? To give him reasons to hurt Jethro? Not that he needs a reason.

  The man eyed Cut, taking in his expensive clothes and white hair demanding respect. “Okay…” He glanced back at me, beckoning me to step into the round chamber with its curved glass and two footsteps painted on the floor. “Hold your arms above your head and wait until I tell you to move.”

  Tears sprang to my eyes. Tears of fear. Tears of pain.

  I pointed to my tote bag sling. “I—I just broke my arm. I can’t—”

  The man behind me snapped my forearm with a mallet.

  He’s going to kill me when we return to his home.

  Help me…

  No sympathy glowed in his eyes. “Do the best you can.”

  Jethro.

  I still had his fate in my hands. I couldn’t falter.

  Swallowing my racing heart, I slipped the cast free and raised my arms as best I could. Blood pressure throbbed in my fingertips and shooting pain bolted down my forearm. A terrible image of diamonds spilling out the end of the cast had me swallow a gasp-cough.

  Closing my eyes, I waited as a two large sensors swung around me with the whirring noise of rotor blades.

  “Thank you. Come out, please.”

  I obeyed, forcing my legs to remain firm and not buckle. Standing beside the man as the screen lit up with an image of a nondescript person, he frowned as black splotches appeared on the screen where my cast, my bra, and diamond collar were.

  The officer cleared his throat. “Miss, you’ll have to undergo a pat down.” Looking behind him, he said, “Jean, can you help this lady?” He sidestepped, giving room for the female staff member to move into my personal space with her rubber gloves and judgemental stare.

  “Do you wish to go into a private room?” Her voice screeched across my nerves.

  A private room.

  I could tell her what Cut did. I could inform her of what I carried. I could destroy not just my life, but Jethro’s, too.

  Cut met my eyes through the scanner. He hadn’t gone through yet. He didn’t say a word, crossing his arms, waiting for my decision.

  I bit my lip. “No, here is fine.”

  “Alright.” Clasping her hands, she ordered, “I need you to spread your legs and hold your arms out to the side.”

  Other passengers milled around, slyly watching as they grabbed their bags and slipped into shoes and jackets.

  I did my best to comply, but my arm burned. God, how it burned.

  Without asking for permission, she swept swift hands from my wrists to my shoulders and down the front of my chest. My white jumper with a unicorn in the same grey colours of Moth gave way beneath her touch. Her fingers pried at the underwire of my bra, ensuring there was nothing hidden. Skimming my leggings, she returned to my chest and slipped her fingers beneath my diamond collar.

  I held my breath, forcing myself not to choke as she tugged a little, running her touch right around my neck.

  She pursed her lips. “You’ll have to take the sling off. I want to x-ray it.”

  I awkwardly shrugged out of it, passing it to her one-handedly.

  She placed it onto a tray and gave it to another guard to run it through the x-ray machine.

  “I’ll also need to see inside your cast.” Pulling free a torch from the arsenal on her belt, she said, “Stand to the side and hold out your arm.”

  Air suddenly turned to soup.

  Tears pricked as I handed over my broken limb, throbbing with the crime of diamonds.

  Cut was wrong.

  A cast didn’t offer sympathy these days. Perhaps in the past it had. Once upon a time, the sign of weakness and pain might’ve allowed a trafficker free range to import whatever they wanted by tucking a parcel of contraband in a fake cast. But not anymore. People had no empathy these days. High on their careers and pompous on their commitment to protect the borders—any shred of compassion had disappeared beneath strict training and no-nonsense.

  I stiffened as the woman bent closer, her torch illuminating the inside of my cast. Could she see? Did the sparkle of diamonds glitter through the plaster?

  Cut came through the body scanner, cleared by the male officer. He never took his eyes off me as he collected his briefcase and my sling from the conveyer belt. Coming closer, he pulled free the envelope the African doctor had given him before we boarded. “I have the x-ray if you need it. She’s my daughter-in-law.” Yanking out the images of my abused arm, he shoved it at the woman currently peering down my cast.

  She pulled back, frowning. “I didn’t ask for evidence. The signs of pain are obvious.”

  Cut smiled smugly. I knew his thoughts—they glowed in his eyes. I told you people could see a faker from the truth.

  Dropping her torch, she inspected the x-ray quickly. The light of the airport showed what Cut had done to my arm with clear precision.

  Stupidly, I’d hoped Cut had been wrong. That the mallet had only severely bruised me. That the snapping sound I heard wasn’t an internal structure giving way, merely a movement of the table.

  However, the image clearly showed a clean break on one of the two bones in my forearm. The two pieces hadn’t separated, but the large shadow was enough to make me faint. Cut obviously had practice. The fracture would knit together, eventually.

  Won’t it?

  He’d broken me, and I hadn’t had proper doctor care.

  Would it need to be reset? How long did something like that take to heal?

  I squeezed my eyes. Will I die with this fracture?

  “How did you hurt your arm, Miss?” The officer pursed her red-painted lips.

  My heart fluttered as fear ran amok. “I don’t—I’m not—”

  Jethro.

  Lie better.

  Cut crossed his arms, crunching the x-ray in his grip.

  “I—I fell.” Standing taller, I sucked in a breath. “My father-in-law and I were on a safari. One of those open top, no door Jeeps. I didn’t listen to the guide and we went over a gully and bounced quite hard.” I dropped my eyes. “I fell out of the car and broke my arm.”

  Cut laughed. “Kids. Can’t teach them survival skills these days.”

  Annoyance painted her face. “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to step back.” The woman pointed toward baggage claim. “Your daughter-in-law will catch up with you when she’s finished here.”

  I narrowed my eyes.

  Morbidly, I didn’t want him to go. I didn’t want to give him any reason to hurt Jethro. He’d bolstered my tale, given x-rays with evidence. I wasn’t delusional to think it was to keep me from breaking my promise to Kite.

  All he cared about were the diamonds stuffed in my cast—smuggling his own wealth to avoid taxes and government thresholds.

  My stomach twisted.

  He would cut off my head before Jethro managed to find a way to chase me back to England. And Jethro would have to live every day knowing that he failed.

  That fate was worse than death.

  My shoulders slouched as a rogue tear escaped my control.

  The airport officer softened. “It’s okay.”

  Cut moved a few steps away, always watching, always controlling.

  “Is there anything you want to tell me, Miss?” The woman widened her eyes. I guessed she tried to come across as sympathetic and helpful, but it only made her more duplicitous.

  I shook my head. “No, I’m just in pai
n, that’s all.”

  Holding up the sling Cut had passed back to me, I asked, “Can I put this back on?”

  She paused for a long moment, eyeing up my cast while chewing on the inside of her cheek.

  She’s going to arrest me.

  She’s going to lock me up and Cut will hurt him.

  Finally, she nodded. “I hope you get better soon.” Turning off her torch, she waved me through. “Go on. Get home and sleep. You look positively drawn out.”

  “I will.”

  Unfortunately, I had no idea how many hours I had to breathe. I wouldn’t sleep…I wouldn’t waste a minute. After all, I wouldn’t wake from death—the longest sleep imaginable.

  I gave her a watery smile, trudging in Cut’s footsteps toward the exit.

  I’ve won but at what cost?

  Cut’s diamonds had entered England undetected, and I’d just condemned Jethro to a life of hell when I paid the Final Debt.

  NO MATTER WHAT I offered Marquise, he didn’t bite.

  He flat-out fucking ignored me, tapping on his phone, sitting like a troll in the corner. I hated he had reception down here. It used to be that being metres beneath the ground there would be no signal, but that was before technology and routers and modems.

  My shoulder screamed for mercy like it had for the past few hours. My neck ached from lolling on the floor and my headache flickered with hazy tiredness.

  I wanted to sleep but couldn’t.

  If I were concussed—which I feared I was from the car accident—I couldn’t afford not to wake up. I had to keep going. Keep trying.

  Blood slicked my wrists from trying to get free. I’d hoped, once I broke the skin, that the crimson lubrication would help me. If anything, it’d just clogged the twine and wrapped it tighter.

  Nila.

  Was she on a plane now?

  Had Cut helped her through security?

  “What time do I get my surprise?” My voice tore through the stagnant silence. We hadn’t talked since Marquise informed me of Cut’s final plan.

  I had no doubt my time was running out. I would remember the pain I was currently in with fondness once Marquise started delivering.

  Marquise looked up from the glowing screen in his hands. “Eager to begin?”

  “Eager to leave.” I cleared my throat, desperate for some water. Not that I’d ask him for some. He’d only taunt and torture. “Come on. Name your price.”