Final Debt

by Pepper Winters

  Debt.

  The last debt…

  My heels dug into floor runners, creasing ancient rugs. Cut merely dragged harder, never slowing his pace.

  Hawksridge seemed to exhale around us, the portraits and tapestries darkening as Cut dragged me down yet more ancient corridors. Moving toward large double doors in the same wing as the dining room, he stopped briefly before another Black Diamond brother opened the impressive entrance.

  My eyes drank in the inscriptions and carvings on the doors, of hawks and mottos and the family crest of the man who was about to kill me in cold blood.

  I’d walked past the doors countless times and never stopped to jiggle the handle—almost as if it’d kept itself secret until this moment—camouflaging itself to remain unseen until the Final Debt.

  Cut clenched his jaw as the large entry groaned open, heavy on their hinges and weary with what they contained.

  Once open, Cut threw me inside. Letting go of my hand, he grabbed a fistful of short hair, marching me to the centre of the room.

  The chasmal space was exquisite. Crystals and candlesticks and chandeliers. Needlepoint and brocade and craftsmanship. Money echoed in every corner, shoving away dust motes and proving that glittering gold was immune to tarnish and age.

  The gorgeous dance floor competed with the tapestry-covered walls and hand-stitched curtains, yet it wasn’t overshadowed. The glossy wood created the motif of the Hawk crest inlaid with oak, cherry, and ash.

  The black velvet curtains gleamed with diamonds sewn into the fabric, and everywhere I looked, the emblem of my capturers gilded wall panels and ceiling architraves.

  There was no denying who this room belonged to, nor the wealth it had taken to acquire it.

  “Like what you see, Weaver?” Cut never stopped as we stormed toward something large and covered by black sheeting in the middle of the empty expanse.

  There were no chairs or banquet tables. Only acres of flooring with no one to dance. Loneliness and echoing eeriness swirled like invisible threads, tainting what would happen with its chequered history.

  There’d been good times and bad in this place. Wine spilled with laughter and blood shed with tears.

  Goosebumps darted over my flesh, almost as if I stepped through the time-veil. Able to see previous generations dancing, hear their lilting voices on the air.

  And then I saw them.

  Cut grunted as I slammed to a stop, zeroing in on the portraits he’d told me about in Africa.

  The Hawk women.

  Unlike the dining room with its over-crowded walls of men in white wigs, chalky faces, and gruffly stern expressions, the Hawk women bestowed the ballroom with class.

  Their faces held colour of pink cheeks and red lips. Their hair artfully coiled and curled. And their dresses tumbled through the artist’s brush-strokes, almost as if they were real.

  Cut let me look. “Beautiful, aren’t they?”

  I didn’t reply. I couldn’t. I was overwhelmed with antiquity and yesteryear.

  He let me survey his family’s history while I searched for the portrait that’d caught my eye. I needed to look upon the woman who started it all.

  I can’t find her.

  Bonnie.

  She found me first.

  Her painting hung vibrantly, royally. She’d posed with a white poodle and an armful of lilies. Her face unlined and youthful vitality hinting at a woman of early forties rather than the ancient ninety-one-year old who’d just perished.

  Up and up the family tree my gaze soared, over Joans and Janes and Bessies.

  And finally, at the very top, overseeing her realm and all that she helped create and conquer was Mabel Hawk.

  The shadowy sketch wasn’t as intricate in detail as the rest. Her grandson, William, could only remember so much, commissioning the painting off memory. But the intensity of her gaze popped full of soul even if her features weren’t drawn with precision. She looked like any other woman from the bygone era. Any other mother and grandmother. Her gown of simple brown velvet held a single diamond at her bosom while her cheekbones swept into her hairline.

  She reminded me of Jethro in a way. The same potency of sovereignty and power.

  “Drink it in, my dear.” Cut let go of my hair, running his fingers along my collar. “This room will be the last thing you ever see.”

  I still didn’t respond. I’d taken so much from him, and I refused to give it back in the form of begging and tears.

  Time ticked onward, but Cut didn’t hurry me. I let the portraits on the wall tell their story, filling me with timeworn relics, ensuring when the time came to bow on my knees and succumb to the guillotine’s blade, I would be more than just a girl, more than a Weaver, more than a victim of the Debt Inheritance.

  I would be history.

  I would be part of something so much bigger than myself and would take mementoes from this life to the next.

  The room slowly filled with witnesses. Black Diamond brothers trickled in, lining the walls with their black leather. Out the corner of my eye, I noticed a few with bloody knuckles and shadow-bruised jaws. Why had they fought within their ranks? What had caused their violent disruption?

  The oppressive summoning from the hidden apparatus in the ballroom pressed deeper and deeper the longer I ignored it. The portraits had been studied, the room scrutinized—I had nothing left to capture my attention away from the monolithic mysterious thing.

  Cut turned me to face it. “Would you like to see below the cloak?” He smiled tightly. “I’m sure your imagination has created a version of what exists before you.”

  I straightened my spine. “Whatever you do to me, it won’t bring them back.”

  He stiffened.

  The gentle squeak of a wheel broke the brackish silence. I looked over my shoulder as Jasmine suddenly propelled herself into the room, slipping quickly over polished wood with a horrified expression. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  Cut turned around, dropping his touch to land on my lower back. He didn’t hold me in place, but I wasn’t idiotic to think I wasn’t trapped and unable to move.

  “I’m doing what needs to be done.”

  Jasmine wheeled herself right up to Cut’s knees. Her beautiful face pinched with disbelief. “No! That isn’t your task. It’s Jet—I mean, Daniel’s.”

  Cut narrowed his eyes, looking between the two of us. “Fuck.” He ducked down, grabbing his daughter roughly by the chin. “You knew, too. You knew all the fuck along Jethro and Kestrel were alive.” He shook her. “What sort of daughter are you? What sort of loyalty do you have toward your own flesh and blood?”

  Jasmine chopped her hands on Cut’s wrists, breaking his hold on her cheeks. “My loyalty is to the right thing. And this is not right! Stop it. Right now.”

  Cut chuckled. “There is so much you don’t know, Jaz, and so much you’ll never learn. You’re a failure and no longer a fucking Hawk. The moment I’ve dealt with Nila, I’ll deal with you. What’s good about family if it’s the same family that does everything possible to destroy itself?”

  Snapping his fingers, he growled at the brother who’d just arrived.

  The man skidded through the doors, breathing hard as if he’d been at war rather than on whatever errands the club did.

  My eyes met his. Dark floppy hair and kindness hid beneath ruthless.

  Flaw.

  My heart leapt, hope unspooling.

  I had many enemies in this room but two people I cared about and trusted might be all I needed against Cut and his blade.

  “Flaw, take my daughter to the back of the room. She’s to watch from a safe distance and not to leave, understood?”

  Flaw glanced at me. Secrets collided in his gaze before looking resolutely away. Nothing in his posture apologised or promised he would try to prevent the future. He merely nodded and clasped his hands around the handles of Jasmine’s wheelchair. “Yes, sir.”

  Flaw…?

  What had I done to warra
nt his sudden coolness?

  Backing away, he dragged Jasmine with him.

  She screeched and jammed on her brakes, leaving large grooves and tyre marks on the elegant floor. “No!”

  “Don’t argue, Ms. Hawk.” Flaw dragged her faster toward the border of the room.

  I couldn’t believe he’d abandoned me. Wouldn’t he at least try to argue for my life?

  Jasmine made eye contact with me, fighting Flaw’s yanking, shaking her head in despair. “Nila…where is he? Why isn’t he stopping this?”

  Jethro.

  She means Jethro.

  I wanted to tell her everything, but there was too much to that question and I had no strength to answer it. She didn’t need to know what happened in Africa. She had her own issues to face once I’d departed this world at the hands of her father.

  I shook my head, a sad smile on my lips. “I’m sorry, Jaz. I tried. We both did.”

  Tears welled, catching on her eyelashes. “No. This can’t be happening. I won’t let it.” She reached behind her, trying to slap Flaw and scratch his hands from dragging her farther. “Let me go!”

  With jerky movements, he bent angrily and hissed something unintelligible in her ear.

  She froze.

  Flaw used her sudden motionlessness to yank her the rest of the way.

  What had he said?

  How could he betray us?

  My heart stopped. Has he betrayed us or did he make another oath to Kes and Jethro I’m not aware of?

  Vexatious questions came faster, battering me with final worry. Was Kestrel awake? Was he alive in the hospital waiting for his brother to visit?

  I wish I could say goodbye to him.

  My tummy clenched even as I tried to remain strong.

  I wish I could kiss Jethro one last time.

  Cut spun around, forcing me to do the same. Flaw and Jasmine’s eyes seared brands into the back of my spine. Two brothers dashed forward, gripping the ends of the black sheet hiding the apparatus, looking at Cut for commands.

  He snapped his fingers with regality. “Remove it!”

  Their hands gathered swaths of material and tugged. The fabric slid like ebony silk, kissing angles and gliding over surfaces, slowly revealing what I’d known existed all along.

  The method of my death.

  The equipment I’d hoped never to see.

  There was no Jethro to stop it.

  No Kestrel to fix it.

  No Jasmine to ruin it.

  Only me, Cut, and the awful gleaming guillotine.

  The lights from the chandeliers bounced off the glossy wood of the frame, suspending a single blade ensconced in two pillars of wood. A latch at the top held it in place while the rope dangled down the side, ready to pull aside the barrier and let the blade plummet to its task.

  And there…below the chopping block where my head would lay was the basket that would be my final resting place.

  Cut kissed my cheek, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and guiding me toward the machine. “Say goodbye, Nila. It’s time to pay the Final Debt.”

  I’D BEEN AWAKE for centuries.

  I’d travelled thousands of miles. I’d fought hundreds of battles. I’d lived a million lives in a matter of days.

  My brain gasped for rest. My eyes screamed for sleep. But my heart pushed relentlessly toward the end.

  “Stop here.”

  The taxi driver did as I asked, pulling to a halt beside a grass verge a few metres away from the entrance to Hawksridge. As soon as we’d landed, I’d paid the crew for their fast service and hopped into a taxi.

  The flight had gone as planned. Once I’d made phone calls for Tex to gather his enforcements, Flaw to sort out the brothers, and Kill to hide on the grounds and watch from a distance, I’d focused on ensuring my body would continue to obey me and the strength I’d need for the future tasks wouldn’t fail.

  I’d eaten and tended to my wounds in the airplane bathroom. I’d patched up my gunshot wound as best I could and added a Band-Aid to the cut on my forehead. I asked the flight crew to give me the first-aid kit and took what pills I could to lower my incessant fever and subdue the aches and pains I didn’t have time to deal with.

  When we finally traded air for earth, I wasn’t recharged or ready for carnage, but I was better than I’d been a few hours ago.

  I had enough energy to finish this…and then…then I would sleep for a fucking eternity and let others worry about the world for a change.

  Nila, I’m coming.

  Once she was in my arms, I was never letting her go again.

  Looking through the taxi windshield, my eyes widened at the countless cars and SUVs decorating the entrance to the Hall. All of them black and threatening—waiting for commands.

  I hope to fuck that’s Tex and his men.

  “That’s ten pounds twenty.” The driver twisted in his seat, pointing at the metre.

  I threw him twenty quid from the bankroll the captain had given me in exchange for another diamond and climbed out. “Keep the change.”

  The driver nodded, shifting into gear and pulling away from the verge. As he drove off, I prowled toward the convoy, peering at men I didn’t recognise.

  No, that wasn’t true.

  I did recognise them. I recognised the ferocity in their gaze. The merciless stare of a hired killer. I felt their quiet thoughts and slipstream of emotional commitment to a job they’d been hired to do.

  I wanted to grab them all in a fucking hug and thank them profusely for being on my side after a lifetime of war.

  Vaughn spotted me first.

  Nila’s brother careened around a 4WD, pointing his finger in my face. “You. What the fuck is going on?” Gel plastered black hair away from his face; his eyes ready to slaughter me.

  Not giving me time to reply, he grabbed his right forearm, shoving it beneath my nose. “What did you do to her? Why do I have an ache in my arm?” Grabbing me by the neck, he growled, “Tell me what the fuck you did to my sister!”

  His internal thoughts flew haywire, screeching in fear and fluster.

  I held up my hands, submitting to his hold. “Your fight is not with me.” I held my ground as he clenched his fists, tightening his grip. “I didn’t touch her. I love her. I’m on your side, Weaver.”

  “Let him go, V.” Tex appeared from around another vehicle, dressed all in black like his son. They truly looked alike, whereas Nila looked very much like Emma. A true family. The only thing my family had in common was insanity and golden eyes.

  Damn genetics.

  Damn contracts and debts and greed.

  Vaughn bared his teeth, ignoring his father. “I asked you a question, Hawk. I said what the fuck is going on? I didn’t ask if you’re on our side. That’s debatable, and we’ll make up our own minds without you telling us thank you very fucking much.”

  I dropped my hands, my fingers itching for one of the guns holstered to the men slowly surrounding us. Each man held an arsenal on his body, fully equipped for battle and not afraid of firepower or injury.

  My back ached from bowing with my neck in a headlock, but I wouldn’t fight. I refused to fight with the Weavers anymore. “Let me go.”

  “No. Not until you talk.”

  “We’re going to end this.” My voice sounded tired to my ears, but truth rang loud. “That’s what’s going on.”

  V shook with anger. “Where’s my sister?”

  “At the Hall.”

  “Is she safe?” Tex asked, his aging face strained but resolute. In a different world, I would’ve liked Nila’s father. His inner thoughts were gentle and quiet—almost like Kes with the ability to switch off overwhelming hate or happiness, living a mediocre life of monitored emotions. Unlike Kes, who’d learned to hide in order to live a better existence, I doubted Textile did it for fun.

  My suspicions were he kept his true feelings locked away, padlocked and buried, so he didn’t have to deal with a daily drowning of sorrow and regret of losing the women of h
is family.

  Surprisingly, there was no guilt. He’d allowed me to take Nila with no fight or fury. He should feel some patina of shame for handing over his daughter, even if he’d been trained to do exactly that. There was more to his defeat than he let on. Something lurked on the outskirts of his thoughts…wrapped up in flickering pride and solemn dignity at something he’d done where Nila was concerned.

  What did he do?

  Vaughn suddenly released me, pushing me away from him and rubbing his forearm. “She’s hurt. I feel her—always did.”

  My eyes shot to his, appreciating the twin-link he and Nila shared more than he knew. He might feel her physically, but I felt her emotionally. And he was right, she was hurt.

  Tex sucked in a heavy breath, his large shoulders rolling beneath stress. I made a note to ask him what he’d done when this was all over. I wanted to know his secrets. I had a feeling he held the answers to a lot of loose ends.

  But now is not the time.

  Nila.

  We’d stalled enough.

  Is she safe? Are you safe, Nila? Please, be fucking safe.

  I shook my head. “We need to go. You’re right, she’s hurt. My father broke her arm, and I have no doubt he means to do more than that. That’s why we have to move fast.”

  “What!?” V’s eyes narrowed to slits. “You’ll pay, Hawk. I’ll make you pay for every injury Threads has endured because of your fucking family.”

  My heart pattered irregularly—my rhythm always struggled when faced with such overwhelming emotion. “I’ll pay whatever you want, Weaver. But for now, we have to work together.” Eyeing up the cars, I counted eight in total. At least two men to a car, so sixteen men.

  Sixteen men to kill Cut and whatever brothers remained patriotic to him. I didn’t relish the thought of killing club members who’d served beneath me for years, but maybe I wouldn’t have to if Flaw managed to separate the loyal from the traitors.

  I cocked my chin at the silent mercenaries. “They work for you?”

  Tex nodded. “I told you I’d hired help. I found them before you came to take Nila.”

  My nostrils flared. “Before?”

  If he had them before, why not use them to protect Nila from ever falling into my hands?