Final Debt

by Pepper Winters

  Tex swallowed, looking away. “I meant after you took Nila. I gathered an army. I won’t let you take another of my loved ones, Hawk. I won’t.”

  His slip-up and sudden lie to switch timelines didn’t make sense. There was no one else to take. Nila was the firstborn girl. We never went after Weaver sons.

  So what is he hiding?

  Pushing aside my curiosity, I nodded. “I know. And you won’t have to.” Searching for the ringleader, discarding ex-Army and Marines by the way they held their shoulders and weapons, I ordered, “Who’s in charge here?”

  Vaughn stomped closer, poking his annoying finger in my chest. “We are, motherfucker.”

  I gritted my teeth. “Fine, if that’s how you want to play it. How about you give them orders on how best to infiltrate. If you know where Cut will have Nila and how to get inside the estate undetected, be my fucking guest.”

  Tex growled under his breath. “Watch it. We’re tolerating you right now. Doesn’t mean we’ve agreed to be your taskforce when you’ve already taken so much. We’re here for Nila and that’s it. You hear me?”

  I swiped a hand over my face. “If you’re here for Nila, prove it. She’s in trouble. The longer we stand here comparing dick sizes, the worse she’ll need help.” Spreading my arms, I snarled, “You decide. You want my insider knowledge so this goes well or would you rather do things your way and risk Nila dying and yourself in the crossfire?”

  Tension smouldered between us, itching for a naked flame to incinerate.

  Tex looked at Vaughn. They shared a silent conversation until finally Tex exhaled heavily. “Fine. We agree to cooperate.”

  “Good.” I crossed my arms. “I’m in control from here on out. I’m the only one who knows where to go, how to get in, and what we need to do.”

  “Like fuck you are. I’ve stayed in your house of horrors. I know enough to guess—”

  Tex placed his hand on his son’s shoulder. “Enough, V. Let him. I just want my daughter back, and if he says he can do that, then…let him get her back.” Twisting to face an elderly man with a black beanie on his head, Tex motioned him to come forward. “Change of plans, Dec. Follow Hawk’s orders. Let’s move out.”

  The silent journey through the estate twisted me with fear.

  The driveway went on for a fucking eternity, revealing our black line of cars clearly. I just hoped Cut was busy elsewhere and didn’t look out the south-facing windows onto the sweeping vista as we crept over Hawksridge.

  Rolling hills and soft dirt hindered but didn’t slow; we chewed up distance, bringing me closer to Nila and my dreaded birthright.

  I rode with the ringleader, Declan. He’d given me his resume in a few short bullet points.

  Retired military.

  Awarded service.

  Highly trained and skilled with the best men loyalty and money could buy.

  Sitting with him, I suffered flashbacks of hunting animals for food and sport. For someone like me—someone who felt not just human emotions but even the emotions of the basest of creatures—I struggled to hunt like a normal, unfeeling being.

  Cut knew that.

  He’d forced me to hunt until I could switch off the panic of the prey and focus on the joy of the predator.

  It’d been one of his most valuable lessons.

  Focus on the hawk stalking the rabbit, not the rabbit running for its life.

  Focus on the dog’s infectious joy bounding after a deer, not the deer galloping from death.

  Those two parallels had been so fucking hard to choose between, but I’d done it. I’d even been so successful, the predator’s joy infected me enough for hunting to become almost…fun.

  And now I was on another hunt. About to hurt others, about to feel their pain.

  But I could do it because I was the beast, not the quarry. And I was surrounded by men who focused on the same sweet victory.

  That was all I needed to know. I trusted Declan and his men. I just hoped they’d be enough if the Black Diamonds decided to fight against us.

  I hope Flaw came through.

  I didn’t want bloodshed. The Hall had seen enough fucking death. I wanted to end terror without more of it. But I was prepared for either scenario.

  Hawksridge appeared above us, watching us with its impressive turrets and spires. The ancient building had been my home all my life. The grounds had been my salvation. The animals, my lifeblood.

  I’d grown up running away from this place, but now, I wanted to turn my legacy around. I would rule a different dynasty from the one Cut envisioned, and I would do it on my own terms with Nila by my side.

  Pointing at a service track—an un-tarmacked path with weeds growing through pebbles, I said, “Follow that road. It’ll cut across the chase and head in behind the main entrance. We might prevent being seen a little longer.”

  Hawksridge sat perched on a hill. The design was deliberate for times of war and protection from enemies who might try to topple the estate. No ambush could happen. No entrapment. We would be seen—it was a matter of time. I just didn’t want to show my hand before we were close enough to launch an attack.

  Where are you, Nila?

  Was she with Bonnie on the third floor?

  Was she with Cut on the fourth?

  Or was she already in the ballroom on the ground floor, on her knees and about to become the latest stain in a horrendous basket?

  “Step on the gas.” My order lurched us forward, tyres grinding gravel, skidding around bends and hurling us closer to the awaiting battleground.

  I’d deliberately chosen to travel with two mercenaries and not Nila’s brother or father. I needed to keep my head clear and I couldn’t do that with Vaughn’s emotions bouncing kamikaze in his skull or Textile’s secrets gnawing a hole in my patience.

  No one talked as we pulled to a stop by the stables. A wash of homesickness crippled me. Not for the Hall but for Wings. Being around so many people set my nerves on edge. My condition flickered with intensity and numbness. One moment, I was blank from sensory overload, and the next, I’d succumb to frivolous things of what the men would do afterward, what they planned to do during.

  People saw fellow humans as respectful and civilized. Only, I knew the truth.

  They were as animalistic as they’d been hundreds of years ago. Inner thoughts and unspoken quips painted them as vindictive, selfish, and focused on things that should never be revealed aloud.

  It almost made me happy to know I wasn’t as terrible as I’d feared. I was normal. I was human. I had faults and flaws and fears, but despite all of those, I tried to be better, bolder, and braver than I truly was.

  And that was what made right triumph over wrong.

  Isn’t it?

  At least, I hoped so.

  The convoy rolled to a stop, and Dec gave the order to leave the cars behind. Boots landed on gravel, and car doors quietly closed. Concentration levels of the men added to the cauldron of emotions, and I wiped away a combination of fever and sweat from trying not to listen.

  Once Nila was safe and Hawksridge secured, I would need to be alone. I knew the symptoms of system failure. I knew when I’d reached my limit. A wash of nausea climbed up my gullet, and my hands shook as I wrapped fingers around the gun Dec handed me.

  I was borderline.

  Overtiredness and over-empathy would end up killing me if I didn’t kill Cut soon.

  “Come on.” I waved for the men to line up behind me, a black line patrolling from the stables toward the Hall.

  Leaving the cars behind, I guided the men up the hill toward the house. We stuck to the trees as much as possible, moving in short waves. Weapons were drawn as we crested the hill and made our final descent.

  I didn’t say a word, too focused on seeking weakness and attack points of my family’s home. I searched the shadows for Kill and his men, trying to see where they hid, but spotted no one.

  The closer we got to the Hall, the more my heart pounded.

  V and Tex
shadowed my every move and luck kept us shrouded long enough to sidle up to the ancient architecture and fan out around the buttresses of Hawksridge.

  Left or right?

  I couldn’t decide.

  Dining room wing or staircase leading to boudoirs and parlours?

  The wind howled over the orchard, sounding like someone screamed.

  I froze; my head tilted toward the dining room wing…the ballroom wing.

  The noise came again.

  Haunting.

  Lamenting.

  Dragging chills over my flesh.

  It came again, shrill and cut short.

  It wasn’t the wind.

  Fuck surprise.

  Fuck the regimented ambush.

  Fuck everything.

  Nila!

  I held my gun aloft and charged.

  “READY TO DIE, Nila?”

  Cut’s voice physically hurt me as he forced me up the crudely made steps and onto the wooden foundation. My heart tore through my ribcage.

  Jasmine screamed from across the room. Her cry split the ballroom apart, tears staining her pretty cheeks. “Please.”

  Tears of my own threatened to wash me away, but I wanted to remain dry-eyed. I wanted to remember my last few moments in perfect clarity and not swimming with liquid.

  Cut wrenched my arms behind my back; I groaned with agony from my break. The twine wrapped around my wrists, bending my forearm unnaturally.

  “Please. Don’t—”

  Cut spun me around with his large hands on my shoulders. His golden eyes glowed with apology, and at the same time, resolution. “Hush, Nila.” His lips touched mine, sweet and soft, before he marched me to the kneeling podium and pressed hard. “Kneel.”

  “No!”

  “Kneel.” His foot kicked out, nudging the back of my knee, shattering my stability and sending me cracking into place. I cried out as the pain in my kneecaps matched the pain in my arm. Like a snapped needle, I lost my sharpness, my fight.

  The ballroom splendour mocked me as I bowed unwillingly at the foot of my executioner.

  Velvet and hand-stitched crewel on the walls glittered like the diamonds the Hawks smuggled—a direct contrast to the roughly sawn wood and crude craftsmanship of the guillotine dais.

  “Don’t do this. Cut…think about what you’ve become. You can stop this.” My voice mimicked a beg, but I’d vowed not to beg. I’d seen things, understood things, and suffered things I never thought I would be able to endure. I’d been their plaything for months, their adversary for years, their nemesis for centuries. I refused to cry or grovel. I wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.

  I know the history of the Hawks. I know I’m stronger than they are.

  “I want to live. Please, let me live.”

  He cleared his throat, masking any thoughts of hesitation. “In five minutes, this will all be over.” Cut bent to the side and collected a wicker basket.

  The wicker basket.

  I didn’t want to think about what its contents would be.

  He placed it on the other side of the wooden block.

  My heart jack-hammered, thudding faster and faster until lightheadedness made me sick.

  My lungs demanded more oxygen. My brain demanded more time. And my heart…it demanded more hope, more life, more love.

  I’m not ready.

  Not like this.

  “Cut—”

  “No. No more talking. Not after everything you’ve done. My son. My mother. You think you’ve stolen everything I care about, but I’m going to steal so much more from you. From Jethro. And when I find out where Kestrel is, I’ll steal from him, too.” Ripping a black hood from his pocket, he didn’t hesitate. No fanfare. No pauses.

  “No!” I cried out as the scratchy blackness engulfed my face, tightening by a cord around my throat.

  The Weaver Wailer chilled me. The diamond collar that’d seen what I’d seen and whispered with phantoms of my slain family prepared to revoke its claim and detach from around my neck.

  This was it.

  The Final Debt.

  Cut pushed my shoulders forward.

  I struggled, willing my wrists to unlock, to find a weakness in the rope to get free.

  A heavy yoke settled over the top of my spine.

  No. This can’t be it. This can’t be!

  “Goodbye, Nila.”

  The breeze of Cut moving to the side sent goosebumps over my nape. My breath clouded the hood. My eyelashes jewelled with unshed tears.

  I hunched, tensing against the painful conclusion.

  I couldn’t get free.

  I couldn’t save myself.

  I hadn’t won.

  Cut’s boots crunched on the platform, the gentle clink of rope and pulley signalling he’d reached for the release of the blade.

  I waited for his last history lesson.

  Surely, I should have a history lesson.

  All the debts did. He couldn’t have forgotten the theatrics of the debt. His story would extend my life just a little longer.

  But no words fell.

  Only my breathing…

  My heart beating…

  My tears falling…

  My body living its final seconds…

  I’m dead.

  I curled inside, waiting to perish.

  A loud bang rang in my ears.

  For a moment, I thought I’d died.

  In my mind, I saw the jerk of the rope. I felt the slice of sharpness. I suffered the untethering severance.

  I waited for some mystical deliverance where my soul flew free, growing wings to hover over my decapitated body.

  I hung in limbo waiting for pain or freedom.

  But neither came.

  What was death?

  How would it feel?

  What should I expect?

  Would the blade slice through and turn me from alive to dead? Would I know once it had happened? Would I witness the end and feel the agony as my soul snipped free?

  Or would it be over so fast I wouldn’t even know he’d stripped my life away?

  I tensed.

  Nothingness…

  Am I dead?

  Nothing happened.

  Then every sense rushed into liveliness. The hood still covered my head. The yoke still crushed my shoulders. And the burning break in my arm still throbbed.

  All my discomforts returned along with noise.

  So, so much noise.

  Deafening noise.

  Gunfire slaughtered the air as footsteps pounded the hardwood floor of the ballroom. Men hollered. Things banged and clanged and a cacophony replaced the empty silence.

  Curses. Words. Promises. They were all cut short as fighting broke out all around me.

  I couldn’t see, but I could feel.

  The whoosh of wind as bodies flew past. The flinch of bullets flying too close to my skin. And Cut’s hand on my head as he bellowed for it all to stop. “Black Diamonds! Attack!”

  More boots. More curses. More bullets.

  Thank you, thank you, thank you.

  My final hopes had been answered, my prayers delivered.

  Help had arrived at the last second.

  Who was out there?

  Who fought on my behalf?

  My eyes begged to see. My body twisted to know. But Cut’s fingers dug into the hood, pressing my throat against the wood and the yoke tight over my shoulders.

  Instead of dying, I’d entered a warzone where my vision couldn’t tell me a story.

  I huddled at Cut’s feet, my spine curled and knees bruised beneath a guillotine just waiting for the sharp edge to plummet.

  My heart lodged in my throat, terrified a rogue bullet would slice the rope and drop the blade to butcher my tender flesh.

  I was alive, but for how much longer?

  How reckless was the fighting?

  How could they prevent an unforeseen event from killing me all while they tried to save me?

  “Fuck.” Cut never stopped touching me, his
fingers digging into my scalp as anarchy rained. “Over there, get him!” His orders fell on the raucous, delivered to an unseen fighter.

  I had no way to judge time, but the war only increased in ferocity. More gunfire, more thuds as bodies fell and fists connected with flesh.

  My ears rang with gunshots. My thoughts suffocated with violence and mayhem.

  Grunts and curses bounced off portraits and velvet, changing the destiny of the ballroom from dancing frivolity to carnage brutality.

  Stop.

  Don’t stop.

  Save me.

  Don’t kill me.

  Slowly, curses switched to moans and stampeding footsteps gave way to limping.

  The fight could’ve lasted hours or seconds. The only thing I knew with certainty was I clung to this life—the one I didn’t want to leave—and the break in my arm cemented me firmly into being.

  Finally, a stranger’s voice crescendoed over everything else. “You’ve lost, Hawk. Step away from the rope if you wish to remain alive and not meet your maker.”

  That voice…I didn’t recognise it.

  Shivers stole my muscles.

  Cut could still kill me.

  The battle was over, but my life could be, too.

  I couldn’t breathe.

  One second.

  Two.

  Three.

  Disbelief and uprising perfumed the air. Boots stomped forward, the click of a bullet entering a trigger chamber the only noise in the suddenly silent ballroom.

  “Let her go, Cut.”

  That voice I did recognise. I would know it anywhere.

  Him.

  I trembled in love.

  I wept in gratitude.

  He’d come for me.

  He’d saved me.

  Jethro.

  “Never. Lower your weapon, or I pull. I’ll do it, Jet. You know I will.”

  Another voice I adored joined that of my lover. “You do and I’ll shoot you until you’re so full of holes even the worms won’t want you.”

  My father.

  “And if he shoots you, I’ll shoot you three. You’ll be fucking shredded.”

  My twin.

  Their voices pulsed with barbarity I’d never heard before.

  Three men I never thought would be in the same room together, let alone fighting on the same side. How things had changed since that night in Milan.