It’s only fitting to wear their tally while I steal their lives.
My eyes fell on Jethro.
Even him?
I steeled my heart against whatever desire existed between us.
Even him.
Sitting straight, I announced, “My fingertips.”
Jethro scowled. “Out of anywhere on your body, that’s where you’ve chosen?”
I nodded. “Yes.” I spread my hands, silently cursing the shake in them. “One fingertip per debt.”
I just hope there aren’t more than ten to repay.
Daniel smirked again. “Not a place I would’ve chosen, but it does leave your body open for more marks in the future.”
I narrowed my eyes.
“Put your hand on my leg, palm up.”
“I’m not touching you.”
Lightning quick, Daniel snatched my wrist, twisted my arm until my palm was as he requested, and slammed it against his thigh.
“Keep it there,” he ordered.
My skin crawled. I went to pull away, but Cut said quietly, “Do as you’re told, Ms. Weaver.”
Jethro sucked in air, his ire buffeting me. “This isn’t how tradition states.” His head shot up to face his father. “Cut, I should be the one—”
Cut’s features blackened. “There are a number of things you should be doing, Jethro. Yet you don’t do any of them. What makes you so eager to do this one?”
I looked between the men, all the while trying to forget my hand rested on Daniel’s thigh. Apprehension bubbled in my chest as he pressed a button on the side of the tattoo gun. Immediately the machine hummed with life.
Vertigo swirled in my blood at the thought of being permanently marked. I’d never had a tattoo, nor did I want one.
Jethro leaned forward. “This is my right.”
His eyes met mine.
My tummy twisted.
My skin ached to be touched, to be kissed, to be bruised with lust.
Gritting my teeth, I shoved away those treasonous thoughts. I forced myself to focus on my mother’s tombstone. Instantly, every desire fizzled into ash.
Daniel tore open an alcoholic wipe with his teeth, and swiped the disinfectant across the tip of my finger, breaking our connection. He grinned, holding up the buzzing gun. “Ready?”
“Cut!” Jethro growled.
I squeezed my eyes, biting my lip in preparation of the pain.
“Stop.”
My eyes tore open at Cut’s angry command.
“Enough, Daniel. Make Jethro do it. Can’t break tradition, after all.”
Daniel threw a disgusted look at his father. “You were never going to let me do it, were you?”
Cut glowered at his youngest offspring. “Watch what you say.”
Jethro shifted to the edge of the couch. “Give me the gun.”
Daniel ignored him.
His father snapped, “Daniel, give the gun to your brother.”
A glaze of inhumanity and insanity flickered across his eyes. Without permission, I stole my hand back, grateful it no longer had to touch his horrible leg.
I’m living in a madhouse.
Jethro snatched the gun. The vibrating equipment settled between his fingers.
Twisting to face me on the couch, he raised an eyebrow, looking between my hand and his leg.
Ugh.
Obediently, I placed my hand on Jethro the exact same way it’d been on Daniel. The moment I touched him, he sucked in a breath. I tried to ignore the awareness snapping between us. I tried to fight the lashing heat.
I no longer wanted it—not after yesterday.
But it seemed Jethro couldn’t control it, either. He bowed over my hand, unsuccessfully hiding the thickening hardness between his legs.
Licking his lips, he focused on my hand. His cool fingers imprisoned my index—the one without a Band Aid on from pricking myself while measuring out material—and pressed the tattoo gun against my skin.
Ouch.
I gasped, trying to control my flinch as the tiny teeth tore through my skin, layering me with ink.
“Don’t move, unless you want a sloppy tattoo,” Jethro muttered. His concentration level hummed along with the gun as it razored across the pad of my finger. I tried to see what mark he drew but his head was in the way.
Kes was right, though.
The pain started sharp but swiftly faded to an intoxicating burn. And no sooner had I relaxed into the metal teeth, it was over.
Five minutes was all it took.
The gun turned off and Jethro reclined, letting me steal my hand.
Nursing my new brand, I eyed up my fingertip. My flesh was slightly swollen and red; a new black sigil glowed like sin.
This time I couldn’t stop my heart from tangling with my stomach.
He’d marked me. Owned me. Controlled me.
“Your initials?”
Jethro pursed his lips. His eyes hooded, trying unsuccessfully to hide what he truly wanted to know. If his text wasn’t blatant enough, his initials were a slap in the face with honesty.
His gaze shouted it.
Ask me.
Am I Kite?
I looked away, following the flourish of his old-fashioned handwriting. He wanted me to admit it. To confirm what he’d guessed. I had feelings for Kite. Feelings that I thought were safe being given to a nameless stranger, only to find out that nameless stranger was my nemesis who’d charmed both my body and heart.
The ink glowed black, forever etched into my skin. With evidence like that, I no longer had to ask.
Jethro Kite Hawk.
I looked up through my eyelashes, transmitting a silent message of my own.
I already know.
And I hate you for it.
He stiffened, understanding. “Unless you ask, I won’t say what the letters stand for.”
Secrets shadowed his eyes. Secrets his family weren’t privy to but I was. What did that mean? What did any of this mean?
Deciding this wasn’t the time nor the place to discuss something that would no doubt end in another fight, I tilted my head and played dumb instead. Taunting Jethro was too rewarding to let it go. “You want me to ask? Fine. What does the K stand for?”
Jethro frowned.
Kes chuckled. So far, he’d honoured my request for him to keep my knowledge a secret. Turned out he didn’t need to keep it, after all.
“Your turn.” Jethro deliberately avoided the question by handing me the gun.
I took it, my mouth plopping wide. “What do I do with this?”
Jethro unfolded his hand and carefully rested his knuckles on my knee. The submissive position of his hand and the gentleness in which he touched me sent unwanted pinwheels sparking in my blood.
We both gasped at the contact. My vision went grey on the edges as I fought the overwhelming urge to forget what I’d seen yesterday and give in to him. To trust in my original plan that I had the power to make him care. To trust in my heart and permit it to enjoy this blistering lust.
Jethro’s voice was low and full of gravel. “You have to mark me in return.”
To brand him. Own him. Command him.
It would be a wish come true. Perhaps, if I tattooed him with my name, I could cast a spell over him to become mine, not theirs. To use him once and for all.
Cut jumped in. “Each firstborn involved in the Debt Inheritance must wear the tally. It’s been that way for generations. I must say I’m enjoying watching Jethro be so obedient. I thought his unwillingness to be marked by a Weaver would mean I’d have to strap him down.”
Jethro threw him a black look.
Waving at Jethro’s awaiting hand, Cut added, “Do it, Nila. Mark him with your initials so even when you’re no longer with us, he will remember his time with you.”
I blinked, unable to stop my heart from squeezing in pain.
No longer here.
When Jethro takes my life.
I wanted to hurl crude threatening insults but held my to
ngue. We would see who would die by the end of this.
Bending over Jethro’s fingers, the very same fingers that had been inside me, I hexed the heat in my cheeks and twisting desire in my core.
Looking up, I caught Jethro’s gaze. It glowed with need, mirroring mine. How could I hate this man? Positively hate him for doing what he did to my family, yet still want him so badly?
Bastard.
Even now, even in a room full of his flesh and blood amidst talk of murder and debts, he still managed to invoke uncontrollable need from me.
I wanted to stab him with the tattoo gun, not mark him.
Taking a deep breath, I turned on the button and jumped at the powerful vibration of the tool. “How hard do I press?”
“Just like a pen, Nila. There’s no trick. Not for something as simple as this,” Kes said. He hadn’t stopped standing over us, watching everything, saying nothing.
Brushing wayward hair from my eyes, I leaned further over Jethro’s fingers.
The second I pressed the jumping needle against his skin, he locked his muscles. Instead of tensing against the pain though, I sensed he wanted more. He swayed into me, his lungs inhaling deep. I shivered to think he willingly breathed in my smell, imprinting not just my initials but my essence, too.
Biting my lip, I drew on his flesh. My hand shook and sweat dampened my palms. After ten minutes, I sat up and rubbed at the cramp in my lower back.
His index finger held the same torture as mine.
Subtly, I glanced at my burning tattoo. First, Jethro had made me sign the Sacramental Pledge, and then made me sign his body.
If we hadn’t been bound by sin and debts and a lust that refused to be denied, we were now. Locked, joined, and forever linked until one of us died.
It was tragic to think I’d gone my entire life never finding anyone who interested me, only to find such chemistry with a man who I had to kill before he killed me.
Jethro cradled his hand, glaring at the black ink imbedded in his fingertip. He traced the pattern almost reverently. “What’s your middle name?” he whispered. His question was too delicate and imploring for the room full of violence and Hawks.
I wanted to slap him and show him how much he’d slipped from the icy son he was supposed to be.
He looked up, waiting for my answer.
My heart panged. It wasn’t a middle name. It was more than that. I missed the loving address that my father and brother called me. It was who I was. Who I’d been raised to be.
Threads.
“Doesn’t matter.”
Turning off the gun, I placed it back in the box.
Cut clapped his hands. “Perfect. I’m so glad the formalities have been completed.” Glaring at Jethro, he added, “Don’t forget next time, son.”
Jethro scowled, climbing to his feet. “Are we dismissed?”
Dismissed? Not only was the word choice like an obedient child seeking approval to leave his elders, but his voice sounded odd. Strained, gruff—an explosive blend that seemed as if he’d detonate at any moment.
“Fine.”
Without another word, Jethro stormed out, leaving me alone with Cut, Daniel, and Kes.
What the hell?
I might not like him, but I was his. I needed him to protect me from his bloody family.
Instantly, the atmosphere in the room changed. It rolled thick and heavy: testosterone, possession, vileness. Why didn’t I feel it as strongly when Jethro was by my side? And why had he left in such a hurry without me?
Daniel took the opportunity of my stunned state to lean forward and grab my hair. Whispering evilly in my ear, he said, “The way you watch my brother gives away your feelings, Ms. Weaver. I know you want to fuck him. I know you’re horny living in a house full of men as powerful as my family. But you won’t get to fuck him; not until we’ve all had our fill. He’s the firstborn, but he’ll be the last to stick his cock inside that sweet little pussy of yours.”
Wrong, you arsehole. He’s the only one who will touch me that way.
I struggled, trying to pull away. Cut watched us, neither interfering nor caring.
Daniel’s tongue lashed out, licking around my earlobe. “I’ve seen you wandering around Hawksridge as if you own the place. Next time you’re out for a stroll, you might want to worry about who’s waiting. Because believe me—I’m not a patient guy. The minute you’re alone and I find you—I’m fucking you. I don’t care about the rules.”
Pulling back, he stood with a horrible smile on his face. “Until then, Ms. Weaver.” Tipping his head as if he had a top hat on his greasy black hair, he smiled at his father and Kes then disappeared out the door.
Oh, my God.
My heart was a fluttering mess. I’d been so stupid to believe I was untouchable. Believing the airs and graces of Cut and timelines of tradition.
I supposed I was grateful to the little creep for opening my eyes. I wasn’t safe here—from anyone, at any time.
I need a weapon.
I needed some way to protect myself from that psychopath.
Ask Jethro to protect you.
I shook my head. Jethro wasn’t the one in charge. Not yet. And besides, he was on my hit list as much as his family. I wasn’t loyal to him. I could never be loyal to someone who made me despise myself.
I stood up, hissing as my new tattoo flared. Summoning whatever strength I had remaining, I glared at Cut and Kes. “Tell Daniel if he comes near me again, I’ll make him bleed.”
Without a backward glance, I left.
A weapon.
Find a weapon.
I could run to the kitchen and steal a knife. Or I could head to the library and swipe a sword hanging from the walls. Or, if I had any musket understanding, I could commandeer a gun and hide it beneath my covers.
What I really needed, however, was something deadly but also transportable. I never intended to be defenceless again. Not in these walls.
Dashing down the corridor, I plotted where I should go. Weapons existed all over Hawksridge Hall. I hadn’t bothered to pilfer one because Jethro hadn’t given me a reason to fight—other than verbally. Daniel, on the other hand, wouldn’t touch me—not without walking away missing a few vital pieces of his anatomy.
The dining room would be my best hope at selecting something sharp and small enough to hide on my person. I’d seen a ruby-handled dirk there last time. It would be perfect and easy to conceal.
A flash of blackness up ahead wrenched my attention from scheming. I narrowed my eyes, moving faster to catch up with the blur that’d disappeared down the corridor.
Thanking the thick white carpet below my bare toes, I tiptoed the final distance and peered down the hallway.
Jethro.
My heart rate picked up as he strode quickly and purposely, his hands balled by his side.
My gaze fell on the hand where he now wore my initials.
I brought my finger up, inspecting his impressive cursive and arrogant flourish of his name. Not only had we slept together, but we’d stamped ownership on each other, too.
Jethro stopped and knocked on a door. A moment later, he turned the brass door handle and disappeared.
The second the door closed, I darted down the corridor and pressed my ear against the ancient wood.
What are you doing?
I didn’t know.
Eavesdropping never brought good news, but I refused to be in the dark any longer. Where did he disappear to when he struggled? Who or what did he run to when he slipped from ice to emotion?
A low murmur of voices came through the door.
I couldn’t catch any words, but my heart raced at the sound.
Jethro didn’t disappear to be on his own. He didn’t run to Kestrel or a Black Diamond brother.
Of course, it wasn’t that simple.
No, he came here.
He visited a woman.
A woman who spoke with a softly whispered voice.
A woman who’d lived all this time on th
e second floor of Hawksridge Hall.
“WHAT ARE YOU doing in here, Kite?”
I slouched.
My nickname. The term of endearment that I allowed no one but my sister to use filled me with equal parts relief and annoyance. I should never have used it to message Nila. Now its meaning intertwined with the debts. It would never again just be a simple term of togetherness between Jaz and me.
I’d been so stupid to call myself after James Bond, too. Kite007. What a ridiculous name. It wasn’t that I even liked James Bond. I just thought he had cool gadgets and deserved his kickass status for always killing evil bastards.
My fingertip burned with licking fire. My knuckles still tingled from resting on Nila’s thigh. So many times, I’d had to brace myself so I didn’t flip my hand over and slide my touch between her legs.
I’d been achingly hard the entire time I’d tattooed her. I’d wanted to see if she was wet while repaying the favour. There was something primal about knowing the woman who I’d fucked, who intrigued me over all others, was walking around wearing my brand.
A brand that marked her forever as mine.
Shit, perhaps I should’ve taken care of myself before coming here. The moment I let my thoughts drift to Nila, I grew hard again.
Jasmine smiled, waiting patiently like she always did for me to reply. There was no judging, no annoyance. Only acceptance and quiet companionship.
“I had to come see you.”
Every second that ticked past in the solar had dwindled my defences until I had no reserves, no ice, no energy to fight against my family. The instant the tally concluded, I ran. A pussy move, but the only one to keep my sanity.
Jasmine shifted higher in her chair. She sat by the window, her embroidery threads and cross-stitch pattern spread out on the window seat where she had the most light to see.
Her rooms were the epitome of class. Dark grey walls with yellow coloured upholstery and linen. Archangels and fluffy clouds painted the ceiling while her floors drowned in multi-coloured rugs of different sizes and designs.
This was her world.
This was the only place I felt safe to let down my guard.
Second Debt Page 7