I was jealous.
I was sad and happy at the same time.
I hadn’t come here looking to make a friend, but I hadn’t come here expecting to find her, either.
“Should we start simple or would you rather get to the heart of the matter?”
I shifted higher on her bed. “I think starting with the truth would be more beneficial. Don’t you?”
A ghost of a smile tilted her lips. “Ah, now I get it.”
“Get what?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Why my brother is struggling.”
My heart flip-flopped. “Jethro?”
She nodded.
“How is he struggling?” I didn’t dare hope for an answer. Could it truly be that easy?
The woman laughed quietly. “You truly do go for the heart.”
What does that mean?
Was it a simple turn of phrase playing on her last words or had Jethro said I’d captured his heart? I’d tried to ensnare him with my games of seduction and beguile. But perhaps by giving him my love…I’d stolen his in return?
Could that be true?
Forcing myself to stay present, I asked, “Who are you?”
The woman leaned forward, extending her hand. “I’m Jasmine.”
Mirroring her, I looped my fingers around hers, and we shook slowly, still sizing each other up like an untrusted opponent.
“You’re his sister,” I whispered, breaking our touch and placing my hands in my lap.
“I’m many men’s sister.”
“You know who I mean.”
She leaned back, sighing a little. “Yes, lucky for you, I do know who you mean. Let’s get the introductions out of the way, shall we?” Running French-tipped fingernails through her hair, she recited, “I’m second born to Bryan and Rose Hawk. I chased my older brother into the world as soon as possible, and that fact alone makes us closer than my other two siblings. I love him more than I love myself, and I know what he lives with every day with being the firstborn of a family so steeped in tradition and persecution that it’s become an unhealthy combination. I know what you’ve done to him, and as much as I want to hate you for smashing apart his world and making him struggle more than I’ve ever seen, I can’t.”
I couldn’t breathe properly. Like a dying person only interested in air, I was only interested in what Jasmine had to say about her brother. “What does he struggle with? And how did my arrival have anything to do with what’s happened to him?”
Her forehead furrowed as her hands fisted in her lap. “Don’t play coy in my domain, Nila Weaver. Don’t come in here and fish for information on my beloved brother in the hope to twist it into a weapon. I don’t hate you, but it doesn’t mean I won’t if you continue to torture him.”
Wow, what?
I held up my hands in surrender. “I don’t want to hurt him.”
Liar.
I wanted to hurt him by manipulating him to go against his family—to choose me above all others. Even his sister.
Did that make me a hateful person? To want to be the one person he loved more than anyone?
“I…I—” I have feelings for him.
The truth danced on my tongue, but I couldn’t admit it. I’d barely admitted it to myself, let alone a woman who looked at me with curiosity and disdain.
Jasmine waved away my fumble. “Regardless, you’ve already hurt him. And as much as I would like to stop you, it’s your burden now, as much as mine.”
“Burden?”
My mind raced, wishing I knew just what we were discussing.
“You’re the one who’s forced him to face an alternative to the way he’s been living. Thanks to you, the other method of coping is no longer working. It’s up to you to give him another.”
Anger took over my confusion. How dare she layer me with responsibility when I was nothing more than a captive in her home? “I think you’re forgetting one important fact. I’m a prisoner of your father’s. I’m a toy for your brother. I have no future thanks to your insane family and have no wish to help one of you.”
Lying again, Nila.
I just hoped she swallowed my fibs better than her brother did.
Jasmine leaned forward. It was only subtle, a gentle inclining bringing us closer together, yet I felt her encroachment in every cell. This woman rippled with indignation and righteousness when it came to Jethro. Her unwavering devotion was both humbling and terrifying. “Too late. You’re the one who coaxed him into your bed. He fought you. But, from woman to woman, he wasn’t strong enough for you. And that excites and upsets me.”
My shoulders slouched; her riddles made my head hurt. “What exactly is wrong with him? Why does he think he can only live if he surrounds himself in ice and removes himself from any emotion whatsoever?”
Jasmine sniffed. “That’s his secret to tell, and I will not break his trust. And you don’t understand—there is nothing wrong with him. He’s perfect. Just…not perfect for this family.”
“You’re of the same blood and seem very close. Are you saying you aren’t fit for this family, either?”
Jasmine smiled. “Smart. I suppose you could say that. Jethro and I are a different breed. Born and bred to the same parents but we inherited a different kind of madness than the rest of my relations.”
I didn’t want to hurt her, but I needed to know. In over a month that I’d been a ward of the Hawks, Jasmine was the first woman I’d come across, not counting the maids. Why was that?
“Does your mother live here, too?”
Jasmine pursed her lips. “My mother is of no consequence. Besides, I’m the protégé of Bonnie Hawk. I have more than enough maternal guidance.”
That was the second time I’d heard of Bonnie Hawk. Kes had told me she was in charge of the family’s expenses—his grandmother.
As much as I wanted to meet this elusive woman who held an entire family of men under her thumb, I wanted to stay under her notice for as long as possible.
We sat in silence for a time, before Jasmine said, “You should go. And don’t tell Jethro you came to see me. He wouldn’t handle that well.”
“Why?”
She stared for a long moment, as if deciding what to divulge. Finally, she said, “Because in his mind, we are both his. Both under his protection and both in our own little pockets of reality where he can cope. If he knew we’d met and discussed him, the pressure of keeping us protected would increase.”
I felt like a parrot as I asked again, “Why?”
“Because, Nila Weaver, he’s been raised having no one to protect him and living in a world where just the hint of being who he truly was meant he could be gone tomorrow. Ever since he could understand the differences between him and our father, he’s lived with the shadow of his own mortality. Cut wouldn’t hesitate, you see…”
She swallowed, a sudden flare of pain filling her gaze. “He’s lived twenty-nine years hiding, because if he didn’t, one day he’d be gone and he’d leave me all alone. Knowing that we had met would only give him something else to fear.”
My heart pounded with every word she spoke. “Fear?”
Jasmine hunched, her voice drifting to a fateful whisper. “Fear what we spoke about. Fear how much of his nature came to light. Fear just how much you knew, because ultimately, it’s not him who has the power to destroy you—but you who has the power to destroy him.”
By the time I crawled into my bed, my head hadn’t stopped spinning.
Jasmine was prickly and wise—an enigma who adored her brother and would do anything to protect him.
Her words were an invitation but also a threat to stay away.
Would she soften if she knew I’d fallen for him?
Would she help me understand him—grant me the help I needed to claim Jethro for my own?
She was as confusing as her brother.
And I knew our conversation hadn’t ended. I would return. Again and again.
Until I learned the truth.
But I also
had other questions—many, many questions.
It hadn’t escaped my notice that she sewed. There’d been an in-progress cross-stitch on her bed, along with a paper chart folded haphazardly. Was she like me and enjoyed the simple creation…or…was it more sinister?
Could she be more Weaver than Hawk?
And if she was…what did that mean?
I tossed and turned, unable to shut off the voices inside my head forming outlandish conclusions.
Just as the dawn stole the stars, sleep finally crept over me.
But it wasn’t restful.
Yet more questions chased me into dreamland.
Why did Jasmine never come down from her room?
And who truly wielded the power of the Hawks?
THE WEEK AFTER the polo match passed uneventfully.
Tuesday, I went for a hunt on Wings.
Wednesday, I saw Nila at breakfast before leaving to hide in my office until sundown.
Thursday, I was out late dealing with a special shipment of pink diamonds already purchased and due for delivery to a private yacht docked for one night in Southhampton.
Friday, I tried one last time to ‘fix’ myself, but Jasmine was right. The ice no longer worked, no matter what I did.
But I had a better option—a new regimen that Nila had selflessly given me.
Saturday, I spent the afternoon with Kes and the Diamond brothers playing poker in the billiards room of the Hall—deliberately giving my heart time to adjust to the life-shattering change of what’d happened between Nila and me.
I was ready to admit to myself that my world had changed.
It was time to face what I’d been running from all my life.
However, the next day smashed my hopes and dreams and hurled me right back into the darkness where I belonged.
The last day of the week…the day that belonged to love and togetherness, only brought pain and sadness.
Sunday, I received the worst news of all.
“Jethro, come with me, please.” Cut popped his head into my bachelor wing.
I jumped as if I’d been caught red-handed, just like I’d done most of my life whenever he’d appeared out of nowhere. Sliding a pillow over the tiny sharp knife I used to open the old cuts on my soles, I glowered at my unwanted visitor. “Come where?”
Nila had given me hope that soon I could stop hurting myself in such a way, but until I could be sure what she felt for me was irreversible, I had to use something to keep me in check.
Ice wasn’t working—pain would have to do.
Cut’s gaze fell to my scarred feet. “Do you need a session?”
The concern in his eyes was the key ingredient to how he’d been controlling me for so many years. He made me believe that he was there for me. That he wanted to help me. That I was the chosen one and deserved to inherit all that he had to give.
Of course, it was all bullshit.
Neither of us could erase what had happened between us that night. The night where we used Jasmine so terribly in a fixing session that we’d stepped over an uncrossable line. I’d refused. Over and over and over again.
He’d pushed and pushed and pushed.
I’d snapped.
I’d almost killed him.
And he’d said the words that were a noose around my neck and shackles around my feet for the rest of my days.
“Do you think your life is a gift? Do you think I can’t take it away? I’ve been so fucking close to killing you, boy. A fraction away from ending the embarrassment of knowing what you are. I only hesitate because I believe you can change. You carry my blood. You cannot be such a disgrace. I won’t let you be such a disgrace.”
I was only alive because he hoped he’d finally cure me. Every year that passed, he hovered over the birthday cake made especially for his firstborn and contemplated killing me with cyanide.
Or a hunting accident.
Or a shipment gone wrong.
So many ways to dispatch me. I lived in constant awareness of traps and mercenaries ready to steal my God-given right to breathe.
All because I didn’t conform.
He also told me what would happen if he did kill me. What he would do to not just Jasmine but Kestrel, Daniel, and anyone else I held dear—not that there were many. He couldn’t care less if it meant he would be left with no heir. He believed he was invincible and lacked the fundamental trait of a father: love.
He didn’t love his children. Shit, he didn’t even like us.
Therefore, we were disposable if we displeased him.
That sort of panic…that sort of fear…continued to have a hold on me. No matter my age or strength—I’d lived beneath the shadow of death for so long, I didn’t know any other way.
I was a fucking idiot.
Placing my feet into a pair of moccasins, I shook my head. “Thank you for your concern. But I’m fine.”
Cut cocked his head. “You’re a terrible liar.”
Gritting my teeth, I stood up and smoothed down my black t-shirt. I wore no colour today—only black. I should’ve known that the colour would bring only darkness.
“I’m still following your orders. I’m still loyal.”
Cut smiled coldly. “For now.” He ran his fingers around his mouth, eyeing me up and down. “However, we shall see if you pass the next test.”
My heart lurched. Tests weren’t new. I’d been made to complete many of them as I grew—to prove that a son like me could become a man like him.
“What did you have in mind?”
Skinning an animal while it’s still alive?
Hurting another one of the club whores?
Cut’s smile sent shivers down my back. “You’ll see.”
I hated when he did this. I never knew if he was walking me out like a horse to be shot or if he genuinely wanted to prove to himself and to me that I was getting better.
For a few years, I’d been good. I’d found how to hide myself in blizzards and snow and be everything he wanted me to be.
That was before he informed me that Nila was my twenty-ninth birthday present. There’d been no cake that year—no threat of cyanide.
Only the detonation of my soul in the form of a woman I couldn’t deny.
Forcing a smile, I asked, “What about some father and son time? Forget the test. Let’s go for a ride. Talk business.”
Over the years, he’d schooled me on the running of the empire. Those sessions were the only time he relaxed and enjoyed interacting with me. Although, he wasn’t ready to give up his power—I could tell. Regardless that our customs stated it would be mine soon, I knew it wouldn’t be a simple matter of handing over the throne.
“No. I have a much better idea.” Cut opened the door wider. “Come on. Let’s go.”
My knees locked. Something inside told me to refuse. This test would be worse than everything I’d been subjected to.
“Perhaps another time. I have to—”
Go find Nila and indulge in what she feels for me.
What would Jasmine say if she knew I’d achieved the impossible? Nila Weaver liked me…possibly even loved me.
My stomach tangled with my heart. I’d managed to stay away for six days, but I’d reached my limit. I needed to feel her fight, her goodness, her wet hot heat. I needed to forget about my fucked-up existence and live in hers, if only for a moment.
Cut waved his hand. “No. This supersedes whatever you were about to do.” Snapping his fingers—a trait I’d adopted—he growled, “Come along. It won’t take long.”
Hiding my nervousness behind the glacial façade I still managed to invoke around my father, I followed him from my wing.
Wordlessly, we moved through the house. Every step flared the pain in my feet, giving me something to focus on rather than my whirling imagination of what was to come.
The nights were getting longer, encroaching on the sunlight day by day—only seven p.m., yet it was already dusk.
I swallowed my questions as Cut moved purposely o
ut the back door and toward the maintenance barn at the rear of the estate. Most people had a shack that housed a broken lawnmower and a few empty flowerpots.
Not us.
Our shack was the size of a three-bedroom house, resting like a black beetle on the immaculate lawn.
The air temperature bit into my exposed arms as we stalked over the short expanse of grass and disappeared into the musty metallic world of saw-dust shavings and ancient tools.
Along with servants to ensure our daily needs were met, we also had carpenters, electricians, roofers, gardeners, and gamekeepers. Running an estate such as Hawksridge took millions of pounds per year.
The minute we entered, two carpenters who were lathing a chair leg turned off the machine and subtly left the room. Dusk on a Sunday and still the staff worked—our insistence for perfection ran a brutal timeline.
“Good evening, Mr. Hawk,” one worker mumbled on his way out. His eyes remained downcast with respect, his shoulders hunched.
Cut wielded a power that made lesser men—including myself—want to run and hide.
When I was in charge, I would change that. I would change many things.
Cut moved deeper into the workshop, peering into the other rooms where paintings waited for restoration. Only once he was sure we were alone did he turn to me to follow.
With unease building in my gut, I did as ordered and moved into the back room where knick-knacks and miscellaneous childhood toys had been dumped.
“What is it that you wanted to discuss?” I asked, standing still in the centre of chaos. Deliberately, I pushed my heel harder against the ground, activating a deeper throb from the new cut. It wasn’t that I liked pain. In fact, I hated the stigma and weakness of cutting myself. I didn’t get pleasure from it—but I did get relief from my disease by being single-minded and focused.
Cut shrugged out of his leather jacket, placing the embroidered Black Diamond apparel on Jasmine’s old nursery cot. His hair was unruly and grey, his jawline sharp and unforgiving.
“Show, not discuss.” With a secretive smile, he moved to the large termite-riddled cupboard at the back of the room. He removed an old brass key from his pocket and inserted it into the lock.
Second Debt Page 14