The calligraphy of ancestors past sentenced me to a life worse than death. My rights had been taken. My life stolen. My body no longer mine.
18th August 1472
Signed and witness by Esq John Law
Matter between Weaver versus Hawk
Known forthwith as the Debt Inheritance
This hereby concludes all debate and conversation and puts forth a binding debt. Council has been provided along with sovereign approval for such an agreement.
As set in this chamber, I have witnessed the signatures of both parties of House Weaver and House Hawk, along with their significant entourage and companions.
The debt states as follows.
Percy Weaver hereby solemnly swears to present his firstborn girl-child, Sonya Weaver, to the firstborn son of Bennett Hawk, known as William Hawk. This will nullify all unrest and unpleasantries until such a time as a new generation comes to pass.
This debt will not only bind the current occupancies of the year of our Lord 1472 but every year thereafter. Every firstborn Weaver girl will be gifted as fair comeuppance to the firstborn Hawk boy to be claimed between the years of one and eight and six and twenty respectively. Both parties will be forever agreed on this day set forth.
The life and all attributes will be determined by the current Hawk, no rules or precedence will be set, and this agreement raises them above the law, operating within the grace of her Majesty the Queen of England.
Signed:
I KNEW WHEN she’d read it.
I knew when the final sentence sank in.
We had a document signed, sealed, and delivered by the royal magistrate of England giving us carte blanche to do as we liked. There was nothing illegal about my actions. There was nothing anyone could find me guilty of. No judicial system would save her.
It was the ultimate approval.
Not to mention, we had wealth to ensure no one would contest it. There was nothing to fight against. The sooner she accepted that, the easier this would be.
Nila’s eyes bugged wide, looking up from the parchment. Grabbing her shoulders, I backed her against the table. The horror living in her dark brown gaze was enough to drag a tiny bit of humanness from my cold soul.
Watching her being tasted—I wouldn’t deny—it fucked me off. She was my plaything. Mine to torment.
I was pissed at my father for permitting the entire brotherhood to use her. They weren’t deserving of drinking someone’s misery. That right was a Hawk’s and only a fucking Hawk’s. Excluding my younger cock of a brother.
He deserved shit.
Grinding my teeth, I placed my palm against her sternum, pressing her breakable chest. Her heart beat like a war drum beneath my fingers.
Her lips parted, but she didn’t fight as I pushed her backward.
I didn’t say a word—controlling her by sheer anger and will.
Her defined stomach muscles clenched as she fought the pressure, then gave in, sprawling backward onto the table. A small sound of pain came from her lips, catching her weight on her elbows.
She refused to lie down.
She would.
My cock fucking bruised itself, punching my belt time and time again. Only I knew how she tasted when she wanted to be tasted. Only I knew how she sounded when she wanted it so fucking bad. And only I knew how tight she was.
That tightness belonged to me.
I doubted I’d fit. I doubted I’d get half my dick inside her, but until I’d had the pleasure of trying, no one else was permitted near her. I had the scroll giving me power over everyone on that subject—including my father.
I swallowed hard. The anger watching my brother stick his fucking tongue inside her boiled. I teetered on a dangerous edge.
Pull back.
I couldn’t.
I wanted what I wanted, and I’d take what was owed to me.
"You finally understand," I whispered. My voice was thicker, deeper, overrun with the dark lust that’d been created after her whorish displays this morning. She’d done this to me. It was her curse to fix me.
I couldn’t look at her without feeling her thrust against my finger. I couldn’t see past the challenge. The building strength in her skinny frame. She was learning.
I was learning.
We were learning how to play this game together.
She shivered as I dragged my hand down her front, moving lower and lower. My cock ached for the wet temptation belonging to me. I was responsible for her.
She’d been through a lot. She’d obeyed even though she’d fought. She’d kept it together but now she was precariously close to losing it. I wasn’t so heartless to ignore that craving in her eyes. The borderline insanity of needing a release. Combined with finally seeing proof that we were the good guys? Well, I owed her.
Just a little.
It was my job to take her to the edge, dangle her for a time, but then draw her back into safety. My purpose was to bridle everything she was, so she would do anything I asked.
Glaring into her eyes, I said, "You are mine. I am not your master or owner or boss. I am the man who controls your entire existence until you pay off your family’s debts. You don’t breathe unless I permit it. You don’t move unless I request it. You live a simple life now. One with a single word you need remember…yes."
My touch skated from her belly to her hips.
She stiffened to a plank. Her gaze left mine, locking on the ornate ceiling.
"Look at me." My voice turned harsh, barbaric beneath its cultured refinement. "Has it sunk in yet? That I can do anything I want to you?"
She didn’t respond—just like she’d been told not to. Silence. Blissful, blessed silence. She couldn’t admonish or argue. She was pliant. Wondrously pliant.
She deserves a reward.
I tried to hold back.
I didn’t want an audience.
But fuck it.
Shoving her higher on the table, I slapped away her position on her elbows, crashing her spine onto the wood. She cried out, then sucked in a harsh breath.
I grabbed her legs, forcing them wide.
Her pink flesh invited me, glistening, not from other men’s tongues, but arousal. Arousal for me. Arousal that I intended to take advantage of.
Grabbing an untouched glass of water from a Diamond brother, I dumped the liquid all over Nila’s pussy.
She cried out; legs trying to scissor. But I didn’t let her move.
The water trickled through her dark hair, pooling beneath her. It wasn’t enough, but it washed at least some of the men’s spit away.
I only wanted to taste her.
Hooking my hands beneath her hips, I held her tight.
"No. Don’t—"
Too fucking late.
With a fleeting smile, I captured her swollen cunt in my mouth.
The moment my tongue shot out, pressing firm and hard, she arched off the table.
"Ah!" Her mouth hung wide, her neck straining as every muscle shot into stark relief. Her black hair fanned out on the table, sliding against her shoulders as she writhed on the wood.
Snapping my fingers, I glared at two Diamond brothers. They leapt to attention, grabbing her wrists and holding her down.
She squirmed. She fought. But my fingers only bit harder into her arse, keeping her pinned wide and open.
My fucking brother didn’t have the right to tongue-fuck her.
But I did.
I hadn’t planned on giving her such a reward, but…it wasn’t just her getting off on this.
The power. The submission. Her taste. Her damn fucking taste.
I showed too much. I let go of my tight restraint and drank.
She groaned as I shifted a hand, holding her hipbone hard on the table. Then she whimpered. My tongue became my weapon of choice as I licked downward. No hesitation. No teasing.
I was there for one goal.
Her goal.
My eyes rolled back as I plunged my tongue inside her tight hot warmth.
/> Fuck me.
"God!" Her hips tried to run from my invasion. Her mouth opened wide; her ribcage visible as her lungs strained to breathe.
I set a pace no one would be able to ignore.
I fucked her. There was no other word for how I drove my tongue in and out, fast and possessive. The muscles in her belly clenched. She panted, she moaned, then she screamed.
She gave up the fight, giving into me.
A spasm of pre-cum dampened my jeans as her hips shot upward, her clit brushing against my nose.
Her body twisted, trying to get her hands free, but the brothers wouldn’t let her go.
She turned wild. Seeking. Demanding. The same sexual creature from the stables.
I couldn’t breathe without dragging her scent into my lungs. I couldn’t swallow without drinking her. And I couldn’t fucking think without wanting to tear off my jeans and plunge deep inside her.
My tongue worked faster, the tips of my teeth gracing her pussy lips as I drove deeper than I’d ever gone before.
I ate her. I fucked her. I owned her.
Her tight pussy squeezed my tongue, begging for more.
I’ll give you more.
I’d given her too much already.
Fuck.
Her legs suddenly latched around my ears, grinding herself onto my face.
She moaned hard; a breathless beg on her lips. I couldn’t stop myself.
My tongue drove harder; my head bobbed faster.
She unravelled.
She combusted.
She screamed as she came on my tongue.
OH, MY GOD.
Oh, my God.
It didn’t. It couldn’t. He didn’t. I couldn’t.
What the hell did I just do?
Jethro stood straight, breathing hard. His eyes were tight; his mouth drenched and red.
My cheeks flamed, heart racing like I’d run ten kilometres.
What was that?
What magic did he possess that made me throw away self-consciousness, decorum, and hatred? How could I squirm that way? Sound that way? Come that way?
I came.
He made me come.
My captor shot me free for one blissful second, granting me something no one else had. The sparks and waves and mind-twisting delicious clenching. I wanted more. I wanted it now.
Jethro wiped his mouth, trying unsuccessfully to hide the lust glowing in his eyes. He’d given, not taken. He’d done what he said.
I’ll wipe it all away.
The only thing I could focus on was him. The room of men didn’t matter. Their tongues and touches and pleasantly whispered thank yous were gone. Burned to a crisp thanks to the nuclear explosion he’d set off. I was no longer at the mercy of the room. I owned the room.
Then everything came crashing back.
My first orgasm was given by a man whose father killed my mother.
My privacy had been completely stripped by the man who’d stolen me from my family.
He’d made me sleep with dogs.
He played with my head.
He didn’t give a damn about me.
Why was he so clever? So perfectly designed for this game?
I struggled to sit up. The two men holding my wrists let me go, and I shot into a sitting position, wrapping arms around my torso.
The hot sparkly burst that made everything so inconsequential faded with every rapid heartbeat. It was like being in the eye of the storm. Jethro granted me silence. He’d shared his heavenly silence and quieted my mind from everything I was feeling.
But now the storm gathered strength, howling, twisting, sucking me back up the funnel of horrors.
Eyes.
So many eyes upon me. Paintings and real. Men who’d seen me naked. Men who’d licked every inch. Men who didn’t care if I lived or died.
You let him control you.
You let your body rule your mind.
You let yourself down.
Crushing grief swamped me. I couldn’t be there another moment. I couldn’t sit there with residual sparks shivering in my core. I couldn’t pretend that everything was acceptable.
Jethro smirked, his breathing calmed as he dragged large hands through his hair. My heart broke into shards. How could he give me something so incredible all while hating me? His mercurial moods, his unreadable face—it confused me. Even worse, it upset me.
Visceral repulsion and horror howled through me as the storm grew in strength. My lungs seized as I flew up the dark wall of wind.
The compliant prisoner disappeared under a tsunami of rage. This wasn’t okay. None of this was okay. This is not okay!
Balling my hands, I scooted off the table. Keeping my distance from Jethro, I bared my teeth at him—the first male to drive me up a mountain I’d never leapt off before.
Him.
He’d had no right to make me come. To give me a gift not out of kindness but control. He’d proven a valuable lesson. He could make me do anything he wanted, and there was nothing I could do about it.
His eyebrow quirked; chin tilted with arrogance. He didn’t say a word, moving to lean against the door with his hands jammed in his pockets. He gave nothing away. No hint at how he felt watching other men use me. No clue as to what he was thinking when he made me come.
I was his to repay this horrible ludicrous debt. But he didn’t seem to care.
And that was what broke my heart.
He didn’t give an arse about what happened to me. Everything I’d hoped—the secret plan to make him care or at least tolerate my company—was smashed to dust. There was no pleasing a rock like him. No appealing to his compassion.
He has none.
Tearing my eyes from his, I glowered at the table. Standing tall, I embraced my nakedness. I throbbed with righteousness. I trembled with indecency.
I hated what I wore. It covered nothing and was theirs. I wanted nothing to do with them. I wanted to refuse their food, spit out their water, and burn their clothes. Not that they’d offered me any.
With suddenly steady hands, I tore the French maid’s cap off my head. I threw it down the table. The satin wood let it slide all the way to the centre where it rested like a stain, a sin—a simple innocuous thing screaming of wrongness.
The men didn’t move.
Fumbling at the ties around my neck, I pulled the hated pinafore over my head and balled it up. Standing proud, naked—showing off my bruises from vertigo and tongue smears from bastards—I spoke. "Look at you. Look at how masculine and powerful you are." Pointing my finger around the table, I growled, "Look at how scary and dominating and strong you are. Look at how proud you must be. You proved you’re invincible by taking advantage of a woman brought here against her will. You used a girl who has to live her worst nightmares to protect those she loves."
Stabbing myself in the chest, I whispered, "Wait…I got it wrong. You’re not the strong ones. I am. You’re weak and disgusting. By doing what you did, you gave me more power than I’ve ever had before. You gave me a new skill—a skill at ignoring you because you’re nothing. Nothing. Nothing!"
"And you!" I swung my arm, gaze zeroing in on Jethro. The one man who held my life in the palm of his hand. He was nothing. Just like his brethren of bastards.
Jethro stood taller, a shadow darkening his face. His hands came out of his pockets, crossing in front of his large chest.
"You…" I seethed. "You think you’re the baddest one here. You think I’ll cower. You think I’ll obey." Running both hands through my hair, I shouted, "I’ll never cower. I’ll never obey. You’ll never break me, because you can’t touch me."
Spanning my arms, I presented my naked form as a gift—the gift he’d hinted at wanting but hadn’t taken. "I’ll never be yours even though you own my life. I’ll never bow to you because my knees don’t recognise your so-called power. So do your worst. Hurt me. Rape me. Kill me. But you’ll never ever own me."
Breathing hard, I waited.
The room had remained silen
t. But now it filled with rustling of leather as men shifted in their seats. The atmosphere went from shocked silence to heavy anticipation.
My overworked heart kicked into another gear, sending my vision a little grey, a little fuzzy. Please, not now.
Planting my legs, gripping the soft carpet beneath my toes, I locked my knees against a wave of vertigo.
Mr. Hawk was the first to move. He placed his elbows on the table, linking his fingers together. "I was wrong. You’re nothing like your mother. She had a brain. She was smart." His voice dropped the chivalrous country man edge, deepening into violent snaps, "You, on the other hand, are wilful and stupid. You don’t see that we are your family now. The moment you slept under my roof you became a Hawk by means of acquisition."
I laughed. "I’m still a Weaver then because I didn’t sleep under your roof." My kitten claws sharpened. I’d never been a fighter, but something called to me. Something intoxicating and lethal.
He leaned forward, anger etching his face. "You will learn your place. Mark my words."
I wanted to fight. I’d listened to their damn history lessons, it was time they listened to mine. "I may not have records so perfectly kept as yours, but I do know my family is innocent. Whatever happened back then was between them—not us. Leave it in the past. My family created a business of making clothes. We dressed the royal court but also donated to the poor. I’m proud of where I’ve come from and for you to—"
"Jet!" Mr. Hawk pinched the bridge of his nose. "Shut her up."
Jethro immediately slammed a hand over my mouth.
I froze. I knew I’d brought whatever punishment was about to happen upon myself. I couldn’t blame anyone, but I wouldn’t let myself regret what I’d said. I believed I was a good person. So were my twin, father, mother, and ancestors.
"You just had to push," Jethro hissed. "I’m going to draw blood for this."
My heart rabbited but I forced myself to remember one important fact.
They can’t hurt you too much.
There would be pain. There would be agony. But they meant to keep me alive. I had debts to repay before my life was stolen.
Never taking his eyes off mine, Mr. Hawk, ordered, "Jethro. Teach this woman that Hawks are a forgiving family but there are times when strictness is required in lieu of allowing little tantrums like this to occur." His eyes switched from mine to his son’s. "Take her. Deal with her. I don’t want to see her again until she’s lost the misplaced righteousness she seems to think she’s owed."
Captured Boxed Set: 9 Alpha Bad-Boys Who Will Capture Your Heart Page 82