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DIARY ENTRY, EMMA Weaver.
I found out what happened to Bryan’s brother today. I don’t think he meant to tell me, but I’ve learned how to manipulate him so occasionally he slips. I wouldn’t normally write that, but tomorrow...it’s all over. I’ve seen where they’ll do it. Bonnie took great pleasure in having me weave the basket that will catch me. I’m beyond thinking about how sick everything is. I tried my best. I pretended to care for Cut. I made him believe I was in love with him. I willingly shared his bed and portrayed the besotted woman around his family. But it was all a lie. You hear that, you evil son of a bitch? If you’re reading this, then good riddance. At least you can’t touch me anymore. You told me things I doubted you would’ve if you knew that every time you touched me, I wanted to slaughter you with my bare hands. You wouldn’t have let me into that frosted heart of yours if you knew that every time you slipped inside me, I gave myself over to the devil, all for him to fulfil one promise.
You won. But one day, you won’t. One day, your sins will catch up with you and it will all be over. My daughter is already twice the woman I am, and she’s still so young. If you go after her, it will be the last thing you ever do. I swear it on every religion, every sanctified God. You will die, Bryan. Mark my words, you will die—
A noise sounded outside my room.
My head wrenched up. My breath came hard and fast. I ached with the pain my mother had transcribed in the Weaver Journal. Somehow, she hadn’t used ink—she’d used her desperation and frustration. Her emotion throbbed from the pages, fisting around my heart. It made me angry, so damn angry that I wasn’t there to save her.
She’d done what I had.
She’d made Cut fall for her—just like I’d gone after Jethro—to control him.
Only, unlike Jethro, Cut hadn’t been so easily broken.
He’d still carried out the Final Debt. He’d killed the woman he was in love with.
And all for what?
The noise came again.
My pulse skyrocketed. With shaking hands, I closed the journal and slid it beneath the covers.
After the lawyers’ visit, I’d headed to the kitchens and stockpiled food. I didn’t know how often I’d be locked in my room in this new world without Jethro.
He’s dead.
He’s dead.
He’s...not coming back.
I balled my hands, forcing the grief to stay away.
No matter how often I thought about him, I always thought of him as alive and only a corridor away.
My brain played tricks on me. Whenever the old Hall creaked, I heard my name whispered in the walls. Whenever the wind whistled and twitched my curtains, I heard him beg for me to find him.
I was slowly going mad.
I can’t. Not yet. I have a job to do first.
I focused on the door to my room, ears straining for the noise. After my raid on the kitchens, I’d hauled my stash back to my quarters. The cook had given me a canvas bag to cart canned fruit, cured meat, packaged biscuits, and cereal. I’d hidden the food in the cupboard where I stored my needles, thread, and ribbon.
If they meant to trap me, at least I wouldn’t starve to death. I could stay strong and wait to strike them down.
Once I’d prepared myself for war, I’d deliberated if I should message my father. I’d wanted to tell him how much I loved him. How fortunate we were that this might be over soon.
If Vaughn and I died ...there would be no more Weavers. No more children to torment.
The debt would end for our lineage—some other poor Weaver blood would pay.
Not the way I would’ve chosen, but it was a conclusion I had to live with, a legacy I had to leave.
Jethro.
My heart fisted, but my eyes remained dry.
The noise came again.
It was slight but there.
A scratching, scurrying sound.
Rats, perhaps?
Or one rat in particular.
My heart clanged.
Daniel.
Had he come to honour his promise of raping me tonight? Our private meeting away from the view of Jasmine and Cut?
I looked at the windows. Pitch-black reflected my room in perfect symmetry, distorting colourful fabric, swirling them into some kaleidoscopic artwork.
After the meeting, a thunderstorm had crashed over the estate, drenching everything in damp darkness. I’d had my lights on ever since, reading and engrossed in the Weaver Journal.
Only select generations had added to the large tome. My mother hadn’t been diligent, and other snippets weren’t signed. It made me wonder if the Hawks gave them an outlet for truth, rather than used it against them. It wasn’t a requirement to write—but a choice.
My eyes darted to the clock above the turquoise fish tank.
11:00 p.m.
Shit!
Scrambling out of bed, I darted across the room. My bare feet padded over thick carpet, and the leggings and cardigan I’d worn all day were rumpled. My back and quads ached from the exercise I’d endured after returning to my room.
I hadn’t been for a run, but I had used every muscle in my body.
How? By protecting myself.
My door suddenly swung open, slamming against the dresser I’d painstakingly emptied and pushed in the smallest increments across the carpet. The ancient wood weighed a ton, but I’d spent hours shoving it across the room—just in case.
I jumped a mile as the door smashed against the dresser again, an aggravated sigh exploding.
He might have a key to lock me inside, but I had a better barricade. He would only touch me when I was ready. And then, it would be the last thing he ever did.
I supposed I should thank him for his prior warning. Allowing me to prepare for a midnight visitor.
Not only had I manhandled the dresser across the door, I’d also fashioned pieces of fabric with sharp needles embedded to make a simple knuckleduster. I’d counted how many scissors I had, how many tools I could use to defend myself, and what would cause the most damage.
I’d hidden my arsenal around the room. Some I stashed in my bedside table, some beneath my workstation, and even tucked in pockets sewn into my duvet. My clothing had also undergone an upgrade with knitting needles and scalpels carefully sewn into cuffs and hems.
Once I’d moved the dresser, I’d replaced the drawers and heavy fabric bolts that’d rested inside its carcass. There was no earthly way someone could move it. Not unless they had ten Black Diamonds outside my door.
Which I wouldn’t discount as a possibility.
Jethro was gone. But it didn’t mean I would go quietly.
I’m ready, you asshole.
Just try me.
Almost on cue, the door slammed open again, smashing against the dresser with a resounding crack. A curse fell in the silence; they jiggled the knob, followed by another smash.
I stood vibrating on the other side, pulling my dirk free from my waistband.
Daniel would need a bomb to move the dresser, but it didn’t mean I was safe. Who knew if he had secret passages into this room? Ancient houses such as Hawksridge had rabbit warrens of unseen pathways and secret compartments.
The door slammed again, banging louder with frustration.
I huddled into a battle stance, preparing to stab Daniel’s hand through the crack. My mouth watered with the urge to hurl profanity and curses. To threaten and thwart.
“Nila, open the damn door.”
I froze.
It wasn’t Daniel.
Time ticked past, stretching uncomfortably.
“Nila...it’s me.”
Me?
The voice was feminine. Sweet and soft but hushed and worried.
Not a man with rape on his mind but a sister with grief.
A sister I couldn’t stand.
I laughed coldly. “So forcing me to sign myself over to you this afternoon wasn’t enough, huh?” My hand curled tight around my blade. “Come to cause more damage just like your fucked-up family?”
Jasmine sucked in a breath.
I inched closer to the door, nervousness popping in my blood.
“Just open the door. Now.”
“What? So I can welcome you inside for a sleep-over and we can paint each other’s nails?” I snorted. “I don’t think so, Jasmine. You’re a traitor to your brothers—a snake just like your grandmother.” Filling my voice with venom, I spat, “You’re just like them, and I want nothing to do with you.”
“You have no choice. Let me in the damn room.”
He’s dead because of you. He’s dead because he loved you.
My teeth clamped together. God, if she were in front of me, I’d stab her through her heartless chest.
“Piss off.”
“Let me in.”
“No chance. The next time we see each other, it’s not going to end well. I suggest you get out of my sight.”
Jasmine punched the door or rammed it with her chair—the noise signalled rapidly fraying anger. “Ah, fuck, what did he ever see in you?!” She bumped against the door again, lowering her voice. “We need to talk.”
“I don’t talk with betrayers.”
“You want me to get someone to help? ‘Cause I will. And you won’t like the consequences.”
My hand rose, the light from my side lamps kissing the blade with promise. “Do whatever you want, but I assure you it’ll be you who doesn’t like the—”
“Fine!”
Silence fell.
Animosity throbbed, slowly settling the longer we remained quiet.
Finally, a small whisper met my ears. “Just give me two minutes. Just listen. Can you do that? Or is that asking too much?”
I paused.
Two minutes was nothing in a lifetime. But two minutes to me was too high a cost. I existed on borrowed time.
“Why should I?” I drifted closer to the door despite myself.
“Because...it’s important.”
The genuine honesty in her voice dragged me forward. She sounded more real and true in that one microsecond than she had all afternoon.
Leaning around the dresser, I looked through the crack.
Not much was visible, but Jasmine’s face glowed in the dark corridor. Red-rimmed eyes, sad-bitten lips, and sorrow-dusted cheeks—she didn’t look well.
In fact, she looked ten years older than when I’d seen her at the meeting. Almost as if the past few hours had drained her of everything.
I wanted to slap myself.
Don’t believe it!
It was all an act. The perfect con-artist making me trust her because she looked so undone.
“It won’t work, you know.” I scowled. “I’m not buying into your sad sister act. Not after what you’ve done.”
Jasmine looked up, her face haggard. “I know you hate me. I feel it. But you have to put that aside and listen to me.”
If the door didn’t separate us, I’d wring her neck and throttle whatever conniving words she wanted to spout. “I don’t have to do anything.”
She reached through the door.
I stepped backward, raising my knife. “Don’t, unless you’re happy with four fingers instead of five.”
“God, why don’t you listen?!”
“Because I don’t believe a word you say!”
“No, not with your ears, you silly cow.”
I laughed. “Great way to get me to listen. Call me a cow again and we’ll see—”
“Didn’t Jethro teach you anything?”
I froze.
Livid rage cascaded down my back, into my legs, my arms, my mind. “Don’t you ever—”
“Talk about him? He’s my brother. He’s been mine a lot longer than he’s been yours.”
My ears bled. “Was, don’t you mean. He was yours. But he’s gone. He doesn’t belong to either of us, and that’s all your fault!”
She sighed, rubbing her face with her hands. “Why are you so damn stubborn?”
“Why are you so damn confusing?” My eyes dropped to her attire.
I paused, forehead furrowing.
A black blanket covered her legs, along with a black hoodie and black gloves. She’d either taken mourning to a new extreme and fashioned her pyjamas in darkness too, or...
“What are you up to, Jaz?”
Her eyes wrenched up. “Finally! You finally ask a decent question.” She looked over her shoulder. “Let me in. I’ll tell you.”
I shook my head. “Nope. Not going to happen.”
“I don’t have all freaking night, Nila. Let me inside before it’s too late.”
My heart skipped a beat. “What—what do you mean? Too late?”
“I’ll tell you if you open the door.”
“Tell me before I open the door.”
I wasn’t naïve anymore. I wouldn’t fall for any more Hawk traps.
She had her motives and secrets—same as everyone else. Only, what she’d said about listening...what did she mean? With my instincts? With my heart? What could she possibly have to tell me that I didn’t already know?
She was a heartless bitch who should’ve died and not her brother.
She scowled, her sleek black bob pinned back from her face. The more I looked at her, the more my heart raced. Something was off—something was wrong.
She looked like a ninja about to go on a robbery spree.
She looked as if she knew something I didn’t.
She looked as if everything she’d lived through the past few hours was a lie. And this was the truth.
This was real.
I lowered my knife. “What—what’s going on?”
She smiled tightly, fresh tears streaming down her cheeks. “Will you believe me? Are you finally listening?”
Goosebumps scattered over my arms.
I swallowed. I nodded.
She sagged as if she could finally share the burden she carried.
“In that case...” She sucked in a breath. “I need your help.”
It took an eternity for me to find courage.
I knew the moment I spoke, my world would change all over again.
Finally, I murmured, “Why?”
Reaching through the door, she grasped my hand.
Her eyes glossed.
Her lips trembled.
Her voice split me in two.
“I need your help...because...” She squeezed my fingers, joy exploding on her face. “Nila, he’s alive.”
