Jethro

NILA LAUGHED.

I looked up from my report on the latest smuggling shipment and covered my eyes from the overwhelming sunshine behind her.

She stood haloed in golden warmth—like the goddess I worshipped daily. She was ethereal, magical...mine.

“What’s so funny?”

She skipped to my side and took my hand. The instant her skin touched mine, my heart tripped over. Even after all this time together, even after entwining our lives completely, I was still hopelessly smitten. She was my queen—the custodian of my soul—just like I’d promised when I’d given in to her the night I told her everything.

With a tender smile, she placed my hand on her growing belly.

My jaw clenched with a mixture of all-consuming love, pride, and protectiveness.

She’s carrying my child.

We made this unborn creature together.

Half her, half me. It would be a Weaver and Hawk. Seamstress and diamond smuggler.

Ours.

“He kicked.”

“Really?” I pressed my hand harder.

The firmness of her belly didn’t move.

Nila’s face fell. “He’s stopped.”

I gathered her close, pressing a kiss on her cotton-covered bump. “You keep saying he. We haven’t found out the sex yet. It could just as easily be a girl.”

She shook her head, her long black hair soaking up the sun as if she somehow harnessed its power. I loved her hair. I loved how free it made her.

“It’s a boy.”

Tugging her onto my lap, I kissed her lips. This woman utterly beguiled me. “What if I don’t want a boy? What if I want a little girl who is as perfect as you?”

“He’s coming to.”

“Move aside, please.”

Loud beeps filled my ears. Pain swamped. Heaviness shackled. Agony battered from all directions.

Fuck, make it stop.

I didn’t like it here. I wanted to go back. Return to where the sunshine glowed and my wife carried my child.

More pain crescendoed. I gave up fighting.

Fuck, make it stop...make it stop!

My heart accelerated, shoving me head-first into my wish.

With a sigh, I let go of my body, ignored the summons trying to drag me back to life, and fell.

“You want a girl?”

I nodded. “More than anything.”

“And what if I want a son?”

“You’ll just have to wait.”

Nila giggled. “Wait?”

I pulled her close, inhaling her soft scent of wild-flowers and summer. “Until we have another one.”

“Mr. Ambrose. Come on.”

The warm illusion shattered again.

I tensed, preparing for pain to welcome me back. There was no pain. Only a fog. A metallic blanket blocked the fever and excruciating agony. For the first time in forever, I could think without being handicapped by suffering.

With the discomfort gone, it opened the gates for everything else to become known.

My body was tired. Beyond tired. Bone weary and sluggish.

I don’t want to be here.

I missed my dream world where everything was sunshine and smiles, away from whatever memories snarled on the outskirts of comprehension.

I want to forget...just for a little longer.

Sleep gripped my mind, tugging me backward, slipping me under the surface and delivering me back to Nila.

“Another one?” She swatted my chest, laughing in the bright afternoon. “Getting a bit greedy, don’t you think?”

I nuzzled her neck. “Greedy? I wouldn’t call it greedy.”

Her lips parted as I trailed kisses up her throat, skirting her chin, hovering over her mouth. Her breath cracked and shortened, waiting in anticipation of a kiss. “Oh? What would you call it?”

I paused over her lips. I wanted so badly to kiss her. To drink her taste and pour my love down her throat. I wanted so desperately to heal her. To forget about the past and remind both of us that it was over. That we were free.

“I call it building a better future.”

Nila’s head tipped back. I captured her nape, keeping her locked in my control. My mouth watered, still millimetres from kissing her.

“How many?” she whispered as my lips finally touched hers.

My tongue slipped into her mouth, tangoing with hers, dancing the same dance we knew by heart. I would recognise Nila even if all my senses were stolen. I would know her if I was blind, deaf, and mute. I would always know her because I could feel her. Her love had a certain flavour—a sparkling liquor that intoxicated me whenever I let down my walls and felt what she felt, lived what she lived.

I murmured, “As many as we can.”

“Mr. Ambrose, you have to open your eyes.”

That damn voice again. And that name...it was wrong. That wasn’t my name.

Once again, I tried to ignore the tugging, wanting to fall backward into sleep, but this time the gates were shut. I couldn’t slip.

I hovered there—in an in-between world where darkness steadily became lighter and the world slowly solidified.

The pain was still blanketed, the tiredness not as consuming, but there was strangeness everywhere.

Strange smells.

Strange noises.

Strange people.

Where am I?

“That’s it, wake up. We won’t bite.”

I cringed against the false, upbeat tone. I didn’t tolerate insincerity and whoever encouraged me hid his true thoughts.

My condition was the first sense to return with full force, feeding off the man beside me—the man who cared, worried, and clinically assessed me. In his mind, I belonged to him. My progress, my recovery—it was all testament to his skills as my...

Doctor.

The unfamiliar place and unfamiliar smells suddenly made a lot more sense.

Bright lights were brighter and the blanket hiding me from pain lived deep in my veins.

Drugs.

I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak. I could barely breathe.

But I was alive.

And mistakenly being called Mr. Ambrose.

The beeping sound flurried faster as I slipped back into all facets of my body. Fingers to fingers. Toes to toes. It was like dressing in expensive cashmere after weeks of wearing scratchy wool. It was home.

“He’s coming to.”

“That’s it. We’re here. No need to fear. You’re safe.”

The doctor’s voice reached into the remaining darkness in my brain, plucking me to the surface. My eyes were heavy drapes, musty and full of moths, refusing to open.

A wash of frustration came from nowhere—tugging me faster from my haze, slamming me into a body I no longer wanted.

My eyes opened.

“Great. Awesome job, Mr. Ambrose.”

I promptly closed them again. The room was too bright, too much to see.

“Give it a moment and the discomfort will pass.” Someone patted me on the shoulder. The drumbeat resonated through my body, awakening everything else.

I tried again, squinting this time to limit the amount of light.

The scene before me crystallised from a sea of wishy-washy watercolours to shapes I recognised.

I knew this world. Yet I don’t know these people.

I was back in a broken body, battered within an inch of my life. I was cold and feeling nauseous, and interminably tired. I preferred my dream world where Nila was safe, we were happy, and there was no mad evil threatening to tear us apart.

The doctor clasped my hand—the one free of an IV needle.

I tried to tug away but my brain failed to send the message, leaving me in his grasp. “You gave us quite a scare, Mr. Ambrose.”

I swallowed, forcing my emaciated throat to lubricate. “Th—that isn’t m—my—” I cut myself off before I could finish.

My name...what was my name...?

It only took a fraction.

I’m Jethro Hawk. Heir to Hawksridge, firstborn, and recently murdered by his own father. Everything of my past, my trials, and my love for Nila slotted into perfect place, leaving me clearheaded and aware.

As far as my father knew, I’d died when the bullet meant for Jasmine tore into my body. Whoever had delivered me to the hospital was on my side. And the name was a mask keeping me safe.

A flash of agony made its way through whatever painkillers they’d given me, kick-starting me onto another subject. “W—who are y—you?”

The doctor studied me. His brown handlebar moustache and shock of unruly hair didn’t match the somber light green scrubs he wore or the softness of his hand around mine. He looked like an eccentric farmer, someone more at home hugging a chicken, than nursing a patient back to life.

“My name is Jack Louille. I was the surgeon who operated on you.” His eyes cast down to my stomach, covered in starchy white sheets. “It was touch and go for a bit, but you responded well to treatment.”

“W—what treat—treatment?”

He beamed, a rush of pride emitting from him, his emotions of a job well done and workplace satisfaction buffeting me. “I don’t know how much you remember, but you were shot.”

I nodded. “My m—memory is fully in—intact.” The more I spoke, the more my throat found it easier to talk.

“Ah, that’s great news. As you are aware then, a bullet sliced through your side.” He leaned over me. “I don’t need to tell you how close it came to being a fatal wound. An abdominal injury can rupture intestines, liver, spleen, and kidneys. There are also major vessels that can be nicked—all of which equal a lower possibility of survival—especially in your case, since you were unable to seek treatment straight away.”

Why was that?

I couldn’t recall.

Memories of time skipping and fire hissing tried to make sense. Kestrel had been beside me...

Kes!

I lashed out, grabbing the doctor’s wrist. My body flared with agony, but I ignored it. “The other m—man. Is he here, t—too?” I didn’t dare say his name. I doubted he would be under it anyway—same as me.

Doctor Louille paused, his happiness at my recovery fading as helplessness smothered his thoughts. “Your brother is still with us, but...we don’t know for how long. His injuries were more extensive, less straightforward to operate.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll tell you about him soon. First, let me explain your condition and then you need to rest. There is time for everything else later.”

No, there is no time.

If Kes wasn’t doing well, I wanted to see him before it was too late.

I need my brother. My friend.

“You’re what I call an extraordinary luckster.” Louille smiled. “I once had a patient who slipped in the bath and shattered a window. The glass sliced his neck but missed the jugular and carotid artery. Do you know how nearly impossible that is? But he was lucky. I’ve had many patients that, by right, should be dead but somehow tricked death into leaving them alone.” He patted my shoulder. “You’re the latest luckster. The bullet sliced through the high side of your abdomen, passing through the muscles surrounding core vitals, and never entering the abdominal cavity. You would’ve passed out from the overload of adrenaline and pain, and it would’ve been horrendously messy and bloody, but here we are.”

My head pounded.

Here I was.

I’ve been given a second chance.

I wasn’t so rotten that I deserved to die; wasn’t so evil to merit a one-way ticket to hell.

I’m not going to waste it.

I would use this new life to fix all my wrongs and ensure I deserved the luck I’d been given.

“H—how l—long?”

Doctor Louille ran a hand over his moustache. “You were in surgery for three hours and asleep for three days in intensive care. Your vitals were finally strong enough to wean you off the sedative and let nature take its course.”

Three days?

Three fucking days!

Shit, what about Nila? 

My heart clanged out of control. An exorbitant amount of adrenaline swamped me. Hurling myself upward, I lurched for the edge of the bed. Pain be damned. Motherfucking bullet wound be damned.

Three days!

“I—I have to g—go.”

Louille slammed his hands on my shoulders, pushing me back against the mattress. “What the hell are you doing? I just told you you were lucky. You trying to ruin that luck?”

I struggled, seeing a clock ticking closer to Nila’s death everywhere I looked.

Nila!

Three days!

What had they done to her in that time?

“Let—let me g—go!”

“No chance in hell, buddy. You’re my patient. You’ll follow my rules.” Louille’s fingers dug into my biceps, holding me in place. “Calm down or I’ll restrain you. You want that?”

I froze, breath wheezing in and out. My stomach gnashed with agonising pain.

Three days...

My energy disappeared. A wash of sickness almost made me vomit. Oh, fuck. The room turned upside down.

Louille sympathised, letting me go. “The nausea will pass. It’s the morphine. Just lie still and you’ll be okay.”

All I could think about was Nila and the fact I’d abandoned her.

Fuck!

“Molly, perhaps increase Mr. Ambrose’s dose and arrange a sedative.”

“No!” I’d already lost so much time. No way in hell would I lose anymore. I needed every minute awake to heal and run back to my woman.

My eyes fell on a girl in the background. A nurse with blonde hair in a bun and a clipboard in her hand. Her emotions were shuttered, barely registering on my condition. Either she guarded herself well or the nausea kept my sensitivity to a minimum.

Forcing myself to remain sane—at least until the doctor left so I could plan my escape—I asked, “H—how long will I h—have to s—stay here?”

“Why? You got some skiing trip to attend in Switzerland?” Doctor Louille laughed. When he noticed I was dead serious, he cleared his throat. “I estimate three weeks to be fully fixed. Two weeks for the wound to heal and another week for the internal bruising to recede. Twenty-one days, Mr. Ambrose, then I’ll sign the discharge papers and send you on your merry way.”

Three weeks?

Fuck, I couldn’t wait that long.

Even three days drove me insane.

I shook my head. “I can’t be a—away for that l—length of ti—time.”

Don’t give up on me, Nila.

I had to be there to keep her safe. She couldn’t be subjected to more horror—especially at the hands of my bastard father and brother.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

My heart squeezed like a fucking lemon, cauterizing my insides with citric acid at the thought of her being so vulnerable and alone.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Ambrose, but you’re not fit to leave. And you’re under my care until I say you are.” Turning his attention to the nurse, he waved her closer. “Give me that phone number. We best let the family know he’s awake.”

My heart burst through my ribs. “Wh—what family?”

Don’t tell my bastard father.

I’d be poisoned or slaughtered before the day was done.

Doctor Louille reached for the phone on the white bedside table. Everything in the room was either white, glass, or light blue. A flat-screen TV hung on the wall, while a small table and chairs squashed in the corner.

“The woman who dropped you here, of course.” He gnawed on his bottom lip as he dialled a number and put the phone to his ear. He waited for it to connect. “Yes, hello, Ms. Ambrose? Yes, it’s Doctor Jack Louille calling.”

A pause.

“I have some good news. He’s just woken up. I’ll put him on.”

Covering the mouthpiece, he passed the phone to me. My mind whirled, trying to keep up. I shook my head. What if this was a trap? What if it was Bonnie?

The doctor didn’t take my hesitation as any sign to stop his persistence. “It’s your sister. She’s called every hour for the past few days. Get her off my back and let her know you’re okay.” Nudging the phone into my hands, he said, “Talk to her. Rest. I’ll be back later to answer any more questions and assess your pain levels. And keep your arse in bed, or else.”

My fingers curled around the phone.

No promises.

I was running as soon as I could breathe without wanting to throw up.

I trembled, battling tiredness and the thought of talking to someone still at Hawksridge, someone I loved, someone I’d failed as much as I’d failed Nila.

Waiting until the doctor and nurse had left, I held the phone to my mouth. “H—hello?”

The longest pause crackled in my ear.

“H—hello? You there?”

A sniff came down the line. “About bloody time, you bloody arse.”

My heart beat stronger.

I might have failed Nila.

I might have been dead for a few days.

But Jasmine had achieved the impossible. If she’d kept me alive, I had to trust she’d done the same for Nila.

“You al—always had a gr—great way with your t—temper, Jaz.”

“God, it’s truly you...” Her voice broke then she burst into noisy tears.

* * * * *

I found out later what she’d done for us. How she’d saved us. How Flaw had kept Kes and me alive long enough to smuggle us from the estate unseen. How he’d hidden us in the crypt, providing medicine, leaving us to slowly fossilize and turn into skeletons beneath the house I’d lived in all my life—working against the clock to get us somewhere safe.

I owed Flaw a huge debt. I would pay him handsomely. But I would also never underestimate my sister or take her for granted ever again. I couldn’t believe she’d willingly left Hawksridge.

After a lifetime of chaining herself to the Hall, she’d commandeered one of the many vehicles in our garage and somehow delivered Kes and me to the hospital. From the way the doctors spoke, it sounded as if she’d only just made it. Another hour or two and Kestrel would’ve been dead and me not long after.

How she managed to do that, I had no idea. The phone call had been brief, hushed—a quick catch-up so Bonnie wouldn’t overhear. Her relief had been genuine, but she’d also kept something from me.

Something I meant to find out.

After I hung up, the nurse had slipped back in and against my wishes fed more sedative into my drip.

I couldn’t try to run. I couldn’t assess how weak I was. All I could do was slip into empty dreams like some drugged arsehole. Nila didn’t come visit me and I awoke pissed and hurting a few hours later.

Kestrel stole my thoughts for the billionth time since I’d woken. My heart splintered for my brother. 

According to Louille, he still hadn’t woken up. He was in intensive care and an induced coma. The bullet I’d saved Jaz from had been a clean shot. By Louille’s own admission, I was a ‘luckster’, a fluke of nature, a fucking miracle. No bones shattered, no organs ruptured. A single entry and exit wound leaving me bleeding and infected but otherwise intact.

But if I was a miracle, then that came with certain obligations and privileges.

Privileges I would call on in order to end the man who’d killed me.

Obligations I meant to uphold now I was free.

I’d returned from the dead.

And I’d bring the wrath of hell toward my enemies.