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I STOOD ON the lip of a colossal mine.
The teeth of the earth yawned wide, its tongue and tonsils butchered by spades and diggers, its innards exposed to the night sky in the hunt for diamonds and wealth.
Staring into the pit hurt something deep inside. It wasn’t for the broken trees left to rot unwanted, or the ebony-skinned workers toiling in the muck. It wasn’t the stagnant air of degradation and robbery. It was the sadness that something as precious and rare as diamonds—that the earth had created over millennia—had been so callously stolen with no grace or thanks.
“Impressive. Isn’t it?” Cut slung his arm over my shoulders.
I flinched but didn’t move away.
Not that I could.
A coarse rope bit into my wrists, wound tightly by Cut when he’d come for me.
I’d expected the Third Debt to be carried out the moment Cut returned from whatever errands he ran. I’d sat on the bed, pricking the tips of my fingers with the hidden knitting needle, never taking my eyes off the entrance to my tent.
My stomach grumbled. Energy depleted. But I’d refused to fall asleep. I would face my nightmare while awake.
It was the only way.
The cool African night had gnawed on my skin; goosebumps prickled as the humph humph of lions echoed through the fabric house.
They sounded so close. So hungry.
Then, all at once, it seemed as if an orchestra conductor arranged a quartet of laughing hyenas, bays of zebras, and hoots of owls.
The animal song raised my stress levels until I’d shivered with terror.
“Are you listening to me?” Cut’s voice sliced through my thoughts. I hadn’t rested or slept in forever; my reactions were sluggish.
I blinked. “You were saying something about quantity and how much—”
“No!” He jerked the rope around my wrists. “I was telling you how deep Almasi Kipanga goes. In centuries of mining, we’ve found seams and seams of stones. We continue to expand and the mine is currently half a kilometre below earth. Can you comprehend that?”
I shook my head. All I could think about was how dark and claustrophobic it would be. A tomb just waiting to fall like countless dominos, smothering anyone inside it.
Daniel smiled. “That’s years of digging. Millions upon millions of diamonds carved out of the dirt. If a seam dries up, a new route is planned.” His teeth flashed. “One lucky worker is given the job of setting explosives to disrupt any loose landslides or cave-ins.”
“What happens if the explosives set off a disaster and he gets crushed?” My eyes widened at such a dangerous occupation.
Daniel shrugged. “That’s why we only send one. If he doesn’t make it, then tough shit. We don’t evacuate, we just seal.”
I swallowed my disgust. “You kill men in so many ways.”
“Thanks for the compliment.”
My eyes narrowed. “It wasn’t.”
“I don’t care.” Daniel smirked. “I’m taking it as one.”
I wanted to wipe that idiotic greed and insanity and entitlement right off his heinous face. “I wouldn’t be so bloody cocky if I were you. You act as if killing an employee is a sport—that they’re as disposable as broken tools.” Tilting my chin at Cut, I snarled, “But your father doesn’t just stop there. What makes you think you’re safe, Daniel? When all signs point to you being the reject and least desirable?”
“Why you—” Daniel fisted my hair, jerking me from his father’s grip. His free hand shot to his belt where a dirty rag was stuffed in his pocket. “Gonna shut you up once and for—”
Cut yanked me back, tucking me under his arm once again. “I don’t know what happened between you two while I was gone, but stop squabbling like spoiled brats.”
Squeezing me, he murmured, “Now, Nila. Behave, be silent unless spoken to, and you’ll get to visit something not many people get to see.”
Cut glared at his son. “Calm the fuck down and be a man, Buzzard. Nila’s right. At this point, you’re less than desirable. And if you keep it up, I’ll be the one extracting the Third Debt without you. I don’t share with ingrates.”
I shuddered with loathing.
The thought of Cut touching me any more than he was now shrivelled up my insides until they turned to ash.
Daniel burned red with fury but swallowed his retorts.
Cut let me go. “Come. Let’s take a closer look.” He raised my bound hands, kissing my knuckles as if this was a perfectly normal night on a perfectly normal vacation. After his outburst, he looked positively carefree. Happy...
How can you be happy, you bastard?
I vowed on every fallen tree and hacked up dirt that I would wipe the smug smile off his goddamn face.
“Come along.” Cut strode ahead, jerking me behind him.
My ballet flats skidded on pebbles as I struggled to match his pace. Greyness danced on the outskirts of my vision, but I refused to give in to vertigo.
I was already in a perilous situation. I wouldn’t let my body subject me to more.
My mouth dried up as we moved forward on the tiny path. The deeper we headed, the more claustrophobia clawed. The track had been carved from the mountain, steadily curving with bare earth on one side, damp and musty, and a steep drop on the other, giving no second chances if you tripped.
One wrong step...
If I could guarantee Cut’s demise, I’d throw myself over the edge and take him with me.
African men and women bowed as we traded the narrow path for a wider road, exchanging foot power for an electric golf cart.
The simple cart was nothing like the armoured Jeep we’d driven in.
Once Cut had returned from his errands, he’d bundled me into another car and driven Daniel, Marquise, and me to the mine. I didn’t have a watch and my phone—which I missed like a lost limb—remained in the U.K. But I guessed the trip took about twenty minutes before arriving at the wound of Almasi Kipanga.
I’d held my breath as a wall the size of China loomed in the distance. Gates soared high; the perimeter fortified with electricity, barbed wire, and countless notices in Swahili and English warning of mutilation and death if they were caught stealing.
“Get in, Nila.” Cut’s rough hand pushed me into the backseat of the mud-splattered golf cart. Daniel sat beside me, while Marquise, silent as always, took the front beside Cut.
The deeper into the chasm we drove, the more Cut’s pride shone. He looked upon this place like it existed because of him. Like he was the creator, founder, and architect.
But it wasn’t him. He couldn’t take credit for something that’d been here since the dinosaurs roamed. Nor take pride in something the earth had created. He’d done nothing. If anything, he’d tainted the preciousness of diamonds and smeared them with the blood of his workers.
The battery whir of the cart could barely be heard over the squelching of mud as we descended down the serpentine road into purgatory.
Workers milled everywhere. Some with buckets on a yoke, others driving diggers and dump trucks full of earth. Armed guards stood sentry every few metres, their hands ready to shoot for any infraction. The air reeked of malnourished slavery.
Daniel caught me staring at one man as he dumped a pick-axe and bucket beside a growing tower of tools. “You’d be surprised where people will stuff a diamond, Weaver. The imagination can make a human body quite the suitcase.”
I bit my tongue. I wouldn’t speak. Not because Cut told me not to, but because I was done trying to figure him out. Jethro had redeemed himself, Kes never had anything to redeem, but Daniel...he was a lost cause.
The questions Cut gave me permission to ask had lost their shiny appeal. I didn’t care. I truly didn’t bloody care.
“Like what you see?” Cut asked as we neared the looming entrance to the belly of hell. Driving into the open-aired entrance was bad enough. The thought of entering the pitch-black crypt sucked all my courage away.
Apart from the obvious destitution of the workers, Cut’s treasure trove looked like any other mine—no diamonds strewn on the ground or sparkling in large barrels in the African night. If anything, the pit was dusty, dirty...utterly underwhelming.
I faced him with an incredulous look. “Like what I see? What exactly? Your love of hurting people or the fact that you murder whenever it benefits you?”
“Careful.” His golden eyes glowed with threats. “Half a kilometre below ground gives many places to dispose of a body and never be found.”
I looked away, wishing I had use of my hands so I could wring his neck. Perhaps, I’ll dispose of you down there.
My hoodie didn’t offer much warmth against the cool sky, but knowing my knitting needle rested in easy reach mollified me.
If I wasn’t tied up, of course.
My fingers turned numb from the tight rope around my wrists.
The lack of sleep and overall situation made my nerves disappear. “Threats. Always threats with you. There comes a time, Bryan, that threats no longer scare, they just make you look stupid.”
Cut sucked in a breath. I didn’t know if it was my use of his given name or my retaliation, but his gaze darkened with lust. “Was I threatening when I killed Jethro or Kestrel? That was decisive action—cutting out the tumour before it infected the host.”
“No, I call that insanity growing more and more rampant.”
His throat constricted as he swallowed. He didn’t say a word as he guided the golf cart to a stop beside a sheer rock wall. The air temperature dropped even more as shadows danced around the mouth of the mine. In front of us, a large opening beckoned. There were no welcome mats or happy wreaths on the door, just rough timber frames, well-tracked mud, and the occasional light disappearing into the belly of this monstrous beast.
Cut launched from his seat and plucked me from mine. “You’ll learn that I don’t believe in threatening, Nila. I believe in action. And tonight, once we return to camp, you’ll find that you’ll crave action, too.”
The way he stressed the word ‘crave’ made my heart rate spike. What did he mean by that?
“No time to waste.” Stepping back, Cut stole my roped hands, guiding me toward the crudely made entrance. Daniel followed, content to listen and watch rather than interrupt.
The second we traded starlight for thick, thick dirt above us, my urge to run accelerated. The timber framework gave way to jutting wooden poles, holding up a tin structure, keeping droplets at bay from the dripping earthen roof.
Exposed light bulbs dangled from the ceiling, casting us in stencils and shadows as we followed the corridor down, down, down then branched off to a large cave-like space.
I blinked, drinking in the array of clothes pegs and large bins labelled with what their contents entailed: dungarees, boots, hammers, chisels, and axes.
I shivered as the cold dampness ate through my clothing.
Daniel moved forward and grabbed a waterproof jacket. His cheeks dimpled cruelly as he sneered, “If only you’d been nice. I might’ve given you a jacket. It gets cold down here.” Grabbing a torch from another barrel, he shrugged. “Oh well, guess you’ll freeze and I’ll have to work extra hard to warm you back up when we return.”
Cut let me go, grabbing his own jacket and slinging it over his shoulders. He merely smiled and didn’t override his youngest’s decision not to give me extra warmth.
So be it.
I gritted my jaw, locking my muscles to hide my shivering.
Daniel patted my arse as he stalked past. “Let’s go to the tally room then we’ll go below.”
Below?
Further...down into the ground?
I...I...
I swallowed, forcing away my panic as I focused on the other word I dreaded.
Tally.
Tally room?
Like the marks on my fingertips?
I looked down at my twined wrists. Smudges and grime covered my index but beneath it, Jethro's marks still rested.
My heart twinged, remembering Jethro bent over and carefully inscribing my skin with his initials. The ink wouldn’t last forever; it’d already faded from washing my hands, but I loved having his mark there—in a way, it made him immortal. Even when I thought he was dead, his signature remained on my skin.
He’ll come for me.
I knew that. But I also knew he wouldn’t be in time.
I sucked in a heavy breath. If I never saw him again, at least we had the night in the stables. At least I got to see him one last time.
“Good plan.” Cut took my hand, dragging me deeper into the mine. More carts and trolleys, even an old Jeep littered the underground pathway. I hadn’t expected such a huge size. The mine had the air of an unseen city, complete with transportation, inhabitants, and daily commuters heading to their offices.
The lights did their best to push back the gloom, but between the strung bulbs, a cloying blackness permeated my skin and clothes. The stench of damp earth couldn’t be dispelled, nor could the underlying fear that any moment the world could collapse and I’d be buried forever.
Goosebumps scattered over my arms as we entered another small cave where numerous tables had been set with scales, plastic containers, and ziplock bags. This room was brightly lit, pretending it had its own sun and not banished to the underworld.
“This is where every worker must drop his haul at the end of the shift.” Cut waved at the room. “The diamonds are washed, weighed, measured, and lasered with the fair trading IPL code before being sorted into equal distribution for shipment.”
My eyes widened at the willingly given information. I knew Cut had no intention of letting me spill what I’d learned to others, but I couldn’t get used to how open he was.
I supposed from here on out, every secret I’d be privy to, every hidden action shown.
I frowned, remembering what he’d made me promise at the dice game at Hawksridge. He’d demanded I save him a debt in return for whatever he would share.
What did he expect me to do? And what made him so sure I’d obey, now Vaughn wasn’t here to torture?
Shoving those thoughts away, I focused on the already processed ziplock bags. If he wanted to share in-depth details of his family’s enterprise, who was I to stop him?
Knowledge was power.
In a few questions, I’d learned more about Daniel than I had in six months.
I could do the same with Cut.
My voice boomeranged around the cave. “How do you get the stones out of the country?”
Daniel stroked a bag gently. “Oh, we have multiple ways.”
Cut prowled to a table and plucked a dull stone from a pile of dirt. “We use private planes and bribe air traffic control. We use shipping containers and smuggle contraband in the captain’s quarters. Other times we use trucks and pay off officials at the borders. Sometimes, we bribe a trusted few in the Red Cross who disguise the stones in medical supplies. There is no end to transport if you start looking at avenues available. Each tactic helps us export blood diamonds to borders where ludicrous taxes and regulations don’t exist.”
My lips curled at the mention of Red Cross. How could he use something that was supposed to benefit those in need by turning them into mules for something that hurt to procure? “That’s immoral.”
Cut laughed. “You think that’s bad? Silly girl, you should hear what my ancestors used to do.” Coming closer, he traced my arm with his dusty fingertips. “Before your time is up in Africa, you’ll learn of one such method.” His eyes glowed with demons. “And then you can decide which is immoral.”
I shivered, wrenching away from his touch. “You can keep your methods. I don’t want to know.”
Daniel gathered me close from behind, pressing his hips into my arse. “You’ll get your history lesson, same as always, Weaver. Once you’ve repaid the Third Debt tonight, you’ll be told what’s in store for you tomorrow.”
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow.
Jethro...
How far away are you?
A question flew into my head. I wanted to ignore it. It probably wasn’t wise to ask. But I was past censoring. “Why drag this out? Why not get it over with?”
Cut grinned. “Eager for a raping, my dear?”
I balled my hands. “Stop with the torment. I get it. You’re rich. You have power. I’ve lived with you for months. I know that already.”
Cut’s fingers tucked short hair behind my ear, fingering the strands he’d allowed Daniel to hack. “It’s a method of torture, Nila. Just like the history lessons inform you of your demise, the delay adds weight to what will happen.” Dropping his fingers from my hair, he clutched my hipbones, dragging me from Daniel’s clutches into his own.
Like father, like son.
I hated that both their erections pressed against me in a matter of seconds.
My heart lurched with sickness. I’d slept with Jethro willingly. I’d made Kestrel come as a thank-you gift for being so decent, and if I didn’t find a way to stop my future, I would become intimately acquainted with Daniel and Cut, too.
Four men.
Four Hawks.
One Weaver.
My stomach recoiled, threatening to evict the nothingness inside me.
“Let me go—”
“No.” Cut grabbed my nape.
Before I could squirm away, his mouth landed on mine.
Stop!
He’d kissed me before. Licked me. Touched me. But this was the first time he let down his guard and fully gave me a part of himself. His tongue fluttered over my tightly pressed lips. His goatee bristled my tender chin. His rough skin hinted at his age. And his impatience at getting me to respond unravelled his decorum.
His nostrils blew scalding air on my cheeks as he forced me to kiss him back.
I stood there unmoving. I didn’t open. I didn’t budge. He might be able to drag out my persecution, but he didn’t have the power to make me fear it.
His kiss suddenly switched from savage to sweet, peppering soft kisses on my lips.
For one tiny second, he wasn’t a monster. He projected a fantasy that he truly cared for me. That somewhere, deep inside his rotting chest, beat a heart that wasn’t pure evil.
But that was a lie. A terrible, terrible lie.
The worst one yet.
Yanking my mouth away from his, I spat at his feet. “Don’t ever do that again.”
He chuckled. “Oh, I’ll do more than that, Nila.” Slinking his arm around my waist, he smiled. “You taste just like your mother.”
“You’re a pig.”
“That’s your misconception. I’ll have great pleasure showing you otherwise.” His whisper tangled in my hair. “Tonight, you’ll want me just as much as she did. I give you my word on that.”
“No way in hell will I ever want you, you bastard.”
Chuckling again, he let me go. “We’ll see.” Snapping his fingers, he stalked to the exit. “Come, I want you to see what your mother saw on the eve of her final task. I want you to know how insignificant a human life, especially a Weaver life, is compared to all that we have.”
Daniel grabbed my elbow, guiding me from the tally room. “I suggest you enjoy your tour, Nila, because once it’s over, there’s a certain protocol that has to be followed here. Certain superstitions to be entertained, local spirits to appease.”
I ducked beneath a mildew covered beam. “What do you mean?”
Cut said, “He means that you’re more than just our bed companion tonight. You’re our sacrifice.”
I gasped.
What?
Tucking my hand into the crook of his arm, Daniel guided me toward the gaping black hole and the unknown world beyond. “Now, let’s go explore, shall we? Time to see below the earth...time to see where diamonds are born.”
* * * * *
Drumbeats.
Heartbeats.
Wingbeats.
It all melted into one as Cut guided me from the Jeep and back to the camp. My bones ached from the dampness of the mine. My clothes hung with icy humidity. And my mind couldn’t shed the tunnel of blackness where expensive stones were found.
How long had we been underground? Two hours? Three?
Either way, I’d seen enough of the birthplace of diamonds and never wanted to return. I couldn’t stop shivering, even as I thawed beneath the open skies. Fresh air fed my lungs, doing its best to eradicate the earthen soup found below the ground.
Cut had taken great pleasure in showing me catacombs where the first seam was found then scars where workers had pinched diamonds from the soil. He’d taken me in a wire-cage elevator to the furthest point in the mine. He’d shown me underground rivers, white-washed crosses on walls where cave-ins had claimed lives, and even skeletons of rats and vermin that’d stupidly decided to dig beside the workers.
The entire experience had ensured I loved my vocation even more. Material couldn’t kill me. Velour and calico couldn’t suffocate me.
I never wanted to go near a mine again.
However, I couldn’t stop fingering my collar, counting how many stones had been torn from their home. I’d expected the weight of the diamonds to grow heavier the longer I was in Almasi Kipanga. If anything, the necklace grew lighter. Almost as if the diamonds were of mixed decision. Half of them wanting to return to their beds of dust, and others happy to be in sunlight rather than perpetual darkness—regardless of the bloodshed they’d witnessed.
Cut smiled. “Time for the next part of the tour.”
The cacophony of drumbeats tore me from my thoughts. Cut shoved me through the camp, barred behind fences, ensconced in a human habitat rather than diamond tomb.
Drumming and singing guided us toward the central fire pit.
“What the—” My mouth fell open as we rounded the path, entering a different dimension. I felt as if I’d time travelled—shot backward a few decades where African tribes still owned the land, and their life was about music rather than gemstones.
The pounding of fists on animal-hide drums echoed through my body, drowning out my nerves of what was to come. The air shimmered with guttural tunes and barbaric voices.
I’d never seen such a cultural fiesta. Never been enticed to travel to somewhere so ruthless and dangerous. But witnessing the liveliness and magic of the group of ebony-skinned dancers made tears spring to my eyes.
There was so much I hadn’t seen. So much I hadn’t done or experienced or indulged.
I was too young to die. Too fresh to leave a world that offered so much diversity.
This.
I want more of this.
Living...
“Your mother liked this, too,” Cut murmured, his face dancing with flame-ghosts from the bonfire. Topless women weaved around the crackling orange, their skirts of threaded flax and feathers creating stencils on the tents and buildings. Men wore loin clothes, pounding an intoxicating beat on animal drums of zebra and impala.
“This is what you meant when you said superstitions being appeased?”
Cut nodded. “Every time we return to Almasi Kipanga, our workers welcome us home.”
“Why? They must hate working for monsters like you. You treat them like the rats living in the mine.”
Cut grinned, softened by the tribal spectacle. “To them, we are their masters. Their gods. We feed them, clothe them, keep them safe from wildlife and elements. Their families have grown up with my family. As much as you hate me, Nila, without our industry, these people would be homeless.”
I didn’t believe that. People found a way. They would’ve found a better life rather than slaving for a man who didn’t deserve it.
Daniel patted his father on the back. “Gonna get something to drink. Make the rest of the night extra special.” Winking at me, he faded into the mingling workers and guards.
I ought to be relieved he’d left. I only had to focus on Cut. But somehow, Cut’s promises of craving action and enjoying what he would do to me layered my lungs with terror.
Cut pressed on my lower spine. “Come along. Time for your part in tonight’s festivities.”
My heels dug into soil. “My part?”
“I told you.” His gaze glowed. “You’re the sacrifice.”
“No. I’m nothing of the sort.”
I’d been my father’s sacrifice. Tex had given me up to Jethro that night in Milan with no fuss. I was done being forfeited for the greater good.
“You don’t have a choice, Nila.” Cut dragged me closer to the fire, despite my unwillingness.
Nervousness exploded in time to the tribal drum as he led me through the dancing throng and pushed me onto a grass mat at the head of the bonfire. My wrists burned in their twine, sore and achy.
The entire time we’d been in the mine, he hadn’t released me. What did he think I’d do? Grab a pick-axe and hack away at his head? Run and dig myself to safety?
The texture of the woven mat beneath my toes told me this tribe were weavers, too. It took great skill to create items from plant life and not cloth or silk.
Cut sat beside me on a raised platform decorated with ostrich feather and lion skin. He didn’t look at me, just wrapped the rope tethering me in his fist and smiled as the women danced harder, faster, wilder.
I didn’t want to be distracted. I didn’t want to fall under the spell of magical music and sensual swaying, but the longer we sat there, the more enthralled I became. I’d only seen this culture on documentaries and television. I’d travelled to Asia with V and Tex to gather diamantes and fabrics, but I’d never been on this continent.
My horizons were so small compared to what the world had to offer.
Sitting there at the feet of my murderer, watching his employees dance and welcome, highlighted just how much my life lacked. I’d let work dictate and rob me of living.
If only Jethro was here.
His handsome face popped into my mind. I wanted to run my fingers over his five o’ clock shadow. I wanted to kiss his thick, black eyelashes. I wanted to kiss him, forgive him; pretend the world was a better place.
The more the music trickled into me, the more my body reacted. Sensual need replaced the damp panic of the mine, making my nipples ache at the thought of Jethro touching me.
My body grew twisty and excited, cursing the distance between us and the circumstances I was in.
My eyes smarted as smoke from the fire cast us in sooty clouds. The rhythmical footsteps and infectious freedom of the melody slowly replaced my blood.
There was something erotic about the dance. Something slinked nonverbally, speaking of connection and lust and love and forever togetherness. Bodily communication superseded that of spoken languages.
My heart throbbed with lovesickness. I missed him. I wanted him. I needed to see him one last time and tell him how much he meant to me.
I love you, Jethro...Kite.
Cut hadn’t lied when he said superstitions had to be acknowledged. Over the course of three songs, the local tribe welcomed their boss with handmade gifts of beads and pottery, delivered food of roasted meat and fruits, and danced numerous numbers.
At one point in the ceremony, a woman with bare breasts and white paint smeared on her throat and chest reverently placed a flower headband on Cut’s head.
He nodded with airs and graces, smiling indulgently as the woman merged back with her tribesman.
My skin prickled, a sixth sense saying I was watched.
Squinting past the brightness and sting of the fire, I searched for the owner’s gaze.
Buzzard.
Daniel lurked on the outskirts of the fire, his eyes not on the half-naked women but on me. His lips parted, gaze undressing me, raping me from afar. In his hand rested a crudely made cup, no doubt holding liquor.
One song turned into a mecca of soulful salvation. A young girl broke away from the dancing women, moving forward with a small bowl and a blade.
I sucked in a breath as she looked at Cut and pointed at me with the knife.
A knife?
Why the hell does she have a knife?
Cut nodded, tugging my leash. I tried to fight it, but it was no use. Effortlessly, he forced me to present my tied hands.
My lungs seized as the girl bowed at my feet, placing the bowl on the dirt. Unfurling my palms, she kissed each finger, murmuring a chant that sent spiders scurrying down my spine.
I tried to tug away, but Cut held me firm.
“Wait—”
The girl flashed her blade.
I gritted my teeth. “No—”
Before I could stop her, she sliced the flesh of my palm and held the bleeding cut over the bowl.
Ow!
Pain instantly lashed over the wound, stinging and raw. Blood welled, dripping thickly into the girl’s collection.
“Why did you do that?” My voice bordered on rage and curiosity. My hand begged to curl over the wound and protect it.
The girl didn’t reply; she merely waited until a small crimson puddle rested in the bowl before letting me go.
The music turned to a fever, the men pounding their drums, the women kicking their heels. The little girl returned with her bloody prize, dancing and howling at the moon as voices rose in an ancient euphony.
My entire body was on fire.
My blood flowing fast.
My skin flushing bright.
My fear twisted into intoxication.
I wanted to join them. To become wild.
My wound was forgotten. My predicament and future peril ignored.
The moment the girl took my blood, I’d become more than just an outcast in this foreign land, I’d become one of them.
Cut sucked in a breath, something odd and not entirely unwelcome throbbing between us. He tore his gaze from mine as the girl finished her pirouette and with a squeal the bowl landed in the fire, shattering against hot coals, hissing with burning blood. A potent smell laced the air as the dance turned crazed, choreographed by gravity-defying shamans.
To be somewhere where life wasn’t about TV or work-stress or mundane normalness—to see people having fun and partying—intoxicated me better than any experience.
The night came alive with singing and stomping feet and the unravelling power inside billowed faster. I wanted to get up. I wanted to dance. I wanted to forget who I was and let go.
This was an experience of a lifetime and my lifetime was almost over. My mother was here. My grandmother was here. Every ancestor had somehow come to life and existed in the flames of the enchanted fire.
We all lived the same path...and failed. I was supposed to be the last Weaver taken but time no longer held sway on my plans. It charged forward, dragging me with hardship, hurtling me toward a conclusion I didn’t know how to stop.
A woman appeared in front of me. Coconut beads and crocodile teeth decorated her neck, draping between naked breasts. “You. Drink.” Shoving a crudely made bowl beneath my chin, she tipped the milky substance toward my lips.
I reared back, shaking my head. “No, thank you.”
Cut tugged on the rope, his face alive with power. “Drink.”
I pursed my lips.
“You must.” The woman tried again.
I turned my face away. The liquid smelled rank and rotten.
“You will drink, Nila.” Lashing out, Cut fisted my hair, keeping my head in place as the woman once again held the bowl to my mouth.
I scrunched my face, protesting. The silty liquid splashed against my lips.
I didn’t know what it was, but it was powerful—the otherworldly smell warned me I wouldn’t be the same if I ingested it. I wouldn’t like the results if I gave in.
Stop! Please, stop.
The woman tried again, bruising my mouth with the rim of the bowl. Crushed up leaves and smashed up roots lingered on the bottom, splashing with her attempts. The woman cursed in Swahili, looking at Cut for help. “She won’t.”
“She will.” Still holding my hair, he reached with his free hand and captured my bleeding palm. “Open.” With ferocity, he dug his fingernail into the fresh wound. I did my best to prevent drinking, but his hold was agonising.
The heat and pain wrenched my mouth open, and a gulp of disgusting liquid shot down my throat.
My eyes watered.
My stomach retched.
I spluttered.
The woman nodded with satisfaction. “Good.” She stood, slipping back to her fellow dancers.
Alone, Cut hugged me, kissing my cheek. “Good girl.” His tongue slipped out, licking a droplet off my lower lip like a lover would his bride. “Let it transform you. Let it own you.”
I shuddered, fighting his embrace. “Let go of me.”
Cut chuckled, kissing the corner of my mouth. “Don’t fight it. You can’t fight it.”
“I’ll fight whatever you do to me.” Our eyes clashed. My heart roared with hatred.
But then...
Something mellowed.
Something simmered.
Tiptoeing through my blood, stealing rationality and sanity and coherence.
“What...what did yo—you give m—me?” My ability to speak in correct dialect fumbled as the drink merged faster with my thoughts.
Cut beamed wide; his face rollicked as my vision washed in and out. “Give it another moment. You’ll see how useless fighting is.” His lips caressed mine again. Softly, teasingly, coaxing me to react.
And this time...I couldn’t hate it.
My loathing turned to liking. My hatred to harrowing welcome.
My heartbeat left the epicentre of my chest, cannonballing into every extremity. My toes felt it. My ears felt it. Even the strands of my hair thump-thumped in time.
I’m hot.
I’m cold.
I was sick.
I was cured.
What’s happening?
A gust, a gale, a monsoon ripped through my body. Whatever the woman had given me tore up my denials and aversion, switching them into the sudden overwhelming desire to kiss him back.
God, a kiss. Such a delicacy. A tongue, such a gift.
Kiss him.
I tore myself away, spitting on the flax mat. “No!”
Cut turned into a rippling watermark, decorated with flames and starlight. “I don’t believe you.” His fingers traced my skin, drawing hungry blood to the surface. My mouth said no but my body said yes.
No...this can’t...
I moaned, struggling against the ropes as I fell deeper and deeper into whatever spell he’d fed me.
I didn’t know what lacquered my mouth.
I didn’t know what made its fiery way into my belly.
But I did know it was aggressive and possessive and persuasive.
Vicious.
Far, far stronger than anything I’d ever had before.
I can’t fight it.
My tongue went numb, followed by my throat and skin. My pussy throbbed for release. My mind howled for connection. I’d never been so disappointed in myself nor so annoyed at preventing such delicious need from billowing.
I split in two.
I became something I wasn’t.
I became a creature with no morals or humanity, just an animal wanting to fuck.
Shivers hijacked me as I fought against the overwhelming sensation to let go. To give in to the magic. To be swept away by the river of sin.
“Do it, Nila. Let it take you.” Cut’s fingers were tiny birds upon my spine, feathering into my hair.
I moaned, trembling and wanting.
“Let it win and tonight won’t be rape. Tonight will be the best fucking sex of your life.”
No.
Yes.
No!
Oh, my God.
His words were invitations to my destruction, beckoning closer with every word.
My heartbeat thundered harder, feeding the drug into every part of me.
“That’s it. Let go. Forget about the past and future. Think about how good my cock would feel. How delicious it would be for me to fuck you right here.”
Fuck.
Sex.
Mate.
God...
I squeezed my eyes, swirling down a rabbit hole of fanaticism.
His fingers licked through my hair, blazing with lust and horror. “You want me, Nila. Admit it.”
My soul turned wild, snarling at the power of the drug.
The fire burned brighter.
The stars twinkled faster.
The dancers twirled harder.
The world twisted and turned, rushing quickly then slowing down as the hallucinogenic played havoc with my senses.
I lost track of time.
I lost track of myself.
My mind swam with images of the dark dripping walls of the mine. My hands locked and squeezed, smearing my blood over Jethro's initials, wanting nothing more than to touch myself and orgasm.
I need to come.
I need to fuck and love and consummate.
I was a black and white painting, an enigma, a shivering contradiction.
I was numb.
I was alive.
I was dead.
I was reborn.
What’s happening to me?
I shook my head, fighting the intensity, refusing to become hypnotised by sex and want and music.
But then hands were grabbing mine, tugging me to my feet.
Cut’s laughter laced around me. Commands to dance consumed me.
I tried to dart away, but the ground rolled like a funhouse. Vertigo latched me in its horrendous arms.
I fell forward. I was caught.
I swayed to the side. I was propped up.
Daniel’s eyes. Cut’s eyes. Laughter. Dangerous promises. Lust and greed and pain.
I couldn’t.
I couldn’t fight it anymore.
My vertigo balanced. My veins sang with drunkenness and I lost everything.
In a circle of sweaty ebony women, I shed my worries, my fears, my hopes. I ceased to be Nila. I stopped being a victim.
The diamonds on my throat increased in weight and warmth, squeezing me tight and drenching me in rainbows from the fire.
I stopped pining for Jethro.
I stopped fearing my future.
I stepped into the magic and danced.
