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CUT GRIPPED MY unbroken arm tighter, hauling me faster through the airport.
He’d manhandled me and corralled me ever since we’d left Jethro in the mine and flew by Jeep to a small doctor’s surgery on the outskirts of Gaborone.
While the African doctor nodded and smiled and arranged my arm for x-rays, Cut had washed his face and changed his clothes, discarding the dirt-smudged jeans and white shirt in favour of black slacks and shirt.
The doctor didn’t remove my cast, and he didn’t show me the x-rays once the decrepit machine had whirred and snapped grainy pictures of what Cut had done to me.
Once the large black and white images were tucked safely into his briefcase, Cut allowed me five minutes to wash as best I could in the surgery’s small bathroom. The blood from Daniel and the car accident siphoned down the plug hole, revealing scratches and bruises in their colourful glory.
I had no makeup to cover the marks and no choice but to change into whatever clothing Cut had grabbed from my suitcase on the way out from Almasi Kipanga.
Unfortunately, he hadn’t selected any of the clothing I’d artistically amended, leaving me without scalpels or knitting needles, leaving me vulnerable.
The one good thing about the doctor’s surgery was the sweet-eyed man gave me a homemade honey muesli bar—either noticing the way I ogled his sandwich sitting on his desk as he x-rayed me or the wobbles of weakness as Cut dragged me outside.
I didn’t think much of his practice, considering he didn’t check if my arm was set correctly, or there was nothing majorly damaged inside, but I inhaled the food offering before Cut could snatch it away.
With Cut’s timeline, he envisioned my head in a basket within a few days. Who cared if my arm was set wrong? It wouldn’t be needed much longer.
That’s what you fear.
But it isn’t what will happen.
I curled my fingers, testing the pain level of the break. My grip was weak, and it burned to move, but I still had mobility. My fingers still worked, which I was thankful for. I couldn’t stomach the thought of never being able to sew again or hold intricate needles and lace.
Cut had stolen so much—he couldn’t steal my entire livelihood and skill, too.
“Hurry up.” Cut pulled harder.
I staggered beside him, breathing hard as every footstep jarred my aching arm. The pain resonated beneath muscle and skin, a hot discomfort stripping me of energy.
The moment we’d arrived at the airport, Cut had abandoned the Jeep in a long-term car park and only bothered to carry his briefcase. At the time, I wondered if we’d be questioned for suspicious behaviour travelling long-haul with no luggage. But I’d rolled my eyes and hid my snort.
This was Cut Hawk.
This part of Africa belonged to him—no doubt the airport security would belong to him, too.
“For God’s sake, Weaver.” Cut slowed, forcing my half-trotting, half-lagging footsteps to fall in line with his. “We’ll miss the plane.”
Fresh throbs brought scratchy tears to my eyes.
“I want to miss the plane. I want to go back for Jethro.”
The entire travel I couldn’t stop thinking of Kite. Of him bleeding and feverish tied to a chair. Of him having no choice but to watch as I was taken.
The muesli bar I’d eaten roiled in my stomach. “You’ll keep him alive...won’t you? You’ll keep your promise not to hurt him.”
Cut smiled coyly. “I wouldn’t worry your pretty head about it. Soon, trivial things like that won’t matter to you.”
The veiled hint at my death should terrify me. I should fight and scream and act like a terrorist to prevent boarding the plane. But the fear of interrogation and imprisonment kept me silent.
Cut was insane, but there was only one of him. One beating heart to stab. One life to extinguish. If the police took me, I wouldn’t know who or how to fight. I’d be alone.
Yes, but you might stay alive.
Perhaps in England I would cause a fuss. But not here. I didn’t trust the Hawk’s power in Africa. Cut might have the means to murder me even in the custody of the law. Buy a cop—arrange a convenient suicide in my cell.
No, I’ll wait.
I would return to England, to my home, to a land I knew and could gamble my life with better odds.
Checking us in, Cut never let me go as the agent handed over our passports and boarding passes. Dark-skinned security and airport personnel didn’t look our way as Cut guided me roughly through customs and immigration to the baggage x-ray.
The closer we got to the metal detector, the more my heart galloped.
Don’t think about the diamonds.
Cut whispered in my ear, his fingers digging into my bicep. “If you bring unwanted attention or do anything stupid, I’ve given Marquise strict orders to make Jethro pay.”
I shivered, joining the queue to pass through the detector.
My heart permanently relocated into my mouth as my turn fast approached and I held my broken arm protectively. I didn’t know if I hugged it for the pain or the illegal diamonds. Either way, the flush and wax of my skin played right into Cut’s masquerade that I was under the weather from agony rather than smuggling.
The woman officer smiled, waving me forward. “Come through, ma’am.”
I shuffled through the arch, cringing as it beeped.
“Stand there.” The woman came closer, waving her wand over my front and back.
I squeezed my eyes, expecting her to detain me. Terrified she’d find the millions of pounds worth of diamonds and sentence me to death by hanging.
What would be better? Hanging or guillotine?
What kind of morbid thought is that?
Cut stepped through without setting off the alarm and gave me a smirk as he collected his briefcase off the x-ray belt. He stood close by, not interfering as the woman did one more pass and the wand failed to beep.
She dropped her arm, waving for me to go. “Have a nice flight.”
“Uh—uh, thanks.” I scurried forward, sweat dripping down my spine with nerves. An itch developed on my forearm beneath the cast, slowly driving me mad as Cut placed his hand on the small of my back and guided me into the departure lounge.
“See, wasn’t so bad, was it?” He spoke quietly, not making eye contact as we dodged travel-weary passengers.
My uninjured hand ached from holding the cast. I wished I could keep it close to me but not have to hold it. Wait...
That was what was missing.
I stopped in the centre of the duty-free shop we’d cut through. “A sling. I need a sling.”
Cut frowned. “What?”
I held up my arm. “It hurts. I need to keep it close so it doesn’t bump or dangle, but my other shoulder is sore from the car accident. I need a sling.”
When his lips curled with dismissal, I rushed, “Besides, a sling will only add evidence to the break. It doesn’t have to be much. Just something to give me some relief.”
Cut scowled, his throat working as he swallowed. “Fine.” Storming toward a bookshop, he quickly bought me a canvas tote bag and asked the sales clerk to cut it straight down the centre.
Guiding me from the store, he quickly cradled my arm with the sliced tote and knotted the handles around my side and shoulder, creating an imperfect but practical sling. The ease and quickness in which he’d done such a tender thing made me freeze.
If I was honest, I hadn’t expected him to listen, let alone help me.
“You—you—” I looked away, hating him but grateful. “Thank you.”
Cut stiffened, his golden eyes meeting mine. “I wouldn’t thank me, Ms. Weaver. You know I didn't do it out of concern for your well-being.”
Now that my other hand was free, I pushed hair out of my eyes and relaxed a little. “No, but you can’t hide there’s more to you than just a crazy man hell-bent on ruling everyone.”
He smirked, the skin by his eyes crinkling. “You might have figured out Daniel, but you’ll never figure me out, so don’t bother.” Stepping closer, we formed a little island as flowing passengers darted around us. The fear for Jethro and the nervousness in my gut layered my aching muscles, but I didn’t move back. I didn’t show a weakness that Cut’s proximity irked and irritated.
His gaze fell to my lips. “You’re strong, Nila. I’ll give you that. You remind me so much of Emma that it’s sometimes hard to remember you aren’t mine. That you aren’t her. You might think it would be a good thing for me to think of you kindly, but it wouldn’t, believe me.” He lowered his voice. “Your mother ripped out my heart before I cut off her head. And nothing will give me more pleasure than doing the same to Jethro and you.”
My lungs stuck together, unable to gather oxygen.
Cut cocked his head, smiling at my dumbfoundedness. “Why does that continue to shock you? Why do you, even now, still look for the good in others?” Patting my hand, he looped his fingers through mine and pulled me back into motion. “You should know by now no one is what they say they are, and everyone deserves to pay for something. People have been covering up or blaming their mistakes on others for centuries. I take control of mine. I do the best I can to better myself and I refuse to let you or anyone else stand in my way.”
I didn’t speak—what could I say to that?
We moved through the large departure gate, heading toward the plane.
Cut smiled as he pulled out our documentation for the gate staff. His gaze met mine. “This is the easy part.” Handing over the boarding passes, Cut guided me down the air bridge, keeping me close to him, controlling me at all times. “It’s the stress of landing that’s the hard part.”
Landing.
English security.
Maximum penalties for lies and incorrect declarations.
Marching onto the plane, we moved down the aisle, through first class, through business, right into the dregs of economy.
Cut pushed me into a row with a window and aisle seat. “Sit.”
I sat.
Stretching, he placed his briefcase in the overhead lockers before sitting smoothly and unhurriedly beside me.
The moment he settled, I asked, “Why a commercial airline? Why not the private jet we flew in on?”
“Why do you think? Because the private plane would be far too easy. This way is much harder.”
My eyes widened. “Harder?”
“Harder on you.” His voice lowered into a threat. “This way you have to sit with hundreds of strangers, wondering if they suspect you. You’ll have to hide your fear when we land and lie through your teeth when they question you. The stress of being watched, of being surrounded by countless people, of having to lie—it’s to show you how hard it is to transport a secret. You’ll value the cost so much more.”
Reclining, his long legs spread out in front of him. “You’ll learn what it’s like to protect something so precious by any means necessary.”
I swallowed. “You forget I don’t care about your diamonds. I don’t care if they find them.”
His eyes narrowed. “It’s not the diamonds I’m talking about, Nila. It’s my firstborn rotting in Almasi Kipanga watched over by Marquise. You fail, and he dies in the most horrifying ways. You win, he lives even when you die. It’s a fair trade—don’t you think?”
I bit my lip against the torrent of hate and helplessness.
I couldn’t reply. It would be an explosion of retorts and profanity.
Reaching between our wedged hips, he yanked out one end of my seatbelt. “Now, buckle up, Nila. You can never be too safe.”
“I’ll never be safe as long as you’re alive.”
I will kill you.
I’ll find a way.
His eyes darkened. “Careful.”
“Why are you doing this?”
Cut smiled, looking the perfect distinguished gentleman travelling on business. “Because William Hawk smuggled his wealth numerous times. He completed his grandmother’s legacy, but despite his hard work and terrible history, the king wasn’t satisfied with taking half of his profits, he wanted it all.”
Cut gathered tension around him, suffocating me. “So William went one step further. He gave the king his dues, he paid taxes, indulged in bribery, and ensconced himself in the good graces of the court, but he managed to keep the exact location of our family’s mine a secret.
“And the stones, well, he used extra ships he purchased to smuggle quantities the king could never contemplate. He sacrificed millions in order to cement his place, but he also saved untold wealth by being smarter than the pompous arse on the throne.”
Another flush of agony washed over me from my arm. I hugged the cast, slipping it free from the sling to rub the gauze, wishing I could rub the pounding break beneath. “I don’t care what you think. I don’t care how much money or power you have. One day, karma will catch up and make you pay.”
Cut ran his hands through his hair, smoothing the white strands into snow perfection. “You can make empty threats all you want, Ms. Weaver, but the truth will forever stand.”
“What truth?”
“The truth you can’t make someone pay when they’re completely untouchable.”
I tore my eyes from his, glaring out the window.
Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong.
Your son was a prince to your empire, untouchable, unkillable—a Hawk.
Yet, I touched him.
I killed him.
I murdered him.
And I’ll murder you, too.
* * * * *
One hour into the flight.
I groaned in agony as the pressure of the cabin swelled my broken arm.
* * *
Two hours into the flight.
Food was served. Some overly microwaved rubbery concoction with salad and a slimy strawberry cheesecake. I devoured the entire tray, even the hard-as-a-brick bread roll. Food helped replace a small piece of the emptiness inside me.
* * *
Three hours.
I squirmed beside Cut dying for pain-killers. He barricaded me in, sitting in his aisle seat like my jailer. My bladder protested and my thoughts swam with Jethro.
* * *
Four hours.
I lost my promise not to cause issues and pressed the button for an air-hostess. Cut glowered when the woman with coiffed red hair appeared. Ignoring him, I begged for some Panadol, some Advil, anything to lessen my pain.
She looked at Cut.
He shook his head.
I never did get my painkillers.
* * *
Five hours.
I stared out the window, counting stars, following wisps of clouds and pleading with the universe to keep Jethro safe.
“Stop fidgeting.” Cut narrowed his eyes at my tapping fingers and dancing legs.
“Let me walk the cabin. I need to stretch.”
And use the bathroom.
His jaw twitched. “Five minutes, Nila. If you’re any longer, or I suspect you’re disobeying me, I’ll give you a taste of Diamond Dust.”
“Diamond Dust?”
His lips curled. “You remember...the drug Jethro gave you from Milan? The magical substance that turns you mute and obedient while you can scream all you want in the inside?”
I gulped.
I completed my stretches and a bathroom break in four minutes.
* * *
Six.
Seven.
Eight.
Nine.
Ten hours.
Clammy sweat broke out over my skin. Adrenaline drenched my system the closer we flew to England. The cast itched with hot imprisonment, eerily heavy with its tormenting cargo. Lack of sleep clouded my mind and I swore the facets and sharp edges of diamonds burrowed their way into my flesh, gnawing me like a worm gnawed an apple.
* * *
Eleven hours.
The captain announced our upcoming arrival. Breakfast was served and cleared away in record time. Cut smiled and patted my hand. “Almost there, my dear. Almost home.”
I cringed, looking out the window.
I just want this to be over.
* * *
Eleven hours and forty minutes.
The plane left clouds for earth, flying me toward my greatest challenge and worst debt yet. It wasn’t my pain on the line. It wasn’t Vaughn’s like the night with the dice. It was Jethro’s.
The man I’d willingly given my heart to. The man I said I would marry. The man who needed me as much as I needed him.
If I failed, he would die.
And not just die but be tortured until he begged for death.
My ears popped and my arm distended as the airplane tyres skimmed the horizon before skidding onto tarmac.
I didn’t speak as we taxied to the gate. Cut filled in arrival cards, running his fingers possessively over my passport.
My stomach performed circus tricks and trapeze stunts as the air-bridge attached and the flight attendants announced we could disembark. Passengers exploded into action, grabbing cases, children, and blocking the aisle in their rush to leave.
None of them were aware of what a monumental task sat before me.
Stay calm.
Don’t think about what’s in your cast.
Cut grinned, standing upright and holding out his hand. “Ready, Nila?”
I longed to scream and tell the truth. I wished I could tell everyone what I smuggled. If they knew, perhaps they could take away the worry that I wouldn’t make it.
Jethro.
Think of Jethro.
You’ll do this because of Jethro.
Standing, I took Cut’s hand for balance and followed the other passengers onto English soil.
* * * * *
“Miss?”
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I turned slowly, doing my best to swallow my nerves. “Yes?”
“You don’t have any hand luggage to put on the x-ray belt?”
I blinked, holding up the line waiting to go through the body scanner. The new equipment did a better job than the metal detector in Africa. Upgraded facilities, shrewd airport staff, and suspecting officers kept my heart permanently lodged in my throat.
“Oh, no. No bag.”
The middle-aged security guard wrinkled his forehead. “No luggage on a long-haul trip?”
My stomach hurled itself against internal organs, knotting with kidney and spleen. “Well, I—”
“She’s with me.” Cut slung his black briefcase onto the conveyor belt, raising his eyebrow as if daring him to deny it.
I froze.
Why had he come to my rescue? Wasn’t it his intention to make me sweat? To give him reasons to hurt Jethro? Not that he needs a reason.
The man eyed Cut, taking in his expensive clothes and white hair demanding respect. “Okay...” He glanced back at me, beckoning me to step into the round chamber with its curved glass and two footsteps painted on the floor. “Hold your arms above your head and wait until I tell you to move.”
Tears sprang to my eyes. Tears of fear. Tears of pain.
I pointed to my tote bag sling. “I—I just broke my arm. I can’t—”
The man behind me snapped my forearm with a mallet.
He’s going to kill me when we return to his home.
Help me...
No sympathy glowed in his eyes. “Do the best you can.”
Jethro.
I still had his fate in my hands. I couldn’t falter.
Swallowing my racing heart, I slipped the cast free and raised my arms as best I could. Blood pressure throbbed in my fingertips and shooting pain bolted down my forearm. A terrible image of diamonds spilling out the end of the cast had me swallow a gasp-cough.
Closing my eyes, I waited as a two large sensors swung around me with the whirring noise of rotor blades.
“Thank you. Come out, please.”
I obeyed, forcing my legs to remain firm and not buckle. Standing beside the man as the screen lit up with an image of a nondescript person, he frowned as black splotches appeared on the screen where my cast, my bra, and diamond collar were.
The officer cleared his throat. “Miss, you’ll have to undergo a pat down.” Looking behind him, he said, “Jean, can you help this lady?” He sidestepped, giving room for the female staff member to move into my personal space with her rubber gloves and judgemental stare.
“Do you wish to go into a private room?” Her voice screeched across my nerves.
A private room.
I could tell her what Cut did. I could inform her of what I carried. I could destroy not just my life, but Jethro’s, too.
Cut met my eyes through the scanner. He hadn’t gone through yet. He didn’t say a word, crossing his arms, waiting for my decision.
I bit my lip. “No, here is fine.”
“Alright.” Clasping her hands, she ordered, “I need you to spread your legs and hold your arms out to the side.”
Other passengers milled around, slyly watching as they grabbed their bags and slipped into shoes and jackets.
I did my best to comply, but my arm burned. God, how it burned.
Without asking for permission, she swept swift hands from my wrists to my shoulders and down the front of my chest. My white jumper with a unicorn in the same grey colours of Moth gave way beneath her touch. Her fingers pried at the underwire of my bra, ensuring there was nothing hidden. Skimming my leggings, she returned to my chest and slipped her fingers beneath my diamond collar.
I held my breath, forcing myself not to choke as she tugged a little, running her touch right around my neck.
She pursed her lips. “You’ll have to take the sling off. I want to x-ray it.”
I awkwardly shrugged out of it, passing it to her one-handedly.
She placed it onto a tray and gave it to another guard to run it through the x-ray machine.
“I’ll also need to see inside your cast.” Pulling free a torch from the arsenal on her belt, she said, “Stand to the side and hold out your arm.”
Air suddenly turned to soup.
Tears pricked as I handed over my broken limb, throbbing with the crime of diamonds.
Cut was wrong.
A cast didn’t offer sympathy these days. Perhaps in the past it had. Once upon a time, the sign of weakness and pain might’ve allowed a trafficker free range to import whatever they wanted by tucking a parcel of contraband in a fake cast. But not anymore. People had no empathy these days. High on their careers and pompous on their commitment to protect the borders—any shred of compassion had disappeared beneath strict training and no-nonsense.
I stiffened as the woman bent closer, her torch illuminating the inside of my cast. Could she see? Did the sparkle of diamonds glitter through the plaster?
Cut came through the body scanner, cleared by the male officer. He never took his eyes off me as he collected his briefcase and my sling from the conveyer belt. Coming closer, he pulled free the envelope the African doctor had given him before we boarded. “I have the x-ray if you need it. She’s my daughter-in-law.” Yanking out the images of my abused arm, he shoved it at the woman currently peering down my cast.
She pulled back, frowning. “I didn’t ask for evidence. The signs of pain are obvious.”
Cut smiled smugly. I knew his thoughts—they glowed in his eyes. I told you people could see a faker from the truth.
Dropping her torch, she inspected the x-ray quickly. The light of the airport showed what Cut had done to my arm with clear precision.
Stupidly, I’d hoped Cut had been wrong. That the mallet had only severely bruised me. That the snapping sound I heard wasn’t an internal structure giving way, merely a movement of the table.
However, the image clearly showed a clean break on one of the two bones in my forearm. The two pieces hadn’t separated, but the large shadow was enough to make me faint. Cut obviously had practice. The fracture would knit together, eventually.
Won’t it?
He’d broken me, and I hadn’t had proper doctor care.
Would it need to be reset? How long did something like that take to heal?
I squeezed my eyes. Will I die with this fracture?
“How did you hurt your arm, Miss?” The officer pursed her red-painted lips.
My heart fluttered as fear ran amok. “I don’t—I’m not—”
Jethro.
Lie better.
Cut crossed his arms, crunching the x-ray in his grip.
“I—I fell.” Standing taller, I sucked in a breath. “My father-in-law and I were on a safari. One of those open top, no door Jeeps. I didn’t listen to the guide and we went over a gully and bounced quite hard.” I dropped my eyes. “I fell out of the car and broke my arm.”
Cut laughed. “Kids. Can’t teach them survival skills these days.”
Annoyance painted her face. “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to step back.” The woman pointed toward baggage claim. “Your daughter-in-law will catch up with you when she’s finished here.”
I narrowed my eyes.
Morbidly, I didn’t want him to go. I didn’t want to give him any reason to hurt Jethro. He’d bolstered my tale, given x-rays with evidence. I wasn’t delusional to think it was to keep me from breaking my promise to Kite.
All he cared about were the diamonds stuffed in my cast—smuggling his own wealth to avoid taxes and government thresholds.
My stomach twisted.
He would cut off my head before Jethro managed to find a way to chase me back to England. And Jethro would have to live every day knowing that he failed.
That fate was worse than death.
My shoulders slouched as a rogue tear escaped my control.
The airport officer softened. “It’s okay.”
Cut moved a few steps away, always watching, always controlling.
“Is there anything you want to tell me, Miss?” The woman widened her eyes. I guessed she tried to come across as sympathetic and helpful, but it only made her more duplicitous.
I shook my head. “No, I’m just in pain, that’s all.”
Holding up the sling Cut had passed back to me, I asked, “Can I put this back on?”
She paused for a long moment, eyeing up my cast while chewing on the inside of her cheek.
She’s going to arrest me.
She’s going to lock me up and Cut will hurt him.
Finally, she nodded. “I hope you get better soon.” Turning off her torch, she waved me through. “Go on. Get home and sleep. You look positively drawn out.”
“I will.”
Unfortunately, I had no idea how many hours I had to breathe. I wouldn’t sleep...I wouldn’t waste a minute. After all, I wouldn’t wake from death—the longest sleep imaginable.
I gave her a watery smile, trudging in Cut’s footsteps toward the exit.
I’ve won but at what cost?
Cut’s diamonds had entered England undetected, and I’d just condemned Jethro to a life of hell when I paid the Final Debt.
