Nila

“YOU!”

Cut stumbled to his feet. His fists clenched and every muscle in his body spasmed with hatred.

I forced myself not to run as he shot across the room, weaving and wobbling. I tensed for the pain of him tackling me, hitting me, delivering his sadness and rage into my flesh.

Fear of his inevitable revenge and repercussions of my actions wouldn’t let my knees unlock to flee. I wouldn’t look weak by running.

Not anymore.

I’d achieved two out of the three lives I promised I’d steal. Those were good odds. I might not achieve every goal before my life was done, but I wouldn’t turn my back on two victories.

Cut was broken. I did that. I broke him. His reign over the House of Hawks still stood strong and powerful, but I was the mole beneath him. Digging through foundations, chewing on support beams, gnawing at everything he held dear.

So no.

I wouldn’t run because there was nowhere to run to, and I’d earned the right to stare at my defeated before he defeated me.

Those thoughts sucked to a violent stop as Cut charged toward me.

Whatever conclusion spilled into my head must’ve filled his. Perhaps in the same order—the knowledge he looked upon a worthy competitor and not just a Weaver—or the newly forming plan to strip me of everything now I’d stripped him.

Either way, he slammed to a halt, breathing hard—almost as if he didn’t trust himself if he touched me. Giving time to gather his scattered self and focus on so many new developments.

“You killed her.”

I balled my hands. “I wanted to, but I didn’t.”

His breathing billowed like dragon smoke from his nose. “You did. You fucking did!”

“It was a heart attack. Her own body killed her.”

“Lies. Just like you lied about Daniel. It was you.”

My spine straightened even as I winced at what my truth would bring. “I did.”

His fists shook. “You fucking bitch.” He wanted to strike me—it lived in every cell—but at the same time, there was something else...relief? Traitorous gratitude instead of mournful grief?

Did he hate his mother as much as the rest of us?

Pain from my arm gave me false bravado. “Can I help that I learned from you? You killed two of your sons. I only killed one.”

Cut lowered his chin, glowering beneath his brow. “They were my sons. Mine to do what I like. They were only alive because of me. I created them.”

“You might’ve created life, but they created themselves into the men they are.”

He went deadly still. “They?”

I swallowed.

Shit.

“Kestrel is fucking alive, too?” His eyes bugged, ignoring the death of his mother so easily. “You’re telling me I didn’t murder either of my children, yet you killed my youngest, the one I’d promised to make my heir?” His voice gruffed. The air tinged with...regret?

Relief and regret—two very contradictory emotions I never expected Cut to feel.

What does that mean?

Backing away, I held up the scissors. “I said nothing of the sort.”

Cut prowled toward me, slower this time, as if he couldn’t comprehend such blasphemous facts. “They. You said they. Who’s they?” His gaze flew around the room, to the open door, to his dead mother. “What do you mean by that? Where is he? Where the fuck is Kestrel if he didn’t die with the bullet in his godforsaken heart?”

Kes was anything but godforsaken. God chosen perhaps. Protected and watched over and given friends who ensured his healing and safety.

“Answer me!” Cut’s hand shot to his back waistband, pulling free a pistol.

I froze, staring down the black muzzle, expecting any moment a flash of gunpowder and a cold kiss of lead. Cut bounced between so many emotions, I couldn’t keep track.

Was it the pistol he’d shot Jethro and Kes with? He didn’t have it with him when we cleared customs at the airport. What outstanding matters had he attended to once we returned to Hawksridge?

Despite facing a grave, I kept the truth hidden. Jethro was trapped in Africa subjected to survival only if I obeyed Cut and gave up my life. I couldn’t help him. But I could help Kes by staying silent. Kestrel was safe. I wouldn’t tattle on his whereabouts, and I definitely wouldn’t tell Cut that both lives had been saved thanks to Flaw and Jasmine.

Flaw!

He’s on my side.

The tentative friendship we’d sparked when Kes let me into his chambers at the start. The jokes and conversation around late afternoon snacks when Jethro avoided me after the First Debt was paid. Flaw had come through for me, for Kes.

Could he help me now?

Where is he?

My heart thundered with despair. Even if Flaw was close by, it wouldn’t be a simple matter of screeching for help. Hawksridge Hall swallowed men whole, disappearing for days in its cavernous corridors.

He’d never hear me.

Cut suddenly stopped, leaving a few metres between us. His eyes narrowed as sorrow, anguish, and loathing crossed his face. The hand holding his gun lowered until the nose threatened the carpet and not my life. “I underestimated you, Nila.”

My lungs siphoned oxygen faster. My spine wanted to roll, to give in to the sudden ceasefire, but I knew the armistice wouldn’t last long.

His mother had just died in his arms. His mourning and rage fought to take ownership of what his next move would be. He was as unpredictable as a penny in the air.

“That’s the first compliment you’ve given me.”

He looked over his shoulder at the cooling, decaying body of Bonnie. “Emma was right.”

I flinched. “Don’t talk about my mother. You have no right to mention her name.”

His eyes landed on mine with ferocity. “I have no right? I have every fucking right. Did you think I didn’t see her playing me? Pretending to love me while all along I knew her love was for her wretched family left behind. Even when she was nice to me, she warned me what would happen if Jethro claimed you.”

Chills darted over my skin. “What did she say?” As much as I hated discussing my mother with Cut, I wouldn’t stop him sharing more of his weaknesses. Because Emma was definitely his biggest weakness.

His shoulders sagged as he swiped a hand over his face. For a short second, he looked defeated. As if without Bonnie, the drive to be the worst, the most despicable overlord had vanished. “She said you’d finish us.”

An icy smile lit my face. “I guess you should’ve listened to her.”

His lips spread in a snarl. “Want to know what else she was right about?”

The atmosphere switched. Cut shed his melancholy, gathering the storm of venom he so often carried. “She said you would steal the heart of my oldest and the Debt Inheritance would end with your generation.”

I gasped. How had she known how the future would unfold? How much time had she spent with Jethro to understand that my soul and his would find peace with one another?

Cut chuckled. The sound sliced through the envelope of death, fast-forwarding through his grief. “I’d wipe that smug smile off your face, Nila. Because that wasn’t all she told me.”

Throwing the gun to the floor, his hands fisted as he pushed off the thick carpet to charge toward me.

I squeaked, stumbling back. My broken arm bounced against my body, dragging a sharp cry of pain.

My eyes flew to the door; my legs prepared to bolt.

But I’d made a vow not to run.

Besides, Cut was too fast.

His arms wrapped around me, clamping in a hellish hug. “She also told me that while your generation would be the last, you wouldn’t find a happy ever after. You share the same fate as her.”

I stopped breathing as Cut grabbed my cheeks. “Her fate has always been your fate, Nila. No matter what you did, who you corrupted, or how many conspiracies you planned, your fate was unavoidable.”

Kissing the tip of my nose, turning something so sweet into something so sinister, he murmured, “You’ve taken from me and I’ve taken from you. Now, it’s time to end this so I can repair the damage you’ve caused.”

Slipping his fingers from my cheeks to my hand, he snatched away the scissors and carted me from Bonnie’s quarters. He left his mother decomposing; surrounded by bushels of her favourite blooms, already in a tomb with flowers.

Without my cast or sling, my broken arm twinged with pain. The wooze and wash of imbalance toyed with my vision as Cut carted me down the stairs.

“I’d planned on giving you a final night of pleasure, Nila. You deserved a shower, a good meal, a good fuck before your final breath. You’ve robbed me, not only of being generous for your good performance smuggling my diamonds but also of my opportunity to claim the Third Debt.”

The Third Debt.

I’d been granted my wish, after all.

Hadn’t I whispered I would rather pay with death than rape if I had a choice?

I didn’t have a choice, but the preferable ending had been selected.

My skin broke out with clammy nervousness as Cut stalked me down the main artery of the house, past rooms I’d relaxed in, nooks I’d taken refuge in, libraries I’d napped in. Turning left, we bumped into a Black Diamond brother.

His leather jacket creaked as he slammed to a halt. “Cut.”

Cut yanked me closer. “Are the final touches complete?”

The brother nodded, his shaved head and mix-matched tattoos absorbing the darkness of his attire. “Yes. All ready to go, as per your instructions.”

Cut sniffed, his fingers tightening around mine. “Good. I have another task for you. My mother is dead. Take her body to the crypt below the Hall. I’ll deal with her remains once my afternoon is finished.”

The brother nodded obediently, unable to hide his sudden shock and curiosity hearing about Bonnie. “Okay...”

Cut stomped onward, then stopped. “One other thing. Get Jasmine. I want her there. And the rest of the brotherhood.”

The man frowned but nodded again. “Right you are.”

He took off the way we’d come, jogging with purpose.

I squirmed in Cut’s hold, wishing he hadn’t thrown his gun away upstairs. If the weapon were still lodged in his waistband, I could’ve commandeered it and shot him point blank. There was no need to be secretive any longer. No need to hide my true intentions.

He’s my last victim.

“Where are you taking me?” I skip-trotted to keep up, gritting my teeth against my pain.

Cut smiled, his golden eyes blank and cruel. “The ballroom.”

Chills darted down my spine.

Ballroom.

Instead of conjuring images of finery, sweeping drapes, and sparkling dancers, I pictured a mausoleum, a morgue...the last area I would ever see.

Jethro had said a debt would be repaid in the ballroom.

Despite my courage in Bonnie’s quarters, fear engulfed me now.

Debt.

The last debt...

My heels dug into floor runners, creasing ancient rugs. Cut merely dragged harder, never slowing his pace.

Hawksridge seemed to exhale around us, the portraits and tapestries darkening as Cut dragged me down yet more ancient corridors. Moving toward large double doors in the same wing as the dining room, he stopped briefly before another Black Diamond brother opened the impressive entrance.

My eyes drank in the inscriptions and carvings on the doors, of hawks and mottos and the family crest of the man who was about to kill me in cold blood.

I’d walked past the doors countless times and never stopped to jiggle the handle—almost as if it’d kept itself secret until this moment—camouflaging itself to remain unseen until the Final Debt.

Cut clenched his jaw as the large entry groaned open, heavy on their hinges and weary with what they contained.

Once open, Cut threw me inside. Letting go of my hand, he grabbed a fistful of short hair, marching me to the centre of the room.

The chasmal space was exquisite. Crystals and candlesticks and chandeliers. Needlepoint and brocade and craftsmanship. Money echoed in every corner, shoving away dust motes and proving that glittering gold was immune to tarnish and age.

The gorgeous dance floor competed with the tapestry-covered walls and hand-stitched curtains, yet it wasn’t overshadowed. The glossy wood created the motif of the Hawk crest inlaid with oak, cherry, and ash.

The black velvet curtains gleamed with diamonds sewn into the fabric, and everywhere I looked, the emblem of my capturers gilded wall panels and ceiling architraves.

There was no denying who this room belonged to, nor the wealth it had taken to acquire it.

“Like what you see, Weaver?” Cut never stopped as we stormed toward something large and covered by black sheeting in the middle of the empty expanse.

There were no chairs or banquet tables. Only acres of flooring with no one to dance. Loneliness and echoing eeriness swirled like invisible threads, tainting what would happen with its chequered history.

There’d been good times and bad in this place. Wine spilled with laughter and blood shed with tears.

Goosebumps darted over my flesh, almost as if I stepped through the time-veil. Able to see previous generations dancing, hear their lilting voices on the air.

And then I saw them.

Cut grunted as I slammed to a stop, zeroing in on the portraits he’d told me about in Africa.

The Hawk women.

Unlike the dining room with its over-crowded walls of men in white wigs, chalky faces, and gruffly stern expressions, the Hawk women bestowed the ballroom with class.

Their faces held colour of pink cheeks and red lips. Their hair artfully coiled and curled. And their dresses tumbled through the artist’s brush-strokes, almost as if they were real.

Cut let me look. “Beautiful, aren’t they?”

I didn’t reply. I couldn’t. I was overwhelmed with antiquity and yesteryear.

He let me survey his family’s history while I searched for the portrait that’d caught my eye. I needed to look upon the woman who started it all.

I can’t find her.

Bonnie.

She found me first.

Her painting hung vibrantly, royally. She’d posed with a white poodle and an armful of lilies. Her face unlined and youthful vitality hinting at a woman of early forties rather than the ancient ninety-one-year old who’d just perished.

Up and up the family tree my gaze soared, over Joans and Janes and Bessies.

And finally, at the very top, overseeing her realm and all that she helped create and conquer was Mabel Hawk.

The shadowy sketch wasn’t as intricate in detail as the rest. Her grandson, William, could only remember so much, commissioning the painting off memory. But the intensity of her gaze popped full of soul even if her features weren’t drawn with precision. She looked like any other woman from the bygone era. Any other mother and grandmother. Her gown of simple brown velvet held a single diamond at her bosom while her cheekbones swept into her hairline.

She reminded me of Jethro in a way. The same potency of sovereignty and power.

“Drink it in, my dear.” Cut let go of my hair, running his fingers along my collar. “This room will be the last thing you ever see.”

I still didn’t respond. I’d taken so much from him, and I refused to give it back in the form of begging and tears.

Time ticked onward, but Cut didn’t hurry me. I let the portraits on the wall tell their story, filling me with timeworn relics, ensuring when the time came to bow on my knees and succumb to the guillotine’s blade, I would be more than just a girl, more than a Weaver, more than a victim of the Debt Inheritance.

I would be history.

I would be part of something so much bigger than myself and would take mementoes from this life to the next.

The room slowly filled with witnesses. Black Diamond brothers trickled in, lining the walls with their black leather. Out the corner of my eye, I noticed a few with bloody knuckles and shadow-bruised jaws. Why had they fought within their ranks? What had caused their violent disruption?

The oppressive summoning from the hidden apparatus in the ballroom pressed deeper and deeper the longer I ignored it. The portraits had been studied, the room scrutinized—I had nothing left to capture my attention away from the monolithic mysterious thing.

Cut turned me to face it. “Would you like to see below the cloak?” He smiled tightly. “I’m sure your imagination has created a version of what exists before you.”

I straightened my spine. “Whatever you do to me, it won’t bring them back.”

He stiffened.

The gentle squeak of a wheel broke the brackish silence. I looked over my shoulder as Jasmine suddenly propelled herself into the room, slipping quickly over polished wood with a horrified expression. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Cut turned around, dropping his touch to land on my lower back. He didn’t hold me in place, but I wasn’t idiotic to think I wasn’t trapped and unable to move.

“I’m doing what needs to be done.”

Jasmine wheeled herself right up to Cut’s knees. Her beautiful face pinched with disbelief. “No! That isn’t your task. It’s Jet—I mean, Daniel’s.”

Cut narrowed his eyes, looking between the two of us. “Fuck.” He ducked down, grabbing his daughter roughly by the chin. “You knew, too. You knew all the fuck along Jethro and Kestrel were alive.” He shook her. “What sort of daughter are you? What sort of loyalty do you have toward your own flesh and blood?”

Jasmine chopped her hands on Cut’s wrists, breaking his hold on her cheeks. “My loyalty is to the right thing. And this is not right! Stop it. Right now.”

Cut chuckled. “There is so much you don’t know, Jaz, and so much you’ll never learn. You’re a failure and no longer a fucking Hawk. The moment I’ve dealt with Nila, I’ll deal with you. What’s good about family if it’s the same family that does everything possible to destroy itself?”

Snapping his fingers, he growled at the brother who’d just arrived.

The man skidded through the doors, breathing hard as if he’d been at war rather than on whatever errands the club did.

My eyes met his. Dark floppy hair and kindness hid beneath ruthless.

Flaw.

My heart leapt, hope unspooling.

I had many enemies in this room but two people I cared about and trusted might be all I needed against Cut and his blade.

“Flaw, take my daughter to the back of the room. She’s to watch from a safe distance and not to leave, understood?”

Flaw glanced at me. Secrets collided in his gaze before looking resolutely away. Nothing in his posture apologised or promised he would try to prevent the future. He merely nodded and clasped his hands around the handles of Jasmine’s wheelchair. “Yes, sir.”

Flaw...?

What had I done to warrant his sudden coolness?

Backing away, he dragged Jasmine with him.

She screeched and jammed on her brakes, leaving large grooves and tyre marks on the elegant floor. “No!”

“Don’t argue, Ms. Hawk.” Flaw dragged her faster toward the border of the room.

I couldn’t believe he’d abandoned me. Wouldn’t he at least try to argue for my life?

Jasmine made eye contact with me, fighting Flaw’s yanking, shaking her head in despair. “Nila...where is he? Why isn’t he stopping this?”

Jethro.

She means Jethro.

I wanted to tell her everything, but there was too much to that question and I had no strength to answer it. She didn’t need to know what happened in Africa. She had her own issues to face once I’d departed this world at the hands of her father.

I shook my head, a sad smile on my lips. “I’m sorry, Jaz. I tried. We both did.”

Tears welled, catching on her eyelashes. “No. This can’t be happening. I won’t let it.” She reached behind her, trying to slap Flaw and scratch his hands from dragging her farther. “Let me go!”

With jerky movements, he bent angrily and hissed something unintelligible in her ear.

She froze.

Flaw used her sudden motionlessness to yank her the rest of the way.

What had he said?

How could he betray us?

My heart stopped. Has he betrayed us or did he make another oath to Kes and Jethro I’m not aware of?

Vexatious questions came faster, battering me with final worry. Was Kestrel awake? Was he alive in the hospital waiting for his brother to visit?

I wish I could say goodbye to him.

My tummy clenched even as I tried to remain strong.

I wish I could kiss Jethro one last time.

Cut spun around, forcing me to do the same. Flaw and Jasmine’s eyes seared brands into the back of my spine. Two brothers dashed forward, gripping the ends of the black sheet hiding the apparatus, looking at Cut for commands.

He snapped his fingers with regality. “Remove it!”

Their hands gathered swaths of material and tugged. The fabric slid like ebony silk, kissing angles and gliding over surfaces, slowly revealing what I’d known existed all along.

The method of my death.

The equipment I’d hoped never to see.

There was no Jethro to stop it.

No Kestrel to fix it.

No Jasmine to ruin it.

Only me, Cut, and the awful gleaming guillotine.

The lights from the chandeliers bounced off the glossy wood of the frame, suspending a single blade ensconced in two pillars of wood. A latch at the top held it in place while the rope dangled down the side, ready to pull aside the barrier and let the blade plummet to its task.

And there...below the chopping block where my head would lay was the basket that would be my final resting place.

Cut kissed my cheek, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and guiding me toward the machine. “Say goodbye, Nila. It’s time to pay the Final Debt.”