“Jet!” Mr. Hawk pinched the bridge of his nose. “Shut her up.”
Jethro immediately slammed a hand over my mouth.
I froze. I knew I’d brought whatever punishment was about to happen upon myself. I couldn’t blame anyone, but I wouldn’t let myself regret what I’d said. I believed I was a good person. So were my twin, father, mother, and ancestors.
“You just had to push,” Jethro hissed. “I’m going to draw blood for this.”
My heart rabbited but I forced myself to remember one important fact.
They can’t hurt you too much.
There would be pain. There would be agony. But they meant to keep me alive. I had debts to repay before my life was stolen.
Never taking his eyes off mine, Mr. Hawk, ordered, “Jethro. Teach this woman that Hawks are a forgiving family but there are times when strictness is required in lieu of allowing little tantrums like this to occur.” His eyes switched from mine to his son’s. “Take her. Deal with her. I don’t want to see her again until she’s lost the misplaced righteousness she seems to think she’s owed.”
Jethro nodded, jostling our bodies. His fingers unglued from around my mouth and he grabbed my wrist. Every part of me shrank from his overbearing body, throbbing temper, and granite golden eyes, but I forced myself to stand tall.
I growled, “Whatever you do won’t matter. What happened before will never happen again.” I would never let my body rule my mind no matter what he did. “You may be able to hurt me but you should know how pathetic it is for a man to hurt a woman. That isn’t power. It’s a weakness!”
He grunted under his breath. “Motherfucking Christ.” His temper increased until the large room pulsed with it.
Another wave of vertigo grabbed my brain. But I managed the impossible, fighting through the grey unsteady wave—staying on my feet. I did it.
I fought the imbalance thanks to letting myself unlock so many facets of who I truly was. I stood proud and naked, wearing only dried saliva and bruises.
Jethro jerked me closer, scowling into my eyes. He swallowed his anger until nothing outward showed—no annoyance or amazement—he was as opaque as a black iceberg and just as sharp.
“If you will, Ms. Weaver.” Suddenly he let me go, waving toward the double doors behind me. They opened wide as if staff waited on the other side for his command.
When I didn’t move, he snapped, “Now.”
My arms wanted to wind around my body. I wanted to hide from his intense gaze, but I fought every instinct, every urge, and elegantly pirouetted on my toes. I left the room as demurely and proudly as possible. Without a backward glance.
The moment the doors slammed behind us, Jethro grabbed my elbow, prowling forward as if the flames of hell craved his soul. I went from walking to jogging to keep up with his pace.
My vision lost its clarity for a moment, fading in and out as another wash of unbalance tried to steal me, but Jethro didn’t give me time to give in. He didn’t give me time to care that he dragged me down a corridor so wide it could’ve been a hall. He didn’t let me inspect the countless weapons—swords, bayonets, crossbows, and knives—or catch the eye of surprised staff.
I breathed hard when we finally crashed through one of the many exterior doors and were welcomed from brooding red corridor to bright early-autumn sun.
Jethro kept walking, not letting me catch my breath.
Dragging me down the four huge steps, I winced as the gravel bit into the soles of my feet. But he didn’t care. He didn’t even notice.
Our feet kicked up pebbles as he headed toward the treeline several metres from the house. I’d never seen this side of the property before. But the grounds were just as expansive and impressive as the other perimeters and just as dangerous.
This was my cage. Leaves and thorns and brambles.
And I’m naked.
The moment gravel was replaced by soft grass below my toes, Jethro tossed me away. I would’ve fallen if I wasn’t malleable and given up fighting his momentum. I stumbled forward, arms soaring outward as if I could suddenly leave the world behind and fly. Fly away. Fly free.
The moment I came to a halt, I spun to face him.
Jethro was right behind me. He fisted my hair, twisting my neck.
I whimpered as he raised my head, higher and higher. My eyes coasted over his crocodile belt, crisp grey shirt, and locked onto a pair of ferocious eyes.
“Tell me. What did you hope to achieve in there?”
He didn’t give me a chance to reply, tugging my hair in a painful jerk. “Did you honestly think before you opened your mouth? If you had stood there and been silent, it would’ve all been over. You earned an afternoon on your own in a hot steam bath. A maid to bring you whatever you wanted to eat.” He shook me. “What part of a gift for good behaviour did you not understand?”
“I don’t want your charity,” I spat.
He groaned. “It’s not fucking charity if you’ve earned it.” Lowering his head, his nose pressed against mine.
I froze, breathing hard.
“You earned it today. You pleased me by letting those men sample you. You surprised me in a good way.” The softness of his voice disappeared under a torrent of rage. “But then you fucked it all up by being you. And now…” He trailed off, ideas glowing in his eyes.
Letting me go, I backed away from him, grabbing my hair and quickly twisting it into a loose braid down my back. I hated the thickness, the length. It seemed to invite Jethro to use it anyway he pleased. My scalp had never been so bruised.
The diamond collar sent little rainbows of light bouncing from the sunlight. I would’ve laughed if I wasn’t so tense. I was naked but wearing rainbows—I never would’ve thought to combine magic with fashion.
Ideas for a new design line came thick and fast. I craved a pencil to sketch before they disappeared.
Jethro placed both hands on his hips, watching me silently.
I didn’t move. I didn’t say a word. The fragile ceasefire between us stretched uncomfortably thin. It would either snap and ricochet onto me with terrible pain or fade away like a feather on a breeze.
“I see threats don’t work on you. But perhaps a negotiation might.”
Despite myself, curiosity and hope swelled in my heart. “A negotiation?”
“A one shot offer. You win, you’re free. I win, you forget about your old life and give in. You say I’ll never own you. If I win—you willingly give me that right.” His lips pulled into a cold smile. “You sign not only the debt agreement but another—one that makes me your master until your last breath is taken. You do that, and I’ll give you this.”