Final Debt
Page 102
My arm shook as the whip sailed over my shoulder. I paused as the cords slapped against my back, ready to shoot forward and strike its quarry.
Cut bit his lip. “Kite…”
I didn’t wait for more. “No.”
Grunting, I threw every remaining energy into my arm and hurled the whip forward. The knots found his shirt; they sliced through it like tiny teeth, blood spurting from his flesh.
And finally, his emotions switched from sadistic hatred, misplaced actions, and a lifetime of incorrect choices to begging and shaming and accepting everything in full measure.
His head bowed as I struck again, tears streaming from his eyes. Not from pain. But the knowledge he’d done this to people he’d loved. He’d willingly done this to his children. And there was no worse crime than that.
I’d finally broken him. Finally shown him the error of his past. Finally taught him what it was like for us. He paid homage to Emma Weaver. He said sorry to Jasmine. He repented toward Nila. And finally, finally, he submitted to me and my power.
His apologies layered my mind.
His regret boomed in his thoughts.
He accepted what had to happen.
We were no longer father and son, teacher and disciple.
We were two men cleaning up the mess we’d caused.
Two men alone in a world we’d created.
And we would both suffer a lot more before it was over.
HE DIDN’T COME back.
Minute after minute.
Hour after hour.
Still he didn’t return.
I stared out the window, imploring him to appear.
I stroked my phone, willing a message to arrive.
I glanced at my door, begging him to enter.
But nothing.
Jethro was gone.
He’d committed to what had to be done.
And I feared I might never get him back.
DARKNESS.
It fell over the estate like the gown from death itself, trickling like oil into nooks and crannies, stealing light.
Every thickening shadow devoured a little of what’d happened—blotting out the day, the past, everything that’d led to this moment.
Time had passed, changing me as a person, as a man, as a son. Cut and I had visited purgatory together, and a small part of us hadn’t come back. I’d proven my point and won. And the saddest part was that the connection between us was the strongest it had ever been.
My heart wept for what I’d done. My muscles growled with tiredness. My entire body wanted to shut down.
Almost.
It’s almost time to rest.
Needing some fresh air, I left the barn and stumbled outside. Every sensory output was on fire. I’d never been so exposed or naked, drenched in the feelings of others.
The moment night chill caressed my face, I raised my eyes to the moon, gulping in purging breaths.
The atmosphere in the barn was too thick, too putrid. I couldn’t breathe properly after what I’d done.
Burying my face in my hands, I forced myself not to relive the whipping or clubbing or Cut’s tears and begs. I’d broken more than just his ankle. I’d broken his heart, his soul, his entire belief. I’d done everything I could to show Cut how blind he’d been toward his children and empire.
“Fuck.” The cuss fluttered to my feet like the autumn leaves, crunching beneath my boot. How could I have done what I did? How did I hurt my father over and over again? How did I draw his blood and break his bones?
I didn’t know the answer to that. But I was still standing, and my father finally understood.
It was over.
Rubbing my aching eyes, I swatted away my thoughts and took a deep breath. The moonlight cast my bloody hands in silver-chrome, turning the red black. Shoving the evidence of my crimes into my pockets, I strode through the forest, searching for the two men Kill had left to guard the woods.
It didn’t take me long. I followed the reek of cigarette smoke, encountering them on the border of the glen.
They turned to face me as I approached. Their hands curled by their sides and jackets bulky in the gloom.
I didn’t bother with niceties. I didn’t have the strength. “It’s done. You can go.”
The man with a mohawk nodded. “Right-o. See you around.”
I doubt it.
I left them to guide themselves out. I wouldn’t play host tonight. I still had too much to do to be a gentleman.
Leaving, I faded through the forest. Once I could no longer sense them, I sat on a rock and grabbed a final breath.
This was the last decision.
Cut had been taught his lesson. I’d hurt him enough that he bordered this life and the next. He was half dead, but did I have the right to take his life completely?
He took so many others. Emma. Almost Nila. Jasmine’s livelihood. My mother’s soul.
My hands curled again, sticky with everything that’d happened.
I’d contemplated all manner of things. I’d thought of, and discounted, the idea of hanging my father, drawing out his entrails and quartering him just like convicts were done in the past. I’d pondered the concept of letting him live and banishing him from Hawksridge.
I had enough of my father’s blood on my hands. I’d hurt myself and him.
But I knew he wouldn’t let me have the happy ending I desired if I left him alive.
Eventually, he would want vengeance. Eventually, he would forget the lesson I’d taught and come back for me—come back for Nila.
I can’t let that happen.
I had to end it.
It’s the only way.
Climbing off the rock was a million times harder than it was to sit down. My body seized; I tripped forward as my head swam. How much longer could I stay awake without needing serious medical attention?
Cut bit his lip. “Kite…”
I didn’t wait for more. “No.”
Grunting, I threw every remaining energy into my arm and hurled the whip forward. The knots found his shirt; they sliced through it like tiny teeth, blood spurting from his flesh.
And finally, his emotions switched from sadistic hatred, misplaced actions, and a lifetime of incorrect choices to begging and shaming and accepting everything in full measure.
His head bowed as I struck again, tears streaming from his eyes. Not from pain. But the knowledge he’d done this to people he’d loved. He’d willingly done this to his children. And there was no worse crime than that.
I’d finally broken him. Finally shown him the error of his past. Finally taught him what it was like for us. He paid homage to Emma Weaver. He said sorry to Jasmine. He repented toward Nila. And finally, finally, he submitted to me and my power.
His apologies layered my mind.
His regret boomed in his thoughts.
He accepted what had to happen.
We were no longer father and son, teacher and disciple.
We were two men cleaning up the mess we’d caused.
Two men alone in a world we’d created.
And we would both suffer a lot more before it was over.
HE DIDN’T COME back.
Minute after minute.
Hour after hour.
Still he didn’t return.
I stared out the window, imploring him to appear.
I stroked my phone, willing a message to arrive.
I glanced at my door, begging him to enter.
But nothing.
Jethro was gone.
He’d committed to what had to be done.
And I feared I might never get him back.
DARKNESS.
It fell over the estate like the gown from death itself, trickling like oil into nooks and crannies, stealing light.
Every thickening shadow devoured a little of what’d happened—blotting out the day, the past, everything that’d led to this moment.
Time had passed, changing me as a person, as a man, as a son. Cut and I had visited purgatory together, and a small part of us hadn’t come back. I’d proven my point and won. And the saddest part was that the connection between us was the strongest it had ever been.
My heart wept for what I’d done. My muscles growled with tiredness. My entire body wanted to shut down.
Almost.
It’s almost time to rest.
Needing some fresh air, I left the barn and stumbled outside. Every sensory output was on fire. I’d never been so exposed or naked, drenched in the feelings of others.
The moment night chill caressed my face, I raised my eyes to the moon, gulping in purging breaths.
The atmosphere in the barn was too thick, too putrid. I couldn’t breathe properly after what I’d done.
Burying my face in my hands, I forced myself not to relive the whipping or clubbing or Cut’s tears and begs. I’d broken more than just his ankle. I’d broken his heart, his soul, his entire belief. I’d done everything I could to show Cut how blind he’d been toward his children and empire.
“Fuck.” The cuss fluttered to my feet like the autumn leaves, crunching beneath my boot. How could I have done what I did? How did I hurt my father over and over again? How did I draw his blood and break his bones?
I didn’t know the answer to that. But I was still standing, and my father finally understood.
It was over.
Rubbing my aching eyes, I swatted away my thoughts and took a deep breath. The moonlight cast my bloody hands in silver-chrome, turning the red black. Shoving the evidence of my crimes into my pockets, I strode through the forest, searching for the two men Kill had left to guard the woods.
It didn’t take me long. I followed the reek of cigarette smoke, encountering them on the border of the glen.
They turned to face me as I approached. Their hands curled by their sides and jackets bulky in the gloom.
I didn’t bother with niceties. I didn’t have the strength. “It’s done. You can go.”
The man with a mohawk nodded. “Right-o. See you around.”
I doubt it.
I left them to guide themselves out. I wouldn’t play host tonight. I still had too much to do to be a gentleman.
Leaving, I faded through the forest. Once I could no longer sense them, I sat on a rock and grabbed a final breath.
This was the last decision.
Cut had been taught his lesson. I’d hurt him enough that he bordered this life and the next. He was half dead, but did I have the right to take his life completely?
He took so many others. Emma. Almost Nila. Jasmine’s livelihood. My mother’s soul.
My hands curled again, sticky with everything that’d happened.
I’d contemplated all manner of things. I’d thought of, and discounted, the idea of hanging my father, drawing out his entrails and quartering him just like convicts were done in the past. I’d pondered the concept of letting him live and banishing him from Hawksridge.
I had enough of my father’s blood on my hands. I’d hurt myself and him.
But I knew he wouldn’t let me have the happy ending I desired if I left him alive.
Eventually, he would want vengeance. Eventually, he would forget the lesson I’d taught and come back for me—come back for Nila.
I can’t let that happen.
I had to end it.
It’s the only way.
Climbing off the rock was a million times harder than it was to sit down. My body seized; I tripped forward as my head swam. How much longer could I stay awake without needing serious medical attention?
