Final Debt
Page 4
I choked on a laugh. “Seriously? You truly think that?”
“I don’t think that. I know that. Families stick together. That’s why our business has done so well. Why we rose above you and ensured centuries of retribution.” His touch on my hand flew up to tap against my diamond collar. “Ever wondered about the story behind the Weaver Wailer? Ever stopped to think how it was created?”
I pursed my lips, not giving him the satisfaction of a reply. Of course, I’d wondered. But I wouldn’t weaken myself by enquiring—not when Cut seemed to think the knowledge would hurt me.
“This collar, the one I will soon take from your corpse, was fashioned by the grandson of the woman Mr. Weaver raped every night. She sketched something so beautiful it could only be hideous in its intent and William Hawk ensured his grandmother’s final wish was created once she’d died.”
Confusion clogged comprehension.
I didn’t understand how they were linked. “Why?”
Cut scowled. “Why?”
Breaking his hold on my collar, I turned to face him. “Why only hurt the Weaver women? Why not the men? It was Mr. Weaver who harmed the Hawks. Take your vengeance out on the men. Pick on your own sex.”
“We still would have won, Nila, because like it or not, the Weavers are weak.” Cut laughed, his teeth flashing with mirth. “And besides, taking their women hurts them more than physical wounds ever could.”
I didn’t need to ask why. I knew.
Stripping the men of their loved ones highlighted not only their failure to protect but their weakness at saving them. They would live forever haunted by those they failed—troubled and plagued by their downfalls, turning into twisted, broken men—just like my father.
I sighed, looking out the window at my final glimpse of the country I’d been born, raised, and indebted.
Cut placed his palm on my thigh, squeezing. “You’ll learn everything soon enough. Every secret. Every tale. It’s all yours from here on out, Nila. Ask questions. Pry and interrogate. You might as well as your time is tick, ticking away.”
Closing his eyes, he settled into his chair. “I’d get some sleep if I were you. Once we land, you’ll have some debts to pay.”
We touched down in darkness.
How long had it taken to trade homeland for foreign soil?
Ten hours? Twelve?
I’d lost track.
However, it could’ve been bright sunshine and it wouldn’t have made a difference. With the Hawks imprisoning me, it was perpetual darkness in my world.
I twisted in my seat, catching glimpses of runway lights and buildings as the captain taxied to a private hangar. The moment the plane slipped inside, Cut yanked me from my seat and shoved me to disembark.
I didn’t speak.
Cotton wool and candyfloss replaced my brain. My back ached, my energy dwindled, and my eyelids scratched like cat claws. All I wanted was rest and safety. I needed to regroup and prepare.
But I had to stay alert and ready.
The cool night replaced the stuffy heat of the cabin as Cut herded me from the plane. The chilly air tore through my hoodie and jeans. I gulped in large breaths to wake me.
Daniel grabbed my arm, escorting me to the armed vehicle waiting in the middle of the hangar. Pieces of airplane bric-a-brac littered the walls and counters lining the aviation perimeter.
Cut’s logo stamped his ownership on everything—from cars to wheelable scaffolding and hydraulic tools. Everywhere I looked, I couldn’t ignore whose territory I existed in and who ultimately controlled me.
The Jeep wasn’t like a typical one in the U.K. This had armoured panels, large bumper guards, and tinted windows. Pockmarks of bullets and splattered mud added a story of violence.
This isn’t England.
I wasn’t blind or deaf. I’d watched reports on how dangerous Africa could be. How ruthless the people. How fatal the landscape. How deadly the animals.
I’d become protected by the same devils who would hurt me. Reliant on the Hawks to save my life, only so they could take it when suitable to their timeline.
“Get in.” Daniel pushed me into the Jeep and climbed in after me.
Cut followed but didn’t enter. His arm slung over the roof, leaning his bulk against the door. His leather jacket creaked and his crumpled shirt showed evidence of a long flight, but his eyes gleamed bright and shrewd. “Put your seatbelt on, Nila. Can never be too careful.”
If I hadn’t agreed with him, I would’ve spat in his face.
My hand shook a little from hunger as I pulled the belt over my chest and buckled in. Now, if only Daniel didn’t put his on and we had a car accident—flying through the windscreen and splattering like a gnat on the road.
My stomach twisted as the images switched to Jethro. Thousands of miles now separated us. Oceans and valleys, continents and mountains. My fingers itched to text him. My hands empty of the one possession that’d allowed me communication for the past several months. My phone had become more than an outlet of transmission; it’d become a lifeline.
But I hadn’t had time to grab it. The device sat abandoned in my quarters at the Hall.
I couldn’t tell Jethro—couldn’t advice plans or activities.
I’m on my own.
I’m all alone.
My hidden knitting needle grew warm, humming with a war beat.
It doesn’t matter.
I’m ready.
“Remember what I said, Nila. The next few days are of mutual benefit. Treat it as such.” Looking at Daniel, Cut rubbed a hand over his brow. “I’ll meet you there. Have a few errands to run on the way.”
“I don’t think that. I know that. Families stick together. That’s why our business has done so well. Why we rose above you and ensured centuries of retribution.” His touch on my hand flew up to tap against my diamond collar. “Ever wondered about the story behind the Weaver Wailer? Ever stopped to think how it was created?”
I pursed my lips, not giving him the satisfaction of a reply. Of course, I’d wondered. But I wouldn’t weaken myself by enquiring—not when Cut seemed to think the knowledge would hurt me.
“This collar, the one I will soon take from your corpse, was fashioned by the grandson of the woman Mr. Weaver raped every night. She sketched something so beautiful it could only be hideous in its intent and William Hawk ensured his grandmother’s final wish was created once she’d died.”
Confusion clogged comprehension.
I didn’t understand how they were linked. “Why?”
Cut scowled. “Why?”
Breaking his hold on my collar, I turned to face him. “Why only hurt the Weaver women? Why not the men? It was Mr. Weaver who harmed the Hawks. Take your vengeance out on the men. Pick on your own sex.”
“We still would have won, Nila, because like it or not, the Weavers are weak.” Cut laughed, his teeth flashing with mirth. “And besides, taking their women hurts them more than physical wounds ever could.”
I didn’t need to ask why. I knew.
Stripping the men of their loved ones highlighted not only their failure to protect but their weakness at saving them. They would live forever haunted by those they failed—troubled and plagued by their downfalls, turning into twisted, broken men—just like my father.
I sighed, looking out the window at my final glimpse of the country I’d been born, raised, and indebted.
Cut placed his palm on my thigh, squeezing. “You’ll learn everything soon enough. Every secret. Every tale. It’s all yours from here on out, Nila. Ask questions. Pry and interrogate. You might as well as your time is tick, ticking away.”
Closing his eyes, he settled into his chair. “I’d get some sleep if I were you. Once we land, you’ll have some debts to pay.”
We touched down in darkness.
How long had it taken to trade homeland for foreign soil?
Ten hours? Twelve?
I’d lost track.
However, it could’ve been bright sunshine and it wouldn’t have made a difference. With the Hawks imprisoning me, it was perpetual darkness in my world.
I twisted in my seat, catching glimpses of runway lights and buildings as the captain taxied to a private hangar. The moment the plane slipped inside, Cut yanked me from my seat and shoved me to disembark.
I didn’t speak.
Cotton wool and candyfloss replaced my brain. My back ached, my energy dwindled, and my eyelids scratched like cat claws. All I wanted was rest and safety. I needed to regroup and prepare.
But I had to stay alert and ready.
The cool night replaced the stuffy heat of the cabin as Cut herded me from the plane. The chilly air tore through my hoodie and jeans. I gulped in large breaths to wake me.
Daniel grabbed my arm, escorting me to the armed vehicle waiting in the middle of the hangar. Pieces of airplane bric-a-brac littered the walls and counters lining the aviation perimeter.
Cut’s logo stamped his ownership on everything—from cars to wheelable scaffolding and hydraulic tools. Everywhere I looked, I couldn’t ignore whose territory I existed in and who ultimately controlled me.
The Jeep wasn’t like a typical one in the U.K. This had armoured panels, large bumper guards, and tinted windows. Pockmarks of bullets and splattered mud added a story of violence.
This isn’t England.
I wasn’t blind or deaf. I’d watched reports on how dangerous Africa could be. How ruthless the people. How fatal the landscape. How deadly the animals.
I’d become protected by the same devils who would hurt me. Reliant on the Hawks to save my life, only so they could take it when suitable to their timeline.
“Get in.” Daniel pushed me into the Jeep and climbed in after me.
Cut followed but didn’t enter. His arm slung over the roof, leaning his bulk against the door. His leather jacket creaked and his crumpled shirt showed evidence of a long flight, but his eyes gleamed bright and shrewd. “Put your seatbelt on, Nila. Can never be too careful.”
If I hadn’t agreed with him, I would’ve spat in his face.
My hand shook a little from hunger as I pulled the belt over my chest and buckled in. Now, if only Daniel didn’t put his on and we had a car accident—flying through the windscreen and splattering like a gnat on the road.
My stomach twisted as the images switched to Jethro. Thousands of miles now separated us. Oceans and valleys, continents and mountains. My fingers itched to text him. My hands empty of the one possession that’d allowed me communication for the past several months. My phone had become more than an outlet of transmission; it’d become a lifeline.
But I hadn’t had time to grab it. The device sat abandoned in my quarters at the Hall.
I couldn’t tell Jethro—couldn’t advice plans or activities.
I’m on my own.
I’m all alone.
My hidden knitting needle grew warm, humming with a war beat.
It doesn’t matter.
I’m ready.
“Remember what I said, Nila. The next few days are of mutual benefit. Treat it as such.” Looking at Daniel, Cut rubbed a hand over his brow. “I’ll meet you there. Have a few errands to run on the way.”
