Final Debt
Page 62
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.
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.
