First Debt

Page 20

I just hope my soul is as curable.
The hot water had killed to begin with, but slowly I grew used to the pain and washed away the whipping and turbulence Jethro had left me with.
On the fifth day, I dressed in a floaty black dress that had no elastic or grabby material that would irritate my back and stepped from my room. I had cabin fever, and as much as I didn’t want company, I needed a change of scenery.
Drifting toward the dining room, I jumped whenever I heard the slightest noise. I felt guilty for wandering, even though I’d been told I could. And as much as I wanted to see Jethro, to demand my phone was returned, I didn’t have the strength to fight with him yet.
It was well past breakfast, which was fine because I’d had mine in bed, and there were no Black Diamond men around.
Where is everyone?
Hawksridge Hall had an eerie way of hiding people from view. The huge spaces making it seem as if I were all alone. I might not want to suffer through Jethro’s company, but his younger brother wasn’t blacklisted.
Turning down the corridor leading to Kes’s quarters, I found him with four men discussing some sort of strategy at the large table in the saloon.
The moment I entered, Kes’s golden eyes lit up. He bounced from his chair and came to offer his hand, tugging me closer to the bikers. “Nila. What a pleasant surprise.” His gaze went to my back, spinning me around a little to see. The lash marks were on display, having left the bandage off to help with healing. My dress was a scoop back, permitting my flesh to breathe.
“Ouch. I’d heard he hadn’t held back.”
“You heard?” I frowned. “He told you what happened?”
Kes swallowed, running a hand nervously through his hair. “Um, not quite. Anyway, that’s beside the point. I’m just glad you’re well and on the mend.” Grabbing my elbow, he carted me closer to the table and beaming men. “You know Flaw.”
I nodded briefly at the black-haired man who moved like Vaughn, before inspecting the two other accomplices—one with dirty blond hair, the other with long brown hair in a ponytail down his back. “That’s Grade and Colour.”
What the hell sort of names are those?
It didn’t escape my attention that these were the same men who’d had their tongues on every part of me. But there was no awkwardness—no side glances or intimidation.
I snorted. “Ah, I get it now. I couldn’t work out your names before. Flaw, Cut…you name yourselves after diamond properties.”
Kes grinned. “Yep. Apart from the Hawk boys, of course. The Black Diamond brothers picked a name based on the gemstone and the properties in which they can be transformed.”
Grade—the man with dirty blond hair and a snub nose—grinned. “Happy to meet you, Nila.”
I didn’t bother saying he’d already met me, or at least his tongue had.
Colour, with his brown ponytail and broad grin, leaned the small distance between us and placed a chaste kiss on my cheek. “Hello, Ms. Weaver. Lovely to see you again.”
The other day, Kes had said I was to be treated with kindness and respect, but a part of me hadn’t believed him. However, faced with men who had helped strip me of everything, it seemed as if they genuinely liked and wanted me in their company.
I couldn’t get my head around it.
Or they’re just perfect actors in the pantomime put on by Mr. Hawk.
Waving away the proprietary of my title, I shivered slightly. “Please, call me Nila.” I couldn’t stomach anyone else calling me by my surname and hated that Jethro continued to use it. I didn’t want to be reminded of the man who’d disappeared without a trace.
Kes pulled up an extra chair. “Sit and stay a while. We’re just discussing another diamond shipment due in tonight. It will be boring, but we’d be honoured if you’d share your opinions.”
I couldn’t stop staring at him. How much had Jethro told him of making me pay the First Debt? Did he know the battle that waged between his brother and me?
But most importantly, did he wonder, if he was Kite, why I hadn’t texted him in so long?
Damn Jethro for taking my phone.
Arsehole.
Flaw disappeared as the men fell back into conversation. He returned a few minutes later with a huge basket overflowing with items.
The bikers laughed, pushing back from the table to give Flaw space to present the basket to me. I strained forward, very aware that my raw back would be on display despite my long, unsecured hair hiding some of the evidence.
“What’s this?” I asked, eyeing up the pink concoction of crepe paper, chocolate bars, sweeties, magazines, and a brand new Kindle.
“For you,” Kes murmured, moving forward to rummage in the gift basket. “I wanted to come to your room yesterday and give it to you, but…well, Jethro has banned anyone from stepping into your quarters.”
Why am I not surprised?
Tentatively, I plucked the Kindle from the basket and turned it on. A stocked library full of romance greeted me.
“Wow,” I murmured. Then I looked at the name given to the device in the top right corner. Weaver Wailer. That would have to change straight away.
Kes shrugged, standing tall and running a hand through his messy hair. “Figured you must be going stir-crazy in this house. It will keep you occupied.”
And, it did.
For the next five days, I spent my mornings relaxing in bed with fresh pastries and fruit salad reading about alpha males and swooning heroines, while my afternoons were spent with Kes and the boys in his quarters.
My strange world settled into routine, and although I craved my phone and the ability to talk to Kite, I valued the reprieve—the preciousness of a secretive smile from Kes and the gentle touch of a fatherly biker.
They all doted on me.
They all smiled when I walked into the room and listened attentively to anything I had to say.
I felt valued.
I felt appreciated.
Which was the oddest thing to admit as I’d never felt cherished, even when delivering fashion-changing designs and bringing the Weaver name to even greater heights. No, that wasn’t true. I felt beyond loved and adored by my father and brother, but it’d been the everyday reporters, models, and shop owners that’d made my career a hardship.
Away from the toil of work, I found no drive to return. No urge to create.
It was scary to have that part of my identity taken away but refreshing and almost medicinal, too.
Bizarre to say, the same men who’d licked me had somehow become my…friends. I didn’t know how, but I did know I healed faster because of their friendship and found sanctuary for my heart.
Just like Kestrel had said I would.
Just like Cut had said I’d be welcomed into his house. I should’ve been colder, less easy to win over, but I was tired of overthinking everything and peering around corners for the next trick.
There was only so much fear a person could live with before the brain gave up and accepted.
The days stretched unnervingly…normal. If I wasn’t in Kes’s saloon, I was wandering down pristine corridors full of priceless artwork and tapestries. I strolled in gardens surrounded by manicured hedges and even took a nap beneath the dappling leaves of an apple tree in the orchard.
Not one person stopped me from entering a room or leaving. Not one person raised their voice or gave me any reason to fear.
If I bumped into a man dressed in leather and stomping in fierce-looking boots, he would smile and ask after my health. If I bumped into Cut heading to a meeting, he would bow and smile cordially, continuing on his way as if I had total right to be sneaking about his home.
The only person I didn’t bump into was Jethro.
It was as if he’d disappeared, and with his disappearance went my torment.
I began to wonder if I’d been forgotten.
Not forgotten.
Just forgiven…
They’ll never forgive.
I had to admit the Hawks were diabolically clever. With their welcome came a relaxation I would never have found if I wasn’t permitted to explore on my own. A self-centred acceptance that only came from settling into a new environment with no duress.
I truly felt a part of their household. As sick and as twisted as it seemed.
By the end of fourteen days, with nothing to keep me occupied but reading and exploring, inevitably, my mind turned to what it had always known.
Sewing.
Not designing under pressure or rushing to deliver the next big thing.
Just sewing.
The epicentre of my craft.
I commandeered a writing pad, thanks to interrupting a business meeting. I’d walked in to an office by accident, only to be offered freshly grilled sausages and beer by three Diamond brothers. Their food had been the basics of cuisine, yet they ate it around a fifteenth-century table in a room full of priceless ledgers and power.
The lined paper only lasted me a day before I hunted Kes down and requested a sketchpad with no lines. The moment he’d given me one, I couldn’t stop the drive to draw, to pluck the rapidly forming ensembles from my mind and transcribe to paper.
That evening, Kes had four additional sketchpads delivered to my room.
I found the passion I’d lost with overworking and stress. Enjoyment and creativity came back with a vengeance. My hands turned black with lead from sketching well into the night. The pages became littered with rainbows and the barbaric sensuality of diamonds. I embraced a carnal wardrobe of want and inhibitions, creating my most daring collection to date, pulling ideas from my imagination like silver threads, splashing them onto the paper thanks to my trusty pencil.
When my mind was blank of artistic drive, I would turn to the large volume of Weaver history and read my ancestors’ scattered thoughts and notations. I wasn’t gullible enough to write things of importance—the Hawks would only read it. A diary was the window into someone’s soul, and I had no intention of them seeing into mine.
But I did scribble two questions.
Where the hell is Jethro?
What weapons are best used against ice? A chisel or a candle?
It was on the sixteenth night of being Jethro-free that I stumbled upon the official library. Drifting down dark corridors, unable to sleep, I felt as if I’d fallen through a wormhole into ancient literature and knowledge. The ceiling was a dome, painted with a navy sky and glittering yellow stars. The walls were three stories high with swirling ladders leading onto brass walkways to peruse each shelf with ease.
The moment I walked into the hushed world, I knew I’d found home.
That night, I’d spent hours reading by low light, fingering leather-bound limited editions, before curling up in the most comfy of beanbags and falling asleep.
Kes found me the next morning, nudging me awake with an amused grin. “Hi.” He threw himself into the chaise lounge that was decorated with bamboo leaves, cranes, and Chinese symbols, not far from my commandeered beanbag.
I sat up, rubbing sleep from my eyes and stretching my stiff but mostly healed back. “How did you find me?”
Kes pointed upward, smiling. “Cameras.”
My heart leapt into my throat. “Of course.” That was why I was given free reign. Why no one tried to stop me. Everything I did was on show.
I was stupid not to realize it sooner.
I frowned. Was that what Jethro had switched off after he’d whipped me? Did he not wish his family to see him come all over my back—to show he had a weakness for me?
And if so…why didn’t he want his family to see? He was only doing what he was told…wasn’t he?
The past two weeks had delivered far too many questions where Jethro was concerned, and I still had no answers.
I did have one scary conclusion, though. As much as I detested Jethro’s mind games and sick control…I missed the spark he conjured inside. I missed the clench when he touched me, and I craved the addictive fear of duelling.
As much as I enjoyed Kes’s company, and as fond as I’d grown of him, I didn’t grow wet at the thought of winning him over or dream of his lips kissing mine.
“Do you like the library?” Kes asked, craning his neck, trying to catch a glimpse at the open sketchpad beside me. The pages depicted a flowing silk cape that would be a mixture of air and thread.
Forcing Jethro from my mind, I nodded. “Yes. I love the silence and smell.”
He smiled. “Bet you’ll like what Jethro has to show you then.”
I very much doubt that.
I stiffened slightly, hearing Kes talk about his brother. I’d picked up on a strange edge in his tone whenever he mentioned him. And I couldn’t understand the dynamic between the two. They cared deeply for each other—that was undeniable—but there was something else, too. Something deeper and more complex than just sibling rivalry.
Hang on.
My ears pricked. “What does Jethro have to show me?”
“You mean, he hasn’t shown you yet?”
“Shown me what?”
Kes shook his head. “He hasn’t come to find you? Hasn’t explained?” Dropping his voice, he asked, “How long has it been, since he’s come for you?”
My forehead furrowed. Shouldn’t he know that? Wasn’t he privy to Jethro’s convoluted inner thoughts?
Dropping my eyes, I said, “I haven’t seen him since the First Debt was repaid.”
Kes sucked in a breath. Rubbing a hand over his face, he stood quickly. “Look, forget I said anything. I have to go.”
He strode from the library in a rustle of leather and denim, most likely going in search of his wayward brother.
Forget I said anything. Kes’s words repeated inside my head.
I would like to forget everything that’d happened since the Hawks had come for me, but that was an impossibility.