Fourth Debt
Page 88
How am I supposed to concentrate?
Nila was replaced with images of Kestrel—slowly dying alone in a strange hospital. Then my father leapt into my head, laughing, tormenting.
He’d never grown out of the spoiled brat syndrome—just like Daniel.
I didn’t know the full story of how my father became heir, but my mother had dropped hints. Emma, too—when she was alive. Cut was many things, but he’d told some of his darkest secrets to Emma, knowing they’d die with her with no repercussions.
Livid rage heated my veins, better than any heater.
Now, he’ll pay.
And I knew exactly how I’d do it.
Pulling out my phone, I sent a message to Nila.
Unknown Number: I love you with every breath and heartbeat. Stay true to yourself. Trust me. You’re strong enough; you’re brave enough. You’re my inspiration to end this. Don’t give up on me, Nila. Two days and it’s over.
I didn’t wait for a reply. Waiting would drive me crazy and horrid conclusions would consume me. I had to trust that Jasmine would keep Nila safe and allow me to do what was needed.
Reaching into the duffel, I pulled out the little black address book I’d kept hidden in my room. I’d given Flaw directions on where to retrieve it when he collected me. An address book was archaic nowadays with phones and computers, but I’d never been more thankful for old-fashioned practices.
I had no clue where my old phone was. This was my last record.
Flicking through the dog-eared pages, I sighed with relief, grateful for contacts I could rely on. Men I’d met and were loyal to me, not my father. Men who were ruthless in their own right. Men who could help me win against Cut and his legalities.
My eyes skipped over numbers for acquaintances I’d met on smuggling routes. Outlaws and pioneers, tanker captains and bribed coastguards.
I might have a need for them in the future, but not for this.
I had one man in mind.
There it is.
Arthur ‘Kill’ Killian, Pure Corruption MC.
I doubted many heirs to an English estate would have the personal contact of a president of an American motorcycle club.
But, thank fuck, I did.
Inputting the number, I pressed call on the phone and held it to my ear.
The line crackled, lacking a proper signal in the woods—struggling to connect Buckinghamshire to Florida.
The ringing stopped, followed by a loud screech. “You’ve reached Kill.”
My hand tightened around the phone. “Hawk calling.”
A pause, followed by some shuffling. “Hang on. Let me get somewhere private.”
“Sure.”
I waited for faint voices to fade; Killian came back on the line. “What’s up?”
“I need your help. Do you have trusted brothers in the UK?”
“I might. Why?”
“I need your help overthrowing someone. Give me some men, don’t ask questions, and our alliance will be cemented for whatever you need in the future. Diamonds, smuggling—you name it. It’s yours.”
Now wasn’t the time to mention that when I was in power, I planned on ceasing that side of the business. Diamonds to me were covered in blood and death. I wanted no part in it.
Silence for a moment.
Kill growled, “Give me a few hours. I’ll see what I can do.”
He hung up.
Phase one complete.
The next part of my strategy would be tricky, but I had no alternative. I didn’t spread myself over Plan A or Plan B. This first attempt was my only attempt.
It will work.
Refreshing the screen, I dialled another number—one I’d never called before—but knew by heart because of our association.
It rang and rang.
A dawn phone call wouldn’t be acceptable to anyone, but if he knew what was good for him, he’d answer it.
Finally, a sleepy, almost drunk, voice answered, “Hello?”
My heart squeezed to think my family had browbeaten this proud business owner into the spineless grieving father he’d become. We’d won over his family—more times than I could count. “Tex Weaver?”
He sucked in a breath. Rustling sounded; his voice lost its haziness. “You. You have the fucking nerve to call me after what you’ve done.” He coughed, his temper howling down the line. “I’ll fucking kill you with my bare hands. Where’s my son? My daughter?”
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
Tex raged, “The time for talking is done. I’m sick of it. Sick of all your threats and promises. You took my Emma but I won’t let you take our kids.” Breathing hard, he snarled, “I’ve put things in place, Hawk. I’m ending this. Once and for all.”
I plucked an oak leaf from the tent floor. “I know what you’ve been doing, Tex.”
“Doesn’t matter. Won’t stop me. Not this time. You can’t scare me away like you did with Emma. I’ll die before I let you hurt my children anymore.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
He paused. “What—what do you mean?”
Leaning forward, I stared through the tent gap at the woodland around me. This was my office, my headquarters, and it was time to arrange a battalion for battle. “I’m on your side. I want to help you.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“You don’t have to believe me. It’s the truth.”
“What have you done with my children? If you’ve hurt Nila—”
Nila was replaced with images of Kestrel—slowly dying alone in a strange hospital. Then my father leapt into my head, laughing, tormenting.
He’d never grown out of the spoiled brat syndrome—just like Daniel.
I didn’t know the full story of how my father became heir, but my mother had dropped hints. Emma, too—when she was alive. Cut was many things, but he’d told some of his darkest secrets to Emma, knowing they’d die with her with no repercussions.
Livid rage heated my veins, better than any heater.
Now, he’ll pay.
And I knew exactly how I’d do it.
Pulling out my phone, I sent a message to Nila.
Unknown Number: I love you with every breath and heartbeat. Stay true to yourself. Trust me. You’re strong enough; you’re brave enough. You’re my inspiration to end this. Don’t give up on me, Nila. Two days and it’s over.
I didn’t wait for a reply. Waiting would drive me crazy and horrid conclusions would consume me. I had to trust that Jasmine would keep Nila safe and allow me to do what was needed.
Reaching into the duffel, I pulled out the little black address book I’d kept hidden in my room. I’d given Flaw directions on where to retrieve it when he collected me. An address book was archaic nowadays with phones and computers, but I’d never been more thankful for old-fashioned practices.
I had no clue where my old phone was. This was my last record.
Flicking through the dog-eared pages, I sighed with relief, grateful for contacts I could rely on. Men I’d met and were loyal to me, not my father. Men who were ruthless in their own right. Men who could help me win against Cut and his legalities.
My eyes skipped over numbers for acquaintances I’d met on smuggling routes. Outlaws and pioneers, tanker captains and bribed coastguards.
I might have a need for them in the future, but not for this.
I had one man in mind.
There it is.
Arthur ‘Kill’ Killian, Pure Corruption MC.
I doubted many heirs to an English estate would have the personal contact of a president of an American motorcycle club.
But, thank fuck, I did.
Inputting the number, I pressed call on the phone and held it to my ear.
The line crackled, lacking a proper signal in the woods—struggling to connect Buckinghamshire to Florida.
The ringing stopped, followed by a loud screech. “You’ve reached Kill.”
My hand tightened around the phone. “Hawk calling.”
A pause, followed by some shuffling. “Hang on. Let me get somewhere private.”
“Sure.”
I waited for faint voices to fade; Killian came back on the line. “What’s up?”
“I need your help. Do you have trusted brothers in the UK?”
“I might. Why?”
“I need your help overthrowing someone. Give me some men, don’t ask questions, and our alliance will be cemented for whatever you need in the future. Diamonds, smuggling—you name it. It’s yours.”
Now wasn’t the time to mention that when I was in power, I planned on ceasing that side of the business. Diamonds to me were covered in blood and death. I wanted no part in it.
Silence for a moment.
Kill growled, “Give me a few hours. I’ll see what I can do.”
He hung up.
Phase one complete.
The next part of my strategy would be tricky, but I had no alternative. I didn’t spread myself over Plan A or Plan B. This first attempt was my only attempt.
It will work.
Refreshing the screen, I dialled another number—one I’d never called before—but knew by heart because of our association.
It rang and rang.
A dawn phone call wouldn’t be acceptable to anyone, but if he knew what was good for him, he’d answer it.
Finally, a sleepy, almost drunk, voice answered, “Hello?”
My heart squeezed to think my family had browbeaten this proud business owner into the spineless grieving father he’d become. We’d won over his family—more times than I could count. “Tex Weaver?”
He sucked in a breath. Rustling sounded; his voice lost its haziness. “You. You have the fucking nerve to call me after what you’ve done.” He coughed, his temper howling down the line. “I’ll fucking kill you with my bare hands. Where’s my son? My daughter?”
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
Tex raged, “The time for talking is done. I’m sick of it. Sick of all your threats and promises. You took my Emma but I won’t let you take our kids.” Breathing hard, he snarled, “I’ve put things in place, Hawk. I’m ending this. Once and for all.”
I plucked an oak leaf from the tent floor. “I know what you’ve been doing, Tex.”
“Doesn’t matter. Won’t stop me. Not this time. You can’t scare me away like you did with Emma. I’ll die before I let you hurt my children anymore.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
He paused. “What—what do you mean?”
Leaning forward, I stared through the tent gap at the woodland around me. This was my office, my headquarters, and it was time to arrange a battalion for battle. “I’m on your side. I want to help you.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“You don’t have to believe me. It’s the truth.”
“What have you done with my children? If you’ve hurt Nila—”
