Second Debt
Page 7
Hesitation flittered over her face.
I tried to grab her. But I was too late.
Darting away from me, she said, “I want to see what you’re hiding,” then bolted down the path.
“Fuck!”
Her hair flew free from her hair-tie as she sprinted faster up the gravel and onto the moor that I wished didn’t exist.
Shit, she’s fast.
I tore after her, wishing I had Bolly and the foxhounds to swoop in and cut her off before she reached the crest.
My feet burned and my socks became slippery as old wounds opened. My lungs were pathetic in delivering enough oxygen as I sprinted the final distance and skidded to a halt.
She’d turned from super-sonic to a statue, staring dumbfounded at what existed before her.
Goddammit, why did she have to be so determined to uncover what I wanted to keep hidden? The truth never helped—it only made things worse.
Her hands flew into her black hair, fisting tightly. “Oh, my God…”
I sucked air, hating the sensation of trespassing on such a sacred site. I wasn’t welcome here. None of my family was welcome, and if I were superstitious, I would admit there was a stagnant force that howled with hatred and pain.
“No!” she whispered. Her strong legs that’d sent her flying into hell suddenly collapsed from beneath her.
Her fingers dove into the dirt, clutching at grass and mud. “This can’t be real. It can’t.”
She bowed with disbelief, kneeling on the grave of her mother.
Her anguish joined the storm of revulsion that never seemed to leave this place. Goosebumps darted down my arms as a gale whipped her hair into a frenzied mess.
“Ms. Weaver—” I moved forward, fully intending to pluck her from the earth and hurl her over my shoulder. I couldn’t be here another fucking second.
Goddammit, this isn’t supposed to happen.
Her eyes met mine, but they didn’t swim with tears—black hate glittered instead. “Is this true? All along, my father said she’d run off. All along, he told us stories of her leaving us for a better life. My brother understood that meant she was dead, but not once did Tex take us to her grave. After what your father said…about what he’d done, I still held onto those childish stories that she was alive. But this…” Her voice sliced through me. “Is. This. True? All this time my mother has been buried, cold and lonely, in the ground of the men who murdered her?!”
I swallowed, rapidly diving into the safety net of my snow. I couldn’t stand there and hear her horror. I couldn’t let her grief infect me. I refused to fucking listen.
“I didn’t do it.”
As if that makes it any easier to bear.
Nila shook her head, staring at me as if I were some grotesque abomination. “You didn’t do it? Do you think I care if it wasn’t your hands who severed her life? It was your family, Jethro. Your bloodline. You’re a monster—just like them!”
The cuts on my feet no longer protected me. I was so fucking close to losing control.
I itched with the need to shut down. To hide from everything snowballing inside. “Let’s go.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you!” Nila spun to face the burial place of her mother.
My eyes rose to read the inscription on the simple marble headstone looming over her trembling form.
In here lies payment for debts now paid.
Rest fitfully Emma Weaver wherein hell you may face another toll.
Nila looked over her shoulder; her eyes widened until they were as black and as soul-sucking as an eclipse. “Jethro—”
The pain and hatred in her voice sliced me better than any cut on my foot. I took a step backward, placing distance between us. “I can’t give you what you want.”
She shook her head. “You can’t or you won’t?”
I knew she wanted answers. An explanation. Facts on why her family was buried on Hawk land and how we circumnavigated the law to do things no one else could.
But what could I say? I was bound. Muzzled. Shackled, not just by Hawk blood, but the very condition that made me a reject in my own family.
The truth hurt. Fuck, everything hurt.
Her panic. Her grief. The throbbing pain in my feet.
I had to get away.
This was why I’d remained cold. Why I did what I did.
This was why I never let anyone get close to me and embraced my duties as a son over the cravings of my heart.
My disease meant I couldn’t let things like this happen.
I couldn’t handle it.
“I told you I didn’t want you to see this place but you fucking defied me!” Hot anger gave me somewhere to hide. “I refuse to indulge your feelings of self-pity.” Rage coated my veins, granting sanctuary.
I backed away, distancing myself from the raw fury glowing on her face. “Come here. We’re leaving.” I snapped my fingers again. “Now!”
Nila stood. Her eyes darted to the semicircle of death surrounding us. An unlucky horseshoe of tombs.
Her chest rose as a silent sob escaped her. Waving her hand at the other graves, she shook her head. In one motion, she asked a lifetime of questions.
How could you?
How did you get away with it?
Why has no one stopped you?
I had no answers.
My eyes fell on the graves.
Six in total.
All with a diamond chiselled into the remembrance of their tombstone and the ultimate mockery of all: a hawk perched on the top, its talons dripping blood down the face of the eulogy.
I tried to grab her. But I was too late.
Darting away from me, she said, “I want to see what you’re hiding,” then bolted down the path.
“Fuck!”
Her hair flew free from her hair-tie as she sprinted faster up the gravel and onto the moor that I wished didn’t exist.
Shit, she’s fast.
I tore after her, wishing I had Bolly and the foxhounds to swoop in and cut her off before she reached the crest.
My feet burned and my socks became slippery as old wounds opened. My lungs were pathetic in delivering enough oxygen as I sprinted the final distance and skidded to a halt.
She’d turned from super-sonic to a statue, staring dumbfounded at what existed before her.
Goddammit, why did she have to be so determined to uncover what I wanted to keep hidden? The truth never helped—it only made things worse.
Her hands flew into her black hair, fisting tightly. “Oh, my God…”
I sucked air, hating the sensation of trespassing on such a sacred site. I wasn’t welcome here. None of my family was welcome, and if I were superstitious, I would admit there was a stagnant force that howled with hatred and pain.
“No!” she whispered. Her strong legs that’d sent her flying into hell suddenly collapsed from beneath her.
Her fingers dove into the dirt, clutching at grass and mud. “This can’t be real. It can’t.”
She bowed with disbelief, kneeling on the grave of her mother.
Her anguish joined the storm of revulsion that never seemed to leave this place. Goosebumps darted down my arms as a gale whipped her hair into a frenzied mess.
“Ms. Weaver—” I moved forward, fully intending to pluck her from the earth and hurl her over my shoulder. I couldn’t be here another fucking second.
Goddammit, this isn’t supposed to happen.
Her eyes met mine, but they didn’t swim with tears—black hate glittered instead. “Is this true? All along, my father said she’d run off. All along, he told us stories of her leaving us for a better life. My brother understood that meant she was dead, but not once did Tex take us to her grave. After what your father said…about what he’d done, I still held onto those childish stories that she was alive. But this…” Her voice sliced through me. “Is. This. True? All this time my mother has been buried, cold and lonely, in the ground of the men who murdered her?!”
I swallowed, rapidly diving into the safety net of my snow. I couldn’t stand there and hear her horror. I couldn’t let her grief infect me. I refused to fucking listen.
“I didn’t do it.”
As if that makes it any easier to bear.
Nila shook her head, staring at me as if I were some grotesque abomination. “You didn’t do it? Do you think I care if it wasn’t your hands who severed her life? It was your family, Jethro. Your bloodline. You’re a monster—just like them!”
The cuts on my feet no longer protected me. I was so fucking close to losing control.
I itched with the need to shut down. To hide from everything snowballing inside. “Let’s go.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you!” Nila spun to face the burial place of her mother.
My eyes rose to read the inscription on the simple marble headstone looming over her trembling form.
In here lies payment for debts now paid.
Rest fitfully Emma Weaver wherein hell you may face another toll.
Nila looked over her shoulder; her eyes widened until they were as black and as soul-sucking as an eclipse. “Jethro—”
The pain and hatred in her voice sliced me better than any cut on my foot. I took a step backward, placing distance between us. “I can’t give you what you want.”
She shook her head. “You can’t or you won’t?”
I knew she wanted answers. An explanation. Facts on why her family was buried on Hawk land and how we circumnavigated the law to do things no one else could.
But what could I say? I was bound. Muzzled. Shackled, not just by Hawk blood, but the very condition that made me a reject in my own family.
The truth hurt. Fuck, everything hurt.
Her panic. Her grief. The throbbing pain in my feet.
I had to get away.
This was why I’d remained cold. Why I did what I did.
This was why I never let anyone get close to me and embraced my duties as a son over the cravings of my heart.
My disease meant I couldn’t let things like this happen.
I couldn’t handle it.
“I told you I didn’t want you to see this place but you fucking defied me!” Hot anger gave me somewhere to hide. “I refuse to indulge your feelings of self-pity.” Rage coated my veins, granting sanctuary.
I backed away, distancing myself from the raw fury glowing on her face. “Come here. We’re leaving.” I snapped my fingers again. “Now!”
Nila stood. Her eyes darted to the semicircle of death surrounding us. An unlucky horseshoe of tombs.
Her chest rose as a silent sob escaped her. Waving her hand at the other graves, she shook her head. In one motion, she asked a lifetime of questions.
How could you?
How did you get away with it?
Why has no one stopped you?
I had no answers.
My eyes fell on the graves.
Six in total.
All with a diamond chiselled into the remembrance of their tombstone and the ultimate mockery of all: a hawk perched on the top, its talons dripping blood down the face of the eulogy.
