I will.
I’m trying.
Daniel cackled, stubbing out his cigar. “If what father says is true, brother, perhaps you should leave. After all, you’ve already had a taste which was against the rules.”
Kes stood up beside me. His hand planted on my shoulder. “He has nothing to say. Do you, Jethro?”
I never looked away from Cut. This was between him and me. No one else. We were the main players; everyone else was collateral in our war. Unlike Cut though, I meant to keep everyone alive in the aftermath.
A headache sprang from nowhere. The standoff vibrated stronger and stronger.
It was Nila who broke the tension. “Sit down, Kite.” Her voice was raindrop soft and just as watery. My eyes tore to hers.
I had so much to say and no time to speak.
“She calls you Kite now, huh?” Cut shoved her away. “That’s a disappointing development.”
My heart seized.
Kes’s hand pressed on my shoulder, forcing my knees to buckle and deliver me back to my seat.
Keep it together.
“Not an important development, I can assure you.” Swallowing my rage, I methodically scooped up the scattered cards. “I think the table needs another drink, Ms. Weaver.”
Cut relaxed a little; Daniel laughed.
Nila bit her lip, tears glossing before turning her back on all of us to collect the cognac.
I sighed, shuddering under the tangled thoughts coming from all three relations. Each emotion fucked me up inside until I couldn’t fathom my own conclusions.
It was easier to drink from the poisoned well than reject it. I would have to slip a little in order to win.
What Nila was about to go through would break her.
What I was about to go through would destroy me.
And no amount of pills could save us.
I just had to hope. Had to pray. Had to scheme.
Had to motherfucking implore that tonight I would win over Bryan ‘Vulture’ Hawk.
Clang.
The final chime struck midnight.
Two hours of torture.
Two hours of gambling.
Only Daniel was out; his chips distributed between Kes, Cut, and myself. My own stack dwindled, calling for drastic measures of going all in with an unbeatable hand. Kes was the winner, keeping Cut chasing as they puffed like chimneys and drank thousands of pounds worth of cognac.
Every few seconds, my attention wandered to Nila. She hovered like a ghost, jumping at my father’s commands and pre-empting his requests by stocking crisps and emptying ashtrays.
Her presence distracted the hell out of me, but the fact that she refused to look at me drove me insane. She wouldn’t let me silently explain or encourage.
She’d cut me out. In fact, she’d shut down emotionally. The only hint of feeling was dismal resignation.
“Your turn, Jet,” Kes prompted, pointing at the flop.
I ran a hand through my hair. My mind wasn’t on the game, only the fucking chimes of the clock.
One a.m. was the starting bell.
One more hour to go before the catastrophe began.
“I fold.” Throwing the cards face down on the felt, I took another sip of my drink. The liquor formed a decent barrier with the drugs in my system, relaxing me enough to remain myself and not fester on Cut’s intentions.
We continued to play.
Nila lingered in the background, and second by second, we all inched into the future. The setting was slightly different to what’d happened that fateful night—we weren’t in a local drinking hole and Nila wasn’t a tavern wench—but her role as waitress was the same.
Kes dealt the next hand.
He’d stopped smoking and slowed his pace on the cognac. His eyes were clear, hands steady. He’d fortified himself just enough with liquid courage but hadn’t slipped into drunk.
I’d been an asshole to him the past few weeks, yet he’d forgiven me before I’d even apologised. He was a true friend. A steadfast ally.
But will you ever be able to look at him again without killing him after tonight?
That question gnawed at my heart until I was riddled with holes.
I honestly didn’t know. In order to save Nila, I might lose my brother.
But it was a chance I had to take.
Another round ensued.
The solid ticks of the grandfather clock pierced my eardrums. All I could think about was the time.
I flopped. Kes raised the stakes. Cut won. Daniel continued to guzzle.
New round.
I was the dealer. I handed out cards, waited for bets, did my part, then delivered the river. My hand was shit. The worst all evening, but I couldn’t play this fucking farce any longer.
“All in.” I shoved my small chip pile into the centre and glanced at the clock.
12:55 a.m.
I sighed.
Shit.
Kes threw me a look, his back tensing. Our knees touched, agreeing that from now on, I was on my own.
Nila sucked in a breath, dragging my attention to her. Her eyes were wide, confusion painting her cheeks from our shared message. She shrank further into the borrowed clothes she wore.
The last few minutes ticked past. We kept playing as if we weren’t all exceedingly aware of what was about to happen.
“All in,” Kes mumbled, shoving his substantial pile into the centre.
Cut glanced at us, rubbing his chin. “You boys are playing with fire.” Backhanding his own chips, he spread them over our tidy towers and slapped his cards face up. “All in. Show me the final card.”
Daniel chuckled. “This will be interesting.” He leaned forward, pinched the deck, and slammed down the rest of the river.
The moment I saw who won, the clock chimed one.
Clang.
Kestrel.
He’d won.
Of course, he did.
Just like he’d won the girl.
THE SINGLE TOLL of the clock sent mayhem racing through my blood.
One a.m.
Closer to the witching hour than daybreak—curtained by deep darkness where sins and perfidious acts occurred with no repercussion.
Fear.
Endless fear.
It compounded, amalgamated until I couldn’t breathe.
Time screeched to a halt as the four Hawks discarded their game and turned their eyes on me.
I backed away, clutching my heart.
No!
My voice became a dried-up riverbed with no words to flow.
Jethro placed his elbows on the table, running his hands through his tinsel hair. His shoulders heaved as he fortified for whatever came next.
Cut slapped him on the back, muttering something beneath his breath.
Kes glanced at me then away. His body stiff and bristling.
He knows.
He knew what was about to happen. He knew and couldn’t look at me.
Oh, God.
My fear turned to petrified terror.
Daniel stood up first.
Cut nodded as the little creep moved toward me.
“Come here, Nila Weaver. It’s time.”
I shook my head, backing up until I bumped into a blood-red wingback. “Don’t touch me.” My gaze shot to Jethro. He stood bowed like an ancient tree that’d weathered far too many storms. His body was knotted and twisted, eyes tight and strained.
“I said, come here.” Daniel lunged, grabbing my arm and jerking me against him. “Oh lookie. I’m touching you.”
I bared my teeth, struggling in his foul grip. “Get your filthy—”
“Nila…” Kestrel stood, clearing his throat.
I paused, waiting for him to say something more. If his older brother wouldn’t stop this atrocity, perhaps he would. Maybe I should’ve put my faith in Kes all along.
However, he only shook his head, his face once again hiding everything.
Cut reclined in his chair, snapping his fingers. “Proceed, Daniel.”
“No, wait!”
Daniel dragged me forward. “Come along, whore.” Yanking me to stand in front of him, he snatched my hands and secured them behind me with a silk sash. “Can’t have you scratching or running now, can we?” He laughed under his breath.
Jethro trembled.
Please, stop this!
He didn’t see my silent message as he tossed back another finger of cognac and warily turned to face me. The binds around my skin were tight, already cutting off blood supply.
Cut watched his son closely, not giving instruction but overseeing his every move.
Planting his legs on the chess piece carpet, Jethro said, “Nila Weaver, tonight is the night you will pay the Third Debt. Do you have anything to say before we begin?”
I fought against my restraints as Daniel hovered behind me. He’d secured them too well—they wouldn’t budge. “Please…whatever you’re about to do. Don’t do it.”
Cut laughed softly. “Such a waste of words, Ms. Weaver.” Nodding at Daniel, he ordered, “Seeing as she has no respect for speaking. Gag her.”
“Wait!” I turned feral. “No!” I darted forward, but Daniel dragged me back. I squirmed in his hold, turning into a snake hoping to slither from his trap.
But it was no use.
Within a moment, his wiry strength caught me, subdued me, and threaded a piece of red cloth through my lips. I bit down on it as he tied the knot behind my head, effectively bridling me like a domesticated pony. The material pressed uncomfortably on my tongue.