Daniel took the opportunity of my stunned state to lean forward and grab my hair. Whispering evilly in my ear, he said, “The way you watch my brother gives away your feelings, Ms. Weaver. I know you want to fuck him. I know you’re horny living in a house full of men as powerful as my family. But you won’t get to fuck him; not until we’ve all had our fill. He’s the firstborn, but he’ll be the last to stick his cock inside that sweet little pussy of yours.”
Wrong, you arsehole. He’s the only one who will touch me that way.
I struggled, trying to pull away. Cut watched us, neither interfering nor caring.
Daniel’s tongue lashed out, licking around my earlobe. “I’ve seen you wandering around Hawksridge as if you own the place. Next time you’re out for a stroll, you might want to worry about who’s waiting. Because believe me—I’m not a patient guy. The minute you’re alone and I find you—I’m fucking you. I don’t care about the rules.”
Pulling back, he stood with a horrible smile on his face. “Until then, Ms. Weaver.” Tipping his head as if he had a top hat on his greasy black hair, he smiled at his father and Kes then disappeared out the door.
Oh, my God.
My heart was a fluttering mess. I’d been so stupid to believe I was untouchable. Believing the airs and graces of Cut and timelines of tradition.
I supposed I was grateful to the little creep for opening my eyes. I wasn’t safe here—from anyone, at any time.
I need a weapon.
I needed some way to protect myself from that psychopath.
Ask Jethro to protect you.
I shook my head. Jethro wasn’t the one in charge. Not yet. And besides, he was on my hit list as much as his family. I wasn’t loyal to him. I could never be loyal to someone who made me despise myself.
I stood up, hissing as my new tattoo flared. Summoning whatever strength I had remaining, I glared at Cut and Kes. “Tell Daniel if he comes near me again, I’ll make him bleed.”
Without a backward glance, I left.
A weapon.
Find a weapon.
I could run to the kitchen and steal a knife. Or I could head to the library and swipe a sword hanging from the walls. Or, if I had any musket understanding, I could commandeer a gun and hide it beneath my covers.
What I really needed, however, was something deadly but also transportable. I never intended to be defenceless again. Not in these walls.
Dashing down the corridor, I plotted where I should go. Weapons existed all over Hawksridge Hall. I hadn’t bothered to pilfer one because Jethro hadn’t given me a reason to fight—other than verbally. Daniel, on the other hand, wouldn’t touch me—not without walking away missing a few vital pieces of his anatomy.
The dining room would be my best hope at selecting something sharp and small enough to hide on my person. I’d seen a ruby-handled dirk there last time. It would be perfect and easy to conceal.
A flash of blackness up ahead wrenched my attention from scheming. I narrowed my eyes, moving faster to catch up with the blur that’d disappeared down the corridor.
Thanking the thick white carpet below my bare toes, I tiptoed the final distance and peered down the hallway.
Jethro.
My heart rate picked up as he strode quickly and purposely, his hands balled by his side.
My gaze fell on the hand where he now wore my initials.
I brought my finger up, inspecting his impressive cursive and arrogant flourish of his name. Not only had we slept together, but we’d stamped ownership on each other, too.
Jethro stopped and knocked on a door. A moment later, he turned the brass door handle and disappeared.
The second the door closed, I darted down the corridor and pressed my ear against the ancient wood.
What are you doing?
I didn’t know.
Eavesdropping never brought good news, but I refused to be in the dark any longer. Where did he disappear to when he struggled? Who or what did he run to when he slipped from ice to emotion?
A low murmur of voices came through the door.
I couldn’t catch any words, but my heart raced at the sound.
Jethro didn’t disappear to be on his own. He didn’t run to Kestrel or a Black Diamond brother.
Of course, it wasn’t that simple.
No, he came here.
He visited a woman.
A woman who spoke with a softly whispered voice.
A woman who’d lived all this time on the second floor of Hawksridge Hall.
“WHAT ARE YOU doing in here, Kite?”
I slouched.
My nickname. The term of endearment that I allowed no one but my sister to use filled me with equal parts relief and annoyance. I should never have used it to message Nila. Now its meaning intertwined with the debts. It would never again just be a simple term of togetherness between Jaz and me.
I’d been so stupid to call myself after James Bond, too. Kite007. What a ridiculous name. It wasn’t that I even liked James Bond. I just thought he had cool gadgets and deserved his kickass status for always killing evil bastards.
My fingertip burned with licking fire. My knuckles still tingled from resting on Nila’s thigh. So many times, I’d had to brace myself so I didn’t flip my hand over and slide my touch between her legs.
I’d been achingly hard the entire time I’d tattooed her. I’d wanted to see if she was wet while repaying the favour. There was something primal about knowing the woman who I’d fucked, who intrigued me over all others, was walking around wearing my brand.
A brand that marked her forever as mine.