Текст книги "Debt Inheritance"
Автор книги: Pepper Winters
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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 13 страниц)
“Dad…what—” He wasn’t alone. My eyes trailed from my father’s pressed tux toward the tall, svelte man beside him.
Holy hell, who on earth...
Thoughts died like windless kites, littering my mind with silent dumbness. He was a stranger. But I felt as if I’d seen him before. He was a mystery. But I sensed I already knew everything about him. Two extremes…two confusions.
“Nila, I want to introduce you to someone.” My father’s jaw ticked, hands clenching into white-knuckled fists. “This is Jethro Hawk. He’s a big fan of your work and would like to take you out tonight to celebrate your success.”
I wanted to rub my eyes and have my hearing checked. Since the day of my birth, my father had never introduced me to a man. Never. And he’d never lied so obviously. This man wasn’t a fan of my work—although he did have incredible fashion sense. He had to be a male model with his height, envious cheekbones, and perfectly styled salt-and-pepper hair. His white skin was flawless—no wrinkles or blemishes. He looked ageless, but I guessed he was late twenties, early thirties despite his greying hair speaking of wisdom far beyond his years.
His hands were concealed in pockets of a dark charcoal suit with a cream shirt open at the throat and a diamond pin piercing his jacket lapel.
“Tex, what are you—” Vaughn’s voice was quiet but possessive. Eyeing up Jethro, he stayed polite by offering his hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Hawk. I appreciate your interest in my sister’s talent, but my father has it wrong. Tonight she is unavailable due to a family commitment.”
I would’ve smiled if my stomach wasn’t knotted as the two men assessed each other.
Jethro slowly took my brother’s hand, shaking once. “Pleasure, I’m sure. And I, in turn, can appreciate your interest in keeping your prior agreement with your sister, but alas. Your generous father has allowed me the enjoyment of ruining your plans and stealing her away.” His voice whispered through my gown, sending goosebumps down my spine. His accent was English, same as mine, but slightly more clipped. He sounded posh but rogue at the same time. Refined but uncouth.
My brother wasn’t impressed. His forehead furrowed.
“I hope that isn’t going to be an issue, Mr. Weaver. I’ve heard a lot about you and your family and would hate to upset you.” Mr. Hawk’s eyes landed on mine, capturing me in a cage of golden irises and effortless power. “However, I’ve heard the most about your sister. And I have no doubt it will be a pleasure knowing her.”
I gulped. No one had spoken to me like that—especially in front of my father. Who was this man? Why did his very existence fill me with hot and cold and awareness and fear?
“Listen here,” my father blustered. I tensed, ready for the outrage I knew he was capable of, but his lips snapped closed and the fire in his gaze didn’t erupt. Swallowing hard, he finished, “I presume my obligations are complete?”
Jethro nodded, a lock of hair brushing his forehead. “You presume correctly.”
Fear evolved to panic. Obligations? My God, is my father in some sort of trouble? I clutched his sleeve. “Dad. The show’s over. Let’s go for that drink.” I glanced at Vaughn, cursing my fluttering heart and the mix-match of emotions colliding inside.
My father pulled me close, pressing a single kiss on my cheek. “I love you, Nila, but I’ve kept you to myself for long enough. Mr. Hawk has asked if he can take you out tonight. I agreed. Vaughn and I can wait till another time.”
He didn’t say—only if you want to, of course. It sounded more like a sentencing rather than freedom to date. Why this man? Why now?
Vaughn moved closer. “Tex, we already had plans. We can’t just—”
My father glared at my brother, his gaze weighty with unsaid anger. “Plans change, V. Now give your sister a kiss goodbye. She’s leaving.”
“I am?” I took a step backward, clutching my phone. There was no denying Jethro Hawk was good looking and seemed to be successful judging by his attire, but if I was allowed to date, I wanted Kite007, not this cold outlander.
“You are.” Jethro held out his hand, his gaze noosing me tighter in their golden cage. “I’m taking you somewhere special.”
“She isn’t going anywhere with you unless she wants to, dickhead.” Vaughn puffed out his chest, placing a hand on my lower back. “Tex—tell him.”
My eyes flew to my father. What existed in his gaze sent frost crackling through my blood. His lips were tight, eyes bright and slightly glassy. But his cheeks were dark with rage. He glowered at Mr. Hawk. “I’ve changed my mind. Not tonight.”
Vaughn huffed, nodding in agreement. The thick soup of male testosterone choked my lungs.
Jethro smiled coolly. “You’ve given me your word, Mr. Weaver. There are no rain checks.” Aiming his sharp smile my way, he purred, “Besides, Ms. Weaver and I have a lot to discuss. It’s time we got acquainted and tonight is the night.”
“Excuse me while you all fight over me. But what about what I want?” I crossed my arms. “I’m tired, overworked, and not in the mood to entertain. Thank you for your interest, but—”
“No buts, Ms. Weaver. It’s been arranged and discussed. You will come with me because it’s the only way your night will end.” Jethro lowered his head, watching me from beneath his brow. “I promise you’ll have a good time. And I mean you no harm…do you really think your father would permit me to take you out otherwise?”
Coldness etched his gaze.
Aloofness whispered from his posture.
Calculation radiated from his every pore.
I’d never been so intimidated or so intimately challenged.
My father might have permitted this, but he didn’t condone it. Somehow Jethro had achieved the unachievable and convinced my father he was dateable material. If he could manipulate Archibald ‘Tex’ Weaver, I didn’t stand a chance…and yet…despite the arrogance and chilly façade, he intrigued me.
My father had kept me captive my whole life. This was the first man to stand up to him and grant a glimmer of freedom.
The fear disappeared, leaving a flicker of interest. If this was the only man I could spend an evening alone with, I would take it. I would practice my non-existent flirting skills and grow my confidence so I could ask Kite007 out again. And next time, I wouldn’t take no for an answer.
Sucking in a gulp, I placed my hand gently into Mr. Hawk’s. His touch was as cold as his demeanour and just as strong. I froze as his fingers tightened around mine, tugging me forward. “Good decision, Ms. Weaver. I look forward to getting to know you better.”
My lungs dragged in his scent of leather and woods. Words deserted me.
The show disappeared along with my worry and thoughts of Kite007. Gone was the urge to return to an empty hotel room. This man was pure danger, and I’d never sampled anything but safety. “And you, Mr. Hawk,” I murmured.
My date smiled, transforming his face from handsome to ruthless. “Please, call me Jethro.” Changing our grip from handshake to handhold, he pulled me forward—away from my family, away from the men I’d known all my life, and toward a future I had no understanding of.
Vaughn’s hand fell from my lower back.
I didn’t look back.
I should’ve looked back.
I should never have placed my hand into that of a monster’s.
That was the last day of freedom. The last day that was my own.
Individuality and uniqueness—those two words were so precious once upon a time. I’d been brought up with a gruff but fair father and a brother who I would marry if it wasn’t incest, believing I was unique, different, never before created.
I hated being lied to.
I hated even more believing those lies until the truth decided to come for me.
Turned out, I was never an individual; I was a possession to trade.
I was never unique; someone had lived my life many times before, never free, never whole.
My life was never mine.
My destiny was already written.
My story began the night he came for me.
IT WAS TOO easy.
I’d stolen her right before her father and brother. I’d taken her with no blood shed or bones broken.
Power wasn’t threats or uncivilised fighting. It wasn’t brawn or hard-won arguments.
Power was holding something so absolute, a man would do what he was told—all the while cursing your very soul. True power wasn’t wielded by gangs or even loudly-spoken governments.
True power. Limitless power—only graced a fair few. It gave those lucky few the ability—the nobility, to be courteous and polite. All while holding their fucking balls in their hands.
Archibald Weaver was one such example.
I shook my head, disbelieving how the so-called enemy of my family handed over his only daughter. The same daughter I’d seen in tabloids as a rising star of designers. The same offspring who was never photographed with a man on her arm or seen sneaking out of a restaurant with a hidden lover. He’d wanted to kill me. I had no doubt he would try to kill me.
But he would fail.
Just like he failed to protect her.
Because he had no fucking power.
All it had taken was two sentences and Nila went from his to mine. A thrill ran down my spine, remembering the rush when I’d tapped him on the shoulder. His dark eyes had been cool but welcoming, believing I was a stranger there to congratulate. That all changed when I handed over a black-flocked business card and said, “The time is nigh to pay your debts. Your past has found you, and there will be no peace until she’s ours.”
His eyes went from cool to glinting with horror and rebellion. He knew everything I did. He knew there was only one thing he could do—no matter that it would break his heart.
This was his fate. Her fate. Their fate. It’d been written and understood the moment he’d knocked up his wife.
He knew the consequences, and he also knew the power we controlled. No matter his unwillingness and terror, there was no other course of action.
Without a single word, he’d marched me to his daughter and placed her life in my hands. I hadn’t believed my father when he said it would go so smoothly. After all—none of this made sense. But it had. And it did. And now…it was all on me.
My education had begun a month ago. I’d been told of my upcoming duties, given history lessons of past debt collections. But I was as new to this as her.
We came from generations interlocked in the same untieable way.
Now, it was our turn.
And we would have to learn together.
I glared at my conquest. Letting her hand go, she glided beside me wrapped in darkness. I didn’t need a physical claim on her now that she was outside—alone. Was it trust in her father’s judgement guiding her feet or stupidity?
Either way, I would be the last person she would ever see.
I BREATHED A lungful of crisp Milan air as we left the ornate building where the fashion show was held. For late summer, the temperature danced with chill rather than heat. The night had finally claimed the day. It didn’t get dark until ten p.m., so it was late for me. This time of evening, I would normally be buried under a mound of cotton with a chalk pen and scissors deciding what my next creation would be.
Coldness darted through my blood—not from the cool breeze but from him. The silent, foreboding man walking soundlessly beside me.
Who is he? And why don’t I trust a thing about him?
Studying him in my peripheral vision, he seemed to give off two personas. One, a cordial, well-dressed gentleman who looked as though he’d stepped through a wormhole from some ancient century. And two, an assassin who moved like a dancer only because he’d been taught the art of war and murder from the crib.
No words were spoken. No dalliance or small talk. His silence was strangely welcomed and hated. Welcomed because it meant I could focus on my vertigo and not let stress topple me over, hated because I wanted to know him. I wanted to know why my father had vouched for him and just where the hell he was taking me.
“I don’t believe you,” I said, my voice slicing through the crisp evening like the truth masquerading as a lie.
Even in the gloom, with only street lights for illumination, his eyes were bright and such a light brown they seemed otherworldly. His eyebrow rose, but no other interest showed on his face. “What don’t you believe?” He fanned his arm to the left, indicating for me to travel that way.
My feet behaved, tottering obediently in the black velvet heels, but my brain swam with a sudden gyroscope of vertigo. I focused hard on the diamond glinting on Jethro’s lapel. Find an anchor. Hold on tight. Do this and you’ll be alright. The stupid rhyme echoed in my brain. My brother had made it up when we were eight after I’d broken my arm falling off the bottom step of our porch.
“That you convinced my father that you’re dateable material.” I bunched the front of my skirt, wishing I could’ve changed before traipsing through Milan in a couture dress. “You either bribed him or threatened.”
Just like you’re threatening me with your silence and imposing attributes.
“Threatened….interesting word.” His voice positively purred. Placing his hands into his pockets, he added, “And if I did? What difference does it make? You’re still here—with me—alone. Dangerous, really.”
The footpath decided to roll beneath my suddenly unsure feet. Breathe. Get it together.
Heroines in books were portrayed as quaint and lovable if they were clumsy. I had more bruises and scrapes from falling and slamming into things than I would ever admit, and there was nothing quaint about it. I was a hazard. Especially if I had a pair of wickedly sharp dress scissors in my hands and stood up too fast. Anyone in a two metre radius was in danger if my brain decided to throw me helter-skelter into a wall.
It was also a huge inconvenience when faced with an overbearing stranger who just used the words alone and dangerous.
“Dangerous isn’t a good word,” I muttered, allowing a little physical distance to grow between us.
“Stupid isn’t a good word either, but it’s been echoing in my head.”
I slammed to a halt. “Stupid?”
Jethro glided to a stop, looking so cultured and sharp I had a terrible urge to rip his jacket or ruffle his hair. He was too perfect. Too collected. Too restrained. My heart stuttered. What exactly is he restraining?
“You say I threatened your father as there’s no other explanation as to why you’re standing here with me. I say if you feel that way, then you’re stupid for agreeing. It was you who took my hand, you who followed me from the crowd to empty streets.” Leaning down, his eyes narrowed. “Stupid, Ms. Weaver. Very stupid indeed.”
I should’ve been insulted. Beyond livid at being ridiculed and slandered, but I couldn’t deny the idiocy of my situation. I’d meant it as a joke, sort of, but how could I ignore the truth blazing bright in his dark words?
“I’m twenty-four, Mr. Hawk, and you were the first man my father agreed I could spend an evening alone with. If it makes me stupid to want something I’ve been denied all my life, then yes, I guess I’m incredibly stupid. But you’ve just proven that no matter how much I wanted freedom, I love my family more, and I didn’t say a proper goodbye.”
The sudden need to see V and my dad overwhelmed me. Something morbid inside taunted with the horrible thought I would never see them again. I knew it was ridiculous, but I couldn’t fight the drive to leave.
Glaring at Jethro and his imposing silence, I sucked in a breath. “This was a mistake. I’m sorry.”
Gathering my train, I spun on my heels and stalked toward the huge portico and arched doorway. Blessedly my head remained clear and my feet suffered no stumbles or falls. The heaviness of my train billowed in the rush. My heart thudded with anxiety. I had no logical explanation why I suddenly needed to be around people again, but I couldn’t deny the strong pull toward family.
Jethro didn’t say a word. He stayed statuesque and proud in the evening darkness.
With every step I took, I expected him to call out or find some way to stop me. He didn’t seem like a man who accepted no for an answer. But only silence followed, pushing me faster toward the door.
The moment I stepped through the polished entry and into the hive of heat and voices, I plucked my phone from my cleavage. There was one person in particular I wanted to speak to. A stranger I’d never heard or seen. My father had allowed me one night of freedom. I didn’t want it with Jethro, but I did want it with someone else. I felt like Cinderella waiting for the clock to strike midnight.
Maybe Kite lived close by? His number prefix said he dwelled in the United Kingdom. Like me. It wasn’t a long flight to get back home.
I’d lived in London all my life, moving from the outskirts to downtown five years ago. The Weaver empire had always been based in London—right from conception. And probably always would be—if business continued to boom.
I opened a message to Kite007.
Needle&Thread: Sorry I didn’t reply before, I was busy cementing my career and ensuring I have a lifetime of servitude and sewing.
I sighed, staring at the words. They sounded whiny and ungrateful, which I wasn’t. Plus, the unsaid rule between us was no personal information. I didn’t know what he did for a living or his real name or favourite food. Sex messaging was a void with no depth.
Which shows how lonely you are.
I scowled, deleting what I’d typed. I wasn’t lonely. I had the best family and support in the world. I was just…tired. Maybe I should book a holiday somewhere hot? Somewhere where I can’t sew or design or get sucked back into work. It sounded great—but one problem. I didn’t want to be the loner around a pool on some tropical island. I didn’t want to eat on my own by candlelight on the beach.
Take Vaughn.
I smiled. People already whispered that our relationship was too close. Going on an island getaway? That would definitely get the gossip columns buzzing.
My heart panged for the only relationship I had and how shallow it was. There was so much I wanted to say:
I want to meet you.
Please, can we skip the innuendoes and just talk?
I’m at the Nila Coal and Fire Exclusive in the heart of Milan. I want to go for a drink with you.
I want to get to know you.
I couldn’t type any of that as it was against the rules. The unsaid rules hinted at by Kite. No personal details. No over-sharing. No information of any kind but sex. Damn rules. Damn life. Damn men.
The sharp smell of champagne and lull of laughter cocooned me; my fingers flew over the screen.
Needle&Thread: All I can think about is you and your wandering hand. I’m mad at you for coming without me, but not mad because you came while thinking of me. I’ve had a long night and plan on releasing my tension the moment I’m alone.
A cynical smile twitched my lips. Kite would think I meant self-pleasuring. I really meant hitting the treadmill and running until my legs turned to jelly.
My phone came alive in my hands, jolting my attention to the glowing screen.
Kite007: Me and my wandering hand missed you. By a long night I’ll take it you mean on your knees servicing God in prayer. (let a man indulge in the dirty thought) Message me when you’re alone. I can help with your tension.
I looked up. Couples mingled; groups gathered. Fashion was the celebrated highlight of the evening with guests dressing in their absolute best. But it was smiles and genuine happiness that made the evening glow. I missed being happy. I hadn’t laughed or smiled properly since Mum left. I could never understand how she could love us as much as she claimed, then switch off her heart…just like that.
When she’d returned from her disappearance to file for divorce from my father, she’d ruined him. Completely and utterly stole his heart and shot it to pieces on the lobby floor.
I remembered that day. I remembered thinking she’d returned with such a pretty necklace. So sparkly, it’d blinded me when she blew kisses as she walked out the door the final time.
Ever since that day, I’d been afraid of love. Afraid of the pain it could cause and how easily something so pure could turn into something so filthy.
Anger filled me. Anger I rarely let myself indulge in. I would never admit the pain my mother caused, but it was the driving force behind my workaholic nature. It was the catalyst of my life that turned me into the woman I was.
Alone. Afraid. Angry. So damn angry.
Sliding my fingers across the keypad, I sent an impulsive message.
Needle&Thread: What if I don’t want to be alone? What if I wanted help physically rather than a meaningless text? Would you help then?
I probably shouldn’t have sent it. I already knew his response. But what was so wrong with me that no man wanted to face the wrath of my father and take me for a drink? I didn’t have boobs or hips or experience…but I was willing to learn.
Jethro stood up to him.
I frowned, clutching my phone. That man didn’t count. He was as terrifying as my father, and his motives weren’t genuine. He didn’t want to listen to my tales of woe over dinner. He wasn’t there to woo me. He wanted something more. And it was the more I was petrified of.
Kite007: Okay…whose balls did you steal to write that? You know that doesn’t work with me. I’m not some boy you can snap your fingers at and I’ll come running.
Pain lacerated my chest but I already expected it. Before I could reply, another message vibrated.
Kite007: You just had to fucking do that didn’t you? What do you want from me? A commitment? A relationship? You knew what this was. I thought you were having fun getting off—same as me. Why ruin what we have?
My heart, the same useless organ that’d never been in love, cracked with agony. His anger bled from my phone, poisoning my hand beneath. Fantastic. The only outside interaction I’d had, and it was over. But why his sudden viciousness?
Needle&Thread: All I asked was a simple question, but you jumped down my throat. What’s your deal? Don’t tell me. I can guess. You’re only happy when you’re in charge. But guess what? I can simply delete your number and never reply to you again. You were the one who found me, remember?
I breathed hard, huddling over my phone. I wasn’t done. It was refreshing to finally allow myself to be angry. I wanted to pour it all out before I could swallow it back down again.
Needle&Thread: I think you need to come again, Kite. Your temper is completely uncalled for and misdirected. All I implied was a meeting. One phone call. A kiss maybe if we hit it off in person. Why is that so hard for you? I’ll tell you why. Because you’re commitment phobic and a cheater.
“Congratulations on your collection, Nila. I’m sure—”
I looked up into the eyes of a stranger. The woman had plump lips and wore black eyeshadow.
She paused mid-sentence. “Are you okay?”
I hated her concern. I hated that I came across as some stupid wallflower who could make exquisite clothing but never grace someone’s arm. I don’t want to be here anymore.
I needed fresh air. I needed silence.
Him.
The silent masculinity of Jethro Hawk suddenly called to me like a cooling balm after a burning fire. He might scare me, but he had a body to touch and a mind to explore. Motives or not—he wanted me for the evening. And I was feeling reckless.
“Yes, I’m fine. Excuse me.” Bunching my skirts, I dodged groups of people, heading for the exit. My phone buzzed as I reached the door.
Kite007: Don’t call me that. You lost the right to call me anything the moment you changed from tempting to annoying. I’m not a cheater or commitment phobic. And it’s not hard for me to deny a meeting with you, because I already have women to fuck. I already have enough physical connections and stupid girls making demands of me. You just broke something that wasn’t broken. Congratu-fucking-lations.
My nostrils flared. I broke it? There was nothing to break! This whole thing had been a mistake. Unknowingly he’d taken advantage of some loser gasping for friendship. I was done being that girl. I was done living life in black and white.
I wanted colour. I wanted passion. And there was only one man who could give me what I wanted tonight. I would use him and throw him away—just like Kite did to me.
Kite007: If you didn’t know—that was me cutting you loose. You’re acting like a brat. Go and get laid. That’s what I’m about to do. You want to know things about me? How about this? The woman I meant to text when I mistakenly messaged you is coming over for her long overdue reward. Don’t message me again. The jerking off to your timid replies has bored me. Whoops, I just lost your number….
My teeth gritted. My heart thundered. Pain was swamped by livid rage. How dare he break up with me? How dare he hurt me! How dare I let myself be hurt by a fucking arsehole who I’d never met?
I didn’t care. I don’t care.
But I did care.
I’m so stupid!
Stopping in the entrance way, my hands shook, jiggling my glowing screen. People mingled around, skirting the huge puddle of black material from my dress. I stood surrounded, yet I was all alone.
Tears pricked my eyes, but I swallowed them back. It was my own stupid fault. I’m so stupid. Stupid…
I sent my final message.
Needle&Thread: When you end up alone and unloved, I hope you remember this moment. You aren’t breaking up with me. I’m breaking up with you. Thank God I’m not a nun so I can curse the very ground you walk upon. You don’t want to meet me? Fine. You just got your wish. I’m done. (hope you wank so much your dick falls off)
Whirling around, I faced the doorway—the same doorway leading to a man who was scary and cold and silent but he was real. He had fingers to touch me with and a mouth to kiss. Who cared who he was? I could be stupid and use him for my own release.
Tonight I wouldn’t be draining a treadmill of life. Tonight I would be riding a man who terrified me in some recess of my soul. Tonight I would be selfish and wicked and cruel.
Tonight…I would be Jethro’s.
