Текст книги "Debt Inheritance"

Автор книги: Pepper Winters

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 13 страниц)

The moment they’d quietened, I took out my phone.

Five missed calls, three messages from my twin, and one from my father.

Biting my lip to retain what composure I could, I read my father’s first.

ArchTextile: Nila, I know you’ll have questions. I know you’ll hate me. But please, my wonderful girl, know I didn’t want any of this. I was stupid not to heed your mother’s warning. I thought—well, it doesn’t matter what I thought. I hope we can talk—when you’re ready. I understand if you can never forgive me. I don’t know how much of this they’ll see, but I’ll never stop searching, never stop hoping. Please don’t think I gave you up lightly. They have…ways. They have you but they’ll keep you in good health. We have time. Love you, sweetheart.

I didn’t want to focus on what time meant. The slow plod of time intertwined with the fast tick, tick, ticking of my final heartbeats.

My fingers hovered on the reply button. But I couldn’t. Not yet.

Instead, I opened my brother’s messages.

VtheMan: Threads, pick up your goddamn phone.

VtheMan: Threads. I’m warning you. You’re not happy. I sense it. I’m worried shitless and Tex is being a secretive arsehole. Call me immediately, sister. Or I’ll make your life a living hell.

VtheMan: Please, Nila. Talk to me. Put me out of my misery. I miss you. Love you so fucking much.

My teary gasp in the darkness pricked a few hounds’ ears. I wanted so much to reply. But I didn’t dare. I didn’t trust myself not to beg him to get me out of this. I was there of my own free will to protect him. I wouldn’t be protecting him if I was weak.

Tomorrow. I wouldn’t put up with any more flimsy talk of debts and centuries past. I wanted hard facts on why they could do this. And I wouldn’t stop until I knew everything.

Closing my messages, I opened up a picture of Vaughn and me that’d been taken right before the doors opened to the show last night. The tiny bit of strength I had left deserted me and I let go of my tight control.

I sobbed.

My heart expunged its grief through my eyes, drenching my cheeks, blurring the last photo I had of my brother —happy, nervous, dressed up in finery—with a waterfall of liquid. I cried until dehydration throbbed my head and my neck was sticky with salt.

A low battery reminder beeped. It was the hardest thing I’d done to shut down the picture of V and turn it off.

More tears trickled and a hound raised his head, looking at me with wise understanding. He inched forward on his belly, crossing the hay until his claws tugged at my blanket.

His canine concern produced another torrent of liquid, but I opened my arms, and with a wagging tail, he fitted himself around me like a living shield. His doggy heart thudded against mine as I hugged his silky coat.

I went from the Darling of Milan with needle pricks on her fingers to huddled on the floor with only hunting dogs for company.

A soppy tongue had licked my cheek, stealing the endless stream of tears. And that was when it happened. The change I’d told Kite about. The ending. The beginning. The freedom of just letting go.

All my life, I’d been stressed with making a name for myself, building my career, loving my brother, being a worthy daughter. Bills. Deadlines. Reputations. Expectations. It all balanced precariously on my shoulders, moulding me into a quiet workaholic.

But at four a.m., in the kennels of the man who meant to kill me, I let it all go.

In every tear I shed, I said goodbye to control. I waved farewell to everything that made me live, but had also suffocated me, too. I didn’t have photo shoots to worry about anymore. I didn’t have concerns on what to wear, where to be, how to act.

All of that had been stolen. And there was no point crying or fighting against it.

The moment I embraced the freedom of nothing, I stopped crying. My headache left, and I drifted to sleep wrapped in the four legs of my new best friend.

Squirrel nudged my hand, bringing me back to the present and the waiting message from Kite. The past struggled to let me go, but I blinked, dispelling my forlornness.

“He wants to know where I am. What should I tell him?” I asked my entourage of hounds.

Foxhounds to be exact. Their black, tan, and white coats became visible as the sun rose, glinting off the glossy health of their fur. Their silky ears slapped their pretty heads as they lopped around the enclosure, waking up as the sun grew brighter.

They didn’t give me an answer.

Needle&Thread: Where I am right now doesn’t matter because I’m in a fantasy with you. I’m in your bed. Naked. Wanting.

It was much better than the truth: I’d slept on hay in a barn with eleven dogs secured by a giant padlock.

I focused on the huge roller door. I’d checked last night to see if there was a way out, but of course, there wasn’t.

Kite007: You took a while to reply. Did you pleasure yourself?

Throwing myself back into Kite’s sexual world, I replied.

Needle&Thread: I’m coming now. Both hands are between my legs, twisting my clit, feeling how wet I am. I’m crying out your name over and over. The neighbours might hear me I’m so loud.

Rubbing the head of Squirrel, I smiled. “Don’t tell him I released my tension by crying myself to sleep with you in my arms.” Lowering my voice, I added, “And don’t tell him I’ve never had an orgasm.”

The dog cocked his head, an expression of confusion on his face.

Kite007: I like it when you talk dirty. Keep going. I have my cock in my hand and want you to make me come.

My heart sped up. Reclining against the hay bale, I bit my lip. I’d never made anyone come. The drunken night of losing my virginity didn’t count because we were both so intoxicated it was a miracle he found the right place to stick it in. After a few half-hearted thrusts, he’d rolled off me to throw up, and I’d pulled up my knickers. I’d been silently horrified at the blood on the sheets.

The copious amounts of alcohol had stolen any pain I might’ve felt when he penetrated me. It’d also stolen the rush of entering womanhood, swapping it with age-old regret.

The night definitely hadn’t been a success. Or the next day. Because no matter how hard V tried to hide my hangover from Tex, he couldn’t prevent me from vomiting on my dad’s shoes when he plucked me from my bed and took me to the doctor.

I groaned in remembered embarrassment. “He found out, you know.” I scratched Squirrel behind his large ear. “The doctor told him I’d been taken advantage of. We’d used protection but it didn’t stop the endless STI tests or pregnancy exams.” Another hound slinked closer, plopping next to me, looking for a scratch. “That was the last time I was alone with a man other than my dad or brother. Sad isn’t it?”

The new dog panted, looking as if I’d told the world’s best joke.

Maybe Tex prevented you from dating, so when they came for you it was only his heart you broke—not a husband or children.

The sudden thought stole my vision with horror.

Was the overprotectiveness to shield others? Had he kept me locked up like some princess in a tower, all to stop me being my mother?

He’d fallen in love with my mother.

They’d had children young.

They’d come for her.

I rubbed my chest, unable to stop the epiphany shedding my father in a new light. Was it selfish of him to protect me from living, knowing I was destined an early grave? Or merely a tragedy that he prevented others enduring heartbreak by loving me.

Vaughn.

He would sense the moment my life was snuffed out. We were linked more than spiritually—but soul-glued and breath-bound. I’d known when he broke his collarbone from kayaking. He’d known when I’d dropped my heavy Singer sewing machine onto my foot.

Linked.

Don’t think about it. It hurt too damn much. Tears pricked my eyes but I blinked them back, trying to remain in my false little bubble of sexting. This was all I had. I could flirt with Kite with complete safety, knowing I would never be able to break his heart when the time came.

In a way, his fastidious request for distance protected him. And for that, I was oddly grateful.

Running a hand through my long hair, I sighed, re-grouping myself. I smiled softly at Squirrel. “If a drunken whoopsy daisy was my only attempt at making a man come, how the hell am I supposed to do it via a faceless message?”

Be someone you’re not. Act. Pretend.

“Fine.”

Swiping at the dirty mixture of hay, dog hair, and dust from the blanket Jethro had given me, I prepared to embrace my inner sex-kitten.

Needle&Thread: Imagine your hand is my hand. I’m holding you firm, tight. I’m kneeling at your feet while you sit on a large chair. A throne. Your hand wraps in my hair, pulling me forward. I obey because I know what you’re asking me to do. Your eyes don’t ask, they tell, and I lower my head into your lap. My mouth waters to taste you. You’re big. Smooth. Begging for my mouth.

My breath came faster; my mind playing out the fantasy in crystal detail. The warmth I’d been looking for spread from my core like a tentative sunrise.

Kite007: Fuck me, woman. Why haven’t you been talking to me like that all along? What was with the shy bullshit? Fuck, keep going. I’m so damn hard. I want your mouth so fucking much. Give it to me.

My skin broke out in goosebumps. The power. The approval. Kite was a wanker, an arsehole, and a complete shallow prick, but he approved of me. He wanted me.

Needle&Thread: You’re holding your cock while I lick you once at the very tip. You want me to swallow you, but you don’t force me. Because you know I’m going to swallow every drop.

Kite007: Did you taste it?

I frowned.

Needle&Thread: Taste what?

Kite007: My precum. Fuck, I’m so close. I’m in your mouth. I’m fucking your lips. I’m holding your hair as I drive so deep down your throat. What do I taste like to you?

Needle&Thread: You taste…

“Hell, I don’t know.” Looking at the cluster of muscular dogs, all watching me as if they knew what I was up to, I swiped a hand over my face. “What the hell does a man taste like?”

Needle&Thread: You taste of expensive liquor, making me drunk as you come. Spilling over my lips, dripping down my chin. You don’t want me wasting a drop, so you capture the liquid on your thumb and push it back into my mouth.

The instant I sent it, a chill darted in my blood.

Thumb. Mouths. Sucking.

Him.

My taste buds brought back the crisp taste of Jethro. His unyielding hold on my chin as I licked his finger. He hadn’t really had a taste. Just the cold precision of stone. But having him dominate had given me the permission to feel a flutter in my core, to not be embarrassed of wanting more. Of becoming wet.

Kite007: Fuck me. I haven’t come like that in a while. It’s all over me—splashed up my chest, sticking to me like fucking glue. I like you like this, naughty nun. You’re more…relaxed.

My voice was soft. “That’s what happens when your life is no longer your own and there’s nothing you can do to control your future.”

Squirrel yipped in agreement.

“That’s also what you do to survive. You become different. You change.”

As much as I hated the Hawks, they’d given me something I’d been searching for all my life.

My little kitten claws were growing, prickling. Still too new to scratch with—but there.

My battery flashed again and I knew this would be the last time I’d have the luxury of using it until Jethro let me charge.

Ignoring the emptiness inside and the sharp twinge of letting Kite use me, I sent my last message.

Needle&Thread: I’m glad. I’m licking you clean. I’m drunk on everything you’ve given me. I’ll be here for you when you next need a release, but please…don’t call me naughty nun anymore. Call me Needle.

Jethro came for me at eleven a.m.

The horses across the yard were gone—to do what, I had no clue. I’d spent an hour or so listening to the grooms prepare them and the comforting clack of their metal shoes disappearing into the distance on cobblestones.

I pictured myself commandeering one and galloping away. Not that I knew how to ride. I’d never had time. Sewing had been my one obsession.

Squirrel and his gang of hounds had left not long after I finished messaging Kite. A piercing whistle summoned and they’d charged from the kennel through a small dog-size exit down the back. I’d tried to follow—to get free—but it only opened if a coded collar was in range. A password programmed to every dog allowing them access.

So, I’d spent the remainder of my morning alone. Alone with thoughts I flatly ignored.

It was odd to sit and do nothing. I had nowhere to rush off to. No emails to reply to. No to-do list to attack. I was in limbo, just waiting for the man I loathed to appear.

My stomach was a ball of knots wanting him to get it over with, whilst my jangled heart wanted him to stay away forever. I’d never felt so jumbled inside—including my stomach.

It’d stopped growling for food around dawn, but the empty ache only grew worse.

Jethro swung open the top partition of the barn door, leaving the bottom closed. Resting his arms on the top, he nodded. “Ms. Weaver.”

The sun took the liberty of bouncing into the gloomy kennel, granting bright light and silhouetting Jethro. His face remained in shadow but his thick hair was wet and messy from a shower.

He’d shed his charcoal suit for a more casual grey shirt, the diamond pin twinkling in his lapel. I’d grown to recognize it as his signature piece, linking him to whatever organisation his father ran.

Is it a gang? Did they rob and cheat and kill?

It wasn’t my issue. I didn’t care. I didn’t condone what they did. I was the innocent party—their hostage.

I didn’t return his greeting, deciding to stay bundled in my blanket and glower.

Jethro sniffed impatiently, removing his arms from the door. He unlocked the bottom partition, swinging it wide.

More sunshine entered, illuminating the bottom half of his wardrobe. Dark jeans. Well-fitted jeans. Jeans that made him seem young and approachable and normal.

My hands balled. Don’t buy into the projection. There was nothing normal about this man. Nothing sane or kind. I learned that last night—many times over. There would be no more begging from me. No more pleading. It fell on deaf ears, and I was done.

Jethro snapped his fingers as if expecting me to heel. “Get up. It’s time to begin.” Taking a threatening step into the kennel, he pursed his lips. “Shit what did you do in your sleep? Roll around like the dogs?”

I kept my lips pressed together, watching him in the silence he so seemed to enjoy. When I didn’t move, his face twisted, taking in my hay-riddled hair and dirt covered blanket. “I won’t tell you again. Get. Up.”

I shrugged. It was liberating to no longer care. To no longer be captive by the need to obey and jump to attention for fear of retribution. I meant what I said to Kite. Everything inside me was gone. Locked down, bunkered inside, ready to weather whatever war was coming.

Standing slowly, I placed my dead phone into my jacket pocket. Letting the blanket fall off my hips, I brushed lingering lint off my clothes.

Jethro snapped his fingers again, and I moved willingly—coasting to his side exactly as he wanted.

He scowled; his gaze full of suspicion.

I gave him an empty smile. I’d found salvation in not caring. It didn’t mean I had to pretend to like him. He wouldn’t know that by trying to break me last night, he only gave me a new avenue of strength.

I’m ready.

For whatever he threw at me.

I’ll survive.

Until I no longer needed to try.

Running my hands through my hair, I quickly gave up with the tangles and focused on pinching some colour into my cheeks instead.

“You think that will save you? Looking presentable?” His voice was blizzard and snow.

I didn’t say a word.

Jethro gritted his jaw. His hands curled beside his spread legs.

My muscles braced for punishment. The air shimmered with violence.

Jethro’s hand suddenly shot out, capturing my throat. Without a sound, he spun me around, and marched me backward out of the kennel. The sun kissed my skin, fanning the warmth I’d tried so hard to keep hold of from talking to Kite. I embraced it, hugging it close, so Jethro’s ice didn’t slice me into pieces.

His fingers tightened around my neck but I refused to claw at his hold. I repay in kind. Whatever I did to him in self-defence, I’d get back ten times worse. But none of that mattered now because I knew how to survive.

By being above them. By being untouchable on the inside even while they broke me on the outside.

“You think you’ve got it all figured out, don’t you?” His arm hoisted me onto the tips of my toes. Breathing was difficult, not fighting was impossible, but I permitted it. All I did was stare silently into his golden eyes.

“I understand what you’re doing.” He smiled. “But mark my words. You won’t win.” Shaking me, he unwound his fingers, then smoothed the front of his jeans. The sun gleamed on the gold buckle of his crocodile skin belt.

My stomach clenched, but I held my ground. Raising my chin, I whispered, “Mark my words. I will win. Because I am right and you are wrong.”

Jethro seethed, silence thick between us.

“You’re so high and mighty, aren’t you, Ms. Weaver? So sure you’re the one in the right. What if I told you, your ancestors were scum? What if I showed you proof of their corruptibility and eagerness to hurt others in their chase for wealth?”

Lies. All lies.

My family tree was impeccable. I came from honest and good and hardworking stock. Didn’t I?

I ignored my rushing heartbeat.

Jethro stepped closer, crowding me. “The things your family did to mine sicken me. So continue on your quest believing you’re pure, because in a few hours you’ll know the truth. In a few hours, you’ll realise we aren’t the bad guys—it’s you.”

My throat closed up. I didn’t think he could say anything to crumble my fortress so soon, but every word was a carefully planted spade, digging at my foundation until I stood on crumbling ground.

My eyes danced over his, trying to decipher the truth.

Were my bloodlines tarnished with crimes I didn’t know about? My father hadn’t exactly been forthcoming with our history, apart from telling us our family had always been involved in weaving and textiles. It was how we were granted the last name Weaver. Just like the Bakers, and the Butlers, and every other trade that dictated their last names.

Jethro chuckled. “Don’t believe me?” His hands landed on my shoulders, pushing me backward. I stumbled, wincing as my spine collided with the bricked wall of the kennel.

“Don’t believe your forefathers were sentenced to death by hanging for what they did to mine?” His gaze latched onto my mouth. “Don’t believe you’re alive because the Hawks granted them mercy in return for a few signatures on a few debts?”

His voice dropped, sending a constellation of warning skittering over my skin. “Don’t believe I’m fully within my right to do whatever I damn well please to you?”

His touch seared through my jacket and maxi dress, sending unwanted intensity down my arms.

Do I believe it? Could I believe it? That everything I understood of this situation was reversed?

Mind games. Illusions. All designed to trip me up.

Shaking my head, I snapped, “No. I don’t believe it.” My blood pressure exploded, thundering in my ears. His focus was absolute, and it burned, oh how it burned. “Nothing you say will make you the victim in this situation. Nothing you show me will make this permissible. You think I believe a ludicrous debt that you say is over six hundred years old. Wake up! Nothing like that would hold up in a court of law these days. I don’t care that you’ve staged my disappearance, or following my family with a loaded pistol. I don’t believe any of this, and I certainly don’t believe you have anything law abiding on your side.”

Jethro scowled but I continued my tyrant.

“All I believe is you’re a bunch of sick and twisted men who made up some bullshit excuse to make themselves feel justified while tearing other’s lives apart. Show me where you have the right to own me. No one has that right. No one!”

He chuckled, gold eyes growing dark. His body language switched from stand-offish to oozing with sexual innuendo. It was like watching a glacial melt, shedding winter for volcano heat.

“I like it when you’re feisty. Your whole perception of the world is warped. You live in a fairytale, princess, and I’m about to destroy it.”

His shoulders softened, lips parting; his gaze caressed my face to land on my mouth. “You think we don’t have men in high places? Men who make what we say absolute law? You think we got to the level of standing in society or the obscene amount of wealth we have by not using the very same law you think will protect you for our gain?”

His voice whispered over me, threading with his heady scent of woods and leather. “So stupid, Ms. Weaver. We own more than your family. We own everything and everyone. Our word is unbreakable. And we have proof.”

He leaned in; the violence he emitted switched to dangerous lust, buffeting me harder against the wall. His eyes were rivers of fire, annihilating my argument, dragging me under his spell. “You think I can’t make you do what I want?”

I sucked in a breath.

He’d never looked at me like that. Never given any hint he might find anything about me exciting. He treated me like a leper. He looked at me as if I were a different species—a species not evolved enough to warrant his sexual attention.

But that’d changed.

His interest trapped me, consuming me better than threats and tightly restrained anger. This was unexplored territory. Lust and attraction and flirting were terrifying because I was the novice and he was the expert.

I couldn’t fight against something that made me feel.

Jethro’s nostrils flared, fingers twitching on my shoulders. His voice lowered to a husky whisper—a whisper best suited for seduction. “You think you deserve a life built on other’s blood? You think you’re worthy?” The rhythm and volume turned the horrible questions into a poem rather than curse.

Don’t fall for it. Don’t let him win.

He was already winning. He spun a tale of a lethal unstoppable force. His family’s legacy somehow granted him police approval, government blind-eyes, and the right over life and death.

Who gave him that right?

I still couldn’t believe it. But it didn’t stop my legs shifting, pressing together, trying to alleviate the strange ache building with every moment.

Our fighting coaxed my unseen claws to grow a little more. My temper made my legs firmer; my vision clearer. My body unknowingly found a cure from dreaded vertigo, all while embracing anger and rage.

Jethro noticed my tension, stroking my shoulders as if I were a skittish prey. “We’re simple creatures, Ms. Weaver. I know what’s happening to you.” He smiled gently, his gold eyes attempting to look soft but unable to hide the steel beneath. “Your skin is hot. You’re breathing faster.”

He ducked his head, murmuring, “You like this. You like being pushed past your limits.”

I shook my head. “You’re wrong. There’s nothing about you that I like.”

He sighed, his gaze whispering over my mouth. “Lying won’t work. I know you’re growing wet for me, wanting me.” His touch morphed from menacing to lightning, sending a rain of sparks through my blood. “Want to know how I know? Because I taste it in the air. I smell it all around you.”

My lips parted. My chest rose and fell, increasing faster and faster. I couldn’t look away; I couldn’t push him away. I couldn’t do anything but revel in the intoxicating melting, glowing, sparking need building rapidly in my core.

Closing my eyes, I swallowed hard, trying so hard to dispel the sick and twisted desire he conjured. “I’m—I’m not.”

He ran his thumbs over my shoulders, following my collarbone with infinite softness. “You’re not?” he breathed. “You’re not feeling the rush of lust or the knowledge you’d throw all your rules away for just…one…little…taste?” His lips came so close to mine, pulling away in the ultimate tease.

Yes. No. I don’t know.

I’d lost control of my body, hurtling straight for a cataclysm where everything was hot and sharp and intense.

I didn’t have an answer. I didn’t know what he wanted.

He’s fucking with your mind. That’s all he’s doing.

His thumbs stroked higher, smoothing away the bruises he’d caused on my neck. “Tell me you’re not wet for me. Say it.”

I shook my head, willing the words to come. “I’m not. I’m…”

“What?” Jethro murmured.

The ache grew stronger, sending a rush of dampness against my knickers. My body didn’t care this was a monster. My body didn’t care about the future. All it cared about was curbing the intolerable need.

Opening my heavy eyes, I said, “I’m not wet. Not for you.”

My hands balled, fighting against the thick intoxication. I couldn’t let him steal the warmth from Kite. He’d already turned the small flame into an out of control inferno, cindering my morals, turning my hatred to ash. I couldn’t fall into his web—he’d eat me alive.

But, one kiss…would it be so wrong?

To take something from him when he’d already taken so much from me?

I swayed closer, unconsciously seeking everything he dangled before me. I wasn’t equipped to play these games. I was naïve and woefully unprepared for combat where lust was used as the weapon.

“You’re a little liar, Ms. Weaver.” He dropped one hand from my shoulders, tracing my contours until he captured my hip, the other skated upward, cupping my cheek. Every millimetre he travelled sent sparks along my skin unlike anything I’d ever felt before.

His tongue appeared, licking his lips. “You want this.” His knee nudged against mine, forcing my legs to spread. “You want something you know you shouldn’t.” With seamless authority, he pressed against me, tilting his hips into mine.

I shivered. Hating him. Lusting for him. Hating myself. Loving the forbidden rush.

The reasons for our fight flew away on soundless wings, leaving me with no argument against the swelling swollen ache.

“All that separates my cock from your pussy is a few fragile pieces of clothing.” He drove upward, grinding himself punishingly. “You won’t stop me.” There was no space, no secrets—our bodies glued together.

My mind went blank with sheer numbing pleasure. I felt every ridge and contour of him. From the pressure of his shoe against mine to the hot heat in his jeans growing larger every second.

You know what he intends to do. Stop this, I screamed at my betraying body. But it replied in force with a clenching ripple turning my legs to jelly.

I held my breath. His hard body was as unmovable as the wall I stood trapped against. His ripped stomach pressed against mine.

I wasn’t cushy or curvy. I had no feminine attributes—I’d exercised away any hope at softness.

But it only amplified the intensity.

There was nothing to cushion the firmness of bones and sinew and craving flesh. It was visceral. All consuming.

“Tell me again you’re not wet for me.” His hooded eyes imprisoned mine. “Tell me another lie.”

I tried to look away, but he thrust again, enticing another ripple of pleasure. I hadn’t planned on being the innocent girl. The stuck-up princess who never self-pleasured or enjoyed men. I hated that I came across priggish, uptight, and repressed. Those traits were a hazard of my upbringing, and I desperately wanted to turn them into weapons.

I wanted to use them as effortlessly as Jethro wielded his wintery charisma.

My body knew what it wanted. It wanted a release. It wanted to satiate and be sated. And it didn’t give a flying arse who granted the freedom of the mysterious orgasm. I knew who Jethro was—I knew this was all a game to him. But why couldn’t two people play? Why did I have to justify his touch as bad when it was so amazingly good?

Death was coming. Shouldn’t I try to live before I died?

Shouldn’t I embrace the lack of control by throwing away my submissive behaviour and fight for what I wanted?

For once in my life.

Be true and honest and raw.

Why can’t I use him? Just once be the bad girl and use the monster. Win by not fighting. Be stronger by giving in.

My pussy grew bolder, taking my unvoiced permission and growing wet, greedy, eager to experience the cock pressed firmly against me.

I…can’t.

You can.

I…won’t.

I will.

Jethro ducked, nipping my jaw with sharp teeth.

I unlocked my chastity belt, and melted into him. I arched my back, deliberately pressing my breasts against his chest.

His seduction lost the calculating edge, his breath went from calm to uneven.

Something new broke free inside. Some level of embarrassment of sex—the unapproved thoughts of being used—disappeared. I was a business woman. A daughter. A sister. The fantasies inside weren’t the thoughts of a puritan.

Deep inside, where I never let myself go, a sexual deviant lurked. A woman who was bold and angry. A woman beyond ready to admit she’d hidden so much of herself—even from herself.

Jethro’s hand moved to grab the back of my neck. His hips pulsed; his heart thudded hard, vibrating our tightly pressed forms.

I shivered in his hold, giving in completely to the clench between my legs.

“Answer me. Tell me the truth.” His mint-fresh breath fluttered my eyelashes as he hovered possessively over my lips. Only a tiny space between a tease and a kiss. Only a fraction between right and wrong.

Do it. Accept it.

He paused, murmuring into my mouth, “Tell me a secret. A dirty dark secret. Admit you want me. Admit you want your mortal enemy.”

I admit it.

“I won’t.” My heartbeat switched from thumping to humming; my skin prickled with heat.

I hated him. I wanted to kill him before he killed me. But I couldn’t ignore the overwhelming attraction he’d created. And it wasn’t just me affected. His breathing turned ragged; his fingers dug deeper with need. Every pulse of his hips drew a quickening in my core. I couldn’t control it. I didn’t want to control it. I was done controlling my life.

I’m free.

The longer we stood, the further we blurred the lines between debtor and debtee. Weaver and Hawk. In that tiny moment, we were each other’s answer to freedom. A mind-blistering coupling that would surely ruin me for life. But at least I would’ve lived.

I looked deep into Jethro’s burning eyes, transmitting everything I suffered. I hate you for making me acknowledge this part of myself.