Текст книги "Debt Inheritance"

Автор книги: Pepper Winters

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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 13 страниц)

His face tightened; his body slammed harder against mine. Whispering his lips over my cheek, bringing them low, lower, lower, the tip of his tongue tasted the corner of my mouth.

My world disintegrated with an ecliptic bang.

I trembled, eyes snapping closed on their own accord.

His hand on my hip shot downward, disappearing between our bodies.

I gasped, jolting in his hold as his fingers scrunched up my dress, shoving it out of the way as if it were nothing. My gasp turned to a ragged moan as he cupped me bold and strong. My gaze flew wide, locking onto his.

Never had something felt so good. So bad. So intensely delicious.

His gold eyes turned to a burnt sunset, filling with fire as he fingered my knickers. “Do you think you’re so perfect you wouldn’t scream my name? Do you think you’d be able to say no if I dragged you into the kennel and fucked you?” His fingers bit into my pussy, hot and punishing. “Because I want to. Fuck, how I want to. I want your screams. I want you begging.”

I lost myself completely, throwing myself into this new creation. The one who had the power to do this and still retain her heart. The one who would give Jethro her body because she wanted it. Not him.

His fingers scattered my thoughts, probing against the thin satin of my underwear. His touch was electrifying. I wanted more. I wanted everything.

I stepped off the cliff. “No. I’m not so perfect. And yes, I would scream.” Clawing at his shoulders, I forced myself deeper onto his hand. “You think I’m immune? You think I’m dry and repulsed by you?” Dragging him closer, I murmured, “You couldn’t be more wrong.”

Jethro’s nostrils flared. His fingers twitched as he narrowed his eyes. “You think you can confuse me?”

I pressed a finger against his mouth. “Shut up.”

His eyes popped wide; he growled low in his chest. His lips pulled back, revealing sharp teeth.

I didn’t remove my finger. I was in charge. I was the one taking. “My heart hates you but my body….I’m drenched. I’m begging. So stop your endless questions. Stop taunting me and deliver.”

Kite flew into my mind, then was gone. I’d surpassed awkward sexting, embracing physical coyness.

The world paused for a millisecond.

Jethro sucked in a shocked breath. Then his hand left my pussy, tore the small stitches holding my knickers in place, and drove one finger so damn deep inside me, I did what I said I would.

I screamed.

My head fell back, smashing against the wall. My heart exploded into a mess of passion and rage.

Oh, God. Oh, God.

My mouth sucked in air, but it didn’t stop the swirling, blinding need stealing my remaining sanity, giving me completely and utterly to Jethro. I cried inside. I wailed inside. I wished I could be different. Someone not so deprived of her animalistic needs. Someone who could scream and call for help. Not someone who tilted their hips and moaned at the curses spilling from Jethro’s lips. Not someone who gripped the man who tore her from her world and opened her legs wider.

But then Jethro touched a spot that made my eyes pop wide, muscles to lock, and a need so violent to seize, I grabbed his wrist, forcing him to take me harder. My tears turned to joy, writhing on Jethro’s hand.

“Fuck. Me.” His voice was sex-gruffed and so low it echoed over cobblestones. “Who the fuck are you?” His finger worked me, pulsating deep inside.

I melted in his hands. I opened my legs as wide as I could. I gave up on everything, embracing the simplicity of being a sexually starved creature.

This wasn’t making love. This wasn’t even fucking. This was war. And hell it felt good.

Digging my fingernails into his shoulders, I jerked him closer. “Harder,” I breathed.

Jethro groaned, and in a twist of fate—obeyed. His finger drove so deep his knuckles nudged against my swollen flesh. His thumb swirled around my clit, smearing wetness, taking me to ever new heights.

I turned to stone before detonating into tiny pieces. Every inch of my thoughts, emotions, and reactions were stolen by his mind-blowing touch. I hadn’t felt anything like it.

Guilt tried to claim me, reminding me this was the man who ruined my life. But lust quickly devoured the guilt, turning it to raging passion.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he growled, thrusting his finger harder.

I felt as if I’d not been living. As if my world was dark and Jethro was the sun bringing me nutrition I never knew I needed.

A painful pressure burned as he tried to fit two fingers inside me.

I flinched, rocking my hips away. “Stop—”

He paused, then removed the second digit, driving a single finger deep, dragging me back to willing. “You’re a virgin. The rumours were true.”

I shook my head. “No.”

“No?” He grabbed my chin, holding me firm, driving his finger harder. I cried out, letting my head loll on my useless neck with bliss. “How are you this tight and not a virgin?”

“Once. I only—” I stopped, consumed with every pulse of Jethro’s finger. “I’m—”

I gave up.

I was completely illiterate—unable to form words.

“If you’re not a virgin, prove it.” His fingers tightened around my chin. “Pull out my cock.”

My mind blanked out. I hung onto the precipice of my good girl ways before throwing myself head first into a woman who would do anything to feel alive.

“Pull out my cock, Ms. Weaver.” He thrust against me, battering me with the hardness in his jeans.

My eyes flared wide. My stomach hollowed out at the same time swooped upright as he thrust his finger.

“Goddammit,” he growled. “Do it. I’m not going to come in my fucking jeans like an idiot.”

Would he fuck me? If I took out his cock, would he take me?

Sex? With him?

I…

I couldn’t have sex with him. This cold-hearted monster. But my raging heart and bubbling blood said yes. God, yes.

Shutting off my thoughts, I dropped my hands from his shoulders and fumbled with the buckle of his crocodile belt.

The hardness of his erection burned my fingertips. Jethro didn’t help my concentration, driving his touch deeper. “Hurry up. I need your sweet fingers jerking me off. Goddammit, I don’t know—” His voice cut off as I undid his button and zipper.

I gasped as his cock sprang out, escaping the top of his grey boxer-briefs. He shuddered, groaning in relief. The tip glistened with wetness, slightly red, slightly swollen.

My eyes grew wide, fear chasing away the lust in my veins. I looked up, swallowing hard. “You’re…I can’t—”

He scowled. “Too late to back out now, woman.” Grabbing my hand, he placed it roughly around his thick hard massive cock. I had no experience to go on, but he would never fit inside me. He wouldn’t fit inside any woman.

“Shut up and stroke me.”

I opened my mouth, unable to form words. “It can’t—there’s no way—”

In a lightning fast move, he jerked his finger from my core, smearing my dampness on my cheek as he pinched me hard. “You’re out of excuses, Ms. Weaver. You were the one who started this. You’re the one who rode my fucking finger as if you’d never come before.” His voice dropped to a dark whisper. “So shut up, wrap those little fingers around my cock and stroke me, otherwise I swear to God I’ll throw you on your hands and knees and fuck your tight little cunt right here.”

My heart lurched, terror pinged in my blood. There wouldn’t be anything erotic about that. It would hurt. He would split me in two.

Biting my lip, I cupped the exposed head, spreading the sticky residue at the top down his hot shaft. Locking eyes with Jethro, I pushed my hand into his boxers, following his long, long length.

His eyes snapped closed as my timid fingers latched round him. “Fuuuuck,” he groaned. His forehead smashed against mine, hips pulsating into my hand. “Stop taunting me. Harder, goddammit.”

That was asking for the impossible. I couldn’t get my fingers to connect around his girth. My grip was useless around the throbbing heat—the only hot part of him. Holding my breath, I wrapped my hold as hard as I could.

Jethro grunted. “Squeeze it. Stop being a fucking tease. Was I teasing you?” His hand suddenly disappeared up my dress again, his middle finger thrusting so hard and quick inside me, he sent a galaxy of stars exploding behind my eyes.

Then he glided upward, smearing the wetness around my clit. My legs tried to scissor closed; all my attention shot between my legs.

I went rigid. Having him touch me inside was amazing. Having him rub that small bundle of nerves was incredible.

“Return the favour, Ms. Weaver. Make me come. Right here. Right now. And I'll drive you so wild you’ll beg and never want anyone else.”

Coming. The blissful end of sex. Was that what the sharp sensation was? Growing tighter and tighter in my core? If it was, I wanted to come.

Badly.

Winding my fingers as tight as possible around his girth, I squeezed until a jagged pain erupted down my palm. I didn’t have the strength. I didn’t know what to do. Did I just squeeze and let him thrust into my hand? What else was I supposed to do?

With a low growl, Jethro stopped stroking my clit. He turned to granite. “That’s your idea of making me come?”

I swallowed, jerking my hand away, dropping my eyes. The thrill of being touched and touching faded, rapidly replaced with despair. “I’m—yes…uh.”

“For fuck’s sake.” Rolling his eyes, he removed his hand from between my legs and stepped back. With a grunt, he yanked his trousers back into place, but not before I caught a glimpse of just how huge his cock was. It was flawlessly straight, veiny, silky, so proud and rigid—just like its owner.

It terrified me.

I didn’t need to be a virgin or a world renowned slut to know there was no way he would fit inside me. No law on this planet would make me welcome his size.

“Fuck, what was I thinking? You’re useless. Completely fucking useless.” Buckling his belt, he ran his hands through his hair, smearing the lingering wetness from me through his silvering strands. “Huge disappointment, Ms. Weaver.” His cold glare sent a snowstorm wiping away the bonfire in my belly. “I’m done playing games, so cut the bullshit. Time to begin the day.” His voice gave no room for interpretation. A cold draft shot down my back.

My brief reprieve from debts and horrible Hawks was over. I’d been shown something I desperately wanted, but denied it because I failed to please him.

“You could teach me…show me how…” I couldn’t make eye contact with him. Mortification painted my cheeks for both admitting I was clueless and asking a monster to coach me.

Jethro laughed. “You think that will save you from what’s coming? Was that your little plan? To make me fuck you in the hopes I might feel something for you?” He shook his head. “I’m not teaching you anything—especially how to jerk me off. As you told me once—google that shit—but it won’t do you any good because next time…I won’t need your hand to come.”

My breath caught in my throat.

My heart hung heavy and I shivered. The sun crept behind a cloud, leaving us in haunting shadows.

Jethro stood glaring, the outline of his erection visible in his jeans. But there was no hint of the lust he’d suffered, or the passion that blazed between us only seconds before. His unfeeling eyes burned a hole straight into my soul, condemning me for my past treasons and present failures. The longer he stared, the more he undermined my carefully built fortress.

I couldn’t stand the intensity any longer. The humiliation of standing there unwanted, slightly used, and entirely frustrated. With shaking hands, I smoothed down my dress and pushed away from the wall. Without a word, I flicked my hair over my shoulder and skirted around him. With confident steps, I left him behind, heading toward the manor.

He’ll chase. He’ll hunt.

I expected to land on my face from a carefully planned strike. I waited for vertigo to steal my quiet assurance and spiral me to the ground. But nothing happened.

Jethro didn’t pounce, and I didn’t fall.

I was steady for the first time in my life. My body behaved.

My world continued even though I’d been thrown off my axis and into a brand new realm. A realm where sex beckoned like the Holy Grail and my self-hatred magnified a thousand fold.

My empty stomach threatened to steal the remaining strength in my limbs, but I kept going, ignoring my body’s protests, walking like a good little pet to the slaughter.

I didn’t think I was about to enjoy my penance of being a Weaver.

Balling my hands, I made a promise. A promise I hoped would grant me strength for the coming days.

They can’t touch me. I’m not Nila or Threads. I’m done being weak.

My heart swelled as I crested the hill, staring at Hawksridge Hall in all its glory. In that moment, I shed my kitten baby-fur and embraced a new pelt. One that filled me with fight. One that embraced the elongating claws I’d begun to grow.

I was no longer protected by tigers but forced to become one.

I’m Needle, and I will survive.

CONTROL.

I loved it.

I wielded it.

I owned it.

But that little Weaver whore broke my control, turning me into nothing more than a sex-driven idiot. She’d made me throw my decorum, calmness, and carefully laid plans out the goddamn window.

Her timid fingers. Her fluttering breaths. They’d been more of a turn on than the most experienced of lovers. She was so fucking pure she choked on a halo.

And to fucking ask me to teach her? Granting me power by evolving this virginal creature into anything I damn well wanted?

It was temptation.

It was not fucking permitted.

She was mine to take from. Mine to share.

I refused to train her, because in the end I would be the one delivering the killing blow. She wouldn’t succeed in dragging me into whatever game she played.

I breathed hard, even now struggling to find my beloved coldness. I needed an icy shower. I need to teach her a fucking lesson—that’s what I need.

A knock snapped my head up. I spun in place, trading the view of the front gardens to glare at my father. The man who’d taught me how to be the master of my emotions. How to rein in the uncouth part of ourselves and be ruthless with silence. He’d taught me the most—beaten me the most—and I was his favourite.

Thank God there were no cameras by the stables—if he saw how far I fell, his disappointment would bring repercussions. Big repercussions.

My father popped his head into the ‘Buzzard Room’ named for the hand-stencilled wallpaper of hunting buzzards and the mounted carcasses of ducks, swans, and small birds.

It was also the room I’d picked for Nila. This would be her quarters—a room stinking of death and decay.

She’d somehow won the lesson I wanted to teach her at the kennels. She’d managed to make me trade control for the promise of sex. It had worked.

It. Would. Not. Work. Again.

I pitied her really. She’d shown me so much in that brief moment. She was hungry. She was hidden. And she was so damn vulnerable it made me smile to think of her illusions. She thought she could outsmart us.

Us?

Diamond merchants, biker royalty, and proven masters of the Weaver’s fate.

Stupid, stupid girl.

I nodded at my father. “Cut.”

His grey goatee bristled. “Bring her into the dining room when she’s ready. Everyone’s gathered.” He puffed on a giant cigar, wearing a tweed waistcoat and trousers complete with a leather jacket from the Black Diamonds. He looked an enigma of motorcycle world and English aristocracy.

I nodded again.

He left without a goodbye, and I moved to sit on the seventeenth century hand-carved brooding chair. A chair made for men and only men. Complete with ashtray, newspaper stand, and heavy dark brocade designed with our family crest.

Ten minutes later, the door to the ensuite bathroom opened, revealing a freshly showered Nila. Her long black hair draped like ink staining her naked shoulders. She looked younger, innocent without the heavy makeup smeared from last night. Her eyes were bigger, like black unhappy pools whilst her skin glowed a natural dusky tan.

I’d seen her in magazines. I’d run a fingertip over her snapshot in the fashion columns but never found her attractive. She didn’t have breasts. She always stood like a fading shadow next to her brother and looked too prim and stuck up.

She was nothing to me.

Then why did I almost come while fingering her?

My mouth watered, remembering the wildness lurking beneath that up-tight-virgin bluff.

I swallowed, battling the blood rushing to my dick. The way she rode my hand—fuck.

Then I laughed. Out loud.

Waving at her tiny hands clutching the towel, I said, “I see your fingers are capable of holding something.” My head cocked. “Do I need to remind you what a disappointment earlier was?”

She was nothing to me before, and she would remain nothing to me. And after this afternoon there would be no way in hell she’d ever let me touch her again.

Which was perfect, because the next time wouldn’t be for pleasure. It would be for pain. And permission would take the fun away.

She froze, locking her knees. The heavy cloud when she suffered a stupid balance attack swirled in their brown depths. Sucking in a breath, she said quietly, “No, you don’t. You’ve told me countless of times. You’ve made me very aware of what you think of me, and I’m sick of hearing it.”

Pushing away the newspaper stand, I took my time glancing down her body.

She didn’t fidget or blush which pissed me off. I wanted her nervous. I wanted her terrified of what was to come.

I stood up slowly, clicking my tongue. “Ah, ah, ah, Ms. Weaver. Don’t take that tone with me. You’re the failure. You’re the prisoner. You take what I give you. You do not assume to have any say or authority. That includes listening to everything I deem important to tell you.” Ghosting to a stop in front of her, I murmured, “Is that quite understood?”

I flexed my muscles, welcoming back the soothing chillness of control. I hadn’t liked stepping outside my confines of civility. Things got messy when silence was disrupted. Things got rushed when tempers rose and curses flowed.

And I didn’t want to rush her undoing. I wanted to savour it. Devour it.

Running a fingertip along her damp shoulder, I smiled at her flinch. “Did you do as I asked and wash your filth away?”

Her lips pursed, anger glowed in her eyes. But she swallowed it down, muting the light. “Yes.”

“Did you leave your pussy alone? No trying to finish what I started?”

Her head hung a little lower. “Yes.”

My finger followed the contour of her shoulder, tracing down her arm. She stood silently, hiding the wild creature from before, depicting quiet sexuality and vulnerability. My mouth watered again, but it wasn’t with need to shove her against the wall and drive my dick inside that tight, tight cunt. No, it was because I’d never made someone with her skin colour bleed. Would her blood be darker? Would it be a rich chocolate like her eyes?

I knew her family tree. I’d studied it in preparation. Her bloodlines weren’t pure—there was mixed race in her past. A blend of Spanish and English. Another reason why Hawks were better. We were one hundred percent English stock. Unsullied.

Nila looked into my eyes. Her skin broke out in goosebumps. “Stop whatever you’re doing and let me get dressed. Where are my clothes?” She clutched the silver towel harder, hiding everything but her longer than average legs and tiny feet. “I need to charge my phone. I want my suitcase.”

I didn’t bother caring who’d she’d texted last night to drain her battery. There would be no cavalry coming to her rescue—of that I was completely sure. “You’ll receive your belongings if you please us.”

“Us?”

Stepping back, I smoothed my shirt, taking my time in delivering the truth. I hoped she’d move away—run even—after all, I was a hunter at heart. But she locked her knees again, standing firm on the thick mahogany carpet.

“Yes. Us.” Holding out my palm, I waited. “Take my hand.”

She hesitated, hoisting her towel higher, her tiny fist jammed against her small breasts.

I looked forward to making her obey, but then the aloofness I’d briefly witnessed in the kennels came over her features—blotting out the fire, turning her into an obedient robot.

Slowly she did as I requested, placing her slightly damp hand in mine.

The moment I had her, I marched across the bedroom floor. She gasped, jerked into motion, her legs darting to keep up. Silently, I wrenched open the door and stalked down the huge corridor, past shields and lances and crossbows, to the end of the bachelor wing where the Black Diamond brotherhood met once a week in a club meeting called the Gemstone.

This afternoon it wasn’t business being discussed. It was Nila.

This was her welcome luncheon.

A tradition unbroken for hundreds of years. An esteemed event that all our brethren knew and immensely enjoyed.

The day they all sample a Weaver.

Slamming my palm against the double doors, I jerked Nila into the room. She wheeled to a stop, her face losing its colour in favour of snowy white. I searched her features for fear. I hunted for terror, but I only witnessed blank resignation.

Turning away from her, I focused on what she couldn’t look away from.

Men.

Twenty-seven to be exact. Some smooth faced and young, others bearded and old. Some rich and well-spoken, others destitute and filthy. But they all had something in common. They belonged to the Diamonds and were our most trusted employees. Flaw, Fracture, and Cushion weren’t present nor were they fully fledged members—their task was to watch Vaughn and Archibald Weaver from doing anything…reckless.

Nila struggled, trying to take her hand back. I clamped my fingers around her, not giving an inch. “Don’t be rude, Ms. Weaver. Say hello and be courteous. This is, after all, your welcome lunch.”

She jolted, shying backward, testing my hold.

My father sat at the end of the extremely long table. The room was huge. Decorated with gold-spun drapery and massive oil paintings of my ancestors, it glittered with crystal chandeliers and silverware.

The paintings were of male Hawks only. The women of my family tree were designated to another room. Still celebrated, but not nearly as important.

Each artwork showed a man of distinguished wealth and intolerable power. I’d studied them in great length this past month, preparing for Nila’s arrival. My favourite was Samuel Hawk. The third man to extract a debt.

I looked just like him.

Snapping his fingers, my father called the small murmurs of masculine voices to attention. Pointing at Nila trembling beside me, he said, “Brothers, this woman will be our guest for the foreseeable future and in honour of her company, we have something special planned.”

The men grinned, reclining in their chairs, ready for the show to begin. The hiss and crackle of the log fire added a cheery background noise as well as welcome heat to the cavernous room.

Nodding at me, he said, “Jet, if you would be so kind as to make sure our guest is appropriately attired.”

Pleasure.

This might be tradition but it was also payback for what she’d made me become earlier today. This was sweet retribution.

Dropping Nila's hand, I moved toward the large side table that held crockery, wine glasses, and decanters. The food that’d been prepared by the full kitchen in the other wing of the house waited on the matching sideboard across the room. There were countless dishes, at least seven courses, but no wait staff to present it.

I smiled.

That was where Ms. Weaver came in. Along with…other duties.

Gathering the items that were meant for Nila, I returned to her side. She hadn’t moved but not from obedience. Two large men in leather cuts blocked her way out. The moment I came back, she looked pleadingly into my eyes.

“I can’t—Jethro don’t make me.” She swallowed. “Not so many. I can’t do—”

Snatching her arm, I spun her to the corner of the room, away from hungry onlookers. “You dare say no? Do you want this to be over?”

She nodded rapidly. “Yes. More than anything yes.”

“Fine. It’s over. But you’re sentenced to watch your father and brother be slaughtered, along with the decimation of your family’s business and assets. It will be obliterated. Gone. Is that what you’re willing to pay?”

She squeezed her eyes in horror.

Didn’t fucking think so.

I never wanted to be that weak. That driven by compassion. I obeyed my family. I accepted my position. But I would never let love dictate my actions.

That wasn’t what a Hawk did.

We were untouchable.

Taking the liberty of her lack of vision, I placed the first item on her head. A sexy, frilly maid’s cap. It perched on her head, gracing her damp black hair like a sad crown.

Her head dipped, shielding her eyes. Her body convulsed, trying hard to maintain the blankness she thought would be her salvation.

Tugging her hands, I muttered, “Let go of the towel.”

She cowered away.

Growling under my breath, I wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her firm. “Don’t make me ask again. You’re not new to this game. Let go of the towel.”

Her eyes flew wide, fighting my hold. “No!”

Goddammit, she tested me. A headache brewed behind my eyes. I sighed. “Make me ask you one more time. Go on…”

She froze, breathing hard. A battle broke out between us. I should never have let her get away with what she pulled at the stables. She thought I’d softened. She thought I’d be lenient. If anything, she’d proven my errors and I’d go above and beyond to ensure I didn’t falter again.

Ever.

She had to learn that the day granted hope and happiness, but I stole it. She had to face that the night hid evil and darkness, but my soul was blacker.

There would be no winning. None.

We didn’t speak, but our eyes shouted, wrapping us tight with unsaid tension.

Finally, she lowered her chin in defeat. Her death grip on the fluffy material loosened, allowing it to flutter to the floor.

Ordinarily, I would’ve rewarded her. A kind word. A gentle gesture. But that was before I learned I couldn’t give her any softness. She needed a firm, masterful hand. Otherwise, she’d make my life a living hell until I stole hers.

My eyes latched onto her naked body.

I paused.

Fuck.

Nila Weaver was like the needle she used to make her livelihood. Long, sculptured. Muscle tone so defined, her hips defied her supple skin, almost piercing her. Her breasts were small but high with perfect dark nipples.

My gaze dropped between her legs. The part of her I’d intimately explored already. I expected an inexperienced girl to not maintain her pussy, but there was only a strip of black hair, hiding and teasing at the same time.

My heartbeat thickened.

And then I noticed the bruises.

Everywhere. On her ribcage, hips, thighs, and arms.

Prodding an unforgiving finger into a particularly large purple one, I muttered, “Who did this?”

She crossed her knees, clamping a hand over her breasts.

I swallowed hard, hating that my cock twitched.

Her mouth parted, then understanding flared. “Not who. What.” Looking down at herself, she whispered, “The perils of vertigo.”

I had no reply to that. She already had a condition that hurt her. I should be easy to bear.

“Put your arm down.” I slapped it away from her breasts. She stiffened but left it by her side, standing taller than before.

Holding out the tiny excuse of an apron, I placed it over her head. It was black with white lacy trim, low enough to show the tops of her breasts and nipples, short enough to show the trimmed delight between her legs.

Spinning her around, I tied the strings at her neck and lower spine. When she faced me again, she choked, “Why?”

“Why?” I raised an eyebrow.

She nodded. “Is this all a game to you?”

I smiled. “No game. We’re deadly serious. As you should know by now.” Leaving her, I returned to the table and collected the final item. The Weaver heirloom.

Prowling back to her, I held up the collar.

Her eyes popped wide. She gawked at the solid encrusted diamond collar made from our very own imports. Two hundred carats, valued at over three million pounds—it’d been in my family since the first debt had been claimed.

“Do you know what this is?” I whispered, dangling it in front of her face.

She clamped her lips, eyes deathly cold.

I didn’t need a reply. She’d know soon enough.

Unlocking the collar, I held the two ends and bent over her. Wrapping it around her throat, I moved from front to back, positioning myself to fasten it. I kept my voice low and soothing, embracing my cold ruthlessness again. “It’s affectionately known as the Weaver Wailer.” Using the special clasp—an irreversible clasp—I murmured, “It’s your gift from us. Jewels from the best of our mines. You should be proud to wear such wealth.”

Nila shivered as the lock snapped into place.

My shoulders relaxed. It was on. It was done.

Her option to leave had just disappeared.

“You’re ours now. Want to know why?”

She whimpered, shaking her head.

Gathering her thick black hair, I ignored her plea for ignorance. I’d told her ignorance was bliss—which was true. But I meant to torment her. I wanted her to fully embrace her future.

Breathing gently on her neck, I whispered, “Because once the Weaver Wailer is in place…there’s only one way to get it back off.”