Another rush of tears suffocated me, but I swallowed them back. He'd told me to stop crying. So I would.
Jethro stood, reaching down to scoop up the awful photos and duffel bag of belongings. "Come. We have to go." He didn't offer me his hand to climb to my feet.
The simple act of raising myself from cold concrete to freezing air taxed my already fractured world. Rolling vertigo pitched my balance, sending me reeling backward. My arms shot out, searching for something to grab hold of.
With drunken eyes, I begged Jethro to catch me, but he just stood there. Silent. Exasperated. He let me trip and fall.
I cried out as I collapsed on the ground. My fingernails dug into the rough flooring, holding on while the parking garage danced around like a nightmarish carrousel. Pain radiated from my hipbone, but it was nothing compared to the overwhelming nausea.
Stress.
It wouldn't be Jethro who ended up killing me, but the inability to deal with a gauntlet of emotions.
Closing my eyes, I repeated Vaughn's silly nursery rhyme. Find an anchor. Hold on tight. Do this and you'll be alright.
"Get up, goddammit. Stop acting the victim." A pinching hand grabbed under my arm, jerking me to my feet.
I doubled over, holding my stomach as another wave of sickness threatened to evict the only food I'd had today-a luncheon prior to the rehearsal of the runway show.
"You're useless."
When the debilitating wave left, I glared up. "I'm not useless. I can't control it." Breathing hard, I begged, "Please, let me talk to my brother. Let me tell him-"
"Tell him what? That you're being taken against your will?" Jethro chuckled. "By the look on your face you seem to think I'll forbid you having any outside communication-cut you off from everything you hold dear." Letting me go, he scooped my heavy hair from my neck, giving me a reprieve from the sticky heat of not feeling well. "Contrary to what you think, I have no desire to dictate what you can and can't do."
Twisting my hair, tugging lightly, he added, "This may surprise you, seeing as you have such a low opinion of me, but you can go online, keep your mobile-even continue to work if you wish. I told you before-this is not a kidnapping. It's a debt. And until you understand the full complications of the debt, I suggest you keep what's happening to yourself."
I couldn't understand. I was being stolen, yet was allowed access to avenues that could bring me safety. It didn't make sense.
"You've made a decision to come with me, and it's irreversible. You can't change your mind, and you can't change the payments required, so why make others worry on your behalf?" His eyes glinted. "I suggest you become good at pretending if you wish to maintain the pretence of freedom. I won't stop you from creating extra worry and strain for yourself." Bowing over me, he smiled. "It only makes my job easier."
Grabbing the black rope he'd made from my hair, I stepped away from him. "You're insane."
He gave me a sideways look, rummaging in the duffel to grab a handful of clothes. Closing the distance between us, he shoved the balled items into my stomach.
Oxygen exploded from my lungs from the force.
Jethro pulsed with anger. "That's twice you've questioned my mental state, Ms. Weaver. Do. Not. Do. It. Again." Running a hand through his hair, he growled, "Now get dressed. Time to go home."
I COULDN'T DO it.
It was like looking after a needy, sickly, disobedient child. Bryan Hawk, my father and orchestrator of this mess, assured me it would be a simple matter of a few threats and blackmail.
She'll come easy if you threaten the ones she loves.
Bullshit.
The so-called inexperienced dressmaker had her own agenda. Beneath the chaste little girl, lurked a devious woman who was so tangled and confused she was fucking dangerous.
Dangerous because she was unpredictable. Unpredictable because she didn't know herself.
I was clueless on how to control her. I didn't understand her.
For instance, what the fuck happened at the coffee shop? She'd gravitated toward me. She'd licked my thumb like she imagined it was my dick. She'd surprised me. And I didn't do well with surprises.
My structured world-my rules and agendas-were not something that had room for twists and turns. Unless I was the one creating them. And I definitely didn't have time for my cock to twitch and show an interest in the woman I meant to torture and defile.
I would get hard when she was alone on my estate and her screams echoed in the woods. I would come with her gagged and subdued and hating me with the intensity of her forefathers.
Her pain was my reward. The fact she got me hard by being shy but so bloody tempting was completely unpermitted.
I checked my watch. The plane was due to leave in thirty minutes. Do it. You know you want to.
I couldn't stomach her presence any longer. I couldn't answer any more of her idiotic questions, or pretend I wasn't raging to teach her a lesson. Her tripping and stumbling fucking got on my nerves. Not to mention her blind love toward a family that no longer had any right to her.
She needed discipline, and she needed it now. Your hands are bound until you get her home.
If I had to listen to one more beg or witness another tear, I'd end up killing her before the fun began.
Nila craned her neck, trying to read the boarding passes in my hands. Flaw, my right hand man and secretary to the Black Diamonds brotherhood, had already checked us in. Along with dealing with shipping my new purchase, The Little Black Dress Harley-Davidson, and staging the runaway scene at Nila's hotel.
In precisely six hours, a housekeeper would find the photos, notes, and abandoned items, then the gossip columns would spread the story like a well incubated disease.
Nila Weaver's found love.
Nila dispels rumours she's in love with her twin by running off with some unknown English aristocrat.
My lips quirked at that. Me? An aristocrat?
If only they knew my upbringing. My history. If only Nila's father had spent the years he'd had with her preparing her for this day-informing her of our shared heritage, then perhaps she wouldn't look so fucking ill.
I'd told her the truth. Vaughn and Archibald Weaver were under strict monitoring. If they obeyed and went along with the ruse of Nila leaving for love, all would be harmonious.
If they didn't-well, the Weaver line would be snuffed out with the aid of a silenced pistol. And we didn't want that. After all, if there were no more Weavers, who would the Hawks rein over? Who would continue to pay the debt?
I looked at the woman destined to die for the mistakes of her ancestors.
She caught my eye. "Where are you taking me?" Her cheeks were colourless even though she had to be warm with the amount of layers she'd put on.
"I told you. Home." The word scratched across her face like carving knives. Home to me would be hell to her. I should've been more understanding-I could practically hear her heart shatter-but I'd been born into a family where emotion was a weakness. I prided myself on being strong, unbreakable. Empathy was the downfall of any human.
The ability to feel their pain. The nuisance of living their trauma.
That inconvenient ability had been beaten out of me as a child. Lesson after lesson until I embraced the cold.
The cold was emotionless. The cold was power.
Nila sniffed, striding a few steps away. Her curves were hidden in her new wardrobe of dark purple dress that came to her ankles, and a denim jacket. I hadn't permitted myself to truly look at her. I wasn't interested in her body. Only what her screams could deliver. She was skinny. Too skinny. But her black hair was thick and begged to be fisted.
Watching her dress in the parking garage irritated me. Her unsureness came across as coyness. Pulling the dress over her skirt was a reversed striptease. Her shaking fingertips had turned the ice in my blood into a lust I hadn't felt since I stole my brother's whore and hurt her.
It wouldn't take much to snap her petite frame. But despite her breakable body, her eyes gave a different story.
She ran deep.
I didn't bother caring how deep. But it did tempt in a way I hadn't expected.
A girl like Nila … well, that wasn't something to be broken lightly.
Her complexities, subtleties, depths, and secrets.
Each layer begged to be shattered and destroyed.
Only once she stood before me, stripped bare of sanity and dreams, would she be ready.
Ready to pay her final debt.
Nila rubbed her cheek, displacing another silent tear. That single fucking tear stopped everything, freezing over the unwanted feeling of excitement at what my future held. Her sniffle gave me a layer of obligation rather than anticipation.
I wasn't going to, but she's given me no choice. Fuck it.
Moving closer, my hands opened to throttle her-to give her something to truly cry about, but I restrained myself. Just.
She looked up, eyes glassy.
I forced a smile-a half-smile, letting her believe her tears affected me, offering false humanity. I let her believe I had a soul and didn't punish her for hoping. Hoping I was redeemable.
She bought it. Stupid girl. Allowing me to offer my arm as if it were some sort of consolation and guide her from purgatory into hell.