A huge filigree design with four hawks circling a nest of fallen women welcomed, complete with a large diamond glinting in the centre. It screamed of hunting and violence and winning.
I would've shuddered if I had the ability to move. How many of the fallen women lived through what I was about to? How many survived?
None of them.
I knew that now. I knew what my future held.
I'd screamed and raged and howled beside Jethro on the plane. My throat bled from shouting. My heart burst from begging. But he hadn't heard a whimper, because of the magic he'd used to subdue me.
The journey had torn my heart into shreds. Every step I took, I battled to break whatever spell he'd placed me under. Every breath I took, I fought to speak.
If I had the power of speech, I would've screamed that I had a bomb. I would've taken detainment and a full body strip search to flee from Jethro's undeniable, possessive hold.
My entire undoing and decimation was done in utter silence. And the bastard just sat there, holding my hand, nodding at the air-hostess when she said what an elegant couple we were.
He let me dissolve into misery. He lapped up my unshed tears, and I'd seen a glimpse of the monster I'd given my life to. Thousands of feet above the earth, I'd witnessed the cold gentleman mellow into something resembling a happy lover. Someone who'd won and got their way.
"Welcome home, Ms. Weaver," Jethro whispered against my ear.
I tried to cringe from his mouth, to huddle against the door, but the damn drug kept me locked beside him.
I blinked, inwardly sobbing, outwardly a perfect porcelain doll.
Everything had been stolen. My sense of touch, ability to speak, muscles needed to run.
A man in his early twenties appeared from a large pillar of the archway. Manifesting from the dark like a ghoul on Halloween. Jethro stiffened.
The new arrival opened the front door, sliding into the seat and nodding at the elderly man driving us. "Clive."
The driver nodded in return, gripping the gear stick with an arthritic hand, and engaging the car once again. He hadn't said a word since picking us up at Heathrow. Perhaps he doesn't have a tongue? Jethro and his family probably ripped it out to protect their sadistic secrets.
We inched forward, trading the soft lighting of a hawk engraved logo for the deep darkness of forest. I stared out the window into pitch black. From Italy to England, from night to night. The engine purred, following a quaint road slicing through dense woodland.
I wanted to run. And scream. I wanted so much to scream.
Jethro scowled as the newcomer twisted in his seat, awkwardly facing us. I struggled to make out his features thanks to the dark, but the high beams of the SUV cast shadows enough to see.
"Jet." He gave a mock salute.
Jethro scowled. "Daniel."
"This her?" The man trailed his eyes from my lips to my breasts to my demurely placed hands in my lap. "She looks like a Weaver."
Jethro sighed, sounding bored and annoyed. "Obviously."
Daniel reached over, grabbing my knee. His touch sent shivers of repulsion over me, even through the cotton of my dress.
I felt that.
I held my breath. Sense of touch was the first sign of the drug wearing off. I knew when Jethro touched me, because of the pressure of his fingers. They acted like a punishment, a leash, and a reminder that my life was his. But up till now I hadn't been able to feel temperature or texture. Neither hot nor cold. Gentle or soft.
But now I could.
It's fading.
I hoped joy didn't show on my face. If I could move, I could escape. Oh, Nila. Don't be so stupid.
My joy fizzled out as fast as it'd arrived. There would be no escaping. It was yet another thing I knew just by what Jethro wasn't saying. I'd learned something in the short flight here. His silence told me more than any part of him. His silence shouted too loudly to be ignored.
I was dead already. My last breath hinged only on how quickly he tired of his new toy.
Keeping my emotions buried, I stared blankly at the man who dared touch me. His lips pulled into a cruel smile; his fingers tightened until every inch of me wanted to jerk away.
Jethro sat still, letting him touch me.
Daniel's nose was slightly crooked from a bad break, face fuller, body softer than Jethro's, but there was no denying the family resemblance. Jethro was cold stone with sharp contours, gravelly voice, and imposing personality while the younger brother had more animation.
If it wasn't for the greed glowing in his eyes, I would've preferred him. But despite Jethro's granite exterior and sharpness, I knew in my heart I was better off being his plaything than this new Hawk.
There was something missing inside him.
A soul.
With a sneer, the man ran his palm up my inner thigh, bunching the material of my dress. "I must say you're very well behaved." He dug his nails into my delicate flesh, only a hand distance from my crotch. "You don't flinch." His hand suddenly left my thigh, connecting with a loud, stinging slap on my cheek. The force of his strike sent my useless body falling into Jethro. "You don't cry."
My face smarted and throbbed, making my heart race. I squeezed my eyes, wishing the sense of touch hadn't returned. I didn't want pain. I didn't want any of this.
Jethro grunted, pushing me upright with a rough shove to my shoulder. "She's not normally like this. Couldn't shut her up, or stop her endless questions. So I drugged her."
The man's eyebrow rose. "With what?" Eyes slithering over my chest, he planted his hand back on my leg. Pushing my dress out of the way, he inched higher and higher and higher on naked skin.
I wanted to curl into a ball and cry until I drowned from tears. I wanted oblivion from this nightmare. But the drugs kept me sitting prim and willing, a perfect toy to play with.
There are others. Many others who have the right to help me ensure the debt is fully repaid. The sentence had been on repeat in my head ever since Jethro whispered it on the plane. Was that why he permitted his brother to manhandle me? Would I be given to him to do as he pleased?
Please, God. Please don't let that happen.
I had enough strength to stay true to myself and survive one man. But multiple? They'd tear me into smithereens and ruin me even for death.
Jethro placed his hand-slightly larger and far more scary-on my other leg, pressing me hard against the leather. His touch hurt-burning my exposed skin like dry-ice. "I gave her Diamond Dust."
Daniel's vile touch stopped just as the tips of his fingers brushed the crotch of my knickers. I sat frozen, every part of me humming with horror.
"Diamond Dust? Shit, Jet, that stuff hasn't finished testing. You know Cut didn't authorise it to be sold yet-let alone be used in public. What if she had a seizure? How would you have explained she's nothing and deserved to die? You couldn't. You'd end up in fucking prison."
My heart hammered. Not only had he stolen my mobility, he'd run the risk of killing me. The fear crested again, burning through the drugs bit by bit. Even with the knowledge that I'd have to live through countless horrors before my time was up, I was glad I hadn't had a seizure. Death was so final. As long as I breathed, I might find some way to survive.
You say that now. My pain threshold hadn't been tested. I had no guide on how strong I'd remain or how precious my life would be when I no longer wished to live it.
Jethro shrugged. "If she died then the final debt would've been paid sooner rather than later." Glancing at me, he added, "I admit it's taking longer than I thought to leave her system. But it did a nice job shutting her up."
His fingers turned to pincers. "See how enjoyable silence is, Ms. Weaver?"
I stayed immobile beneath his touch, but my heart flew with terror, burning off the residual frozenness, leaving me at the mercy of reactions. Every second the drug weakened only meant I had to work extra hard to maintain the deception I was still its prisoner.
Daniel's fingers inched further. His eyes locked on mine as he touched my clit through my knickers. His touch was horribly warm, invasive, and gross.
I wanted to kick him in the damn nose.
But I just sat there.
And died a little.
I sat there, because I had no damn choice.
Don't. I swallowed, drinking the tears fighting so hard to be shed. Don't spiral. I couldn't let myself be sucked into useless sadness. I'd never claw my way out. I'd never be ready to fight.
And I mean to.
My life might be earmarked for extinction, but I meant to be the last Weaver the Hawks ever took.
At least I don't have children. Once they killed me, there'd be no more Weaver women.
Oh, my God. Until Vaughn has children.
The fist around my heart squeezed until lightheadedness made the car swim.
Daniel yanked me from my horror, rubbing my clit viciously. He grinned, dragging his repulsive touch downward, violating every part of me. "She looks younger than twenty-four. Sure you didn't get the younger sister instead?"
What!?
I jolted, sucking in a breath. I forgot to pretend the drugs still held me prisoner. A sister? Impossible.