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."
"ENOUGH PLAYING, JETHRO, bring her here."
The command burned my ears, turning my false belief I could survive into dirty soot. The fire I'd nursed inside was gone. All the stupid pretending that I could block the worst from damaging my soul disappeared. My little claws had fully retracted into nothing once again.
I was cold. Cold as him.
Shut down. Same as him.
Silent. Same as him.
Only one way to get it off.
I swallowed. My head pounded. My hands flew up to tug at the jewelled collar. It was heavy and lifeless and ice. Pure ice. The perfect clarity and flawless sparkle of the diamonds leached into my skin, claiming me, marking me.
Only one way to get it off.
I thought I'd come to terms with my mortality. I thought I'd face the end with my head held high and dry eyes-but that was before they told me the method of my execution. When I thought of death, I pictured … nothing … I had no image of how the end would come.
Now I did.
Only one way to get it off.
I was to be beheaded.
There'd be no sawing off the collar or picking the lock. The way the clasp snapped so resolutely hinted at a one way mechanism. The heavy noose was now mine … an accessory slowly strangling me by diamonds.
It wasn't breakable. But I was. So fragile really, when a single sharp blade could cast me from life into the nether. Diamonds were nature's hardest fortress-the quintessential marriage of unbreakable ice and power.
A new unwanted respect curdled in my stomach. Jethro said his mines. Their mines. Diamonds were pure, but the method of collection had a chequered history of death and violence.
They didn't just play the part of untouchables. They were untouchable.
No!
My tugging fingers turned frantic. I arched my neck, searching with an edge of insanity for a weakness in the soldered white gold and gemstones. It had to come off.
It has to.
I didn't have the strength to die. I didn't have the martyrdom to let them do this. Not for family. Not for fortune. I'm weak. I don't want to die!
Jethro grabbed my wrists, effortlessly pulling my arms away from my throat. My eyes opened and all I saw was malevolent stone. There was no compassion in his light-brown eyes. No sympathy or even guilt. How did he have the power to be so close to me-to grow hard wanting me-and know all along my fate?
Only a special person could do that. A person who wasn't born of this world, but brimstone and fire. From hell.
I struggled in his hold, breathing hard. The collar settled heavily, still spreading its heinous ice. "I was wrong about you," I hissed.
Jethro placed my hands by my sides, then let me go. He shrugged, running a palm through his thick salt-and-pepper hair. "I've been nothing but forthright and honest from the beginning. You're the one who spun a lie from the truth. You're the one who ignored everything I was telling you."