Jethro #2
My secrets were safe as long as I confounded her.
I sipped my beer, deliberately ignoring her.
Masculine laughter suddenly rose as one drunken club member fell face first into the punch bowl. His woman kept slapping him with the ladle as he proceeded to slurp up the spilled alcoholic liquid.
Nila smiled, sighing. “I’d like to say I’ve missed you, but that would be a lie.”
My back stiffened, but I forced myself to relax. Good for her.
I suppose.
“Seriously? What happened to you? Two weeks ago, you would’ve jumped down my throat and growled like a demented wildebeest. Now...nothing.” Nila placed her hands on her hips, glaring.
I drained my beer, placing the empty cup on the food-strewn table to our right.
She huffed, running her fingers through her hair. “Fine. Keep your freaky silence. I’m sure Kes would love to talk to me.”
Gathering the front of her skirt, she pranced away.
Kestrel.
Images of her spending so much time with him bombarded me. Despite the success of the conditioning session I’d had with Jasmine, I couldn’t seem to stop myself watching the footage of Nila drifting around the Hall and laughing with my brother.
They were close.
She didn’t trust him—the look of wariness never fully left her face—but she tolerated and enjoyed his company.
Unlike mine.
She accepted his gifts without suspicion, and never tried to antagonise him to the point of showing his true self.
Why did she accept his friendship yet go out of her way to rip me to shreds?
I gritted my teeth. Stupid question. The answer was plain and simple. I was her tormentor; Kes was her saviour. That was how this was always orchestrated. I should be happy it was working so flawlessly.
Plus, she was drawn to him because of the messages. The ruse of Kite007.
My hands curled. She’d let Kes waltz into her life, because she believed they had history. She might even believe he was ultimately on her side.
Silly, silly Weaver.
She hadn’t asked him outright yet. I knew that for a fact. Everything would change when she did.
I stood frozen as Nila traversed the small distance across the lawn toward Kes.
He reclined in a deck chair, a cigar dangling from his fingers, his shirt open and showing his muscular stomach.
Kes had always been stronger than me—more brawn than brains—but he’d also never used it against me unless it was in play.
Now, though, he played a dangerous game, deliberately drawing Nila away from me.
My teeth clenched as Kes opened his arms and Nila perched on the arm of his deckchair. He said something to her, and she giggled.
My stomach churned; elderberry and thistle flavoured bile crawled up my throat.
Every second I stood and witnessed the friendship that’d blossomed between my captive and brother sent my gut convulsing.
Every moment I watched, my ice steamed until I billowed with smoke.
I didn’t give myself permission to stomp across the garden.
I didn’t even notice I’d gone from standing to stalking.
And I definitely didn’t permit my body to bend and grab her wrist.
But that was what I did.
Somehow, I’d gone from standing to yanking Nila Weaver from my brother’s embrace and dragging her like a hunted deer toward the Hall.
“Hey!” Nila dragged her nails over my wrist. It didn’t do any good. Pain was another emotion I’d managed to shut off. “Let me go.”
“No,” I muttered. “There’s something I need to show you.” The party was left behind, and Kes had the sense of mind to stay where the fuck he was.
No one intervened or glanced our way as I carted her closer to the Hall. Once we entered the huge mansion, I let her wrist go and moved behind her to splay a guiding hand on her lower back. She stiffened but didn’t shy away. Silently, I propelled her down the corridor.
What are you doing?
This was important.
You agreed you wouldn’t go through with it.
That was before my brother stepped over the line.
Fuck trying to keep myself removed.
Nila was mine, and she would never be permitted to forget it.
At the time, I’d drafted it purely to keep myself busy while staying my distance. But I think I always knew in my heart I would make her sign.
After all, it would ensure Nila would stay mine, even if she fell for my brother. Even if Kes won.
A binding agreement.
Something that trumped even the Debt Inheritance.
An agreement my father would disintegrate if he ever found out.
* * * * *
My study.
My sanctuary.
The one place no one else was permitted to go.
What are you doing bringing her in here?
I hadn’t thought this through. But I couldn’t turn back now.
Unlocking the thick carved door, I pushed Nila through the entrance. Once inside, I locked it, letting her drift forward on her own accord. Her eyes moved around the space quickly, expertly going to the exits of bathroom, balcony sash window, and the doorway in which we’d come.
Poor girl.
She’d changed so much already. A true survivalist. A puritan who only wanted to live.
But you’ll die. Just like the rest of them.
I searched for the cold smugness drilled into me by my father. I was supposed to enjoy this—to love the hunt and dispatching of Weavers.
It was a family hobby. A trade passed down, linking our forefathers and ensuring our lineage had common ground.
So why did the thought of beheading her twist my gut?
Why did the very notion of watching her fuck my brother churn my heart in a blender?
My entire body rebelled at the thought of an axe detaching her long black hair, slicing through the vulnerable cord of muscle, shutting her dark eyes forever.
My cock twitched as she spun to face me, her hands flying to her hips. She seemed out of place in the rotund room with its six windows, lush Chinese sewn carpet, and treasure trove of small lead figurines from Indian and Cowboy child play-sets.
The wealth of history and monetary value of the things in this room would make a museum weep.
“What are we doing in here?”
I stalked to my desk. Unlocking a secret drawer beneath the jumble of stationery, I pulled forth a drafted document that no one else knew about but me. There were no cameras in this room. No one spying on what I was about to do.
Just us.
Only we would know what we’d done.
“Come here,” I said, snapping my fingers.
Nila narrowed her eyes. “You do that often.”
“Do what?”
She snapped her fingers. “Summon me like your pet; like your dogs.”
I placed both hands flat on the desk. “You are my pet. I thought we’d discussed that.”
She stomped forward, a conundrum of bright temper in the drab world of my study.
Her sandaled feet padded on the thick carpet, planting herself in front of my desk.
Her head tilted, long hair cascading over her shoulder, completely free and glossy as the midnight sky.
“Funny, I thought we’d established I was something more. ”
My back stiffened. “Since when?”
Her lips stretched, baring her teeth in an evil little grin. “Since I made you come. Since you showed me you were human. Since you ran from me for the past fortnight, all because you’re not dealing with whatever is going on between us.”
She moved closer.
I stood ramrod straight, clenching every muscle against her advance.
“Tell me, Jethro Hawk. Would a pet be able to suck you? Would a pet swallow your cum? Would a pet pleasure you?” Her voice dropped to a seduction. “Would a pet admit to missing its owner, because it’d become addicted to the desire it felt in its master’s presence?”
My mind exploded.
I swallowed hard, hating the swirl of lust and temper that had no right to build. I’d barricaded emotions from my life, so why did the mere hint of an argument with Nila completely undo everything I’d tried so hard to fix?
I couldn’t breathe.
Needing a distraction, I pulled her phone that I’d confiscated from my pocket and held it up.
Instantly, her mouth fell open. Greed and excitement glowed on her face. “You still have it.”
“Of course, I still have it.” Swiping my finger over the screen, I muttered, “There are some extremely interesting messages on here.”
Nila froze. Her cheeks lost all colour. “I told you that I’d been in touch with my brother. I told you he knew.”
I nodded. “You did.”
She tried to hide her nervousness but didn’t succeed. “So what’s interesting? I told you the truth.”
What was interesting?
How about the fucking messages reeking of smut and combustible need? I’d spent many an evening sorting through the unsent drafts to Kite007. She’d deleted more messages than she’d actually sent, hiding so much.
By reading the messages she didn’t want seen, I saw right into her soul. I finally got a clue of who Nila Weaver was. And she was no longer the heartbreakingly timid woman who’d been a plaything for her brother and a slave for her father.
She was so, so much more.
Every draft she’d typed but never sent rested in her phone like a perfect calendar of her growth from gullible daughter to fierce opponent.
Every single message she’d typed to him—to the man she knew as Kite—further showed the truth of who she really was.
Her emails had been nothing but work related.
Her brother nothing but demanding and dominant.
Her father nothing but pleading and clinging.
But Kite...
He brought out the best in Nila. And I brought out the fucking worst.
I shook my head, unable to stop the chuckle breaking through my lips. Why hadn’t I seen it? Why hadn’t I understood it before now? I was a fucking idiot.
Nila crossed her arms, glaring pure death. “Are you done laughing at my personal life?”
I stopped chuckling, embracing vacancy once again. “What makes you think I’m laughing at you, Ms. Weaver?”
The moment I spoke her name, the fight, the intoxicating addictive need to battle with her broke free from the prison inside.
Goddammit, it seemed the only time I could be free was to stay away from her. But the only time I was alive was to provoke and drink in her kitten-like wrath like an elixir of life.
Fuck, I’m screwed.