Jethro #3
For the first time, I acknowledged it. Not with hatred or fear or frustration—just accepted that Nila Weaver was a force I couldn’t control, and as much as I would like to deny it, she had a power over me.
Jasmine had seen it.
That was what my sister meant.
But I’d been too much of an arsehole to listen.
Tomorrow, you’re going back to your sister and talking this through.
I needed answers. And she was the only one who I trusted enough to give me unbiased, pure direction. We were the black sheep of the Hawk family, and for that one reason, we’d become close. Kes was my best friend—until recently, of course—but my sister was my rescuer.
Not that my father knew, or even my grandmother, who kept Jasmine far away from us men and our contamination.
No one knew the bond my sister and I shared.
Just like no one knew the bond Nila and I shared.
Both were secret.
And both meant more to me than any other relationship I’d ever had.
Shit.
Running a hand through my hair, I placed her phone on my desk.
Nila never took her gaze from the device. “You seem to laugh at everything I do, so it’s only rational to think my messages entertained you to no end.”
I had to do what I came in here to do before I lost all focus and allowed Nila to drag forth everything I’d worked so hard to swallow.
I murmured, “You’re tempting destruction, Ms. Weaver.” My breathing turned shallow as I moved around the desk and captured the ends of her long hair, twirling them around my fingertips.
There was something about her hair. Something that called to the feral part of me that wanted the strands on my cock as she sucked me, or better yet, stuck to my sweaty chest after I’d come deep inside her.
Those fantasies had not helped clear my head. The past fortnight, they’d only gotten worse.
Just like I had Nila’s hair wrapped around my little finger, she had me wrapped around hers.
“Nila. My name is Nila. You might as well call me that, seeing as I’ve had your cock in my mouth and your tongue between my legs. Nothing like tasting each other to be on a first-name basis, huh, Jethro?”
I tugged her hair. “Quiet.”
“No chance.”
My eyes widened. Who was this woman? Taunting me, provoking me while her body trembled with anger. It was almost as if she wanted me to explode. To hurt her. To retaliate.
Maybe she does?
Perhaps she felt the same way I did—a connection in our arguments, a freedom to give into the overwhelming emotions that didn’t need to make sense when in the heat of a fight.
How did I think I could maintain this persona I’d created? This suave sophistication that I’d successfully worn for so many years?
My time was up.
And it would remain up until Nila was gone.
I swallowed hard at the thought of her disappearing.
My eyes fell on the diamond collar. “I could make you, but I think you’d just like it.”
As long as the collar remained around her neck, she was alive. As long as the diamonds glinted and drenched her in rainbows, she would be there to torment me.
And day by day, she would make me weaker.
And weaker.
Until one day, I would lose it all.
It can’t happen.
But what could I do to prevent it?
Make her hate you. Make her despise you.
Then it would be against my will, even if I suddenly wanted a change of heart.
“Everything you do to me I hate,” she hissed.
Crowding her against the desk, I murmured, “Everything?” My eyes fell to her lips. What I wouldn’t give to just fucking kiss her. I’d wanted to kiss her for weeks.
Her mouth parted, breath turning soft and quick. “Yes, everything.”
Temper swirled in the room, heating the space. “You seem to enjoy the anticipation of me kissing you.”
She snorted. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
Capturing her chin, I dug my fingers into her cheeks. “If I kissed you right now, you’d let me do whatever the hell I wanted.”
She struggled, eyes sparkling with black ferocity. “Kiss me and I’ll bite you.”
I wanted to laugh at the absurdity of our fight, but fuck if it didn’t make me feel more alive than I had in two weeks.
I couldn’t let it continue, though.
It has to stop.
Letting her chin go, I slapped her.
A puff of surprise and pain escaped her lips.
The ring in my palm reminded me of the man I’d been groomed to be, and I threw myself headfirst into it. The bright flush on her cheek as her face snapped sideways begged me to lick her.
So, I did.
Dragging her close, I lapped my tongue over her hot, punished flesh, whispering, “You would like me too much if I gave into your goading, Ms. Weaver. I warned you before—if you insist on playing this game, you won’t win.”
She breathed hard. “Funny, I thought the score was pretty even.”
I pressed my cold lips against her smarting cheek. “Funny, I thought you lost the day you were born.”
She sucked in a breath, her dark eyes swimming with tears.
Strike for me.
I’d won that argument, so why did my stomach feel like fucking lead?
Letting her go, I grabbed the newly drafted contract from the desk and shoved it in her face. “You agreed to this. Sign it.”
Her mouth popped wide, taking in the freshly inked document. I’d spent many nights carefully penning it in the way of our custom with quill and ink, rather than computer and printer. It wasn’t perfect, but it was binding, and that was all that fucking mattered.
Grabbing the same swan feather I’d used to scratch out the paperwork, I stole Nila’s hand and hooked her fingers around the quill.
“What is this?”
“The agreement owed from your disastrous attempt at running.” Tapping the page, I said, “Sign it.”
“I’m not signing anything until I’ve read it.” Her gaze glowed black, her cheek still pink from my slap.
Taking a step back, I splayed my hands, presenting the contract. “By all means, Ms. Weaver. Read away.”
She scowled, her hands shaking as she snatched it from my grip.
Her lips parted as she read.
I didn’t need to see it to know what it said. It was ingrained on my soul.
Date: 5th September 2014
Jethro Hawk, firstborn son of Bryan Hawk, and Nila Weaver, firstborn daughter of Emma Weaver, hereby solemnly swear this is a law-abiding and incontestable contract.
Nila Weaver revokes all ownership of her freewill, thoughts, and body and grants them into the sole custody of Jethro Hawk, as per the agreement made the morning of the 19th of August when Nila Weaver took up the offer from Jethro Hawk to run in exchange for her freedom.
The previous incontestable document named the Debt Inheritance falls into second right of claimant and will remain void as long as this new agreement is in effect.
The terms brokered were for Nila’s freedom and release of the Debt Inheritance if she won, and her willing signature revoking everything that she is to Jethro Hawk if she lost.
On the 19th of August, Nila Weaver lost; therefore, this agreement is complete and binding.
Both Nila Weaver and Jethro Hawk promise neither circumstance, nor change of heart will alter this vow.
In sickness and in health.
Two houses.
One contract.
I’d already signed, taking up half the page below.
Nila looked up, completely horrified. “You can’t be serious. You—you—”
I tensed. “Careful what you say. Think about how painful it will be for you if you insult my mental health again.”
She swallowed back the words dying to spew forth. “I’m not signing this, you bastard.”
I tilted my head. “Bastard? Interesting choice of words.”
“Don't like that one? How about fuckwit? Murderer? Rapist?”
I slapped her again, revelling in the equal burn we shared.
Pain to deliver pain. Pleasure to deliver pleasure.
Funny how the two were correlated.
“I’ll accept ‘bastard’ and ‘fuckwit,’ but under no circumstances will I accept ‘rapist.’ Have I tried to take you? Have I forced you? And, I’m no murderer.”
Her eyes glittered, fingers rubbing her cheek. “Are you deliberately blocking out what happened after the First Debt was repaid, or are you that much of a lunatic to remember only the things convenient to you?”
Lunatic.
I ran a hand infinitely slowly through my hair. I had full grounds to punish her. I’d warned her time and time again.
“Tell me, Jethro, you say you’re not a murderer—yet.
But it will be you who delivers the killing blow, won’t it?
You admitted as much in the past. Unless you’re too chicken and make your father do it.
Or even maybe poor Kes. Will he kill me?
Is he the bigger man than you? To kill off the family pet when it’s no longer wanted? ”
My jaw ached from clenching so hard. “You really want to know?”
You’ve already guessed the truth.
The thought blazed bright, almost as bright as her cheek.
“No need, I already know. What will you use? A butchers block? A sharp blade or dull?” The strength and fight in her voice suddenly dissolved into sobs. “How will you live with yourself when my blood pours over your perfect shoes?”
The room shattered with sadness; the walls trampled us with appalling futures.
With a horrified wail, she curled into herself, holding her stomach as if her very soul tried to claw its way out.
“Tell me, Jethro, if I only have a limited amount of time left, why go through the charade of making me sign this?!” She shook the parchment in front of my face.
“What is this anyway? Does it have a name? ‘Weaver Vexation,’ perhaps?”
Her sanity quickly unravelled with every syllable.
I stood stiff, frantically clutching at my beloved ice. But in that moment, I felt her pain. I tasted her tears. I lived her grief.
My hands balled. The title I’d given it had been flippant at the time, but now I could see how it could shatter her.
Don’t say it.
The air in the office turned stagnant, waiting for me to speak.
Finally, I admitted, “Sacramental Pledge.”
She half-cackled, half-giggled, before everything seemed to fold in and crush her. “You made this our vows?! Sacramental, holy matrimony vows?”
Before I could answer, she shook her head and collapsed to her knees before me. Rocking, hot tears splashed onto the contract, mixing with ink and staining it with large swirls of black.
She was the one who gave me the idea. After all, we were technically married. Groomed for one another, destined to drive each other to insanity. This was our fate. Our motherfucking destiny.
Her laughs interspersed with sobs. The sound was utterly heart-crushing. I locked my body from moving as she curled tighter on the floor.
“This is real. This...it’s not a nightmare. This is real!”
Tears rivered from her eyes, tracking faster and faster as her breath caught and she choked. She choked and sobbed and choked again. “It’s not fair. I w—want to go h—home.”
I’d never seen anyone come apart so completely.
This wasn’t just about the deed. This was about everything she hadn’t let herself feel. She hadn’t let go of her past. She hadn’t faced the reality that this was her future, and there would be no going back—no matter how much she thought it was possible.
Was this how she’d survived—by pretending it wasn’t real, that everything would somehow disappear?
Everything crested and breached, shuddering her small frame with grief.
I stood over her, hating to see such weakness. Despising that I’d driven her to break. But at the same time, I stood protective over her vulnerability, standing guard, making sure she had the peace in which to purge.
In a way, I knew exactly how she felt. We were both chained to a future we didn’t want, and there was no way out—for either of us.
I didn’t touch her. I didn’t torment her.
I let her spew her worries and cleanse herself.
I just let her cry.
As each droplet splashed onto the carpet, I found myself growing fucking jealous. I was jealous that finding a release was so easy for her. So easy to come undone, knowing she’d have the power to stitch herself together again.
Half an hour passed, or maybe it was only ten minutes, but slowly Nila’s tears stopped, and her wracking frame fell into a deep, eternal silence.
The night was entirely tainted. I had no drive to make her sign anymore or to wage war. And I definitely had no more energy to be cruel.
There was no need. I didn’t have to break her—not after she’d broken herself.
I sighed heavily. “Get up.”
Slowly, quietly, and obediently, she climbed to her feet. She stood swaying, white as a fucking ghost. In her hands, she still clutched the quill and parchment having drenched it in her tears.
Without a word, she placed the soggy document onto the desk, dipped the swan feather into the ink well, and signed her name.
My stomach swooped in the wrong direction. I should’ve been happy, but instead my joy was filthy oil, corrupting my insides.
Avoiding eye contact, she whispered, “I want to go back to my room. If you have any soul inside you, Jethro, you will do this one thing for me.”
My heart squeezed, cracking its glacier frost, melting drop by drop.
My hands itched to touch her, to grant solace...comfort.
She hates you, you arsehole.
There was no way she would want to be touched. Especially by me.
The least I could do was release her.
With infinitesimal slowness, I turned to the desk and retrieved her phone. “Here.” I pressed it into her lax palm.
She didn’t even acknowledge me.
With nothing else to say, I guided her back to her room.