Nila #2
His gaze met mine. With a barely noticeable nod, he agreed to our deception. A second later, a cold shield slammed over his face as effortlessly as breathing. He glittered with ice, so pure, so sharp.
If I didn’t bear the marks of his teeth and fingertips from loving me so roughly last night, I would’ve doubted what was real.
I swallowed hard.
It’s only a trick.
It’s what needs to happen.
It was us against them now. This was the biggest secret of all.
My attention dropped to what he held in his left hand.
The Tally Box.
The room had been fairly silent since I entered, but now hushed anticipation filled the space.
“Glad to see you remembered,” Cut said, taking a sip of his coffee.
Jethro nodded at his father, pulling out a chair for me. “Sit, Ms. Weaver. There’s something we need to do.”
Unable to hide my flinch from bending sore joints, I settled into the offered chair.
Only once I sat did Jethro take the seat beside me.
Folding his long legs beneath the table, he shuffled closer. His aftershave and natural scent of woods and leather trickled into my lungs, causing my heart to squeeze.
My mouth popped open as something pressed against my knee.
Jethro refused to meet my eyes, but I knew it was him, touching me...comforting me, granting me strength.
I sucked in a breath as he nudged me harder. The pressure sent combustible lust fizzing through my blood.
The heavy weight from last night settled on my chest. Words I wanted to spill gathered thickly, drowning me. I wanted to talk to him. I wanted to ask questions and hear his answers.
I want to know him.
Every inch.
Jethro continued to lean his leg against mine. He did it so calmly, all the while pretending nothing was different.
“Get on with it, Jet,” Cut ordered, his attention locked on us.
Jethro nodded curtly. “Of course. Don’t rush me. I think I’ve proven I’m more than capable of doing what needs to be done.”
Cut smashed his lips together.
Jethro’s eyes narrowed as he opened the Tally Box.
My heartbeat sped up as he lifted out the apparatus he would need. Keeping my attention on the needle and ink, I rubbed my foot against his ankle.
He tensed, but continued on as if everything was fine.
Last night, he’d given me power over him in the form of his life.
I knew things no one else did.
And after today, I would know everything.
Jethro was mine, and I would help save him, just like he said. We could change our fates from the plague of his family.
“Hold out your hand,” Jethro murmured, ignoring the table of onlookers.
My heart raced as he held up the tattoo gun.
Pressing my knuckles against the wood of the table, I bit my lip as he turned on the gun.
His hair had grown longer and it fell over his forehead. My fingers itched to brush it away, to press below his chin and bring his mouth to mine.
The air shimmered between us, growing thicker with lust.
My pussy ached from him taking me so roughly last night, but I wanted more. I wanted it harder, deeper, faster. I doubted I’d ever have enough.
Jethro bristled, fighting against the building heat humming where we touched. When it came to touching in public, we had no armor against the truth.
My gaze shot to Cut. My feelings were far too obvious—he’d see...he’d know. However, his attention zeroed in on his son, his hands steepled before him.
I gasped as the sharp needle bit into my skin. I endured the tiny teeth as they stained me with ink. The burn this time was faintly familiar, filling with memories—becoming part of the design as much as his initials.
It only took a moment.
Jethro reclined, eyeing up his penmanship. There, on the pad of my middle finger, he’d completed another JKH.
A debt for a debt.
A tally for a tally.
The residual pain couldn’t compete with my other aches and bruises. It was rather refreshing to have a wound that was sharp, rather than bone-deep and throbbing.
Jethro turned off the gun and handed it to me.
Wordlessly, he splayed his beautiful long fingers and never stopped looking at me as I inked my ownership on his mirroring finger.
My lines were straighter this time, more confident. I embraced the marks because now it only bound us tighter together, rather than recorded a new debt.
When I’d finished, he had two branded fingers.
Like for like.
Same for same.
Jethro nudged my foot again, keeping his face blank and almost cruel. I pressed back, never looking up as I turned off the gun and placed it back in its box.
Awareness scattered over my forearms. I couldn’t stop a gentle sigh as Jethro deliberately brushed my pinky with his, tucking away the discarded vial and locking the lid.
Cut muttered, “Good to see you learned from your past mistake and things are following accordingly.” Waving at the sideboard groaning with food, he added, “Eat, both of you. You have a large schedule.”
My throat closed at the thought of what that could mean.
Cut narrowed his eyes. “Jethro, you’re in charge of the Carlyle shipment. The stones arrive in a few hours. You know what to do.” Turning his cold glare on me, he smiled. “And, Nila, you’ve been summoned by my mother, Bonnie, for tea in her boudoir.”
My heart raced.
Jethro threw me a look.
What about our plans?
He glared at his father. “Ms. Weaver was subjected to enough yesterday.” His voice lowered as he spoke through clenched teeth. “Give her a few days, for fuck’s sake.”
Knives and forks screeched across crockery as the Diamond men turned to see Cut’s reaction.
Cut fisted his hands on the table. “Don’t you—”
“Um, sir?”
All heads turned to the youngest member of the Black Diamonds, a twenty-year-old man named Facet. His floppy blond hair and kind eyes were a direct contradiction to the leader he now addressed.
Cut’s forehead furrowed. Black anger covered his face. “What? What is so fucking important you interrupt me mid-sentence?”
Facet shifted awkwardly. “Sorry, sir. Won’t happen again. But, eh...we have company.” His eyes flew around the room, looking for someone to help bear the brunt of his leader.
No one moved.
The guy sucked in a breath, reluctantly delivering his news. “I tried to stop them from entering the grounds. We did what you said. But they ignored us.” Sweat gleamed on his upper lip. “Even the gatekeeper at the lock house couldn’t stop them.”
“What the hell are you talking about, boy?!” Cut exploded.
Facet jumped. “They have a warrant, sir. They—they barged past, regardless of our warnings. We reminded them that we own their department—that our brotherhood is beyond their reach.” He hung his head. “It didn’t do any good.”
The entire table sucked in a breath.
Warrant?
Could it be?
Jethro went deathly still beside me. Every connection we shared froze, no longer a two-way street of togetherness and affection. A road block slammed into place, masking his every thought.
I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. My heart squeezed as he stared fiercely at the opposite wall, refusing to look at me.
“Jethro—” I breathed.
His jaw locked; snowflakes flurried around him as he pulled more and more away from me. Goosebumps dotted my flesh.
Cut roared, “Tell those fucking pigs to get off my land. Their warrant means jack-shit.”
“Sir, I’ve told them. But they won’t listen. They say—they say they’re here for—”
Jethro burst out laughing—a cold, cynical chuckle. “That low life piece of shit. He did this. They’re here for her.” He looked at the ceiling, his face twisting into nightmares. “Of course, they fucking are.”
A warrant could mean many things. It might not have anything to do with me. Yet a screeching, tearing noise echoed in my ears. It’s my soul. The awful ripping sound was my soul splintering in two. If they had come for me...that meant...
I’m saved.
I’d wished for this very thing to happen.
I’d prayed for this. I’d begged for this.
Escape.
So, why—if it was true—did I wish to run to my quarters and hide?
I don’t want to leave him.
I can’t leave him.
Not after last night.
Jethro balled his hands, his eyes sharp and deadly. He snarled at Facet, “Tell them they can’t fucking have her.”
My heart squeezed. Pain blazed through me with more agony than I thought possible. He wouldn’t give me up. He couldn’t give me up.
We were one now. It’d been written in the stars and on our very skin.
Escape.
The word slithered through my brain, bringing forth thoughts of London and home. I shook my head, trying to dislodge the steadily building allure.
You could go home.
No, my home is here now.
But you’d be safe again...
My steadfast promise to stay and steal Jethro from his heritage faded...I became confused...
I swallowed, lubricating my throat. “Jethro—please...”
I needed him to fight for me. To prove that this was my place, my destiny.
Jethro clenched his jaw, shoving his chair back and standing. “Quiet!” Pointing a finger at Facet, he growled. “Do they, or do they not, have a fucking warrant for what’s mine?”
Facet swallowed. “Yes.”
“How?” I blurted, causing every man to look in my direction. “How do they have a warrant?”
Facet’s mouth fell open, looking to Cut to see if he should reply.
Cut glowered at me as if I’d brought the apocalypse to his door.
No one spoke.
What did my father do?
How did V find a way to free me?
My heart winged thinking of my twin. He’d promised he would never give up. I should’ve trusted him.
I should be more grateful.
I wanted to kill him.
He’d ruined it. He’d taken everything I’d worked for and torn it away from me.
I’m alive and going home.
I’m alive and going home.
The words repeated in my head.
I wouldn’t be alive if it wasn’t for Jethro.
I’m in love with him.
He’d infected me, and no matter how much distance was between us, that would never change. I was his. And he was mine.
Jethro’s eyes locked with me—the golden depths burned with despair and scorching agony. “I warned him. I tried to stop...”
He showed too much.
He felt too much.
My diamond collar grew heavier, colder.
You said you’d be the last.