The other option was I could just fuck off and kidnap her from her hotel room.
She has to come willingly.
My father’s voice again. Kidnapping was the last resort.
I growled under my breath.
I’d let her go, not because of some decency, or concern of what would happen to her family’s happiness, or even the upcoming pain in her future. No, I let her go, because I was my father’s son and followed a plan.
I was a hunter. Skilled with both bow and arrow and gun.
The chase was the best part. And knowing I had the power tosnuff out Nila Weaver’s life the moment I caught her gave me a certain...thrill.
That was the only reason I restrained myself and followed the rules.
I had no secrets of why I would stain my hands with her blood. I had no misplaced vendettas or agendas. Everything that would come to pass was for one simple and undisputable fact.
There was a debt to be paid. And I was the method of extraction. Plain and simple.
I’m a Hawk. She’s a Weaver.
That was all I needed to know.
In the library a week ago, while sipping on a ten thousand pound bottle of cognac, my father proceeded to tell me a little of our history. He told me gruesome things. Dastardly things. Tears shed. Blood spilled. He told me what happened to Nila’s mother.
He also told me why every firstborn Weaver girl had a stain upon her life. I understood it. I accepted it. I was given the task to uphold my family’s honour. And I fully intended to extract payment as meticulously and as painfully as possible.
Because it was my task.
It wasn’t often I was given the opportunity to make my bastard of a father proud. I didn’t intend to let him down.
Even though I wouldn’t enjoy it.
Nila Weaver would be my greatest trophy.
Oh, yes. I would enjoy ruining her. I liked playing with the inner mechanics of people. I liked to break them smoothly, gently, ruthlessly. I liked to think I transformed creatures from their present to their potential.
Pity once Nila was transformed she wouldn’t be allowed to enjoy her evolution. She would be dead. That was the final toll. That was her future.
To kill something so naïvely pretty...
It made me angry to think of such delicate perfection snuffed out. But there was no point thinking of the end when the chase had just begun.
“Nice bike.”
My head snapped up, eyes locking onto my prey. The same prey who’d run yet returned.
She’d returned?I was right before. She truly is stupid.
Nila drifted forward, threading and unthreading her fingers. I didn’t move or utter a sound. She responded to my silence—like everything. I’d learned that cursing and yelling could be frightening—but silence...it was the empty void where enemies’ fears polluted. Stay quiet long enough and horror would be struck with one whisper instead of a multitude of profanities.
She waved at my bike, her eyes wider than before...darker than before.
Deciding to grant her a reply, I said, “It’s my version of accessorising.” The sleek Harley-Davidson was a new purchase.
Stroking the throttle, I tilted my head. Her dusky skin had colour. Her pronounced cheekbones were flushed, trailing residual temper down her neck. Something had happened. Something had upset her.
Did she find her father, only for him to disown her and send her back to me?
