A flash of blackness up ahead wrenched my attention from scheming. I narrowed my eyes, moving faster to catch up with the blur that’d disappeared down the corridor.
Thanking the thick white carpet below my bare toes, I tiptoed the final distance and peered down the hallway.
Jethro.
My heart rate picked up as he strode quickly and purposely, hishands balled by his side.
My gaze fell on the hand where he now wore my initials.
I brought my finger up, inspecting his impressive cursive and arrogant flourish of his name. Not only had we slept together, but we’d stamped ownership on each other, too.
Jethro stopped and knocked on a door. A moment later, he turned the brass door handle and disappeared.
The second the door closed, I darted down the corridor and pressed my ear against the ancient wood.
What are you doing?
I didn’t know.
Eavesdropping never brought good news, but I refused to be in the dark any longer. Where did he disappear to when he struggled? Who or what did he run to when he slipped from ice to emotion?
A low murmur of voices came through the door.
I couldn’t catch any words, but my heart raced at the sound.
Jethro didn’t disappear to be on his own. He didn’t run to Kestrel or a Black Diamond brother.
Of course, it wasn’t that simple.
No, he came here.
He visited a woman.
A woman who spoke with a softly whispered voice.
A woman who’d lived all this time on the second floor of Hawksridge Hall.
Chapter Seven
Jethro
––––––––
“WHAT ARE YOU doing in here, Kite?”
I slouched.
My nickname. The term of endearment that I allowed no one but my sister to use filled me with equal parts relief and annoyance. I should never have used it to message Nila. Now its meaning intertwined with the debts. It would never again just be a simple term of togetherness between Jaz and me.
I’d been so stupid to call myself after James Bond, too. Kite007. What a ridiculous name. It wasn’t that I evenlikedJames Bond. I just thought he had cool gadgets and deserved his kickass status for always killing evil bastards.
My fingertip burned with licking fire. My knuckles still tingled from resting on Nila’s thigh. So many times, I’d had to brace myself so I didn’t flip my hand over and slide my touch between her legs.
I’d been achingly hard the entire time I’d tattooed her. I’d wanted to see if she was wet while repaying the favour. There was something primal about knowing the woman who I’d fucked, who intrigued me over all others, was walking around wearing my brand.
A brand that marked her forever as mine.
Shit, perhaps I should’ve taken care of myself before coming here. The moment I let my thoughts drift to Nila, I grew hard again.
