This was her welcome luncheon.
A tradition unbroken for hundreds of years. An esteemed event that all our brethren knew.
The day they all sample a Weaver.
Slamming my palm against the double doors, I jerked Nila into the room. She wheeled to a stop, her face losing its colour in favour of snowy white. I searched her features for fear. I hunted for terror, but I only witnessed blank resignation.
Turning away from her, I focused on what she couldn’t look away from.
Men.
Some smooth faced and young, others bearded and old. But they all had something in common. They belonged to the Diamonds and were our most trusted employees. Flaw, Fracture, and Cushion weren’t present. Their task was to watch Vaughn and Archibald Weaver from doing anything...reckless.
Nila struggled, trying to take her hand back. I clamped my fingers around her, not giving an inch. “Don’t be rude, Ms. Weaver. Say hello and be courteous. This is, after all, your welcome lunch.”
She jolted, shying backward, testing my hold.
My father sat at the end of the extremely long table. The room was huge. Decorated with gold-spun drapery and massive oil paintings of my ancestors, it glittered with crystal chandeliers and silverware.
The paintings were of male Hawks only. The women of my family tree were designated to another room. Still celebrated, but not nearly as important.
Each artwork showed a man of distinguished wealth and intolerable power. I’d studied them in great length this past month, preparing for Nila’s arrival. My favourite was Owen Hawk.
I looked just like him.
Snapping his fingers, my father called the small murmurs of masculine voices to attention. Pointing at Nila trembling beside me, he said, “Brothers, this woman will be our guest for the foreseeable future, and in honour of her company, we have something special planned.”
The men grinned, reclining in their chairs, ready for the show to begin. The hiss and crackle of the log fire added a cheery backgroundnoise as well as welcome heat to the cavernous room.
“Jet, if you would be so kind as to make sure our guest is appropriately attired.”
Pleasure.
Tradition had begun.
Dropping Nila's hand, I moved toward the large side table that held crockery, wine glasses, and decanters. The food that’d been prepared by the full kitchen in the other wing of the house waited on the matching sideboard across the room. There were countless dishes, at least seven courses, but no wait staff to present it.
I smiled.
That was where Ms. Weaver came in. Along with...other duties.
Gathering the items that were meant for Nila, I returned to her side. She hadn’t moved, but not from obedience. Two large men in leather cuts blocked her way out. The moment I came back, she looked pleadingly into my eyes.
“I can’t—Jethro, don’t make me.” She swallowed. “Not so many. I can’t do—”
Snatching her arm, I spun her to the corner of the room, away from hungry onlookers. “You dare say no? Do youwantthis to be over?”
She nodded rapidly. “Yes. More than anything yes.”
“Fine. It’s over. But you’re sentenced to watch your father and brother be slaughtered, along with the decimation of your family’s business and assets. It will be obliterated. Gone. Is that what you’re willing to pay?”
She squeezed her eyes in horror.
Didn’t think so.
I never wanted to be that weak. That driven by compassion. I obeyed my family. I accepted my position. But I wouldneverlet love dictate my actions.
That wasn’t what a Hawk did.
