The Hawks had stripped her from me and torn away any armour I had against missing her. She wasn’t the bad guy.Theywere. They would all die for this. They would rot for eternity. I would find a way.
Please, let me find a way.
I wore a necklace every firstborn woman in my family wore beforethey were murdered—I was owed serious revenge. Disgusting, painful revenge.
A sob escaped my mouth. I couldn’t fight the spinning anymore and doubled over. With a sickening splash, I threw up all over Jethro’s shiny black shoes.
“Shit.” He jumped back, not that there was much mess. It’d been almost twenty-four hours since I’d eaten—I had nothing to waste or purge. But the dry heaves wouldn’t stop racking my frame.
“For fuck’s sake, Jet. Get her under control. We don’t have all day.” Mr. Hawk’s voice shouted across the room.
Cold hands grabbed my shoulders, jerking me from bowed to straight. I moaned as my head sloshed with pain.
“Stop embarrassing me,” Jethro snarled.
Embarrassing him?Bastard. Arsehole. Son of Satan. I glowered with tear-swimming eyes into Jethro’s cold uncompassionate gaze. Something flicked over his gold irises—a dark shadow. That was the only warning I received before his hand came up and struck me around the side of the head.
I thought I was brave. I thought I was strong. But I’d never been struck before. Daniel’s slap in the car last night didn’t count. This abuse had come from a black place—a place inside Jethro where unsurmountable anger boiled. And it was endless. He may be a glacier on the outside, but in there...in his heart...he steamed with pressuring rage.
Crashing to my knees, I curled my smarting head into my arms. I came from a family who loved each other so much a disappointed look or stern word was enough to break your heart. Physical abuse wasn’t something I knew. It wasn’t something I could prepare for.
Jethro grabbed my hair, pulling me upright. I held onto his wrists to prevent the tearing pain. My blurry gaze focused on his grey shirt and perfectly creased jeans.
He glared. “You’ll clean that up, but for now you have other things to attend to.”
Not letting go of my hair, he carted me toward his father. Every step I took, I tried to hide my exposed breasts and ignore the breeze between my naked legs. The pinafore Jethro had put on me barely covered my stomach let alone valuable places. Places I would give my entire design line to have covered. The stupid maid cap tilted to the side, clinging to my tangled hair.
I couldn’t count how many men existed around the table, but their eyes never met mine. Most were glued to my chest or mesmerized lower down as I side-shuffled to hide as much of my decency as possible.
But it wasn’t just their eyes sending spider legs scurrying over my flesh. It was the huge immaculate paintings of men wearing white wigs, elegant coat and tails, and hunting regalia glaring down from the dark red walls.
Their eyes weren’t lifeless but full of disdain—somehow they knew a Weaver was in their midst and the crackling fireplace was useless to stop my chill.
My sentence was to be carried out with ancestors and family heirlooms as witnesses.
The moment we came to a stop beside Mr. Hawk, sitting in his ornate dining chair, Jethro jerked my neck back. His flawless face filled my vision. “You are no longer free. Look. See your future and understand there’s no sweet talking, begging, or bargaining your way out of this. You wear the collar. You’re ours completely.” Jethro’s voice was arctic, glittering with power.
The collar cut into my skin. I wanted to spit in his face.
Shoving me toward Mr. Hawk, the old man snaked an arm around my naked waist, tugging me onto his lap.
“Obey and make me proud, Ms. Weaver.” Jethro crossed his arms. He shifted to stand behind his father’s chair, removing himself from the role of authority, becoming merely a spectator.
He’s never called me Nila.
The stupid thought came and went on a heartbeat. Jethro was yet to use my first name.
I shuddered, feeling overwhelmingly sick again.
Jethro was awful but being disowned and handed over to a room of men was worse. I would’ve given anything to avoid was what about to happen. I would willingly trade all my nights in a bed and return to the kennels. The hounds were loving, kind...warm.
I sat frozen on Mr. Hawk’s lap.
His hand rested on my upper thigh, not violating but terrifying. “Now that we all understand each other, I want you to look at something for me, Nila. Then the festivities will begin. Every man you serve, you’ll receive another snippet of your history. Only once you’ve completed your task will you know the entire story and will be free tospend the afternoon either in the steam baths below the house as a reward or in solitary confinement in the dungeons as punishment, depending on how well you please us.”
I couldn’t understand how my body still functioned. Shock turned my limbs to statues, fear made me mute—I died inside until there was no part of me left. But still my heart kept pumping; my blood kept flowing—staying alive only for their sick pleasure.
The weight of my mother’s collar bit into my neck and a question came from no-where. My mother was a Weaver. Her mother before her was a Weaver. But wouldn’t they have changed their names according to the surname of their husbands?
