Chapter Thirty-One
Nila
THE SINGLE TOLL of the clock sent mayhem racing through my blood.
One a.m.
Closer to the witching hour than daybreak—curtained by deep darkness where sins and perfidious acts occurred with no repercussion.
Fear.
Endless fear.
It compounded, amalgamated until I couldn’t breathe.
Time screeched to a halt as the four Hawks discarded their game and turned their eyes on me.
I backed away, clutching my heart.
No!
My voice became a dried-up riverbed with no words to flow.
Jethro placed his elbows on the table, running his hands through his tinsel hair. His shoulders heaved as he fortified for whatever came next.
Cut slapped him on the back, muttering something beneath his breath.
Kes glanced at me then away. His body stiff and bristling.
He knows.
He knew what was about to happen. He knew and couldn’t look at me.
Oh, God.
My fear turned to petrified terror.
Daniel stood up first.
Cut nodded as the little creep moved toward me.
“Come here, Nila Weaver. It’s time.”
I shook my head, backing up until I bumped into a blood-red wingback. “Don’t touch me.” My gaze shot to Jethro. He stood bowed like an ancient tree that’d weathered far too many storms. His body was knotted and twisted, eyes tight and strained.
“I said, comehere.” Daniel lunged, grabbing my arm and jerking me against him. “Oh lookie. I’m touching you.”
I bared my teeth, struggling in his foul grip. “Get your filthy—”
“Nila...” Kestrel stood, clearing his throat.
I paused, waiting for him to say something more. If his older brother wouldn’t stop this atrocity, perhaps he would. Maybe I should’ve put my faith in Kes all along.
However, he only shook his head, his face once again hiding everything.
Cut reclined in his chair, snapping his fingers. “Proceed, Daniel.”
“No, wait!”
