Final Debt

The last time I’d come, I’d talked to Kes about doing something about it.

He became our official mediator. Behind Cut’s back, he travelled often and built a rapport with the men who’d been in our employment for centuries. In his quintessential style of helping and generosity, he improved the living conditions, gave them higher salaries, safer workplace, and secret bonuses for their plight.

He ensured Cut’s slaves turned into willing employees with health benefits and satisfaction.

Cut didn’t know.

There was so much he didn’t know.

But then again, what Cut didn’t know didn’t hurt him. And it meant our enterprise ran smoother because no ill will and destitution could undermine it.

“Goddammit, where are the fucking drivers?” I jogged toward the vehicle stand, searching for any sign of hailing a lift.

Taxis were few and lingering opportunists rare at this time of night.

I hadn’t slept in days. My wound had ruptured and my fever grew steadily worse. But I didn’t have time to care. My senses were shredded from the flight and it was all I could do to remain standing.

But Nila was with my father.

Nila was running out of time.

I’m coming.

A single shadow appeared up ahead. Turning my jog into a sprint, I clenched my jaw and approached the scruffy African man. His long hair was braided and his jeans torn in places.

I pointed at his muddy car. “Is that your four-wheel drive?”

The guy glowered, crossing his arms. His black eyes looked me up and down, his muscles priming for a fight.

In Africa, you didn’t approach strangers unless you had a weapon and were prepared to battle. Humanity wasn’t as civilized here, mainly because so much strife kept the country salivating for war.

“What’s it to you, white boy?” His Afrikaans accent heralded memories of playing in the dirt at our mine as a child. Of digging beside workers and chipping unwilling diamonds from ancient rock.

“I’ll pay you two thousand pounds if you’ll drive me where I need to go.”

His territorial anger faded a little, slipping into suspicious hope. “What about I just steal the money and leave you dead on the side of the road?”

I stood to my full height, even though it hurt my side. “You won’t do that.”

The man uncrossed his arms, his fists curling. “Oh, no? Why not?”

“Because in order to be paid you have to take me. I don’t have the money on me.”

“This a scam?”

“No scam.”

The guy leaned forward, his eyes narrowing for battle. “Tell me who you are.”

I smiled.

My name carried weight in England, just like it carried weight here.

However, here I was more than an heir to a billion dollar company. I was more than a lord, and master polo player, and vice president to Black Diamonds.

Here, I was life.

I was death.

I was blood and power and royalty.

“I’m a Hawk.”

And that was all it took.

The man lost his indignation, slipping into utmost respect. He turned and opened the door of his dinged-up 4WD, bowing in welcome. “It would be an honour to drive you, boss. I know where you need to go.”

Of course, he did.

Everyone here knew of our mine. They knew it was untouchable. They knew not to raid or pillage. That sort of respect went a long way in this country.

I clasped his hand in thanks. “You’ll be repaid. But I expect you to drive fast.”

“No problem.” He smiled broadly. “I know how Hawks fly.”

I curled my hands, unable to ignore the ticking time bomb in my chest.

Nila.

Glaring at my driver, I ordered, “Do whatever it takes, but I want to be at Almasi Kipanga before sunrise.”

“LET HER GO.”

Daniel dropped his hold.

I spun to face them. I didn’t know why; I knew what was about to happen and should hide. Hide deep, deep inside. Hide from everything they would do to me.

However, I preferred to stare at the devil than go into this blind. I would rather pay attention, so I knew that I fought. That I’d won against whatever Cut had made me drink. That he hadn’t taken my refusal away from me.

I won’t let myself submit.

I vibrated and throbbed. I still begged for a release.

The drugs from the bonfire ran rampant in my veins. Cut had let me dance. He’d cut the rope from around my wrists and sat beside the fire and watched. At times, I caught him pressing a fist between his legs; others, I thought I witnessed affection on his face.

Every step, I succumbed more and more to the drugs. Every drumbeat, my pussy clenched. If Jethro had touched me, I would’ve dropped to all fours and begged him to fuck me.

I wouldn’t have cared about people or fires or watchful gazes. I would’ve given myself completely in to the fantasy and thrown myself into every debauched act imaginable.

But he wasn’t there.

And buried beneath lust and shameful wetness, I remembered enough to be disgusted at my urges. Below the tremors of salaciousness, I hung on with fingernails so I didn’t double cross every moral I had left.

The more I danced, the more the fire chased away the chill of the night sky, coating my skin with dew.

The sweating and heat helped.

Perspiration helped shed a little of the drug’s claws, bringing me back from untamed animal to a woman I vaguely recognised.

I’d won.

Against the hardest battle of my life.