Final Debt
Page 20But now, all that existed was desire and the knowledge there was nowhere for me to run.
Not this time.
No Kestrel to fake it. No Jethro to save me.
Just Daniel, Cut, and me in this flimsy fabric tent.
Drumbeats pounded outside, the occasional whoop and incantation fading into the starlit sky. I’d never battled myself so hard. Never tried to cling to right and wrong when faced with impending doom and wanting so fucking much to give in.
Sex.
They wanted sex.
And whatever they’d given me made me want it bad, too. Terribly bad. Stupidly, fearfully bad.
But I couldn’t.
I couldn’t forget. I wouldn’t forget.
And so my body split further into two, quaking and twitching, demanding I give in.
Cut came closer, cupping my cheeks with his rough hands. My skin sparked beneath his touch and I hated, hated, hated myself for the way I swayed closer, focusing on his mouth and heat and charred smell from the fire.
He chuckled softly, running his thumb over my bottom lip.
It took everything, absolutely everything, inside not to open for him and suck his finger.
Never!
I moaned as he kissed me, encouraging me to just let go. Cut no longer played by whatever ancient rules that’d bound him. He played a different game. He seemed younger, softer…and the occasional similarity between him and his eldest son shot confusion into my brain like the worst vertigo attack.
He’s not Jethro.
He’s not!
I might’ve given in to the music and danced. I might’ve become one of the clan as I cavorted around the burning blaze. But now I would control myself, even if it meant shackling everything my body wanted and ensuring I was taken against my will.
Rape would destroy me.
But willingly participating…I would rather die a thousand times on the threatened guillotine.
“Do you need me to go into details, Nila?” Cut ran his nose along my jaw. “You know what happened to our ancestor. He was buggered from one a.m. to one p.m. He was shared. There were no rules on what could be done to his body. He was given as a debt.”
I swallowed hard.
The terrible tragedy of what’d befallen his relative helped fortify my resolve.
I leaned away from his touch. “No, you don’t have to. I remember.”
Jethro…
God, I wished he was here.
He’d saved me last time. He’d remained true and honest and so damn selfless—I’d wanted him in that moment.
I wanted him now.
The drugs made me want anyone as long as I earned pleasure and an end to the incessant drive for a release.
I balled my hands. “Whatever you gave me—I won’t give in to it.”
My eyes glazed as Cut grabbed his cock. “You sure about that?”
Animalistic primal urges overrode my humanity. I was sick. Sick, sick, sick to want this murderer. The man who’d slaughtered my mother. The man who killed my lover and his brother—his very sons.
No!
A wash of clarity helped me stand firm. “Get out! Get out. I won’t enjoy this. I won’t. No matter what you do, I won’t welcome this. You want me to give myself willingly? You want me to love you like I love your son? But I won’t. I never will. You’re a twisted bastard who deserves nothing more than death!”
Silence smothered us as my outburst hung loudly in the tent.
Daniel ran his hand over his face, chuckling. “Oh, fuck, Weaver. Now, you’ve done it.”
Cut didn’t say a word, but the loose enjoyment on his face tightened with rage. Lashing out, he grabbed my hair, jerking my head back. “Love my son? I think you meant to say loved, my dear. He’s dead.”
Shit!
I forced desolation into my gaze, burying the truth deep inside.
Lies. All lies.
My heart formed a callus, a scar, thickening against his taunts. “I don’t believe you.” The diamonds on my throat pressed heavily on my larynx as Cut yanked me harder.
“You think you’ll fight us, but you won’t. The minute I lay a finger on that wet pussy of yours, you’ll be screaming for more.” Letting me go, I stumbled backward.
Cut prowled to a small table where a decanter of cognac had been delivered. His white shirt clung to his lanky body, almost translucent with sweat from the ceremony. His skin glimmered with dampness and his eyes glowed with sickness as he turned with a poured shot in his hand.
If only he was sick. If only he caught a disease and died.
He raised the goblet in a toast. “To the Third Debt, Nila.” Throwing back a large mouthful and tossing away the glass, he came forward. Reaching into his pocket, Cut pulled out a one pound coin. “Heads or tails, Dan.”
My heart ran wild.
My breasts tingled.
Arousal battered at my hatred, urging me to bow to the false euphoria. I wouldn’t be subdued or seduced by trickery. I would stand and fight.
I will kill you, Cut Hawk. I will kill you!
Daniel rubbed his nape. “Ah, shit. Um…heads. Gimme the queen.”
Cut flicked the coin into the air. Catching it on its downward sweep, he slapped it on the back of his hand and revealed it. His lips pulled back. “Fuck.”