Final Debt

My arm wrenched back of its own accord, sheltering my head instinctually. The butt of the gun came too close to my face.

Then a human replaced the gun. A dark-skinned masculine human. His gaze met mine. “Alive, boss.”

I squeezed my eyes. Outside, the view mocked me. We’d managed to soar free of the compound before succumbing to bullet fire. We’d been free. We’d made it past the fence.

But now…I would be dragged back and Jethro…I doubted reincarnation would happen a second time.

I drifted in and out of consciousness; half pictures and stuttering images showed me a story of African workers, slowly making sense of the wreck. Someone reached inside and undid my seat belt.

Instantly, gravity yanked me into its embrace and folded me in two on the roof.

A moan tore past my lips, aching with pain.

The moment I was undone, someone grabbed my ankles, yanking me through the jagged hole where the windshield used to be and into the bright morning sunshine. Sharp shards of metal cut me as they pulled me free. Sand burned my bleeding skin as they dragged me across the dirt.

“No!” My fingers latched onto the bullet-riddled car. “Not without him. No!”

No one listened.

Instead, arms plucked me effortlessly and carried me away from the Jeep. They put me down, spreading me onto my back. My spine creaked and stretched, my brain rapidly cataloguing pain, agony, and excruciating discomfort.

My body had been through so much in such a short amount of time.

I hurt, but it didn’t matter anymore.

Pain was only temporary as I focused on more important things.

While part of my brain catalogued my injuries, I looked at the destroyed Jeep. Everything bellowed, but I could move in small increments. I didn’t think anything was broken.

The man who’d dragged me from Jethro left me alone. However, his sunburned silhouette was replaced with the man I hated the most.

His shoes crunched as he stood over me like a devilish avenger. “You were leaving before the best part, Ms. Weaver.” Cut spread his legs, placing his hands on his hips. “I can’t permit my guest to leave before the festivities are over.”

I had no more to give. No more to fight with.

Ignoring him, I twisted my head to stare at the 4WD. My heart leapt as Jethro was dragged from the wreckage.

I didn’t look away as the man who’d carried me placed Jethro’s inert form beside mine on the ground. His head lolled to the side. Dirt and grease smeared his handsome face, braiding with the blood on his skin.

Cut nudged me with his toe. “So…you were telling the truth when you said you ‘love’ not ‘loved’ my son.” Squatting, he poked Jethro in his broken side—the side where he’d shot him.

My arm flailed with uncoordinated projection. “Don’t—don’t touch him.”

Cut smiled, placing his hand on his son’s throat. His forehead knitted together, searching for a pulse.

I bit my lip, begging him to find one while at the same time hoping he wouldn’t, so Jethro would be free of more torture.

Slowly, Cut’s lips spread into a grin. “Well, well. He’s still alive.”

Thank God.

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Softer tears fell, enjoying the moment even knowing the future would be anything but happy.

Cut’s fingers landed on my cheek. I swallowed back rage, pushing unsuccessfully off the ground to get away.

“I’m so glad to see you’re in one piece.” His fingers latched angrily around my chin. “However, you have a lot of explaining to do before I let you stay that way.”

“Let’s start with a few easy questions, shall we?” His other hand smeared blood from Jethro's forehead. “How is he here? How is he alive? Where the fuck is Daniel?”

Gritting my teeth, I used every avenue of energy and shoved Cut’s hand away from my lover.

You can touch me, you bastard. But not him. Never him.

“I’ll tell you everything if you let him go.”

“Let him go?” Cut chuckled. “Why on earth would I do that? It’s not every day a ghost comes back from the grave.”

I tried to crawl closer to Jethro, to place myself between him and his father. He was alive but unconscious. Cut could kill him so easily, and he would never know until his soul untethered and became homeless over the African plains.

“Stop it. Leave him alone.”

Cut dropped his hand, his smile deepening. “You’re telling me what to do now, Weaver?”

“Yes.”

His eyes glowed. “And what do I get in return?”

My heart clanged and the pits of Hades opened up beneath me.

Marry me.

Yes.

Husband.

Wife.

None of that would come true now.

But I had the power to keep Jethro alive. I would do whatever it took.

“Me, you get me. Just…let him go.”

Cut stood upright. “No. I have a better idea.” Snapping his fingers, he ordered a guard closer. “Bind his hands.”

The guard nodded. Dropping to his knee, he rolled Jethro roughly onto his stomach, not caring his bloody face squashed into the dirt. Efficiently, the guard wrapped the same coarse rope that’d bound me in the mines around his wrists.

It physically hurt watching them maul him while he couldn’t defend himself. Then again, it was better this way. This way, he couldn’t antagonise his father or somehow manage to get shot a second time.

Please, wake up.