Final Debt
Page 75No fear shone on her face, only black rebellion. “I have nothing to confess.”
“Bullshit.”
I don’t have time for this.
I wanted to know Bonnie’s tale. I wanted to try and understand why someone would go to such lengths. But I wouldn’t sacrifice my only opportunity to kill her.
“You don’t want to talk? Fine. I changed my mind.” Gritting my teeth against another influx of pain, I grabbed her scarf—the pretty silk decoration to match her despicable outfit—and tugged it tighter around her neck. “Want to know what I promised myself when I first came to your home and was told what would become of me?”
She pushed at my hands, sending a shard of agony down my break as I slowly tightened the scarf. Her eyes bugged wider and wider.
“I made an oath to be the last Weaver stolen. At times, I didn’t know how I would honour that vow. But now…I do.”
She begged for air, her lips gasping. I wasn’t throttling her…yet, but the fear of strangulation sent droplets of panic across her overly powdered face.
The stench of rose water and summery perfume gave me a headache, but nothing would stop me doing this.
I lessened my hold a little. “Now, before I go too far. Do you want to know what I know or would you rather die clueless?”
Are you sure this is wise?
My arm throbbed as I doubted my actions.
Told!
I laughed out loud. Who is she going to tell? She’ll be dead within moments...
Something corrupted inside me. Something I didn’t want to acknowledge. Straddling Bonnie, I was cold-hearted and focused—more Hawk than Weaver and ready to bloody my hands for revenge.
“No, you have nothing of value to tell me. Get off me, you heathen.” Bonnie tried to buck me off, but her ninety-plus years meant it was like pinning down a fluttering leaf.
I bent further. “I know where Daniel is.”
She went deathly still.
“Do you understand?” I bared my teeth. “Do you get what I’m telling you?”
Her gaze narrowed, disbelief shadowing them. “You’re saying you killed my grandbaby?”
“I’m saying he hurt me and paid the price.”
Bonnie shifted, trying to kick beneath me. The grey tinge staining her face slowly spread over her cheeks and throat. “You’re lying.”
“I’m not.” I laughed softly. “What if I explained a bit more? What if I told you a bed-time—? No, a kill-time story. And prove I’m telling the truth?”
Digging my knees, imprisoning her skirt tighter, I wrapped her scarf around my fist. “He won the coin toss against Cut. He got first right to rape me. Rape. A word so abhorrent, a family should disown any offspring who would ever do such a thing. And yet, you encourage them. You like your sons and grandsons to take what isn’t theirs to take.
“Well, Daniel would’ve made you proud that night. He hurt me. Kicked me. Knocked me out for a few moments. But he didn’t understand how powerful the will to live is, or the single-minded determination sheer hate can deliver.
“He did take me—just a little—and I let him. Does that shock you? That I didn’t fight the final part when he invaded my body just enough to taint my soul?”
Bonnie swallowed, her breathing erratic, her chest lurching beneath my hold.
“I let him think he’d won, but really, I guided him to his death. I’d come prepared and I had my weapon of choice within my grasp. While he focused on rape and pleasure, I turned cold and ruthless.”
I tugged the scarf. “I hugged him, you’ll be glad to know that. I hugged your grandson as I jammed my metal knitting needle through his heart.”
Bonnie sucked in a noisy breath. “No…”
“Oh, yes. I took great satisfaction driving that needle through Daniel’s soulless chest. He didn’t see it coming. He was too arrogant to notice until it was too late.” My mind skipped back to the tent, recalling the last breath, the final topple of his corpse. “It was over so fast.”
Bonnie spluttered, “But, they—they haven’t found his body. You’re lying. He’s alive. I don’t believe you.”
“You don’t have to believe me. It’s the truth.” I smiled brutally. “Only you know what really happened. Cut suspects me, but he has no proof.”
“But how…” The muscles in her neck stood out, straining against translucent skin. “How did you hide his body?”
I stroked her papery cheek. “I didn’t.”
She glowered. “Then it can’t be—”
“A Hawk did.” I twisted her scarf a little more.
More sweat dotted her forehead. Her fingers scrabbled at the obstruction.
“The Hawk who’s in love with me and is fully on my side.”
Her eyes popped wide, then glared with the hate of a thousand hells. “Jethro.”
“Yes, Jethro…Kite. The man I agreed to marry.”
Sharing my secrets even to a gnarly old cow lightened my heart. In two breaths, I’d admitted to murder and marriage. Not exactly two subjects that went hand in hand.