**NILA**
"GET ON."
I blinked. "Excuse me?"
Jethro didn't move. He didn't look condescending or annoyed or anything other than cold and collected. Nothing seemed to interest him. I thought I could use him for sex? He didn't look like he knew what a smile was, let alone passion.
His legs bunched beneath the dark charcoal of his trousers, steadying the heavy motorcycle between them. "I said, get on. We're leaving."
I laughed. What a ludicrous suggestion. Waving down my front, I hoped he wasn't blind, because no one could ignore the kilograms worth of black diamantes or acres of material I wore. "I struggled to get here in a limousine. There's no way I can perch on the back of a stupid motorcycle."
Jethro's lips quirked. "Come closer. I'll fix that."
My heart jumped; I clutched my phone tighter. No response from Kite. Which is a good thing. I just had to keep telling myself that. I never wanted to hear from him again. "Fix it how?"
"Come here and I'll show you." His eyes drifted down the front of my dress.
I'd been around powerful, attractive men all my life. Both my father and brother were well known for being eligible bachelors, but they lacked something that Jethro held in abundance.
Mystery.
Everything about him spoke of trickery and wile. He'd barely spoken, yet I felt his requests. For some stupid reason, it felt as if he'd trained me with his silence to be alert, ready, eager to please.
I hated his effortless power.
Backing away, I shook my head. "I won't."
A small smile graced his lips, golden eyes flashing. "That wasn't very polite. I gave you a request, kindly delivered, respectfully even." His fingers tightened around the handle bars. "Should I ask again, or will you rethink your reply?"
A trickle of fear blustered down my neck. I knew that glint in his eye. Vaughn would get it when we were younger. It meant destruction. It meant getting their own way. It meant a world of pain if I didn't obey. And for some reason, I didn't think a wedgie and being tickled until I couldn't breathe counted as pain in Jethro's dimension.
Clutching the bodice that'd taken me weeks to hand-sew, I took another step backward. Keeping my chin high, I said, "I'm not being impolite; I'm stating the obvious. If you wish to leave, we need a different method of transportation." Speaking so formally sounded odd after screaming via text message to Kite. "And besides, I don't want to leave yet. I promised myself I'd ask you something, and I'm not going anywhere until I do."
God, Nila. What are you doing?
Nerves attacked my stomach, but I kept my stance. I wouldn't back down. Not this time.
Jethro shook his head, displacing his longish salt-and-pepper hair. His smooth face remained expressionless with patience, but it didn't relieve—it terrified. With precision born of wealth and confidence, he kicked the stand down and placed the bike into a resting position. Swinging his leg over the machine, he climbed the curb and hunted.
No. Don't let him touch you.
I stumbled backward, a slight edge of dizziness catching me off guard.
Jethro caught me, placing his large, cold hands on my waist.
I froze, breathing shallowly. Shoving away the moment of wobbliness, I fixated on his strong jaw and glinting diamond pin.
The temperature of his touch seeped through the ruffles on my hips, bringing with it fear manifesting like icicles over an innocent dawn.
"What's wrong with you?" Jethro jerked me closer, peering into my eyes. The first sign of animation lurked in their golden depths. It wasn't concern though, merely annoyance. "Are you ill?" Annoyance turned to carefully hidden anger.
I swallowed hard, hating my condition all over again. To him, I would come across as weak. He wouldn't understand the strength it took to live a normal life while shackled to an improperly balanced form. If anything, it made me stronger.
"No, I'm not ill. Not that you're worried for my health." Twitching in his hold, I searched for a way free. But his touch only tightened. Blowing a blue-black strand from my eye, I added, "It's not contagious. I suffer from vertigo. That's all. Google it."
That's all. I scrape my knees if I get out of bed too fast and faint if I swivel my head too quick, but that's all.
Jethro scowled. "Perhaps you shouldn't wear such heavy clothing." He plucked the dense material and delicate stitching on my waist. "It's a hindrance and delaying my night's activities."
My eyes flared. Night's activities?
Perhaps he had the same conclusion of where we'd end up? Captive in his strong hands, I stared up. I wasn't short for a woman, but Jethro had at least half a foot on me. He didn't move, only watched as if I were an interesting specimen he couldn't decide to enjoy or throw away.
My breathing grew shallow the longer he held me. Dropping my gaze to his lips, it didn't help my anxiety at having them so close. It's now or never.
I knew nothing about him. He scared me. But he was a man. I was a woman. And once, just once, I wanted pleasure.
"I want something from you," I murmured.
He stilled. "What exactly makes you think you're in a position to ask something of me?"
I shook my head. "I'm not asking."
A moment thickened between us. His nostrils twitched. "Go on..."
"Take me for a drink. I want to get to know you."
Not quite what I wanted to ask, but I couldn't be so bold.
He laughed once. "Believe me, Ms. Weaver, I'll save you from a mundane conversation. The most you'll ever know about me is my name. Everything else...let's just say, ignorance is bliss."
His aftershave of woods and leather came over me again. The chilliness in his gaze warned not to push, but I couldn't help myself. Not after the way Kite treated me.
"Bliss...that's a word I don't understand."
Jethro cocked his head, the trace of annoyance coming again. "What exactly are you trying to do?"
A rush of wobbliness hit me. I looked over my shoulder at the café across the street. "Have a nightcap with me. Over there." I motioned with my head. I didn't care in the least I wore a huge gown or that the coffee shop was empty. The couch in the window looked comfy, and I wasn't ready to have this small freedom destroyed.
He looked to the small venue, a flicker of confusion filling his eyes. "You—" Cutting himself off, he straightened and let me go. "Fine. If that's all you want, I see no reason why I can't prolong our true agenda for thirty minutes." Capturing my elbow, he half-dragged, half-marched me across the street.
My heart sank at the lack of romance and anticipation. I'd hoped he'd relax a little—knowing I was interested—and drop the chilly façade.
What if it's not a façade? His demeanour was steadfast and engrained. I doubted he'd ever been carefree or impulsive.
The propulsion was fast, too fast for someone like me with the balance of a damn butterfly, but his hold was firm and granted a certain safety.
Striding over the curb, Jethro yanked open the glass door, scowling at the bell jingling above. A young Italian girl looked up, smiling in welcome.
The rich aroma of coffee and warmth instantly stole the stress from my blood from Kite, the show, and Jethro's company.
"Sit." Jethro let me go, pointing toward the faded yellow settee with purple and orange throw cushions. "And don't move."
I stood frozen. Jethro had no wish to be here, especially with me. What the hell was going on? First my father pushed me on him, then Jethro barely tolerated my company. Am I that repulsive to the opposite sex?
"Wait," I said. "Aren't you going to ask what I want?"
Jethro raised an eyebrow. "No. Want to know why?"
I did. But I didn't want to play his ridiculous game. I was tired, had been dumped via text, and not wanted even when I practically threw myself at him. The night had turned from promising to disastrous, and I wanted it over.
When I didn't reply, Jethro waved his hand. "It doesn't matter what you prefer in beverages. You only get one request and you got it. I'm here against my plans; therefore, you'll drink what I give you."
My mouth parted, amazement stealing my ability to shout the incomprehensible phrases jumbled inside. Seriously? Who was this man?
Jethro strode away, leaving me gawking at his powerful back dressed in an immaculate, tailored suit. He completely ignored me while he ordered.
Not wanting to stand like a dismissed damsel, I moved to the couch and sat in a cloud of midnight-galaxy material. The underwire and other tricks to keep my dress buoyant argued against sitting, but my feet breathed a sigh of gratefulness.
Jethro returned with two cups of coffee. Espresso. Tiny cups, no biscotti, or anything to prolong something he obviously didn't want to do. Placing the hot drink in front of me on the low table, he sipped his own, glaring at me over the rim.
I broke eye contact, collecting the cup of black liquid. Truth be told, I hated coffee. I'd only suggested the café to delay whatever he'd planned that was so urgent. Maybe he was a publicist, there to show the tabloids I was passionate about living as well as fashion. If that was the case, shouldn't he be nicer? Kinder?
Inhaling the strong caffeine, I pretended to sip while sneaking glimpses at the mystery beside me. Did it matter he was an arrogant arse who didn't know the difference between cruel and polite? He had a killer body, distinguished good looks, and a presence that screamed domination in the bedroom. I could choose worse for a night of guilt-free sex.
Sitting taller, I said, "So...the thing I wanted to ask you..."
What are you doing? He's not a nice person. And he's got the patience of a Doberman.
Jethro clenched his jaw, swirling his coffee. "I won't answer, do, or respond to any more requests. Drink your coffee. We're running late."
I ignored that. I adopted a 'don't ask about the future and why the almighty rush approach.' Working on another approach, I tried to break the ice between us. "You seem to know my father. What obligations—"
"No questions." Jethro tossed his head back, swallowing the double shot in one go. Licking his lips, he carefully placed his cup on the table, eyeing my untouched one.
The unease of why my father had permitted me to go out with such an insensitive bastard came back. I feared there was a lot I wasn't aware of, drifting around like a hapless child while adults battled over my future.
Running a hand through his greying hair, Jethro suddenly shoved my overflowing skirts off the couch and slid closer. So close his body heat seared my naked arms, prickling me with intensity.
I gulped, curling my hands in my lap.
Jethro bristled. "Whatever you think you're doing, it won't work. I will neither make small talk nor enter into meaningful conversation. You request to visit a coffee shop, yet don't touch what I bought you." He sighed, tension tightening his eyes. "I'm done playing silly games. Tell me what I need to do to make you come without making a fuss, and I'll do it."
My heart stopped. Anxiety roared back into existence. Why had I thought I could seduce this man? I had no hope, especially when he was obviously pissed off rather than intrigued. Linking my fingers together, I said quietly, "Why would I make a fuss? Where exactly do you want to take me?"
Please say a hotel and admit your attitude is all an act. Please say my brother hired you to play the horrible arsehole only to sweep me off my feet in a night of escorted bliss.
I should've known better than to wish for such things.
Jethro frowned. "What did I just say? No questions." Grabbing my wrist, he tugged me closer, crushing my dress between us. "I don't have time for games. Tell me what you want." His mouth was so close, his brooding temper filling a bubble around us.
My eyes dropped to his lips. All I could picture was one kiss. One beautifully gentle, romantic kiss that turned my insides molten and my mind to stars.
I breathed shallowly, unable to raise my gaze to his.
He half-smiled. "That's what you want?"
I blinked, dispelling the haze of intoxication he'd placed me under. "I didn't say anything."
Letting my wrist go, he trailed his fingertips up my arm. I shivered, loving and hating his masterful touch. "You didn't have to. I should've known this would happen."
My eyes flared. "Known?" Embarrassment came swift and hot. Was I so obvious? So needy?
"No questions," he snapped. Sighing heavily, he added, "You forget your life is rather public, Ms. Weaver. And I happen to know you're not...experienced." Cupping my chin, he ran the pad of his thumb over my bottom lip.
I froze.
Jethro's face didn't soften or beguile, but his voice dropped to a murmur. His masculine scent threaded around me transporting me from the coffee shop and into his control. "What is it you want? A kiss? A caress?" His voice echoed like a deep baritone until I felt his question in my bones rather than heard.
Leaning closer, his mouth hovered over mine. He smelled decadently of coffee. "Do you ache for something? Do you lie in bed at night and crave a man's touch?" His breath feathered over my lips, drugging me. "How wet do you get? Answer my questions, Ms. Weaver. Tell me how you pleasure yourself while fantasising about a man fucking you."
I couldn't feel any part of my body apart from the firm hold he had on my chin and the tingling of my lips. I couldn't think apart from the dark visions he coaxed in my head of nakedness and fingers and stolen caresses.
"Tell me. Convince me," Jethro tormented, bringing his mouth closer. Only a feather breadth away—a phantom kiss, but it made every inch throb.
"Yes," I whispered. "Yes, I fantasise. Yes, I ache." Wishing I could pull away and hide my vulnerability, I added, "That's what I wanted. From you."
Everything you painted and more.
"When you imagine a nameless male taking you, do you picture champagne, massages, and soul-shattering sex?" His nose nudged mine.
I nodded, eyelids drooping, begging him to kiss me.
His head tilted, grazing the corner of my mouth with his. A tease. A half-kiss. A promise. His mouth trailed to my ear. "You naïve little girl. If I took you, you wouldn't be adored or worshipped. You'd be used and fucked. I have no patience for sweet."
I opened my eyes, fighting against the thick lust in my blood.
Jethro sneered. "Pity you didn't say you fantasised about a man using you, abusing you. Pity you didn't admit to darker desires such as bondage and pain. Then perhaps I might've granted your wish." He trailed his lips over my cheekbone. His touch was condescending rather than erotic. "Now tell me, Ms. Weaver. Knowing my certain appetites, are you still wet for me? Is that what you're asking for? My tongue. My attention? My..." He nuzzled away my hair, biting painfully on the shell of my ear. "...cock."
I wanted to deny the flutter in my heart and the intense heat billowing in my core. I wanted to be outraged at his crudeness and blatant sexual thrill. But I couldn't. Because despite never entertaining the idea of violence with sex, I couldn't stop the undeniable allure.
Pulling back, Jethro whispered, "Don't turn timid on me. Say it. Say what you want."
I was no longer human; I was liquid. Hot, pliable liquid just waiting for some force to reshape me. Everything he'd said flared a need inside until a fever broke across my brow, but I couldn't speak so dirtily. Only if you have a phone in your hand, wimp.
Dropping my eyes, I whispered, "I want...I want..."
Jethro tightened his fingers on my jaw. "Say it." His eyes flashed and the misconception that he didn't know passion dissolved. He knew it. He wielded it. He hid it beneath layers and layers of mystery I would never hope to unravel.
Taking a shaky breath, cursing the damn corset, I said, "I want your mouth."
He nodded. "Fine. But I'll have yours first." His thumb stroked my lips again, breaking the seal of my red lipstick, and penetrating my mouth.
I froze, eyes wide and locked on his. "Where do you want it?" His voice dropped to a barely murmured curse—impossible to ignore, deadly to my ears and body.
He didn't care about the waitress or that anyone on the darkened street could see us. He just pinned me with unswerving golden eyes and hooked his thumb against my tongue.
I couldn't speak. His large palm held me immobile while his finger rendered me silent. I didn't know what to do. Should I suck? Bite? Do nothing?
Jethro smiled, it wasn't his usual icy edge, but it wasn't soft either. "Follow your instincts. You want to suck, so suck." He forced his thumb deeper into my mouth, eyes darkening.
He so easily placed me into a position of submission, but I'd never felt so powerful. Closing my lips, I sucked. Once.
His jaw clenched, but nothing more.
I did it again, licking his finger with an eager tongue. My mouth filled with liquid, tasting him. Wanting him. Every suck sent a wave of insatiable need to my core, making me wet.
Jethro's shoulders tensed. "See? You didn't need to tell me what you wanted. Your body does that for you. You've surprised me, and that isn't an easy thing to do." My dress rustled as he wrapped an arm around my waist, dragging me against his hard body.
I went willingly, trapped in so many ways. My mind was consumed with only him. There was peace in that moment. Lust yes, feverishness definitely, but also serenity at the complete attention he demanded. I didn't have to think of my family, my company, my endless work schedule.
I was nothing but flesh and blood and bone.
I was need personified, and only Jethro could put out the fire he'd cajoled.
His lips brushed against my ear again. I tensed for the bite of teeth. "Know what else your body tells me?"
I shook my head, swirling my tongue around his thumb. My core clenched; my mind blanked. The moment of intense privacy happened on a very public couch in a café window.
"You need something. You want something that you're not ready to understand." Jethro placed a delicate kiss against my jaw. "You need it so bad you'd allow me to run my hand up your knee, between your legs, and sink my fingers deep inside you this very second. You'd open your innocent thighs, even with witnesses, and moan as I sank my cock deeper than anyone."
A bubble formed in my chest, twisting and glistening with a mixture of denial and agreement.
His thumb pressed hard, pinning my tongue below.
I jerked, eyes tearing wide.
"You'd let me drag you into some sleazy alley, tear off your dress, and..."
I didn't want to hear the rest. But I did. Oh, how I did. He'd taken the power of speech away. I couldn't deny anything he said. And I didn't want to. For the first time in my life I had something real. Cheap and shallow, just like Kite, but hot-blooded and absolute.
I would willingly trade my flawless reputation for one night of sordid incredibleness. What does that make me?
I flinched, answering my own question. Lonely. I hated that word more than any other in the dictionary.
Jethro's thumb slinked slowly from my mouth, holding me firm. "You'd let me make you scream, Ms. Weaver, and because of that willingness, I would never bow to what you want."
The heat generated from the intense conversation dispersed, faster and faster. He curled his lip. "Whatever would your father say if he knew his daughter secretly wanted to be fucked against an alley wall by a stranger?"
The crudeness of his words slammed me back to reality.
He dropped his hand, and plucked a napkin from the table. Imprisoning my gaze, he slowly wiped his glistening thumb, before tossing the tissue into his empty coffee cup. "I dare you to deny any of that. Or pretend you didn't want every inch of me." He smirked at the double entendre.
The flush of mortification crested over my breasts to my cheeks. My tongue bruised from his rough handling, my mouth empty from tasting him. I couldn't sit there and be ridiculed any longer. I'd been selfish and allowed this egotistical maniac to cancel my plans with Vaughn and father, all for nothing.
This was karma, and it stung like hell.
Grabbing the mountains of fabric wedged around me, I tried to stand—unsuccessfully. "I'm leaving. I can't—"
"If you can't speak the truth, I don't want to hear your other excuses or reasons on why you suddenly need to run. You're not permitted to leave my side, so be a good girl and fucking listen and obey." His voice whipped me, but his body remained immaculate and collected. The two dynamics of temper and poise pierced my stupid haze, slamming me back into fear.
Who was this man?
And why didn't I run the moment I set eyes upon him? Something wasn't right. Something was building, rushing toward a conclusion I wanted no part in.
Jethro stood upright, jerking me to my feet. "I take by your silence you've made a sensible decision and acquiesced. I'm also assuming that this—whatever this was—is over?" His fingers bit into my bicep, shaking me. "Stop acting the fool and realize what is happening."
Anger replaced my embarrassment. It was like Kite all over again, only worse, because this was real and I had nowhere to hide. "I have no idea what's happening, and I'm not going anywhere with you. You've proved that you find me gullible, stupid, and unworthy of your precious time, so leave. I'm not keeping you here." Twisting my elbow, I tried to get free. "I don't want to do this anymore."
Jethro smiled coldly. "Ah, there's the conundrum, Ms. Weaver. You're not keeping me. But I'm keeping you."
I stopped with my hand over his, unsuccessfully trying to pry his fingers off my arm. "What?" The dreaded drunkenness of vertigo took that moment to tilt my world.
Jethro took my weakness as an opportunity, pulling me toward the door. He didn't give me any support other than the harsh hold on my upper arm, leaving my untouched coffee on the table. "I'm leaving. And you're coming with me."
The door jangled as we exited in a flurry of bustle and feathers. I gasped as a frosty gust cut through the warmth lingering on my skin, decimating all remainders of the café. Luckily the shock in temperature helped steady me and I fought.
Slamming my heels into the pavement, I snarled, "You seem to have the wrong information. I'm not going anywhere with you."
Jethro didn't reply, dragging me effortlessly across the road to the shadowy entrance of an alley and his bike.
An alley?
He couldn't mean what he'd threatened...could he?
You want me to make you scream.
I fought harder. But no matter how much I struggled, he didn't break his stride or look back.
Tripping forward, I winced as my flesh bruised beneath his hold. I angled my nails, preparing to drag them over his forearm, but he stepped onto the curb and yanked me forward. The inertia propelled me into a spin, slamming me painfully against his motorcycle.
My black hair whirled over my shoulder, sticking to the fear perspiring on my chest. I struggled to keep up—to believe how stupid I'd been. I prided myself on being smart, but I allowed the temptation of sex to cloud my judgement.
Jethro glowered; his suit as crisp as his unflappable control. "My information is perfectly correct. And you are going somewhere with me. Climb on."
I tore my elbow from his hold and shoved his chest. "Wrong. Let me go."
He growled under his breath. "Stop, before you get hurt."
I pushed him again, focusing on the ridiculousness of my night, rather than the rapidly expanding terror in my heart. "I told you. I came in a limo; there is no way I can travel on a two-wheeled death machine."
Jethro rolled his shoulders, maintaining his cool. "I gave you one rule—never ask questions. I'm giving you another—don't ever argue with me."
My heart raced. Glancing around, I searched for late night stragglers, party goers, moon-light walkers—anyone who could intervene and save me. The roads were empty. No one. Not even a scurrying rodent.
"Please, I don't know what game you're playing—"
He shook his head, exasperation in his eyes. "Game? This isn't a fucking game." Glaring at my dress, he encroached on my space. Pressing his lips together briefly, he muttered, "I hope you're wearing something beneath this."
My lungs stuck together. "What? Why?"
"Because you're going to be indecent if you're not." With a savage jerk, he tore the endless seams, stitching, and hard work of my dress. The rip sounded like a scream to my ears. Horror swarmed as the outer layer fluttered to the ground, followed by organza, feathers, and beadwork.
My jaw hung open. "No—"
Jethro spun me around, his hands skating over my lower back. "You're like a damn pass the parcel." With strong fingers, he tore the second layer of heavy ebony silk.
The sound of shredding broke my heart. All that work! My father would be pissed to see his expensive material littering the dirty pavement. My blood existed in the needlepoint from pricking my fingers. My tears soaked the train from overworking. He couldn't do this!
I couldn't speak—struck mute by shock.
"Good God, another?" Jethro spun me back to face him. I swished in the remaining starchy petticoats—the tool beneath the dress that granted such volume.
I can't do this anymore.
I plastered my hands down my front, seizing the remainder of my gown. "No, pleas—"
Jethro ignored me. With one last brutal tug, he tore the petticoat off, disposing it on top of the already ruined layers.
Tears glassed my eyes. "Oh, my God. What did you do?" The cool Milan air swirled around my naked legs, disappearing up the thigh-length satin skirt I wore to prevent chafing from the petticoat underwire. My entire ensemble—destroyed. I'd been the only female in a household of men. I'd spent an entire lifetime covering up my girlish body with lace and camisoles and tulle. Femininity was something I created rather than lived. To see it demolished on a filthy sidewalk enraged me to the point of tyranny.
Gone were my tears. I embraced furiousness. "How could you?!"
Shoving him away, I fell to my knees, trying to gather the rhinestones and swatches of handmade lace. "You—you ruined it!" All around scattered couture fashion. Diamantes glittered on bland concrete. Feathers twitched, dancing away on the breeze.
"I'll ruin a lot more before I'm through." Jethro's barely uttered words existed, then...didn't, snatched by a gust of wind.
I glared up at the man I'd stupidly returned for—all because a stranger hurt my feelings. A man I'd allowed to manipulate me and make me heinously wet in a coffee shop. "Does it make you feel better? Destroying other's things? Don't you care that you just ruined something that took hours upon hours to create? What sort of cruel—"
"Stop." He held up a finger, scolding me like a little child. "Rule number three. I don't like raised voices. So shut up and stand."
We glared; silence was a heavy entity between us.
He was right. I was so, so stupid. He'd successfully hurt me more than anyone since my mother left. His callousness gave no room for hope or tears. And I knew it all along. I'd seen his coldness. I'd felt his hardened will. Yet it didn't stop me from being an utter fool.
Grabbing a puddle of cloth, I yelled, "Leave me alone!"
"Goddammit, you're testing me." He ducked suddenly, grabbing my bicep and hauling me to my feet. He shook me—hard. My corset dug into my hipbones now that it had no bustle or layers to rest upon.
"You don't get to ask any more questions. You don't get to yell or act ridiculous. This is happening. This is your future. Nothing you say or do will change that—it will only change the level of pain you receive." He shoved me backward against his bike. "Your dress is conveniently no longer an issue. Get on. We're leaving."
Fury exploded through my heart, thankfully keeping my terror at bay.
Don't think about his threat. Focus on making him yell. Loudness. I needed commotion to garner attention and safety. The more nuisance I made, the more likely someone would come to my rescue.
"You just ruined my showpiece. That dress was already sold to a high-end boutique in Berlin! You think I want to go anywhere with you after you ruined over two months' worth of work? You're insane. I'll tell you how this is going to go—"
"Ms. Weaver, shut the fuck up. I'm done with this charade." His face remained impassive, but the muscles beneath his suit bristled. Moving horribly fast, he tugged my long, unfettered hair, crowding me against his bike. Wincing against the pain in my scalp, I tripped, splaying over the leather seat.
Looking around quickly, he relaxed when he noticed we were still alone. "If you knew me, you'd know how I react to incorrect statements about my mental health. If you were smart, you would know never to raise your voice and to maintain proper conduct in public."
He bowed his head, brushing his nose threateningly against my ear. "But seeing as you don't know me, I'll withhold the punishment—for now. But a word of warning, Ms. Weaver. Just because I don't lower myself to the unattractive use of volume, doesn't mean I'm not pissed. I'm very fucking pissed. I gave you an order, and you've disobeyed numerous times already. This is the last time I'll ask politely."
Pulling away, he grabbed my middle and with strength that terrified, plucked me from the ground and plonked me on the back of his bike, side-saddle.
Giving a mock salute, Jethro said, "Thank you for obliging me. I'm so glad you decided to climb aboard." With a scowl, he noticed my high heels. Dropping to one knee, he tore them off my feet, throwing them over his shoulder. They disappeared in the clouds of decimated fabric behind him.
I truly was Cinderella, only my prince threw away the glass slipper and stole me away before midnight struck. My prince was evil. My prince was the villain.
I couldn't breathe.
Run. Kick him. Do not let him take you.
All manner of horrible situations ran wild in my head. I'd been brought up in a safe neighbourhood, instilled with common-sense and morals. Yet nothing had prepared me to fight for my life against a lunatic who came across as sane.
"You can't do this. I don't want to go with you." I tried to jump off, but Jethro's sleek bulk prevented me from moving. He loomed upright like a terrible sentence—a judgement of my past and present. "You have no choice. You're coming with me. Your wishes have no relevance."
Stabbing him in the chest with my fingertip, I shouted, "My wishes are completely relevant. You can't take me against my will. That's called kidnapping." My body flushed with hot anger. "Let. Me. Go. Before I scream."
Vaughn. Shit, I wanted my brother. The amount of times he protected me growing up from bees, and badgers, and boys who picked on me at school.
Vaughn!
Jethro shook his head. "It's too late. For any of that. And don't scream. I don't do well with screamers." He chuckled mirthlessly. "Unless I'm the reason for said scream and we're in private."
I ignored the 'scream topic' and focused on the horrible ultimatum. Too late? What's too late? I wasn't on some countdown where my life ended as I knew it. I didn't agree to any of this!
I didn't, but maybe father did.
The thought stopped me like a knitting needle to the heart. He'd introduced me to Jethro—over any other man. He'd encouraged me to go with him—against my brother's wishes.
Jethro might've been able to hoodwink my father, but I saw his true colours, and I wasn't going to tolerate it any longer. This fiasco had gone on long enough.
I opened my mouth to scream. I was done being scared and manipulated by a soft-spoken psychopath. I wanted normal. I wanted a shower and the sweet oblivion of sleep.
My lungs expanded with a plea. "Help—"
Jethro lashed out, slapping a cool palm over my lips. The first sign of uncontrollable emotion blazed in his eyes. He sighed heavily, shaking his head. "I'd hoped you'd be more intelligent than that."
I slapped him.
The sharp ringing of flesh against flesh froze time. I didn't move or breathe or blink. Neither did Jethro.
We stared at each other until all I knew was gold from his eyes. The air dropped from autumn to blustery winter the longer we glowered, freezing over with his temper. It could've been a second or ten, but it was Jethro who broke the brittleness between us.
His cold fingers trailed from my mouth to my throat. Wrapping tight. Unforgiving. The action showed the truth—the inhuman truth. This man was fastidiously groomed and softly spoken, but beneath it all raged a devil in disguise. His touch told endless information of the man he tried to hide. He was the ultimate in camouflage.
He was iron-fisted and remorseless.
Tilting my neck with bruising fingers, he murmured, "Obey and I won't hurt you. Fight me and I'll make you scream."
Every muscle in my body jolted. The decimation of my dress no longer mattered. All I cared about was running as far and as fast as I could. Tears bubbled in my chest; I bit my lip to stop the rapidly building sob from escaping.
Jethro never let go of my throat. "I'm not here to kidnap you. I'm not here to knock you out or drug you. Call me old-fashioned, but I'd hoped you'd come willingly and prevent both of us an inconvenience." Stroking my hair with his free hand, he cupped the back of my skull. "You're probably wondering why I said you have no choice but to come with me. Because I'm a fair man and believe in equality—even between hunter and prey—I'll tell you."
His breath was the only warm thing about him, scalding my skin with words I didn't want to hear. "I'm here to extract a debt. The reason for that debt will be revealed when I'm good and ready. The method of payment for that debt is entirely up to you."
My brain swam, trying to understand. "What—"
His fingers tightened, cutting off my air supply. Choking, the instinct to fight overrode my frozen terror. I squirmed, scratching my nails over his wrists.
My nails didn't affect him—if anything, it made him calmer. Tutting under his breath, he said, "The first thing you should know about me is I never forget. If you draw blood trying to get free, I'll only repay in kind. It's worth remembering, Ms. Weaver."
His gaze fell to my clawing fingers, tightening his own until I fought against what I truly wanted and let them slide from his wrists.
"Good girl," he murmured. Pulling back, he unwound his digits one at a time from my throat. Meticulous in slowness. Terrifying in control.
I only repay in kind. His voice echoed in my head. I balled my hands in my lap, hoping I wouldn't lash out or do anything he might deem repayable. I wanted to hurt him so much I trembled. I wanted him bleeding on the pavement so I could run.
Standing tall, Jethro glared, waiting to see what I would do.
I was half his size—and without witnesses, I was helpless. I'd never taken self-defence or thought I'd be in a situation that required it. The treadmill trimmed my figure, but didn't give me muscle to fight.
What could I do but obey? I didn't move. I couldn't. Even my vertigo didn't dare make me queasy when I was trapped in his savage golden eyes.
A moment ticked past before he nodded curtly. "I'm glad you're acting with more decorum. To ensure that behaviour, I'll share one piece of information about the debt with you." He ran a finger along his bottom lip. "You are the only one who can repay. You must come of your own free will. You are the sacrifice."
I swallowed, flinching at the bruising around my larynx. His level voice lulled me into thinking I had a chance at escape. Keep him talking. Get him to care. "Sacrifice?" I instantly hated the word.
His eyes narrowed. "A sacrifice is something you do or give up for the greater good. All of this could stop...you have the power."
It could? The promise of freedom hung in the night-sky, taunting me.
I shifted on the seat, shivering from the cold. "If I have the power, why do I feel as if you're laughing behind my back?" Steeling myself, I snapped, "Whatever you might think of me, I can read between the lines of what you're not saying. What are the consequences if I don't go with you?"
I felt ridiculous talking of debts and consequences. None of this made sense, but a horrible sensation slithered up my back. A memory that I'd buried...from a long time ago.
"You have no choice, Arch. I can't explain it, but you, me, no one can stop this. My only regret is meeting you."
My father huffed, whirling around in the drawing room of our eight bedroom manor. "Your only regret? What about V and Nila? What should I tell them? What should I say when they ask why their mother abandoned them?"
My mother, with her glossy ebony hair and dusky skin, stood tall and fearless, but from my hidden spot by the stairs I knew the truth. She wasn't fearless—far from it. She was petrified. "You tell them I loved them but I should never have given them life. Especially Nila. Hide her, Arch. Don't let them know. Change your name. Run. Don't let the debt get her, too."
The memory had ended abruptly thanks to Vaughn throwing a soccer ball at my head and shattering the final moments my parents had together. That had been the last time I ever saw her.
I rubbed my palm against my chest, cursing the tightness around my heart. Confusion weighed heavily, equally as pressing as despair.
Jethro smiled. "I'm glad you're being more reasonable. That is one question I will answer. The consequences of not coming with me are Vaughn and Archibald Weaver, amongst other things."
My whole world flipped upside down—and this time it wasn't vertigo.
"Your life for theirs." He shrugged. "Simple really. But don't worry about the details. There's the fine print and endless history lessons to explain."
My heart stopped. My life for theirs? He has to be joking. I didn't know if I should be screaming in terror or laughing with amazement. This couldn't be real. It had to be a farce. A horrible, cruel joke of my dad's to ensure I never wanted to date again. Please let it be a joke.
"You can't be serious." I might've been hidden from the world of men, but I wasn't completely clueless. "You expect me to believe you?"
Jethro lost his ice, sliding straight into artic winter. "You think I care if you don't believe me? Do you think all of this is bullshit and you can somehow argue with me?"
My heart jack-knifed. He was so sure. So resolute. No hint of worry that his scam might be revealed. It isn't a joke.
Jethro lowered his voice to a hiss. "I'll let you in on another secret about me. I never do things by half. I never take chances. I never hunt alone." Leaning closer, he finished, "Ever since I set eyes on you, eyes have been set on your brother and father. They're being watched. And if you so much as sneeze wrong, those eyes will turn into something a lot more invasive. Do you understand?"
I couldn't reply. All I could picture was Vaughn and my father being exterminated like vermin and never see it coming.
"Say another word and I'll end them, Ms. Weaver." With a glacial glare, Jethro grabbed the handle bars and swung his leg over the black powder-coated machine. Every inch was black. No chrome or colour anywhere.
Shit, what do I do? I had to run. Run!
But I couldn't. Not now he'd threatened my family. Not now my brain had unlocked a memory adding weight to Jethro's lunatic suggestions. Not now I believed.
A debt.
I didn't know what it was. It could've been code for something I didn't understand or literal and requiring payback. But one thing I knew, I couldn't risk not obeying.
I loved my family. I adored my brother. I wouldn't chance their lives. Not after this so-called debt broke up my parents' marriage and happiness.
I jumped as the ignition growled to life, tearing through the silence, and somehow granting me strength in its ferocity. Kicking the stand away, Jethro took the weight of the bike.
He didn't wear a helmet or offer me one. I expected him to turn around and deliver more information or demands, but all he did was reach behind, steal my arm, and place it around his hips. The moment my hand rested on him, he let me go, unknowingly giving me a safe harbour but with an anchor I already despised.
I looked longingly at the building where my brother and father mingled with fashionistas and the only world I knew. I silently begged them to come running out and laugh at my stunned, fear-filled face yelling 'we fooled you.'
But nothing. The doors remained closed. Answers hidden. Future unknown.
I'm alone.
I'm being stolen for a debt only I can repay. A debt I know nothing about.
I was idiotic to wish for more than what I had.
Now, I had nothing.
With a twist of his wrist, Jethro fed gas to his mechanical beast and we shot forward into darkness.
The Milan airport welcomed me back.
It felt like an eternity since I flew in, though in reality it'd only been two days. My skin was icy, and despite my repellent dislike for Jethro, I hadn't been able to stop huddling against him while he broke speed limits and took corners at hyper-speed on his death machine. My tiny skirt and sleeveless corset weren't meant for gallivanting around Milan so late.
Pulling into a short term parking bay, he killed the engine and kicked down the stand. I immediately sat back, unwinding my arms from around his waist.
The fear remained in my heart, growing thicker with every beat. I couldn't look at the so-called gentleman without swallowing a cocktail of murderous rage and teary terror.
His profile showed a man with a five o' clock shadow beginning over his jaw, windswept thick hair, and an edge that catapulted him from sexy to dangerous. He stood out from a crowd. He drew need and desire effortlessly. But there was nothing tame or kind or normal. He reeked of manipulation and control.
He's an iceberg.
The car park wasn't empty, but it wasn't rush hour either. Despite the clunking echo of a couple dragging suitcases toward the terminal, the night was quiet.
Jethro climbed off the bike. Once standing, he rolled his neck, rubbing the cord of muscle with a strong hand. His eyes latched onto mine. They looked darker, more autumn leaf than precious metal, but still as cold.
I glowered back, hoping my hatred was visible.
His face remained closed off—not rising to the challenge of a staring war. Holding out his palm, he waited. The way he watched spoke volumes. He didn't wonder if I'd take his hand. He knew. He believed in himself so damn much everything other than his wish was dismissed as ludicrous.
Too bad for him, I didn't do well with the silent treatment. V had trained that out of me. Having a boisterous twin armed me with certain skills. And ignoring moody males was one of them.
Swatting his hand, I pushed off from the black leather and landed on bare feet. The brisk concrete bit into my soles. Wrapping my arms around my shivering torso, I muttered, "As if I'd accept your help. After everything you've done so far."
Dropping his arm, he chuckled. "So far?" He leaned closer. "I've done nothing. Not yet. Wait until you're in my domain and behind closed doors. Then you might have something worthy of being melodramatic about."
My skills at coping with the future rested on being able to ignore his threats and focus on the now. Standing tall, I said, "I could ask something stupid like why are we at the airport, but I can guess why. However, you failed to think about my schedule—"
"Schedules change."
"I don't travel alone, Mr. Hawk. I had tickets booked for my brother, assistant, and wardrobe organiser. Not to mention the excess luggage. They'll be expecting me. Hell, my assistant will be expecting me back at the hotel tonight. All of this—it's a waste of time. It's a waste because the police will be told and if you think my father won't come for me, you're mistaken."
Even as I said it doubt crept over my soul. Tex Weaver shoved me into this nightmare. Why did I think he'd come and bring me home?
Jethro crossed his arms, lips in a tight smile as if I were amusing and not pointing out valid facts. "There were a multitude of mistakes in that paragraph, but I'll focus only on the relevant points." Tilting his head, he continued, "Your father is fully aware of everything. Your loyalty to the man who gave you away with no fight is misplaced. His hands are tied and he damn well knows it. As for the police, they have no relevance in your future. Forget about them, your family, hope. It's over."
His voice dropped to a growl. "Do you know why it's over? It's over because your life is over. There's so much you don't know, and so much I can't wait to tell you."
He shed his icy exterior, grabbing my hair and jerking my head back. "You'll learn about your peerage. Your rotten family tree. And you'll pay. So shut up, give up, and appreciate my kindness thus far because I'm running low on decency, Ms. Weaver, and you won't like me when I hit my limit."
My shivers evolved to full blown tremors. "I don't like you now, let alone in the future. Let me go."
He surprised me by stepping away, releasing me. My scalp smarted, but I refused to rub my head.
"You're testing me. But lucky for you, I know how to deal with troublesome pets."
Pets?
My hands balled.
How did I ever think I wanted him? The fact his lips had been on my face and his thumb in my mouth repulsed me.
Jethro's gaze drifted down my state of undress. "You're shaking. I don't want you getting sick." His eyebrow quirked. "I'd offer you my jacket, like the chivalrous man I am, but I doubt you'd accept it. However, I have something better."
Spinning around, he drifted toward a deep shadow cast by one of the large pillars. "Flaw? Get out here. You damn well better be—"
"I'm here." A man appeared from the shadows. Dressed in black jeans, shirt, and black leather jacket, the only glint of colour came from a simple silver outline of a diamond engraved on the front pocket. He looked like a thief waiting for a victim. "Been here for forty-five minutes. You're late." He tossed Jethro a duffel, running a hand through long dark hair. "Lucky for you the flight's delayed."
Jethro caught the bag, glaring at the man. "Don't forget your place. I'm not late according to my rules—not yours." Manhandling the duffel, he said, "You did as I asked?"
The man nodded. "Everything. Including photographic evidence. It all went smoothly, and the tickets are inside. I'll take care of the bike, just leave it there. Cushion and Fracture are tracking the Weaver men until you tell them otherwise."
Jethro pulled out an envelope, then flicked through the contents. He looked up, something resembling a smile gracing his lips. "Good work. I'll see you back at Hawksridge."
My ears pricked at the name. It sounded familiar—reeking of old money.
He's from nobility? The concept of Jethro being a duke or an earl was preposterous, and yet...uncannily perfect. Everything about him was deceptive and...bored. Was that all this was? A game to pass the time for some rich brat who got sick of killing puppies?
I couldn't stop my teeth from chattering—both from disgust and cold. The man named Flaw glanced my way. His eyes narrowed. "He's expecting you and the woman. I'll message and let him know it's gone well."
"Don't," Jethro snapped. His English accent thickened with the demand. "He doesn't need to know. He'll see us soon enough." Dismissing the man as if he was the hired help and no longer required, Jethro stalked toward me, holding out the bag.
Flaw dissolved back into the shadows like a scary apparition.
"This is yours. Get dressed. You won't be allowed in the building half-naked and shoeless."
Taking the duffel, I muttered under my breath, "I was dressed in an outfit worth thousands of pounds before you tore it off me." The loss of my showpiece smarted like an open wound.
I had two wishes—one, that he'd heard me and knew just how pissed I was. And two, that he didn't hear, because I was afraid of his reaction.
Jethro smirked before turning to his bike.
I opened the bag and promptly dropped it.
Oh, my God. I had to be dreaming. Wake up, Nila. Please, wake up.
My knees buckled, following the bag to the floor. Shaking, I collected the photos sitting on top of a mound of clothes. My clothes. Everything I'd brought to Milan—minus the fashion show apparel and my work tools—running gear, a bikini, sweat pants, pyjamas, and a simple collection of blouses, jeans, and maxi dresses.
But on top of it all rested strewn photographs.
Photo-shopped images that never happened.
Doctored snap-shots of lies. Such horrible, horrible lies.
No one will come.
Jethro was right. The police would laugh if anyone asked for their help. What I held cemented my new life being Jethro's plaything.
Shuffling through the deck, I couldn't stop a hot tear searing down my cheek.
There was me—smiling, glowing. I remembered the day. V and I had headed to Paris for a local mid-season show a few years ago. He'd beaten me at poker in a silly pub tournament and a patron snapped an image of us. Laughing, overly warm, arms wrapped around each other in sibling affection, we'd been so happy.
Only Vaughn didn't exist in this photo. The background had been amended to show a fancy restaurant while the man who clutched me was Jethro.
The smile on his face was the warmest I'd seen. His attire of open-neck black shirt and jeans made him look young, in love, and dashing.
I couldn't study it anymore. Flicking to another one, I slapped a hand over my mouth.
This one pictured my father and me. Or had. He'd splashed out for the annual staff retreat, and we'd gone on a one week cruise around the Mediterranean. We'd stood with the setting sun dancing on the orange tinted waves, dressed in loose fitting 'cruise wear' that I'd created only days before. I'd planted an adoring daughterly kiss on his scratchy face.
That kiss now belonged to Jethro.
The ship had been tweaked to show a luxury yacht rather than commercial liner. The sunset cast a different glow. Jethro stood broodily, staring into the camera with such an intense glare of sexual power, no one would disagree that there was chemistry and need between us. The way my body curved into his, the sweetness and trust I displayed, only helped confirm the illusion of a couple besotted with each other.
The photos wobbled in my hands; another tear stained the glossy deception.
I looked up, not caring my heart was ripped out and beating coldly on the car park floor. "How—" Gritting my teeth, I tried again. "Destroying my dress wasn't enough? You had to steal my past, too?" I held up a photograph of a half-naked Jethro holding my chin as he kissed me. That wasn't based on my dateless life, but it was so lifelike, so true, so incontestable.
How did they make it so realistic?
Jethro shook his head, rolling his eyes. Locking the bike, he pocketed the keys before turning to face me. Dropping to his haunches in front, he whispered, "I not only stole your past. I've already stolen your future."
I breathed hard, hating the look of enjoyment in his gaze.
Never breaking eye contact, he tapped the photographs in my hands. "You didn't see them all. Flick to the back. They're especially for you."
I couldn't unglue my lungs. I didn't think I'd ever be able to breathe without pain again. Splitting the tower of pictures, I glanced at the last ones. Immediately, I looked up. All sense of decency and pride gone.
"Please, you can't. This—it will break their hearts."
Tears scalded the back of my throat. My eyes burned, glancing down again. This one showed my empty hotel room—exactly as I left it with last minute ribbon and feathers littering the bed before rushing to the show—but now my toiletries from my nightstand, my laptop, and belongs were gone. Including my carry on and suitcase.
The room was abandoned. It looked as if I'd packed up and left my dreams, livelihood, and family without so much as a backward glance.
This would break my brother and father's heart, because it was the exact same way of how my mother, Emma Weaver, left us.
But unlike my mother, there was a simple note placed upon the dresser.
"Turn it over. I took the liberty of asking for a close-up, so you can read what you wrote as your final goodbye," Jethro murmured, stealing the photo from my fingers and tapping the fresh one revealed beneath it.
I curled over my knees, cradling the glossy replica of a goodbye letter penned in my hand. The writing was exactly like mine, even I couldn't tell the forged sweeps and cursive from reality.
It's time I came clean.
I've been lying to you for a while now.
I've fallen in love and decided that my life is better with him. I'm done with the deadlines and unachievable pressure placed on me by this family.
I know what I'm doing.
Don't try and find me.
Nila.
I looked up. My heart collided with my ribcage, bruising, hurting. So much pain. I couldn't contain the sorrow when I thought of V reading this. To be left behind by both his mother and sister....
"They won't believe this. They know me better than anyone. They know I wasn't in a relationship. You said Tex knows all about you and why you're doing this. Please—"
Jethro laughed. "It's not for your family, Ms. Weaver. It's for the press. It's for the world stage who will make this fiction a reality. Your brother will find out the truth from your father, I'm sure. And if they behave, they'll both remain untouched. Believe me, this isn't to hurt them—if I wanted that, I have much better means." He cupped my cheek, brushing away long strands of my hair. "No. This was just an insurance policy."
"For what?" I breathed.
"So no one believes your family when they break and try to find you. They'll be all alone. Just like you. Controlled by the Hawks who've owned the Weavers for almost six hundred years."
Six hundred years?
"But..."
Jethro sniffed, his temper building like a ghost around us. "Stop crying. The images portray the truth. It proves you did what you did and no one can be angry or distrustful."
"What did I do?"
"Ah, Ms. Weaver, don't let shock steal your intelligence. You. Left. Voluntarily." He waved at the photo. "This confirms it."
"But I didn't," I whimpered. "I didn't leave—"
Jethro tensed. "Don't forget so soon what I taught you. You are the sacrifice and you..." His eyes dared me to finish his sentence, to admit to everything I'd done by protecting my family. His fingers twitched between his legs, looking like he wanted to strike.
I'd never been good at confrontation—not that my father yelled often or Vaughn and I argued. I'd grown up with no need to fight. I knew how precious my family was. My mother left, proving just how heartless someone could be if they didn't hold onto love. So I'd held on with both hands, feet, every part of me. Only to have it torn away so easily.
You'd rather they lived and never saw them again than die because of you.
Hanging my head, I murmured, "A sacrifice comes of their own free will, therefore I left voluntarily."
Jethro nodded, patting my thigh like the pet he thought I was. Covering the photos with his large hand, he pressed down until my elbows gave out and I lowered them. "Good girl. Keep behaving and the next part won't be too hard to bear."
Another rush of tears suffocated me, but I swallowed them back. He'd told me to stop crying. So I would.
Jethro stood, reaching down to scoop up the awful photos and duffel bag of belongings. "Come. We have to go." He didn't offer me his hand to climb to my feet.
The simple act of raising myself from cold concrete to freezing air taxed my already fractured world. Rolling vertigo pitched my balance, sending me reeling backward. My arms shot out, searching for something to grab hold of.
With drunken eyes, I begged Jethro to catch me, but he just stood there. Silent. Exasperated. He let me trip and fall.
I cried out as I collapsed on the ground. My fingernails dug into the rough flooring, holding on while the parking garage danced around like a nightmarish carrousel. Pain radiated from my hipbone, but it was nothing compared to the overwhelming nausea.
Stress.
It wouldn't be Jethro who ended up killing me, but the inability to deal with a gauntlet of emotions.
Closing my eyes, I repeated Vaughn's silly nursery rhyme. Find an anchor. Hold on tight. Do this and you'll be alright.
"Get up, goddammit. Stop acting the victim." A pinching hand grabbed under my arm, jerking me to my feet.
I doubled over, holding my stomach as another wave of sickness threatened to evict the only food I'd had today—a luncheon prior to the rehearsal of the runway show.
"You're useless."
When the debilitating wave left, I glared up. "I'm not useless. I can't control it." Breathing hard, I begged, "Please, let me talk to my brother. Let me tell him—"
"Tell him what? That you're being taken against your will?" Jethro chuckled. "By the look on your face you seem to think I'll forbid you having any outside communication—cut you off from everything you hold dear." Letting me go, he scooped my heavy hair from my neck, giving me a reprieve from the sticky heat of not feeling well. "Contrary to what you think, I have no desire to dictate what you can and can't do."
Twisting my hair, tugging lightly, he added, "This may surprise you, seeing as you have such a low opinion of me, but you can go online, keep your mobile—even continue to work if you wish. I told you before—this is not a kidnapping. It's a debt. And until you understand the full complications of the debt, I suggest you keep what's happening to yourself."
I couldn't understand. I was being stolen, yet was allowed access to avenues that could bring me safety. It didn't make sense.
"You've made a decision to come with me, and it's irreversible. You can't change your mind, and you can't change the payments required, so why make others worry on your behalf?" His eyes glinted. "I suggest you become good at pretending if you wish to maintain the pretence of freedom. I won't stop you from creating extra worry and strain for yourself." Bowing over me, he smiled. "It only makes my job easier."
Grabbing the black rope he'd made from my hair, I stepped away from him. "You're insane."
He gave me a sideways look, rummaging in the duffel to grab a handful of clothes. Closing the distance between us, he shoved the balled items into my stomach.
Oxygen exploded from my lungs from the force.
Jethro pulsed with anger. "That's twice you've questioned my mental state, Ms. Weaver. Do. Not. Do. It. Again." Running a hand through his hair, he growled, "Now get dressed. Time to go home."