**NILA**
"ENOUGH PLAYING, JETHRO, bring her here."
The command burned my ears, turning my false belief I could survive into dirty soot. The fire I'd nursed inside was gone. All the stupid pretending that I could block the worst from damaging my soul disappeared. My little claws had fully retracted into nothing once again.
I was cold. Cold as him.
Shut down. Same as him.
Silent. Same as him.
Only one way to get it off.
I swallowed. My head pounded. My hands flew up to tug at the jewelled collar. It was heavy and lifeless and ice. Pure ice. The perfect clarity and flawless sparkle of the diamonds leached into my skin, claiming me, marking me.
Only one way to get it off.
I thought I'd come to terms with my mortality. I thought I'd face the end with my head held high and dry eyes—but that was before they told me the method of my execution. When I thought of death, I pictured...nothing...I had no image of how the end would come.
Now I did.
Only one way to get it off.
I was to be beheaded.
There'd be no sawing off the collar or picking the lock. The way the clasp snapped so resolutely hinted at a one way mechanism. The heavy noose was now mine...an accessory slowly strangling me by diamonds.
It wasn't breakable. But I was. So fragile really, when a single sharp blade could cast me from life into the nether. Diamonds were nature's hardest fortress—the quintessential marriage of unbreakable ice and power.
A new unwanted respect curdled in my stomach. Jethro said his mines. Their mines. Diamonds were pure, but the method of collection had a chequered history of death and violence.
They didn't just play the part of untouchables. They were untouchable.
No!
My tugging fingers turned frantic. I arched my neck, searching with an edge of insanity for a weakness in the soldered white gold and gemstones. It had to come off.
It has to.
I didn't have the strength to die. I didn't have the martyrdom to let them do this. Not for family. Not for fortune. I'm weak. I don't want to die!
Jethro grabbed my wrists, effortlessly pulling my arms away from my throat. My eyes opened and all I saw was malevolent stone. There was no compassion in his light-brown eyes. No sympathy or even guilt. How did he have the power to be so close to me—to grow hard wanting me—and know all along my fate?
Only a special person could do that. A person who wasn't born of this world, but brimstone and fire. From hell.
I struggled in his hold, breathing hard. The collar settled heavily, still spreading its heinous ice. "I was wrong about you," I hissed.
Jethro placed my hands by my sides, then let me go. He shrugged, running a palm through his thick salt-and-pepper hair. "I've been nothing but forthright and honest from the beginning. You're the one who spun a lie from the truth. You're the one who ignored everything I was telling you."
Turning to face the table, he wrapped a cold arm around my waist. "And now it's time to face the reality of everything you tried to ignore."
Mr. Hawk, with his ridiculous tweed and leather outfit, stubbed out a smouldering cigar. "Did you tell her?"
Jethro stiffened. "I forgot."
His father reclined into the high-backed chair and folded his hands on his stomach. "You were meant to tell her when you put it on. It's called the Weaver Wailer and it belonged to..."
A loud screeching sound exploded in my ears. My stomach rolled. Vertigo spread its nullifying tentacles through my brain.
It's the necklace. The one she wore when she came back the final time.
Jethro looked down, trying to capture my eyes, but I wouldn't do it. I couldn't do it. I kept my vision blank, looking resolutely over his shoulder. "I think you've already guessed who it belonged to." Lowering his voice, he whispered, "The last person to wear this collar was your mother. She wore it for two years and twenty-three days before it was...forcibly removed. It carries not only the diamonds of my bloodline, but also blood from yours. We, of course, clean it thoroughly after every owner, but if you look closely, I'm sure you'll see the tarnish of their lives given in return for their crimes."
"Nila, when you're a big girl, you can wear my clothes, shoes, and jewellery, but you have to grow a little taller before that day." My mother laughed, looking down at me on the floor of her walk-in wardrobe. I'd not only raided her jewellery box and draped myself in gemstones, but wore a feather boa with a baggy one piece swimming suit and giant high heels. I thought I looked incredible. For a seven-year-old.
Holding up the pearls around my neck, I said, "Promise? I can have these when I'm your size?"
She ducked, pulling me into a hug. "You can have everything of mine. Why?"
I smiled. I knew the answer to this. "Because you love me."
She nodded. "Because I love you."
The memory came and went, stealing the firm ground beneath my feet and sending me headfirst into nausea. Spirals, loop de loops, and spin-cycles all churned my brain until I didn't know up from down.
It wasn't vertigo this time, but grief.
Crushing, crashing grief. A grief I hadn't suffered, because all my happy memories of her had been blocked by the wall of hatred. She was supposed to be the bad guy for leaving my father. I'd been safe from hurting. Safe from reliving everything with the knowledge of how precious she was. How tragic her life became and for two years after she'd left. Two years we didn't try and save her.
The Hawks had stripped her from me and torn away any armour I had against missing her. She wasn't the bad guy. They were. They would all die for this. They would rot for eternity. I would find a way.
Please, let me find a way.
I wore a necklace every firstborn woman in my family wore before they were murdered—I was owed serious revenge. Disgusting, painful revenge.
A sob escaped my mouth. I couldn't fight the spinning anymore and doubled over. With a sickening splash, I threw up all over Jethro's shiny black shoes.
"Fuck." He jumped back, not that there was much mess. It'd been almost twenty-four hours since I'd eaten—I had nothing to waste or purge. But the dry heaves wouldn't stop racking my frame.
"For fuck's sake, Jet. Get her under control. We don't have all day." Mr. Hawk's voice shouted across the room.
Cold hands grabbed my shoulders, jerking me from bowed to straight. I moaned as my head sloshed with pain.
"Stop embarrassing me," Jethro snarled.
Embarrassing him? Bastard. Arsehole. Son of Satan. I glowered with tear-swimming eyes into Jethro's cold uncompassionate gaze. Something flicked over his gold irises—a dark shadow. That was the only warning I received before his hand came up and struck me around the side of the head.
I thought I was brave. I thought I was strong. But I'd never been struck before. Daniel's slap in the car last night didn't count. This abuse had come from a black place—a place inside Jethro where unsurmountable anger boiled. And it was endless. He may be a glacier on the outside, but in there...in his heart...he steamed with pressuring rage.
Crashing to my knees, I curled my smarting head into my arms. I came from a family who loved each other so much, a disappointed look or stern word was enough to break your heart. Physical abuse wasn't something I knew. It wasn't something I could prepare for.
Jethro grabbed my hair, pulling me upright. I held onto his wrists to prevent the tearing pain. My blurry gaze focused on his grey shirt and perfectly creased jeans.
He glared. "You'll clean that up, but for now you have other things to attend to."
Not letting go of my hair, he carted me toward his father. Every step I took, I tried to hide my exposed breasts and ignore the breeze between my naked legs. The pinafore Jethro had put on me barely covered my stomach let alone valuable places. Places I would give my entire design line to have covered. The stupid maid cap tilted to the side, clinging to my tangled hair.
I couldn't count how many men existed around the table, but their eyes never met mine. Most were glued to my chest or mesmerized lower down as I side-shuffled to hide as much of my decency as possible.
But it wasn't just their eyes sending spider legs scurrying over my flesh. It was the huge immaculate paintings of men wearing white wigs, elegant coat and tails, and hunting regalia glaring down from the dark red walls.
Their eyes weren't lifeless but full of distain—somehow they knew a Weaver was in their midst and the crackling fireplace was useless to stop my chill.
My sentence was to be carried out with ancestors and family heirlooms as witnesses.
The moment we came to a stop beside Mr. Hawk, sitting in his ornate dining chair, Jethro jerked my neck back. His flawless face filled my vision. "You are no longer free. Look. See your future and understand there's no sweet talking, begging, or bargaining your way out of this. You wear the collar. You're ours completely." Jethro's voice was artic, glittering with power.
The collar cut into my skin. I wanted to spit in his face.
Shoving me toward Mr. Hawk, the old man snaked an arm around my naked waist, tugging me onto his lap.
"Obey and make me proud, Ms. Weaver," Jethro said, crossing his arms. He shifted to stand behind his father's chair, removing himself from the role of authority, becoming merely a spectator.
He's never called me Nila.
The stupid thought came and went on a heartbeat. Jethro was yet to use my first name.
I shuddered, feeling overwhelmingly sick again.
Jethro was awful but being disowned and handed over to a room full of men was worse. I would've given anything to avoid was what about to happen. I would willingly trade all my nights in a bed and return to the kennels. The hounds were loving, kind...warm.
I sat frozen on Mr. Hawk's lap.
His hand rested on my upper thigh, not violating but terrifying. "Now that we all understand each other, I want you to look at something for me, Nila. Then the festivities will begin. Every man you serve, you'll receive another snippet of your history. Only once you've completed your task will you know the entire story and will be free to spend the afternoon either in the steam baths below the house as a reward or in solitary confinement in the dungeons as punishment, depending on how well you please us."
I couldn't understand how my body still functioned. Shock turned my limbs to statues, fear made me mute—I died inside until there was no part of me left. But still my heart kept pumping; my blood kept flowing—staying alive only for their sick pleasure.
The weight of my mother's collar bit into my neck and a question came from no-where. My mother was a Weaver. Her mother before her was a Weaver. But wouldn't they have changed their names according to the surname of their husbands?
I blinked, trying to remember my father's last name.
I can't.
"You look confused. I'll permit you to ask a question before we proceed," Mr. Hawk said, settling me higher on his knee.
I fought my cringe, struggling to formulate the words. "My mother's maiden name was Weaver, but she would've changed it when she got married." I glanced at Jethro behind his father's chair. He tilted his chin, looking down his nose.
Mr. Hawk shook his head. "That son of mine hasn't explained anything has he." Twisting in the seat, he glanced at Jethro. "What exactly have you been doing? You know information is what grants us control. We're the ones in the right. How can she hope to accept her situation if you keep her in the dark?"
Jethro clenched his jaw but remained silent.
Rolling his eyes, Mr. Hawk faced me again and smiled. "I'll give you a brief history lesson, then you must begin your duties." Reaching up, he tugged the maid's cap on my head.
Every inch of me crawled, but I didn't move away. I was hungry for knowledge. Starving to know just how they continued to control my family with no fear of police interference or retribution.
Mr. Hawk reclined, his thumb drawing small circles on my upper thigh. "It all began with one man, who you'll find out about in a little bit. He had children, gracing them all with the Weaver name. Now, from that day on, the power of the family name travelled with the firstborn girl. No matter if she married, divorced, or suddenly wanted to change her name to something whimsical, she wasn't permitted. Whoever she married, it was a condition that the man change his name so that their offspring always bore the Weaver name and continued the line of succession of the debt."
Why did they do it? Why keep a name that only brought misery? My mind hurt trying to understand the Hawk's power.
"You, I believe, are the seventh woman to be taken. And the claiming can happen anywhere between the ages of eighteen and twenty-six."
"You have rules on ruining someone's life?"
His forehead furrowed. "What do you think we're doing, Nila? Everything we're doing is following a strict set of rules—laid out in utmost simplicity and must be followed."
"If you're following rules, then follow the rules of today's society. You think I accept what you're telling me? That all of this is legal?" I spat the last word. "You think its common place to threaten my family, steal me away, and imprison me with a collar of diamonds that won't come off until I die? You're completely insane. And wrong. And—"
"No one—especially a Weaver—has the right to speak to me like that." Mr. Hawk's fingernails bit into my thigh. "What part are you not understanding, girl? We haven't threatened your family—they are under observeillance to ensure their best behaviour. We didn't steal you away—you came voluntarily, remember? And as for the collar—you should be proud to wear it. It's the most treasured piece in the Hawks antiquities."
I bit my lip as his fingernails pierced harder.
His voice dropped the scholarly softness, sliding into strictness. "I see you need more concrete evidence. Fine. The diamonds you wear are worth millions. The diamonds we've sourced have been used to trade, buy services, bribe officials, own prime ministers, even control diplomats and royalty. No one is above the allure of a flawless diamond, Ms. Weaver. Everyone has a price. Lucky for us, we can afford any price."
His tone sharpened. "Does that answer your rude question?"
What response could I give? There was nothing I could say or do to ignore my entire situation. They might have some misplaced belief that they were in the right—but that didn't matter. Because they owned the very people I would need to save me.
My shoulders dipped; I sighed.
Mr. Hawk grinned. "Glad you're coming to your senses, girl. Don't under estimate us, Nila Weaver. We've had the law on our side for hundreds of years. We still have the law on our side and that won't change. You are nothing more than a single woman who left the world's spotlight because she fell in love. You are already consumed and forgotten."
His fingernails stopped slicing my leg; he patted me gently. "I apologise that my son didn't inform you of this. It's his job to be implicitly open with you. To ensure you accept your new standing quickly." He threw a glare at Jethro behind us.
Jethro locked his jaw, his eyes unreadable.
Mr. Hawk bounced me on his knee. "Now, no more questions. Serve my Diamond brothers and earn your right to more information."
My heart shot up my throat. "Serve them how?"
Mr. Hawk shook his head. "Ah, I just told you, no more questions. I have no doubt Jethro would've been rather firm on that instruction. Silence is the key to pleasing us." He pinched my lips together. "Don't say a word until we permit it, and you'll be rewarded."
I'm to be a blow-up doll with no voice or soul?
Looking down, I fought against the urge to tear my face from his grip.
He didn't let me go. And I couldn't keep fighting the urge. So I did the only thing I could. Slowly, I nodded, losing another battle against the trickling tears cascading silently down my cheeks. They continued their unhindered sad journey down my neck, through the collar, to my naked nipples below.
The sun glinted through the window, blinding me for a second on the diamond pin in Jethro's shirt. His eyes were tight and narrowed, glaring at the room of leather-jacketed men; his face resolute and frozen.
Freeing me, Mr. Hawk ordered, "Lean forward, and retrieve the first bit of parchment."
I sat unmoving. I didn't want to wriggle on his lap. I didn't want to give any reason for things to grow or hands to grope.
Jethro lashed out from behind, catching me by surprise. He didn't hit me, but grabbed my diamond collar and snapped a leash to the back. Tugging the restraint, he muttered, "Lesson one. You'll do as your told the second you're told it. Otherwise, you'll choke until you do."
He moved to the back of the chair, leaving my line of sight. The moment he was gone, the pressure on the collar increased, digging into my larynx, cutting off my air supply.
Just let him strangle you.
It would be easier.
But as my body crushed against Mr. Hawk from the pressure, and the natural instinct to fight took over, I knew I couldn't be so weak. There was no point in being stupid. If I was plane-wrecked in a jungle, I would obey the law of the wild—doing absolutely anything to survive.
Wasn't this the same thing?
I was in a den of beasts and they were trying to help me by teaching me their law. If I obeyed, I would live. Entirely simple. Stupidly simple.
No sound, Nila. Not one word. Switch off. Retreat into that spot inside and get through this.
I could do it by adapting, by learning. I refused to be hurt for punishments I could avoid.
Jethro sensed my acquiescence at the same time as his father. I didn't know what gave me away—the slouching of my shoulders, the soft puff of sadness? Regardless, they knew I wouldn't fight. They'd won.
Jethro released the pressure on my throat, removing the leash and dangling it over the back of the chair as he moved back to his position. Mr. Hawk angled my face, pressing a wet kiss on my cheek. "Good girl. You're learning."
I didn't even flinch. I was as cold as his son.
Embrace it.
Locking eyes with Jethro, I kept myself anchored while his father's hand slipped inside the stupid pinafore and found my breast.
Jethro gritted his teeth, but never stopped glaring into my blank gaze.
I tensed, willing every molecule to stay frigid and unattached. There was freedom in drifting—as I'd learned in the kennel—and I let my mind go.
I would be Jethro and remain stone cold on the outside. But inside I would be Kite and cut the strings of my soul—soaring where they'd never touch me.
No matter what they did.
My head bowed as Mr. Hawk pressed up, grinding a hard cock against my naked arse. "Read the parchment."
My hair fell in a thick black curtain, obscuring half of the men who watched with eager eyes. They weren't panting, but they reminded me of hungry dogs just waiting for permission to attack and kill.
My hands didn't shake as I reached for the parchment. I lowered my eyes to read. I was silently amazed at how collected and aloof I seemed. Shocked that I'd so easily turned off. What did that say about me? I'd just learned about my mother. Spent the night with a pack of dogs. Am I really that adaptable? Or was shock to blame?
The parchment used to be whole—it was age-stained, blood-marked, and torn. Glancing upright, I noticed the remaining pieces scattered around the table. A treasure hunt to read what would be my sentence.
Not every man had a piece, but at a quick count, I guessed four to five shards of secret-tarnished paper were out there, waiting for me to read.
Looking back to the parchment in my hands, my eyes landed on the crest I'd grown fast to recognise of hawks, women, and diamonds. It took pride of place at the top of the letter with intricate calligraphy and penmanship.
Taking a deep breath, I read.
On this date, the eighteenth day, of the eighth month, of the year of our Lord fourteen-seventy-two, we hereby convene to settle the unsightly claims and forthwith family disruptions between Percy Weaver and Bennett Hawk.
We call upon the royal sovereignty to grace this binding agreement upon the two houses, to put aside flagitious slander, and immoral actions, and settle this as gentlemen.
As esquire over this binding estate, I have mention Percy Weaver and family, including church-sanctified marriage to Mary Weaver, and his thrice offspring of two boys and one girl are also governed by the degree found today, or they shall hang by the neck until dead for heinous crimes found unjustifiable by the court of England so help me God.
It ended.
I stopped reading but didn't move. Not a breath. Not a fidget. It was true then. My family had done something to justify all of this.
But what could be so awful to earn a contract spanning generations of repayments?
Mr. Hawk bounced me again, tweaking my nipple. "Finished?"
My heart neither fluttered nor sank. I was flying free—escaped from this unfolding nightmare.
"Intrigued? Want to know the rest?" His fingers twisted harder, but I didn't care. All I cared about was finding out more.
Ignoring his touch, I breathed for the first time and nodded. As much as I didn't want to get close to the other men with sin and greed glowing in their eyes, curiosity burned. I was desperate to read more torn pages and solve the mystery of my lineage.
Why did father never say anything? Why did he raise me to think we were good people?
That question would probably never be answered.
Mr. Hawk placed his hands on my hips, hoisting me from his lap. I stood with my eyes cast downward. Silent and waiting.
He smiled in encouragement. "Behaving well so far. Let's see if you can keep it up." Waving toward the overladen sideboard full of hors d'oeuvres, fish dishes, meat dishes, roast vegetables, and desserts, he said, "You're our waitress for this little get together. Please be so kind as to serve our meal. You'll receive a token of thanks from each of the Black Diamond brothers and earn the right to finish your reading."
My legs moved before my brain registered. The primal part of me taking over to jump to the task. I might be a naïve woman who didn't know how to jerk a man off, but I was a businesswoman at heart. I'd been around strict shop buyers, ditzy models, and sulking catalogue owners. I'd learned how to adapt and sell my work.
This was no different.
I had to adapt and sell myself.
Make him care. Make him feel.
My eyes flew to Jethro. Was it possible? Could I break his ice and find a man deep inside—a man who I could seduce, beguile, and ultimately use to stay alive?
Am I that strong?
Mr. Hawk tapped my behind as I skirted the back of his chair. Jethro didn't move back, granting a small space for me to pass.
I hunched into myself, preparing for whatever cruelty he had planned.
His body twitched. The perfect lines of muscle and masculinity once again making me despise his natural beauty. An unwilling rush shot through my system at the memory of him touching me, fingering me.
He'd wanted me in that moment and it had nothing to do with debts or pain. It'd been pleasurable, confusing, and awkward but...maybe there was something I could work with.
The idea to seduce Jethro flowered quickly. The bloom wasn't fresh like the bud of a rose but black. The unfurling petals dripped with filth, sprouting from a place I never wanted to acknowledge. He belonged to a family who ruined mine. He had no compassion. No heart.
How could I make him care when stone was utterly heartless?
I'll try, though. Why not? I had nothing left to lose.
I could be their ward, to be tormented on a daily basis, for years. I would be his toy for however long he wanted. Time could change anything if the elements conspired with me. A mountain ultimately had to give way to the sea if hammered by its salty waves.
I'll be that wave.
Jethro cleared his throat, deliberately stepping forward. His large frame pressed against mine, causing my body to twist and brush my naked breasts against him.
"Oops," he breathed.
I didn't look into his eyes. I couldn't stand to look at him. All of this was his doing and I refused to let him unsettle me anymore. "Don't touch me," I whisper-hissed.
His hand lashed out, slinking up my pinafore and tweaking the same nipple his father had. "Silence." Bowing his head to mine, he said, "And you loved me touching you. Stop being a little liar, Ms. Weaver."
Gritting my teeth, I darted away, tearing his fingers from my breast. I breathed hard when I reached the sideboard. So much food.
My stomach scrunched into a hunger ache.
So what I was naked? So what over twenty men waited to do who knew what to me? It didn't matter. Because my life hinged on throwing away normal and embracing the crazy I now lived with.
I would meet them in hell and play their horrid games. I'll come out the victor.
Grabbing a tiered platter of pâté, crusty bread, and pickled vegetables, my mouth watered.
I'm so hungry.
My stomach growled, sending spasms of pain. I'd never gone this long without food, and the lack of sugars and vitamins faded the edges of my vision. My fingers whispered over a piece of roasted potato. Just one little taste...
"Hurry up," Mr. Hawk ordered.
Shaking my head from the overwhelming need to shove a handful of delicious looking food into my mouth, I turned to face the table. I'd never waitressed before, but I guessed the man in charge would get first choice.
That means passing him again.
Holding tight to the platter, I held my head high, and made my way past Jethro. His mouth twitched as he once again blocked my path. I kept my lips tight together, not looking at the challenge in his eyes.
"Not interested in me anymore, Ms. Weaver?" he purred.
Mr. Hawk looked over his chair and pointed at me, then placed his finger over his lips in the universal 'hush' sign. A non-so-subtle reminder that I wasn't permitted to speak.
When I didn't respond. Jethro smiled. "I'm impressed."
He might terrify me, but he needed to know I wouldn't give up. I had plans for him, and I wouldn't be so easily cowed. Plus, he had my vomit on his shoes, he shouldn't be so smug.
I let myself glance into his golden eyes. You don't scare me.
His capricious demeanour shifted slightly, a silent message glowing in his gaze. Give me time.
He let me pass without another word.
Breathing shallowly, I came to a standstill beside Mr. Hawk. He nodded, choosing a selection from the platter. "Good girl. You may now serve the rest of the table. Left to right, if you please."
Straightening, I forced myself to truly look at the men before me—the gauntlet of masculinity I had to travel through to reach my destination.
My heart raced; a cold sweat broke out down my spine.
Stay cold. Stay free. And you'll get through this.
I placed one foot, then another. My heartbeat ratcheted as I came to a stop beside a large man reeking of damp leaves. He had orange hair and a tattoo snaking up his neck.
My vision wobbled; I tottered to the left as a small wave of vertigo reminded me I'd been stable up to this point thanks to a miracle. Orange Tattoo shot out an arm, preventing me from slamming into the table.
He grinned. "Steady, I won't bite." He brought me close, smiling so deep a dimple formed. "I'll lick though."
Before I could move, his tongue landed on my thigh, licking long and slow like a giant animal.
What?!
I squirmed, almost dropping the tray. His grip was absolute, holding me firm until he'd tasted his full. The rush of vertigo turned to nausea. The sickly scent of my previous sickness didn't help my stomach from rolling like a shipwreck.
Letting me go, I stumbled and tried to rub away the silvery glisten of wetness from his awful mouth. It only transferred to my naked elbow.
Orange Tattoo beamed, licked his lips, and took a selection of breads and pickles. "Thank you, Ms. Weaver."
I spun to face Mr. Hawk.
This couldn't be true. He expected me to let this happen. From everyone?
Mr. Hawk chewed thoughtfully, raising an eyebrow, daring me to speak.
My lips parted—to demand to know what happened. Was that the token of gratitude he spoke of? A lick?
My chest puffed, sending a wash of embarrassment through me. Not only was I naked but I had to permit them licking me!
Mr. Hawk pursed his lips, waiting for me to explode.
He'll punish you. Don't ask. Do. Not. Snap.
It took more courage and energy than I had. But I managed to suck in a breath and release the stress swirling in my system. I had too many other things to focus on to care about an unorthodox dinner soirée.
No speaking.
I had to pretend I had no tongue. Otherwise, waitressing would be the least of my problems.
Glancing back at the men, they grinned, knowing I had no choice but to continue.
Jethro's voice ghosted behind me like a dark cloud. "You're the main course, Ms. Weaver. Each brother gets a taste—anywhere he chooses. You'd be wise to allow it."
My heart thundered. Anywhere?
But if it was just a lick—was that so bad? Perhaps this dinner party might not be as awful as I'd feared. A lick I could tolerate. A touch I could handle. Full penetration would drive my mind from its sanctuary straight to an asylum.
It was as if Jethro knew that. Pushing me, little by little, past my comfort zone.
I moved to the next leather-jacketed man. This one was skinny but had an edge of violence. His shaved head shone as he helped himself to the food before placing his finger in the top of my pinafore and pulling me down to his level.
His tongue lashed out, tracing my cheekbone all the way to my ear.
Shuddering, I swallowed back my repulsion.
You can handle it.
The moment he'd finished, he said, "Thank you, Ms. Weaver."
What did they want for me—permission that it was okay? That I was grateful?
Standing upright, I struggled to move. Struggled to keep going when I knew how many more licks I'd have to earn before it was over.
"Proceed, Ms. Weaver. Don't disappoint me." Jethro's gravelly voice invaded my ears. Damn him. Damn all of this.
Swallowing hard, I moved to the next.
He was handsome. Quite like Jethro in a stockier, less devilish kind of way. He had dark hair with flecks of grey and a bird of prey tattooed on his forearm.
Never taking his eyes from mine, he took a few items, then hooked a strong arm around my waist and pushed up my maid's uniform. His lips pressed a kiss on my hipbone, the wet tease of a tongue hidden by the warm pressure of his mouth.
Every inch of me revolted but I didn't flinch.
Smirking, he let me go. "Thank you, Ms. Weaver."
It was the smirk that gave him away.
He's another Hawk.
The man nodded, sensing my connection to his pedigree. "I'm the second brother," he said softly. "I doubt you know my name seeing as Jethro gets to have all the fun—but I'll tell you—so you know who to scream for when my older brother goes too far." He crooked his finger, hinting for me to move closer.
Despite myself, I bent. There was something about this brother. Something different.
His light-brown eyes—a Hawk family trait it seemed—crinkled at the corners as he said, "I'm Kestrel." Pointing at the tattoo on his arm, he added, "Like the bird."
"Leave her alone, Kes. Other brothers want a turn." Jethro's demand snapped from behind.
Kestrel chuckled. "Easy there, Jet. Only playing with my food." He sat back, motioning me to continue.
How many sons did Mr. Hawk have? How many must I submit to when Jethro had had enough of me? I didn't have the mental protection to sleep with an entire family of evilness.
My eyes didn't linger on him and I wasn't permitted to speak, but I wanted to know more about him. I wanted to know why I had a sense of kinship—no matter how slight.
Tense, I darted around his chair, moving to my next customer.
The next man had piercings in his eyebrow and lower lip. Blue-black hair, so similar to Vaughn's, tore my heart out as he bent his head over my arm and dragged a pointed tongue toward my elbow.
V.
Tears threatened. V was everything to me. I couldn't stand to think of him while this happened. I should've messaged him back. I was cruel to leave him in distress.
Closing my eyes, I put one foot in front of the other, moving toward the next man.
And then the next.
And the next.
Each one thanked me once they'd tasted, acting like gentlemen rather the lair of monsters they truly were.
With every lick, I froze, standing tense and hating while they dragged their saliva all over my skin.
Thankfully, the lack of hunger tripped time, merging the men and tongues into a merry-go-round of nightmares. I lost track of who licked where, hiding myself away and focusing on the weight of my platter growing lighter and lighter.
But not one person tasted my breasts or pussy.
It sent me into a state of uncomfortable awareness. They were men. Taunting a woman who they'd been given permission to taste. Why hadn't they gone for the prized locations?
The unknowing and waiting sent my skin crawling more than their eager tongues.
The next man I served was older with a greying moustache and wispy hair. He licked my neck, nuzzling my hair before taking his fill of food.
I went to move, in a trance, to the next diner.
But the older man captured my hip and presented me with the next part of the parchment.
My trance evaporated, leaving me hungry for information. This was why I permitted this. I let myself be governed by history. The double meaning of the thought didn't escape me. You were taken because of history. You're staying because of history.
The diamonds of my collar bit into my neck in agreeance.
Placing the platter on the table, I removed myself from the twenty-first century and proceeded to be swept to 1472.
For actions committed by Percy Weaver and his entourage of well-to-do associates, he stands judged and wanting. His life is determined by the grace of Bennett Hawk who states the following comeuppance:
Monetary compensation
Public apology
And most of all, bodily retribution
What a bastard. He couldn't let some petty grievance go?
He did save the entire family from hanging. Somehow he'd kept Percy Weaver and my ancestors from swinging on a rope, and in a way I had to be grateful. Grateful to a man who'd saved my bloodline but stolen my future at the same time.
If this document had never been agreed upon, I would never have been born. No one past Percy and Mary would've existed. It was hard to hate someone who'd granted life, but easy to hate them for stealing countless of those lives generations later.
"Keep going, Ms. Weaver," Jethro purred.
My head snapped up.
He stood there, wrapped in his horrible silence, watching me like a hunter.
I wanted to glower. I wanted to do something idiotic and stick my tongue out at him. But there was no point making him hate me more than he already did. The moment I could charge my phone, I would Google every enticing come-hithers a woman could make.
I'll seduce him.
I'd enjoyed seeing his impeccable control snap by the stables. I loved that I was the one to do it.
I'll make him care.
I would turn this travesty into a prophecy by weaving my Weaver magic over a Hawk.
With strength building in my heart, I grabbed my tray.
Moving forward on unsteady knees, I looked greedily at the next piece of paper. It sat coyly in the centre of the table, beckoning.
The next man to taste me was a young boy, barely out of his teens. His touch was gentle, tongue barely licking. He was my favourite from the table.
After another two licks, I hoped I deserved the next scrap of parchment, but no one gave it to me. My heart sank as I completed a full rotation, squeezing my eyes as each tongue inched closer to the places I wished were covered.
I couldn't stop shivering when I placed the empty platter on the sideboard. Resting my palms on the hard surface, I breathed deep. Tears pressed on the back of my eyes, disgust rolled in my stomach growling with desperate hunger. This was torture on so many levels. Delivering food to well-fed men all the while they feasted on me, too.
"The main course, if you will, Nila," Mr. Hawk muttered.
I looked over my shoulder. He sat there, running his fingers through his goatee. His golden eyes, so like Jethro's, held no patience or tolerance but his lips tilted in mirth. He was enjoying this.
Of course he was. They all were.
Including my main tormentor.
Pushing off from the sideboard, I collected a large silver tray of chicken and asparagus. Keeping my eyes down, I deliberately kept the tray high and outstretched, giving me a shield in which to pass Jethro.
Not that it helped.
His arm shot out, stopping me. I cursed the familiarity of his touch. Screamed at the horrible way my body remembered the pleasure he'd granted by the stables. I wanted nothing from him. Especially the memory of his fingers.
I glared into his eyes. Stay silent.
It was hard.
I had so much I wanted to say. So much to yell. The side of my head still throbbed from his strike; my ego still hurt from not knowing how to jerk him off the way he desired. He made me feel like a rejected little girl.
Bowing close, he whispered in my ear, "I'm enjoying watching you be so obedient, Ms. Weaver. And your silence..." He brushed my hair away from my cheek, fingertips lingering on my neck. "...is making me hard."
I sucked in a gasp, looking to the front of his trousers despite myself. The outline of his massive cock that terrified me—more than his hands, temper, or god-awful silence—stood firm and bulging against his jeans.
He smiled. "Keep up the good work and you might get two rewards this evening." His eyes darkened. "Because we both know you want me to finish what I started."
My gasp turned to a growl. I couldn't fathom how my stomach swooped even while sickness swirled. Damn my traitorous body for finding his evil beauty attractive.
Are you sure you want to seduce him just for protection? I hated the question. I hated that I didn't have an answer.
Jerking away from his arm, I stalked toward my starting position. Standing beside Mr. Hawk, I served him first. The moment he'd taken a few morsels, I moved to leave, but he pinched my pinafore, keeping me still.
His eyes met mine and I knew, just knew, this serving round wouldn't be my arms, neck, or hips up for a taste. This would be worse. Much worse.
"Face me, girl," he ordered.
My teeth chattered, but I slowly did as he requested.
"Lean down."
Closing my eyes, I obeyed.
His hot breath clouded over my chest before a wet, warm mouth latched onto my nipple. A graze of teeth, a swipe of a tongue—it all drove me to the pinnacle. The pinnacle where I knew I would burn in hell for not only permitting it, but for the tiny flutter of need that had burst into life while his son drove his finger inside me.
My head pounded as I shoved the betrayal away. I was the one who betrayed myself. I was the one not strong enough to fight Jethro. He'd won the moment I saw him and let my need for touch consume me.
Tears tickled my spine and the moment Mr. Hawk pulled way, I ran.
I didn't get far.
Orange Tattoo, who sat next to Mr. Hawk caught me, holding me tight. "Now, now. You're doing so well. Don't ruin it." His large hand splayed on my shoulder blades, jerking me to his sitting level. With a tight smile, his mouth latched onto my dry nipple.
I whimpered as his large soppy lips sucked. He took his time, swirling his tongue around the hard bud, before letting go in a loud slurp.
I stood shaking as he selected some chicken and sent me on my way.
I can't do this.
Self-pity filled my empty stomach, and I stood frozen to the thick burgundy carpet.
"Move, Ms. Weaver," Jethro ordered.
My body swayed to obey but everything inside rebelled. I didn't care Mr. Hawk had eloquently described my cage with the use of diamonds and debts. I didn't care that I had no choice but to do as I was told.
I just couldn't do it.
My eyes flew wide as Jethro's hands landed on my shoulders. He spun me to face him, breathing hard. "Do. It. Now." The force of his command buckled my knees. I dropped my head.
Silently, Jethro stormed me forward, presenting me to the next man. The platter wobbled in my hands but I stood upright while a vile mouth suckled on my breast.
Once it was over, Jethro manhandled me to the next, whispering in my ear, "Make me come back and show you how to behave, and I won't be nice. You still cling to the ideology that you're better than us. That any moment this will be over." His teeth nipped at my ear. "That's torture because it's false. It won't happen. Accept it and be done with the past. Accept it and embrace everything we're giving you."
Shoving me forward, he patted my backside. "I can be nice if you give me reason to be, Ms. Weaver. Try me by behaving for the rest of the luncheon."
I didn't watch as he left, resuming his standing position behind his father's chair.
I can be nice.
Bullshit he could be nice. But the sooner I obeyed, the sooner it was over.
So...I obeyed.
Mouths.
Fingers.
Tongues and teeth.
They all tasted. They all groped.
I thought the first course was hard. I'd clung to the morals of how wrong it was for so many men to treat one woman so unfairly.
This course did things to me I wished I could deny. Fat lips, thin lips, hot mouths, cool mouths. They all not only took from me but gave something in return.
A horrible realisation that my body was taking over.
My horror sank like a rock every time a man had a new taste. Slowly my stomach fluttered; my insides rebelling against the melting that occurred.
The men didn't care countless mouths had been on my skin. They took turns between my left and right nipples, nibbling, sucking. I wished they'd bite. I willed them to hurt me—something to prove how vile they were.
But each one—old, young, trim, overweight—they all loved me. They adoringly suckled. They moaned with such deep appreciation, I struggled to remember this was by force not by choice. I felt as if I granted them a gift.
A gift they truly appreciated.
Don't. Don't buy into the mindfuckery.
Even my inner voice turned slightly breathless, a lot confused, and edging toward acceptance.
I grew lightheaded as I trudged from man to man. I didn't make eye contact with any of them. I became listless. Numb. Apart from a tiny spark tugging on the invisible cord from my nipple to my core. I wished it wasn't so. I craved to remain unaffected.
But slowly they turned me from intellectual businesswoman to trembling plaything.
Slowly, I grew wet.
Sharp teeth dragged my attention through the blackness that'd become my soul, back to reality.
I looked into the eyes of Daniel.
The mellow trance I'd been lulled into snapped like a rubber band. I no longer found any acceptance or lusty appeal, only hollow rage.
"It's not much fun licking a woman when she isn't paying attention," he sneered.
My heartbeat flew terrorised around my chest. My nipple throbbed from where he'd bitten me.
Licking his lips, he added, "You taste good, Weaver, but I'm looking forward to the next course."
My heart promptly shot itself and splattered against the floor.
The next course.
No. No. No. No.
"Here. You earned this." Shoving another piece of parchment my way, I forced back my tears.
Moving awkwardly, I placed the empty tray on the sideboard, then returned to Daniel's side. My skin broke out in goosebumps being so close, but he dangled the parchment like a present I desperately wanted.
Taking it, I couldn't hide my shakes this time. My aloofness and spirit were gone, replaced by a brittle shaking leaf.
A leaf that was turned on and damp.
Upon reflection of his crimes, Percy Weaver hereby submits to this esquire's ruling and moves to action the latest degree formulated in this very chamber by Bennett Hawk. The death warrant upon the heads of the Weaver House will be eradicated and burned upon signature of this newly drafted document. Terms forthcoming...
That was it?
Tears spurted from my eyes. I'd let countless men suck on my breasts for no more than a tease?
How could they?
How could I?
How could I allow my body to react to their foul ministrations? I hated myself. I hated that I couldn't hide my weakness or the stupid hormones I'd spent my whole life ignoring.
My knees wobbled and I almost folded like an accordion to the floor.
"You pass out and you won't like what you find when you awake," Jethro said. His voice cut through my grief.
Anger battled away my tears, nursing a new warmth inside. A warmth born of rage rather than flimsy passion. This burned hotter; it licked with orange flames, abolishing my hunger and weakness.
I was fed by anger. I smouldered with hate. I became stronger because of it. It gave me power to continue, but also stole my safety of acceptance. I hissed and scalded with liveliness. I couldn't switch off.
"The next course, Ms. Weaver," Jethro commanded from his position at the head of the table. Balling my hands, I threw away the parchment and stalked to the sideboard.
Dessert.
I knew what would happen.
I can't do this.
You will do this.
In my rage, I made a reckless decision. I was at war with my body—why not step over the battle line and join them? Why not embrace it? It was yet another tool—another lesson. If I embraced the new feelings inside, I would be better equipped at chipping away at Jethro's cold exoskeleton of ice and burrowing my way into his warmth.
I would make him care.
I would pleasure him.
Then I would kill him.
My legs scissored together. Everything inside curled deeper into hiding. The moment I went near the table, I would lose all control. I didn't trust my body. It overpowered me every time. And it sucked to be in this mess with a traitor.
Get it over and done with.
Taking a deep breath, I collected my last course.
Passing Jethro with a gilded tray of mini éclairs, bon bons, and trifles, I kept my eyes down. He'd torment me, no doubt.
Sure enough, his arm wrapped around my shoulders, forcing me to face him. His breathing was slightly uneven; his voice lost a tiny shred of chilliness. "Get through this, and I'll reward you. I'll be kind, because you deserve it." Pressing a possessive kiss on my cheek, he whispered, "I'll wipe it all away."
I was struck dumb by the rare and scarily beautiful glimpse at a man I didn't know existed. But then I blinked as Jethro's ice slid back into place, a grim smirk on his lips. "My offer only stands as long as you don't speak, act out, or disappoint me."
Unwinding his arm, he shoved me toward his father.
Almost drunkenly, I moved toward Mr. Hawk. My stomach quivered with trepidation; my heart was prey running frantically for its life.
Mr. Hawk smiled, holding up another piece of paper. "Here. Your last one until you've completed this final service. I think you deserve it, don't you?" His eyes raked down the front of my ridiculous maid's uniform. The cap had stayed in place—how, I didn't know.
Patting my arse, he added, "I must admit you refrained beautifully, even your mother who was my favourite, didn't do so elegantly at her first dinner party."
I ignored that, latching onto the parchment.
Mr. Hawk motioned me to put the tray on the table, before handing over the small piece.
Percy Weaver and family hereby acknowledge his agreeance to the one and only term set forth by Bennett Hawk. In accordance with the law, both parties have agreed that the paperwork is binding, unbreakable, and incontestable from now and forever. Details and parties of both signatures are displayed on the enclosed verified document, henceforth known as the Debt Inheritance.
My eyes met his.
If only I had the rest. I would scream and give up the charade of obedience. I was done. I would take pain to avoid what was about to happen. I would take pain rather than pleasure because then I would still know myself. The longer this went on, the less in-tune I was with the girl I'd been.
Too many feelings. Too many sensors. Too many rabbit-holes with too many right and wrongs.
You're giving up so soon? They killed your mother! They've broken your father's heart. Could I not stomach some unpleasantness and confusion in order to find a way to repay them?
Disappointment weighed my heart. I thought I'd have more endurance.
No. I won't give in.
This is nothing. Be that kite. Cut your strings again.
Bracing my shoulders, I moved closer to Mr. Hawk without being asked.
His eyes widened, then a grin spread his lips. "Good girl, indeed." Bowing his head, his arm wrapped around my waist, tilting me back a little. "You're proving to be a testament to my son's training."
My waist height was almost perfect for a lowered mouth to latch onto the front part of my sex.
And that was when I felt the strangest, wettest, alluring, disgusting thing of my life.
His tongue slid along my clit, wriggling softly, drenching me in saliva.
My stomach clenched, my hands balled, and I wobbled in his arms.
The disgusting element didn't leave. I waited for my body to betray me, to like it, but all I felt was grotesque impatience for it to be over.
And then...it was.
My first experience with a tongue down below, and it'd been done by a man older than my father. If I didn't have an empty stomach, I would've thrown up all over again. There was nothing sexy or erotic about that.
Tapping my behind, he murmured, "Proceed."
Swallowing hard, I collected the dessert tray and crossed the small distance to Orange Tattoo. He crooked his finger, beckoning me closer. Locking my jaw, I held the desserts high and did as he requested. His orange hair tickled my thighs as he leaned down, running his tongue over the private bundle of nerves.
Luckily for me, I wasn't sensitive, nor did I enjoy it.
Once he'd taken his trifle and tasted his fill, I left to serve the next.
And the next.
And the next.
Some men forced my legs to spread, angling their faces deep. Some men barely touched me, their hot breath wafting between my thighs.
I would like to say I managed to turn my brain off—to do what I promised and fly free, but every tongue kept me locked in the world I lived in. Every lick made my body turn to stone while my tummy twisted and ached from clenching.
I delivered dessert, but I was the ultimate sweet. The men took their time, firm fingers holding my hips, dragging their foul tongues from my clit to my entrance. And after every violation, they'd wipe their glistening mouths and say, "Thank you, Ms. Weaver."
Thank you.
As if their appreciation was enough to stop me from feeling like dirt. Their treatment never changed. They remained courteous and gentle. Obeying boundaries and not doing anything but licking me in a place they had no right.
Their pleasantness made all of this seem so normal. So terribly normal. And my hatred slowly switched back to acceptance. The small flutter I'd felt from my nipples being sucked returned—frightful, tentative, but softening my hate tongue by tongue.
They weren't hurting me. They weren't making me do anything that had the potential to shatter my mind.
They just tasted.
A little taste.
That's all.
And I didn't fight.
Not at all.
I'm wet.
By the time I came to Daniel, my legs were drenched and the trimmed hair I meticulously maintained was mattered with droplets of Diamond brotherhood.
My hands were balled around the tray; my jaw tight and aching. Because no matter my good intentions—they'd won. They'd caused my body to have a reaction, and I was soaking.
The strange ache that Jethro had conjured was back, pulsing deep in my core. The flicker of tongues and gentle tastes frustrated me and I hated, positively hated, that I had to fight my hips from pressing harder against them.
I'd begun the service uptight but now I was wound tight. Seeking something. Seeking relief.
Daniel pushed his chair back, angling me physically between his spread hips. With a malicious glint in his eyes, he pushed me back with a firm palm between my breasts. "Fuck the stupid rule."
I gasped as his mouth latched around my clit. The suction of his mouth made my body twist with oversensitivity. He wasn't playful or respectful like the rest of the men. He knew what he wanted and he took.
Hard.
The ache wound tighter and tighter, clawing its way toward relief.
I squeezed my eyes. I couldn't look at the men watching. I couldn't do anything but breathe and get through it. And I definitely couldn't look up where a small growl came, masked with silence.
It was nothing more than a growl.
But it resonated in my bones with knowledge.
Jethro.
The few seconds that each man had taken seemed much longer in Daniel's arms. Suddenly, I cried out, jerking hard.
The tip of his tongue probed my entrance, trying to enter me.
No one had done that. They'd behaved with some unspoken rule to taste but not devour.
Fuck the stupid rule.
Daniel's voice repeated in my head. Had there been guidelines on how I was to be treated?
Everything we're doing is following a strict set of rules—laid out in utmost simplicity and must be followed.
I recalled what Mr. Hawk had said.
He had rules meant to ruin me but also...protect me?
Daniel tried again, his fingers biting into me painfully.
Then, I was wrenched away.
Torn free of his grip with a slice of his fingernails and dragged to the end of the table. The empty dessert tray went flying, clanging against the floor.
My legs tripped, sending me colliding with a body I'd been so intimate with only hours before.
The crash of the tray cut through the room like a loud cymbal. But no one said a word.
The moment Jethro dragged me to the head of the table opposite Mr. Hawk, he shoved the largest of all parchments into my hands. His eyes were dark, face tight. "Here, read it."
Breathing fast, trying hard to forget about the sticky saliva between my legs and the sensation of having his brother's tongue trying to enter me, I took the tattered age-stained scroll.
Jethro scowled, keeping a small distance between us. His coldness buffeted me, sending ice scattering over my bare arms. He looked pissed off—furious, yet there was something there that made my stomach twist.
Whatever game we'd played, whatever war we'd started back at the stables, wasn't finished. He knew it. I knew it. And the knowledge sent power thrilling through my veins.
Leaning close, he hissed, "Stop staring at me, Ms. Weaver. I gave you a request." Tapping the scroll in my palm, he snapped, "Read. It."
Tearing my eyes from his, I obeyed.
The intricate border caught my attention first. Along with a design of vines and filigree, the words bound, indebted, owned were entwined in red ink.
The calligraphy of ancestors past sentenced me to a life worse than death. My rights had been taken. My life stolen. My body no longer mine.
18th August 1472
Signed and witness by Esq John Law
Matter between Weaver versus Hawk
Known forthwith as the Debt Inheritance
This hereby concludes all debate and conversation and puts forth a binding debt. Council has been provided along with sovereign approval for such an agreement.
As set in this chamber, I have witnessed the signatures of both parties of House Weaver and House Hawk, along with their significant entourage and companions.
The debt states as follows.
Percy Weaver hereby solemnly swears to present his firstborn girl-child, Sonya Weaver, to the firstborn son of Bennett Hawk, known as William Hawk. This will nullify all unrest and unpleasantries until such a time as a new generation comes to pass.
This debt will not only bind the current occupancies of the year of our Lord 1472 but every year thereafter. Every firstborn Weaver girl will be gifted as fair comeuppance to the firstborn Hawk boy to be claimed between the years of one and eight and six and twenty respectively. Both parties will be forever agreed on this day set forth.
The life and all attributes will be determined by the current Hawk, no rules or precedence will be set, and this agreement raises them above the law, operating within the grace of her Majesty the Queen of England.
Signed:
Bennett Hawk and Family
Percy Weaver and Family