Temper flared through my blood. “Don’t twist the vows of matrimony. This isn’t a marriage. This is the worst kind of kidnapping.”

His eyes hooded, hiding his thoughts. “A marriage is a kidnapping. After all, it’s a contract between two people.” He came closer, unravelling the end of the bandage and holding it against my side. My arms wrapped around my naked chest hating that even now, even after everything he’d done, my skin still rippled with want.

His face tightened and he grabbed my wrists, placing them forcibly by my sides. “Arms down.” His attention turned to holding the bandage against my ribcage. Once in place, he moved in a circle around me, wrapping my torso caringly in gauze. The soft fabric granted needed relief.

I bit the inside of my cheek. How was it that the gentlest of his touches killed me the most? I’d never been this light-headed without the curse of vertigo. Never been this confused by one person.

Jethro kept his eyes down as he waltzed around, slowly binding me with more of the bandage.

On his second rotation, he murmured, “In a way, we are married.”

I rolled my eyes, cursing my taut nipples. “In no universe would this be called a marriage.”

He sighed. “How do you explain the similarities then? The fact we were raised to be a part of each other’s lives, groomed by families, governed by dictators, and forced into a binding agreement against our wishes.”

The air solidified, turning from unseen substance to heavy bricks of truth. My head snapped up, eyes latching onto Jethro's golden ones. “What did you just say?”

The man he kept hidden blazed bright.

Against both our wishes.

That was the second time he’d said it.

Go on. Admit it. Say that all along you’ve been acting. That this is as repulsive to you as it is to me.

We stood silent, neither of us willing to look away in case it was interpreted as defeat. Slowly, the concern in his eyes shifted to glittering frost—the chill I knew so well giving him somewhere to hide. “You misunderstood me, Ms. Weaver. I meant to say your not our—slip of the tongue.” He continued wrapping the bandage around my middle, covering my breasts with the length of softness, protecting the seeping cuts on my back.

I wanted to yell at him. To find the crack I’d just witnessed and force it to turn from hairline into crevice. But I stood silently, breathing hard as he finished wrapping me like a priceless present, securing the bandage with a small clip.

He stepped back, admiring his handiwork. “You did perfectly, Ms. Weaver. You repaid the First Debt with strength, and you’ve earned a reward.” He moved closer, wrapping his arms around me. His embrace scalded, heating the lash marks to a boil.

I froze in his arms, completely dumbfounded.

To an outsider, it would’ve looked like an embrace—tender, sweet, the coupling of two people crackling with anger and unwanted lust. To me, it was a torment—a farce.

Pulling back, he whispered, “Do you know we met when we were young? I barely remember, and I’m a few years older than you, so I doubt you will recall.”

“What?” My mind flew backward, trying to remember a fiendish little boy with icy winds in his soul. “When?”

He reached up, undoing my ponytail and running his strong fingers through the strands. “Back in London. We met for ten minutes. My grandmother escorted me. They made us sign something—you used a crayon that you’d been drawing a bright pink dress with.”

My heart stormed with denial. How could that be?

Jethro bared his teeth, his eyes locking onto my lips. “That was the first document they made us sign—the beginning of our entwined fate. However, soon you’ll be signing something else.”

Oh, God. My stomach revolted at giving him any more rights over me.

It wouldn’t happen. The only thing I’d sign when it came to the Hawks was their death certificates.

His thumb traced my bottom lip. “You can’t say no. You promised.”

I shook my head. “When?”

“When you ran. We agreed if you didn’t make it to the boundary, you would sign another document—one just between us that trumps everything else.” The tips of his cool, no longer warm, fingers trailed along my collarbone. He leaned in and placed the slightest of kisses on my cheek. “I’ve been rather busy, so haven’t had time to draw it up, but once I do, that’s the one I’ll treasure. That’s the one that will contain your soul.”

I tore from his grip.

I couldn’t stand it any longer.

I slapped him.

Hard.

Viciously hard and firm and so full of anger. I wanted to smite him into the ground.

He hissed between his teeth as my palm print glowed instantly on his shaven cheek.

I seethed, “You’re forgetting that no matter how many contracts you make me sign, none of them will own my soul. I own that. Me! And I’ll make you watch, before this is over, while I burn your house to the ground and bury your family.”

Jethro turned to a rock.

Grabbing the diamond collar around my neck, I hissed, “And this. I’ll find a way to remove it. I’ll tear every single diamond from the setting and donate it to victims of bastards like you.”

Jethro’s anger dissolved, almost as if he shed it in one swoop. His smile was forced, but the passion in his eyes was fire not frost. “Bastards like me? I don’t think there are other bastards like me.”

Suddenly he lashed out, grabbing the diamond choker and dragging me forward.

My hands flew to cover his, cursing the huge flare of agony down my spine.

His lips hovered over mine, instantly igniting my overwhelming need to be kissed. How many times would he tease me and not deliver? How many times must he jerk me close, whisper his taste across my lips, and renege on following through? “I told you, you can’t get it off.” His finger trailed to the back of the necklace, tugging gently. “There is no possible way to get this off once it’s on. No key. No trick.”

I gasped, stumbling a little as vertigo played on the outskirts of my vision. “There has to be a way to undo it.”

After all, you took it from my mother’s corpse.

Jethro smiled grimly. “Oh yes, it comes undone when it’s no longer fastened tightly around something as impeccable as your neck.” His beautiful face twisted with something hideously evil. “Think of an old-fashioned handcuff, Ms. Weaver.” He forced two fingers down the collar, effectively strangling me. “It has to get tighter and tighter…” He tried to fit a third finger but it wouldn’t work. Dark spots danced in front of my eyes.

My heart bucked and collided.

“It has to revolve on itself to open, only then will the latch snap free and be ready to be fastened again.”

The horror I’d been locking deep inside took that moment to crest. My knees gave out, hopelessly giving into rage and terror. If I failed in my quest to make the Hawks pay, who would wear it next?

Who?

Vaughn’s unborn daughter? The sister Daniel had hinted at in the car but I didn’t know was real or fiction?

Jethro caught me, placing me back on the bed.

My life switched. My path, my destiny no longer belonged to creativity, design, or couture.

It had never been that clear-cut.

My fate—the very reason why I’d been put on this earth—was to stop these men. To end them. Once and for all.

There will be no more wearers of the Weaver Wailer collar. No more victims of such a ludicrous, sadistic debt.

The ice that lived in Jethro’s soul seeped into mine, and this time…it stayed. There was no Kite to help me soar or hopeful naivety of the girl I used to be. I embraced the chill, letting it permeate and consume.

I will make him care.

My stomach churned with the promise.

I will make him love me.

My conviction wasn’t flimsy or half-hearted.

And then I’ll destroy him.

My vow was unbinding and unbreakable, just like my diamond imprisonment.

“Kiss me, Jethro.”

Jethro froze, eyes wide.

He tried to stand tall after leaning over to plant me safely on the bed. But I lashed out, grabbing his shirt and keeping him folded. “Kiss me.”

His eyes flared wider, panic filling their depths. “Let me go.”

“If we’re effectively married with contracts, carefully designed futures, and interlocking pasts, why are we fighting our attraction? Why not give in to it?” Yanking his shirt, I forced him to stumble closer. “We have years together before the end. Years of fucking and taking and pleasure.” Licking my lips, I purred, “Why wait?”

Ripping my fingers from his clothing, he backed away, ferocity and confusion equal bedfellows in his eyes. “Shut up. You’re hurt. You need to rest.”

I laughed, unable to hide the mania in my tone. “You wanted to take me in the greenhouse. I’m not saying no now.” I spread my thighs; apart from the bandage wrapped around my chest, I was naked.

Jethro’s gaze dropped to my exposed core, his jaw twitching.

“Kiss me. Take me. Show me you’re a man by being the first Hawk to claim me.” My stomach rolled with the filth I spoke.

But I’d made a vow; I intended to see it through.

Dropping my head, I let a curtain of black hair obscure one eye. “Let’s draw our battle lines right here, right now. We’ll fight. We’ll hate each other. But it doesn’t mean we have to let family dictate every action we do.”

Fire filled my belly. He wanted me. I knew that much. He wouldn’t have come all over my back if he didn’t. And there was something inside me—some all-knowing part that not everything was as it seemed. Sometimes he was so sure—so resolute and unswerving in the belief of what he said—and other times, it was a lie. A big, fat, obnoxious lie that even he struggled to hide.

“I told you at the coffee shop. If and when I take you, it will be on my terms. Fucking hard and nasty. I won’t kiss you, touch you—because I don’t care. I’ll just fucking take, and you’ll wish you hadn’t taunted me.”

“You’ll take me against my will?”

Liar—you stopped before.

He froze, a cold veneer creeping over his features. “Exactly. You begged me to take you. Well, keep begging because I’m not ready to grant you my cock just yet.”

I tilted my head. “You’ll give in. I’ll win.”

He laughed loudly, the tension dispersing. He looked at me as if I were a feral puppy who he’d been temporarily wary of but now thought was ridiculous. “Back to winning. Always winning with you, Ms. Weaver.”

I nodded. “If there is no winner or loser, what else is there?”

Partnership.

The thought appeared from nowhere. Partnership. I tasted the word, wondering just how likely an alliance could be between this law-bound Hawk and me—his victim.

Could I not only seduce him but use him against his family? I’d thought it before, but it’d been frivolous, something I said to make myself feel powerful…but what if…

The idea was absurd…but…

Jethro moved, placing his palm squarely on my bandage-bound chest and pushing me backward onto the bed.

I hissed at the pressure of the mattress on my whipped flesh.

“Stop your silly games, Ms. Weaver. It’s time to rest.”

His eyes glinted. “You’ll need it for tomorrow.”

DAMN HER.

Fuck her.

She was worse than my fucking father with her manipulation and guile.

I needed a session.

For the first time since I’d turned eighteen, I needed help. I wouldn’t be able to fix myself on my own. I hated to do it to her. It was the epitome of cruel.

But the only person who could help me remember why I couldn’t let go of the ice in my veins was my sister.

Jasmine.

I’m a Hawk. Remember that fucking fact and own it.

Stalking through the house, I tried to find my father. I didn’t want to do this. I hated that we used our own flesh and blood this way. But I had no choice.

Not if I wanted to remain strong.

Not if I wanted to remain true.

A child was the product of his upbringing. They had certain obligations to live up to, expectations to obey, and scripts to follow. Elders knew better.

It was time to embrace my life path completely, rather than fight against it.

I was done fighting against it.

It was too fucking hard.

He’d told me it would only bring confusion and pain.

He was right.

Time to stop fighting and become my father’s son.

Once and for fucking all.

TWO WEEKS PASSED.

Fourteen days where I didn’t see a hint of Jethro.

Where he’d gone and why was a mystery, and I’d like to say I didn’t care.

But…I’d never been a good liar.

No matter the itch of curiosity, I continued to live and didn’t let his disappearance undermine my resolve.

I didn’t mope in my room. I formulated my attack plan and executed it.

The first three days were hell. My back cracked and bled whenever I moved. I stayed confined to my bed with only the ceiling for entertainment and food delivered by softly smiling maids.

I craved my phone. I missed the freedom of conversing with the outside world.

By the fourth day, I risked a shower and unwound the bandage from my back to twist and stare in the mirror.

As much as the pain crippled me, my skin had knitted together and scabbed nicely. The shallower cuts were nothing more than a pink mark. And the deeper wounds were well on the road to recovery.

I would always bear the scars. A new wardrobe of silver lashes marking me firmly with ancient scandals. However, the body was a miraculous thing—healing itself from crimes of hate and unpayable debts.