Just like obeying Kes was.

From that moment on, I couldn’t think of anything else.

What does Jethro have to show me?

And why hasn’t he come to torment me?

THE NIGHT SKY exploded with a blue and gold firework. It rained through the blackness, dazzling through the skylight of the stable.

Goddammit, they’d started early.

Wings stomped his hoof against the cobblestone at the explosion. He didn’t do well with fireworks—almost bucked me off last year when I’d gone for a midnight ride, rather than smile and be merry with my father.

Today was his birthday.

The joyous occasion of Cut being one step closer to a coffin.

Wasn’t my fault that I preferred to celebrate for different reasons than his. He would be basking in toasts, counting the obscene amount of wealth gushing in, and patting himself on his back for a lifetime well spent.

Meanwhile, I would be sulking in the shadows just waiting for my turn to reign.

Was it despicable for a son to wish his father to die so he could inherit everything sooner rather than later, or was it merely a coping mechanism at surviving yet more years under his thumb?

Either way, it no longer mattered.

I was thirty next year.

And the fireworks would be bigger, louder, and more extravagant than my father’s, because I would be the new owner of Hawksridge and hold all the power. That day had seemed like an eternity away when I was eighteen, but now it was within grasping distance.

I’ve almost made it.

Wings stomped his metal shoe as another firework detonated. All day the festivities had continued—starting with a hunt for pheasant, which began immediately after breakfast, followed by trout fishing in the fully stocked lake. The staff worked furiously and meticulously, making sure each element of his magical day was better than the one before.

I might secretly enjoy the news that my father inched closer to demise, but I hated celebrating my own birthday. Why rejoice another year passing, another year closer to death? I preferred to pretend I was immortal.

That way, I would never have to pay for my sins or fall from earth to hell.

Another firework boomed over the estate.

Wings huffed, nudging his velvet nose against my tweed jacket.

“You’re greedy tonight,” I said, fishing out a handful of oats and handing them to the gelding.

In perfect late summer tradition, England had put on a gorgeous day. No wind, no clouds. Endless yellow sunshine drenched Hawksridge Hall, granting perfect conditions for Cut and his Black Diamond brothers to hunt, fish, gamble, and drink all on the front lawn. Gazebos had been erected, and the dinner had been a banquet of roast pheasant, grilled trout, and venison stew.

My mind skipped back to watching Nila. I’d avoided her for two weeks.

Two weeks that I needed to screw my head back on fucking straight and stop allowing my stupid emotions to get the better of me.

Today was the first time I let her see me, but I hadn’t gone close enough to talk.

What could I say? Sorry for whipping you? Sorry for coming on you? Sorry for my fucked-up soul that can only be controlled by a regiment of ‘fixing myself’?

There was nothing I could say and nothing I wanted to explain.

I sighed.

Jasmine had worked her magic, and I was back. I’d found my way into the cold shell that protected me and spent the last week cold, remote, unfeeling.

I was eternally relieved.

The messiness of life no longer affected me, and I trusted myself not to boil over with no provocation. Even with provocation, it would take a lot for me to snap. I wasn’t just glacial; I was a continent of blizzards and perma-ice.

The moment my brothers, father, and I returned from the pheasant shoot, Nila had been sitting on the front terrace, sketching. She wore a long pale blue skirt with a slight train that rippled over the black tiles of the patio and a cream blouse with a ruffled collar and big buttons.

She’d looked content…centred.

The time apart had given us both much needed space, and the fiery emotion she’d conjured inside was a distant memory.

I didn’t even hate her. I didn’t have any drive to torment her, fuck her, or fight in any way. All emotions came from the same place.

That was what I’d forgotten.

Hate and love…they were the same thing. I’d tried to harness only one—hate. I tried to be my father’s son, full of mistrust for others, while asserting dominance and fear.

And I’d succeeded for a while.

But with hate comes passion—either for those I loathed or circumstances I couldn’t stand. Every spike of emotion permitted more awareness to steal my indifference and make me care.

Caring was my problem.

Caring was what got me into messes I couldn’t repair.

Caring was what would kill me in the end.

But that was fixed now.

Resting my head on Wings’ muscular neck, I breathed in the scent of equine and hay. “Suppose I better get it over with.”

Just the thought of confronting Nila made my skin prickle. I’d shown her too much, and now she thought she understood me. She would never understand me.

Shit, I didn’t understand me.

Then again, there was nothing left to understand. It was all…gone.

Wings huffed, searching my pockets for more oats.

Another boom of a purple and yellow firework shook the stable walls. The dogs howled in the kennels across the courtyard. Seemed everyone was on edge tonight.

Giving the horse one last handful, I left the stables and made my way reluctantly toward the Hall.

Nila’s black eyes found mine the moment I joined the milling men and families of Black Diamonds. Women weaved, giggling and tipsy with our own brew and vintage. No children ran around—they weren’t allowed on the estate—but the atmosphere of happiness scratched painful nails across my skin.

Nila never looked away as I was congratulated for being the winner at poker this afternoon and for losing the bet that I could catch more trout than my father.

It took ten minutes to cross the lawn with brothers detaining me and gossiping. Kes was in charge of the large bonfire roaring in the corner, burning off boughs and branches that had been trimmed from the forest closest to the house. Daniel—as was typical for my younger, psychotic brother—was nowhere to be seen. And Cut sat like a king on a throne, watching the staff set off dangerous fireworks.

The large box of pinwheels, squealers, and sunbursts waited to die in an extravagance of gunpowder and brilliance.

Stopping a few metres from Nila, I ignored her and watched the swarm of festivities. I hoped she would stay away.

But of course, that wish went unanswered.

“Hello,” Nila said, appearing by my side. She still wore the long skirt with blouse and large buttons. Her hair was down, thick and glossy, mirroring the flames from the bonfire. Her cheeks were flushed from being out in the sun all day, but her eyes were clear from intoxication.

“I was beginning to forget what you looked like,” she prompted when I didn’t move or acknowledge.

Looking at her quickly, I touched my temple in greeting. Taking a sip of the elderberry and thistle beer that had been a trial brew last year, I deliberately refrained from talking. I wouldn’t let her sucker me into another fight.

I was done fighting.

I would extract the debts, bide my time until all of this was mine, then get the final requirement out of the way.

Final requirement?

Her death, you mean?

Scowling, I took another sip. The concoction actually wasn’t too bad. Standing stiff and remote, I stared at nothing, wishing she’d just leave.

Her presence gave no hint of how she felt about me. I couldn’t tell if she hated me, desired me, or nursed vengeance deep in her heart.

I expected all of that and more. I expected to be slapped and told to never go near her again. I tensed for a spark in the tinderbox of emotions we stood in, just waiting for this crumbling truce to annihilate both of us.

What Nila didn’t know was, if she struck me, I wouldn’t retaliate. I would permit the slap with no spike of heartbeat or temper and walk away. I would stay my distance until the next debt was ready to be paid.

Because I was done.

I’d found peace, and I didn’t want to enter the chaos of fighting with her again. It was too fucking dangerous.

“Where have you been?” she asked, moving closer and watching the staff drive a large firework peg into the ground. They fumbled around trying to set the fuse alight.

I didn’t say anything. Just took another sip of my beverage.

The hiss and fizzle of the fuse was the only warning before the firework shot into the sky and rained over us with sparks and thunder.

Nila’s face lit up with the glowing atoms, dark eyes wide with appreciation.

Once the night sky was no longer polluted by fake sunshine and the cloud of smoke disappeared, Nila frowned in my direction. “Are you going to say something?”

I shrugged. Why? What was there to say? Nothing of importance and I’d done enough talking. Enough fighting. Enough fucking masturbating over the girl I was destined to kill.

Why was she talking to me? Shouldn’t she be avoiding me at all costs?

I stilled as Nila placed her hand on my forearm. Her feminine heat seeped through my tweed, reminding me of the last time we’d been together and what I’d done.

I stepped sideways, breaking her hold.

“Jethro—I—” Her voice tugged at the unbeating heart in my chest. I risked a glance at her. Her eyes glowed with onyx intelligence.

“Is this a different kind of torture? You no longer deem me important enough to even talk to?” The hurt in her voice dove under my skin, igniting my blood despite my will.

Locking every muscle, I said, “Don’t flatter yourself. I have nothing to say, and you have nothing I wish to hear.” Turning my attention back to the fireworks, another explosion wracked the atmosphere, disintegrating into not one but three different sunbursts of colour.

“You are the most confusing man I’ve ever met.” Irritation twisted her voice.

A small smile twitched my lips. “Thank you. That’s the second nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“What was the first?”

That you don’t understand me.

My secrets were safe as long as I confounded her.

I sipped my beer, deliberately ignoring her.

Masculine laughter suddenly rose as one drunken club member fell face first into the punch bowl. His woman kept slapping him with the ladle as he proceeded to slurp up the spilled alcoholic liquid.

Nila smiled, sighing. “I’d like to say I’ve missed you, but that would be a lie.”

My back stiffened, but I forced myself to relax. Good for her.

I suppose.

“Seriously? What happened to you? Two weeks ago, you would’ve jumped down my throat and growled like a demented wildebeest. Now…nothing.” Nila placed her hands on her hips, glaring.

I drained my beer, placing the empty cup on the food-strewn table to our right.

She huffed, running her fingers through her hair. “Fine. Keep your freaky silence. I’m sure Kes would love to talk to me.”

Gathering the front of her skirt, she pranced away.

Kestrel.

Images of her spending so much time with him bombarded me. Despite the success of the conditioning session I’d had with Jasmine, I couldn’t seem to stop myself watching the footage of Nila drifting around the Hall and laughing with my brother.

They were close.

She didn’t trust him—the look of wariness never fully left her face—but she tolerated and enjoyed his company.

Unlike mine.

She accepted his gifts without suspicion, and never tried to antagonise him to the point of showing his true self.

Why did she accept his friendship yet go out of her way to rip me to shreds?

I gritted my teeth. Stupid question. The answer was plain and simple. I was her tormentor; Kes was her saviour. That was how this was always orchestrated. I should be happy it was working so flawlessly.

Plus, she was drawn to him because of the messages. The ruse of Kite007.

My hands curled. She’d let Kes waltz into her life, because she believed they had history. She might even believe he was ultimately on her side.

Silly, silly Weaver.

She hadn’t asked him outright yet. I knew that for a fact. Everything would change when she did.

I stood frozen as Nila traversed the small distance across the lawn toward Kes. He reclined in a deck chair, a cigar dangling from his fingers, his shirt open and showing his muscular stomach. Kes had always been stronger than me—more brawn than brains—but he’d also never used it against me unless it was in play.

Now, though, he played a dangerous game, deliberately drawing Nila away from me.

My teeth clenched as Kes opened his arms and Nila perched on the arm of his deckchair. He said something to her, and she giggled.

My stomach churned; elderberry and thistle flavoured bile crawled up my throat.

Every second I stood and witnessed the friendship that’d blossomed between my captive and brother sent my gut convulsing.

Every moment I watched, my ice steamed until I billowed with smoke.

I didn’t give myself permission to stomp across the garden.

I didn’t even notice I’d gone from standing to stalking.

And I definitely didn’t permit my body to bend and grab her wrist.

But that was what I did.

Somehow, I’d gone from standing to yanking Nila Weaver from my brother’s embrace and dragging her like a hunted deer toward the Hall.

“Hey!” Nila dragged her nails over my wrist. It didn’t do any good. Pain was another emotion I’d managed to shut off. “Let me go.”

“No,” I muttered. “There’s something I need to show you.” The party was left behind, and Kes had the sense of mind to stay where the fuck he was.