I smiled.

That was where Ms. Weaver came in. Along with…other duties.

Gathering the items that were meant for Nila, I returned to her side. She hadn’t moved but not from obedience. Two large men in leather cuts blocked her way out. The moment I came back, she looked pleadingly into my eyes.

“I can’t—Jethro don’t make me.” She swallowed. “Not so many. I can’t do—”

Snatching her arm, I spun her to the corner of the room, away from hungry onlookers. “You dare say no? Do you want this to be over?”

She nodded rapidly. “Yes. More than anything yes.”

“Fine. It’s over. But you’re sentenced to watch your father and brother be slaughtered, along with the decimation of your family’s business and assets. It will be obliterated. Gone. Is that what you’re willing to pay?”

She squeezed her eyes in horror.

Didn’t fucking think so.

I never wanted to be that weak. That driven by compassion. I obeyed my family. I accepted my position. But I would never let love dictate my actions.

That wasn’t what a Hawk did.

We were untouchable.

Taking the liberty of her lack of vision, I placed the first item on her head. A sexy, frilly maid’s cap. It perched on her head, gracing her damp black hair like a sad crown.

Her head dipped, shielding her eyes. Her body convulsed, trying hard to maintain the blankness she thought would be her salvation.

Tugging her hands, I muttered, “Let go of the towel.”

She cowered away.

Growling under my breath, I wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her firm. “Don’t make me ask again. You’re not new to this game. Let go of the towel.”

Her eyes flew wide, fighting my hold. “No!”

Goddammit, she tested me. A headache brewed behind my eyes. I sighed. “Make me ask you one more time. Go on…”

She froze, breathing hard. A battle broke out between us. I should never have let her get away with what she pulled at the stables. She thought I’d softened. She thought I’d be lenient. If anything, she’d proven my errors and I’d go above and beyond to ensure I didn’t falter again.

Ever.

She had to learn that the day granted hope and happiness, but I stole it. She had to face that the night hid evil and darkness, but my soul was blacker.

There would be no winning. None.

We didn’t speak, but our eyes shouted, wrapping us tight with unsaid tension.

Finally, she lowered her chin in defeat. Her death grip on the fluffy material loosened, allowing it to flutter to the floor.

Ordinarily, I would’ve rewarded her. A kind word. A gentle gesture. But that was before I learned I couldn’t give her any softness. She needed a firm, masterful hand. Otherwise, she’d make my life a living hell until I stole hers.

My eyes latched onto her naked body.

I paused.

Fuck.

Nila Weaver was like the needle she used to make her livelihood. Long, sculptured. Muscle tone so defined, her hips defied her supple skin, almost piercing her. Her breasts were small but high with perfect dark nipples.

My gaze dropped between her legs. The part of her I’d intimately explored already. I expected an inexperienced girl to not maintain her pussy, but there was only a strip of black hair, hiding and teasing at the same time.

My heartbeat thickened.

And then I noticed the bruises.

Everywhere. On her ribcage, hips, thighs, and arms.

Prodding an unforgiving finger into a particularly large purple one, I muttered, “Who did this?”

She crossed her knees, clamping a hand over her breasts.

I swallowed hard, hating that my cock twitched.

Her mouth parted, then understanding flared. “Not who. What.” Looking down at herself, she whispered, “The perils of vertigo.”

I had no reply to that. She already had a condition that hurt her. I should be easy to bear.

“Put your arm down.” I slapped it away from her breasts. She stiffened but left it by her side, standing taller than before.

Holding out the tiny excuse of an apron, I placed it over her head. It was black with white lacy trim, low enough to show the tops of her breasts and nipples, short enough to show the trimmed delight between her legs.

Spinning her around, I tied the strings at her neck and lower spine. When she faced me again, she choked, “Why?”

“Why?” I raised an eyebrow.

She nodded. “Is this all a game to you?”

I smiled. “No game. We’re deadly serious. As you should know by now.” Leaving her, I returned to the table and collected the final item. The Weaver heirloom.

Prowling back to her, I held up the collar.

Her eyes popped wide. She gawked at the solid encrusted diamond collar made from our very own imports. Two hundred carats, valued at over three million pounds—it’d been in my family since the first debt had been claimed.

“Do you know what this is?” I whispered, dangling it in front of her face.

She clamped her lips, eyes deathly cold.

I didn’t need a reply. She’d know soon enough.

Unlocking the collar, I held the two ends and bent over her. Wrapping it around her throat, I moved from front to back, positioning myself to fasten it. I kept my voice low and soothing, embracing my cold ruthlessness again. “It’s affectionately known as the Weaver Wailer.” Using the special clasp—an irreversible clasp—I murmured, “It’s your gift from us. Jewels from the best of our mines. You should be proud to wear such wealth.”

Nila shivered as the lock snapped into place.

My shoulders relaxed. It was on. It was done.

Her option to leave had just disappeared.

“You’re ours now. Want to know why?”

She whimpered, shaking her head.

Gathering her thick black hair, I ignored her plea for ignorance. I’d told her ignorance was bliss—which was true. But I meant to torment her. I wanted her to fully embrace her future.

Breathing gently on her neck, I whispered, “Because once the Weaver Wailer is in place…there’s only one way to get it back off.”

“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.