“What do you want me to write?”

He took a deep breath, thinking.

Finally, he recited, “I, Bryan ‘Vulture’ Hawk, do solemnly pledge my death is justified and accepted. I renounce all former decree that if my death is judged as murder that my firstborn heir, Jethro ‘Kite’ Hawk, is cut from my will. I revoke the agreements in place to send him to Sunny Brook Mental Institute and rescind all further instruction dealing with my daughter and other inheritors.”

His voice hitched, but he forced through his body’s shortcomings to relay his final message. “On this day, I draw forth a new Will and Testament with Jethro Hawk as my witness and true heir that all lands, estates, titles, and fortune pass to him upon my demise. This is binding and unchangeable.”

A ball lodged in my throat as Cut shifted awkwardly. “Hold the paper and help me grab the pencil.”

Swallowing hard, I wrapped his fingers around the pencil and hovered it in place on the newly written Will. I didn’t know if it would stand up in a court of law, but we had paid lawyers on our side. Marshall, Backham, and Cole would ensure the paperwork would be lodged and executed. And then I would destroy their practice so they would never serve law to monsters such as my family again.

Cut grunted in agony as he signed his name; his signature almost illegible. Remembering what else lived in this barn, I hauled myself to my feet for the second time. “Wait there.”

I returned with a handheld video recorder and new battery that’d been stored in the safe away from vermin. I didn’t let myself remember why there was a recording device in here.

Ripping open the battery casing, I inserted it into the device, and turned it on.

The first thing that came up was the last filmed event.

Me.

Stored in this tiny recorder was what happened once Jasmine’s back had been broken. I remembered the day in crystal clarity. It was never Cut’s intention to hurt his daughter so much.

The video unspooled, crackling with sound.

Jasmine looked at me. “Kite…I can’t feel my legs.”

Instantly, Cut shed his pompous strictness of emperor of our estate and become a terrified parent instead.

He rushed to release my binds, not caring I crunched into the dirt once he’d loosened the leather. Once, I was free, he scooped up Jasmine and darted toward the exit.

“We’ll go to the hospital, Jazzy. Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

All he cared about was fixing what he’d done.

But I didn’t let him get far.

I snapped.

I became like him. I craved his pain after what he’d done to my baby sister.

I wasn’t proud of what I’d done. My hands trembled as the video-tape showed a devil-child leap onto his father’s back and beat him over and over and over again with the club he’d used on Jasmine.

I stared transfixed as the tape continued, transforming me from abused to abuser as Cut fell on the floor, covering his face and hands.

I could’ve killed him that day and I would've if Jasmine hadn’t screamed for me to stop.

Hearing her terror wrenched me from the blood cloud I’d swam in, putting her first rather than making my father pay.

I’d scooped her in my arms and charged to the Hall. I’d been the one to get Jasmine to the hospital all while Cut lay unconscious in the barn.

“Turn it off.” Cut closed his eyes, cringing against the scratchy noises of the recording.

I couldn’t breathe properly as I fumbled with the machine and switched it from memory card to fresh start.

Neither of us mentioned what we’d just seen or the past feelings of the incident. We knew who’d won that night and as a kid I’d expected harsh retribution. But Cut hadn’t punished me. He’d pretended nothing had happened even while bruises marked his skin. He’d continued with my lessons but didn’t hurt me any more than normal.

It was as if he wanted to be hurt for what he’d done to Jaz.

Clearing my throat, I held up the lens and pointed it at Cut.

The screen bounced in my hold, but it would have to do.

This was my insurance policy.

Cut understood immediately and dropped his head to the notepad I’d tossed in his lap. He fortified himself from our strained relationship and read my scrawled writing—for Jasmine and Kes and future heirs of Hawksridge Hall.

Occasionally, he looked up, reciting his pledge while staring into the camera. More often than not, his eyes remained downcast, reading his Last Will and Testament quickly.

My hands only shook harder the closer he got to finishing. My fever fogged my eyesight, and his voice threatened to put me in a trance.

I needed to rest and fast.

Finally, he finished.

Once his declaration was verbalized, I turned off the camera and placed it beside me for safe-keeping.

I looked at the same speck he stared at, unable to move forward but knowing I had no choice. “Thank you. Not for me, but for Jaz and the workers we employ. You’ve kept them in their homes and jobs.”

A thought pricked me.

I’d planned on dismantling the diamond smuggling ring once Cut was dead, but his unselfish act of preserving the company and giving back my birthright reminded me it wasn’t a matter of shutting down something just because I wanted to. We had people relying on us. I had to do right by them. I couldn’t steal their livelihoods.

“Take care of those you love, Jethro.” Cut coughed. “Don’t ever let corruption turn you into me.”

His words said one thing, but his heart another. He’d done what he’d been taught. But now, he wanted to go. He wanted the pain to stop, and I wouldn’t deny him that.