I needed silence and darkness and no interruptions.

My hands curled, stretching knuckles and tendons, preparing to fight. I hadn’t been in a battle for months. And…I needed one.

Fuck, I truly did.

I needed something to let off steam. To get rid of everything inside. To finally scream and rage and fucking give into the hatred I never seemed to be free of.

These men had no idea what they’d just walked into.

The intensity I’d lived with all my life remained on a leash, but I slowly let it affect me. Drinking in their violence and bloodlust—I became infected.

In that moment, drenched in moonlight and starshine, I was free.

Free like I was on a polo field. Free like I was when I slid inside Nila.

Fuck, I’ve been so cruel to her.

Away from the Hall and the pressures of my life, I could see clearly. There was no fucking excuse for what I’d become.

“Made your peace, asshole?” the bald man said, smiling at his two accomplices with dirty brown hair. They slipped out of their jackets, revealing grimy tank tops and tatted arms.

I cracked my neck, smiling with bloody teeth. “Have you?”

They laughed.

I laughed.

I moved first.

A shout fell from the leader’s lips as I slammed my shoulder into his chest and bowled him to the asphalt. The moment his back smashed against the road, I punched him.

Over and over and over.

Face, nose, temple, throat.

I wasn’t one to drag out a fight. Once I made up my mind, I did it. No second chances. No second guesses.

A rain of fists came down on my back and skull. I rolled off the leader, shooting to my feet.

The men threw a worried look at their unconscious comrade. “You’ll die for that.”

I shook my head. “Wrong.”

They attacked together.

I wasn’t expecting that. They seemed sloppy and unorganised, but they moved as one. I covered my head as they attacked.

It hurt.

The pain was good.

But their anger and feral temper was better.

It siphoned into my blood, feeding me, charging me.

I let loose.

I did what I’d fought against all my life.

My walls came down.

I drank in their poison.

And I killed those motherfuckers piece by fucking piece.

“IT’S ME. CAN I come in?”

I knocked again on Jasmine’s door.

For the past two nights, I’d sneaked up the stone stairs and knocked. And for the past two nights, she’d ignored me.

I knew she was in there. The light shone beneath the door and the camera blinked above the frame. Occasionally, a shadow would roll past, but she never opened it.

I even tried the door handle to barge in uninvited. It was locked.

“Jasmine. I really need to talk to you.” I pressed my forehead against the wood. “Before it’s too late.”

Time had a horrible way of ticking faster here.

Already, the month I’d spent away from Hawksridge faded into scratchy memories. Vaughn and my father messaged me continuously—neither satisfied with my response that I had to return. That I knew what I was doing.

Why would they believe me? Even I didn’t believe me.

I had no clue how I would do what was needed.

Jethro avoided me. Cut laughed at me. And Daniel lurked in the background like fungus waiting to consume me. Every night hurtled me quicker toward another debt. The final one would soon be on the horizon, then all my options would be gone.

I couldn’t afford to be blasé or slow.

I had to be smart and act fast.

I knocked again. “Please. Let me in.”

Nothing.

I couldn’t walk back to my room, not again. The past few nights, I’d turned into an insomniac and suffered every morning with a vicious vertigo attack.

I hadn’t thrown up since leaving London, but every time my thoughts strayed to the contraceptive shot Jethro administered, my gut churned with sadness and rage.

Not that it mattered, seeing as he’d made no move to kiss me after the magazine picture—let alone sleep with me.

If I didn’t win, I would never know the joy of having a child or being held in a man’s arms while I grew big with his unborn baby. Vaughn would never have a niece or nephew and my father…I couldn’t think about him without suffering awful anguish.

He would never have a grandchild. But I think…I think he’d always known that. He’d kept me away from men all my life, so I would never have the opportunity to fall in love and conceive—like my mother did before the Hawks took her.

She’d found her soul-mate before horror found her.

I’d found mine the day I’d been taken.

“Jasmine, I’m not leaving. Not this time.” With a heavy heart, I turned around and slid down her door to the carpet.

I wasn’t leaving until she came out.

I’d be there all night if I had to.

“Nila…” Jethro’s eyes burned as bright and golden as the sun.

I melted in his arms, raising my lips for a tender, love-filled kiss. His lips were like sherbet—sweet and tingling and delicious. “I love you, Kite.”

He squeezed me harder, his tongue entering my mouth to lick and taste.

I trembled. Pushing him backward, the field of daisies and clovers swayed magically in the summer breeze. We were all alone in this idyllic meadow; there was no one to ruin it.

No Hawks. No debts. No Weavers.

Just kisses and love.

Our clothes suddenly disappeared, and I ran the tip of my finger down his breastbone, along his defined stomach, following the small trail of hair to his groin.