His shoulders slumped. “Okay. Sorry for pushing. My neck’s on the line, too.”
I dropped my touch. “I know. You’ve gone above and beyond…only…”
My forehead furrowed. Details were often the crux of impending ruin. Flaw and Jaz had freed them, but now Jethro and Kes were in the hands of doctors, nurses, and people who would talk.
“Only what?” Flaw prompted.
“How did you do it?”
He pursed his lips. “Do what?”
I lowered my voice to a whisper. “Get them to the basement. How—”
“Easy.” He ran a hand through his hair, wincing at memories. “Don’t suppose you know how many secrets live on the estate. How many animals exist—all bred for different purposes.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you’ve seen the pheasants for shooting, horses for riding, dogs for hunting. But I doubt you’ll have seen the pigs.”
I took a step back. “Pigs?”
“Pigs are an excellent way to dispose of things you never want found again.”
My mouth hung open. “Excuse me?” In the months I’d lived in Hawksridge, I hadn’t seen a single pig. “Where?”
“They’re hidden over the chase. Having a few pigs and not a pig farm can be suspicious these days, thanks to the recent mobster movies, serving shall we say ‘alternative food.’”
I wrung my hands. “You’re saying Cut feeds his enemies as food to his pigs?” My gullet churned, wanting to evict all knowledge of this conversation. “Shit, he’s barbaric.”
Worse than that—he has sewage for a soul.
Flaw raised an eyebrow, neither confirming nor denying it. “Whatever you think, it’s smart business.” His voice lowered to a sepulchral whisper. “Anyway, Cut asked me to get rid of their bodies. Only, Kes and Jethro had already come to me first. They knew something like this might happen. After all, they’ve been playing with their lives for months. We’d all agreed that I would remain in Cut’s good graces and do what I could to give them a second chance.”
I kept my voice quiet—hidden from microphones trying to record our treason. “But how did he not notice they were still alive?”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
Pacing away, I scowled. “Didn’t he ask if they were dead? Didn’t he get on his knees and see for himself if he’d killed his sons?” Even asking those questions turned my saliva into a sickly paste. How could a father not even stand over his children and say a prayer or goodbye? How could he just pass off their remains to a servant without a backward glance?
A monster, that’s who.
Flaw grinned, a calculating glint in his eyes. “Aren’t you glad he didn’t? If he had, the outcome of this would’ve been entirely different.”
Ice ran through my blood. He’s right.
In a way, Cut’s cold-heartedness had destroyed Kes and Jethro but saved them, too.
“Once I’d removed them from the lounge, it was a simple matter to take them where I needed. Cut didn’t question me. In fact, I happen to know Jasmine kept him and Bonnie plenty entertained with her screaming about wanting revenge on you.” His eyes warmed. “That girl thinks fast on her feet. It was a good diversion.”
Yes and kept me safe from the full Debt Inheritance.
I ought to be nicer to Jasmine. The risk she’d played would’ve silenced any lesser woman. She truly was Jethro’s sister—strong, formidable, and slightly scary with her temper.
“After I returned from hiding them and setting up the medical equipment, I reported to Cut that it was done.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “All he cared about was if the carpet was cleaned.”
My heart shattered under an anvil of hostility.
Cut was more worried about an object than his sons’ souls.
Utter bastard. Sick, twisted freak.
And who taught him those qualities? His dear old mother.
Bonnie—the female version of the devil.
My hands balled. “I’ve heard enough.”
Bonnie had summoned me. She’d scared and intimidated me but she was no match for my sheer hatred. I wanted to throw her in a cauldron and watch her bones bleach white. I wanted to behead her and witness her body twitch with death throes.
That’ll come true before this is over.
“Take me to her. It’s time we had a little chat.”
“About bloody time.” Bonnie sniffed as Flaw beckoned me over the threshold.
The second my sock-covered feet padded onto the pale pink carpet of Bonnie’s domain, he cocked his chin in goodbye and abandoned me behind the closed door.
All alone.
An opportunity or a disadvantage?
She couldn’t hurt me. Names and slurs weren’t enough to subdue me anymore.
Screw surprise and secrecy.
If I have an opportunity, I’m taking it.
“What do you have to say for yourself, girl? Tardiness is a dirty sin and must be abolished.” Bonnie tapped her cane like a cat flicked its tail.
No matter how much time I spent in the Hall, I doubted I would ever explore all the rooms and levels it offered. Bonnie’s quarters were yet another surprise. Flaw had guided me up the stone staircase where Jasmine and Cut’s study rested, only to pace down a different corridor and up another set of stairs made of winding red carpet and unicorn spindles.
Straightening my shoulders, I looked down my nose at the shrivelled old woman. “I have nothing to say for myself. I was in the middle of something important. I couldn’t let a simple summoning derail me.”
She made a strange wheeze—like wind through wheat or ghosts over a graveyard. “You insolent little—”
“Guttersnipe. Yes, I’ve heard it before.” Moving forward, I didn’t ask permission as I inspected her domain. Every part of me shook. I was angry, afraid, livid, terrified. Lying in the dark, bolstering my courage and fermenting in hatred hadn’t prepared me for face-to-face duelling. This was new—putting my thoughts into action.
Now that I knew Jethro was alive, I had something to risk.
A future.
Jethro’s alive.
I’m alive.
We can be alive together—far away from here.
If I became too impertinent, I could ruin my plans and destroy my future. But if I didn’t stand up to them, I might not see the next debt coming—just like I didn’t see the Third Debt until it was too late.
I had to be strong but aware, vengeful but intelligent—it was an exhausting place to be.
Bonnie’s room wasn’t what I expected. The peach coloured walls, white fireplace, and rose fleurs on the ceiling plasterwork all spoke of a law-abiding, cookie-baking grandmother.
How can a room fulfil the stereotype of elderly nana when the woman is anything but?
The wainscoting gleamed with gold wallpaper, while cross-stitch framed artwork graced every inch of wall space depicting bumblebees, dragonflies, and multihued butterflies.
I expected torture equipment and the blood of her many victims on the wall.
Not this…
I hated this room because it made me doubt. Had she been nice once upon a time? Had she become this hard-hearted dinosaur thanks to situations in her past? What had Cut done to his brother in order to turn his mother into such a beast?
Because it had to be his doing. Whatever happened with his brother reeked of sedition and backstabbing lies.
It doesn’t matter.
She is what she is.
And she’d pay for what she’d done.
Bonnie didn’t say a word, watching me with the signature Hawk attentiveness. The room throbbed with power; subjugation coming from her and rebellion from me. If our wills could battle, the tension would suffocate with unseen clashes.
I paused over a particular stitched oval, trying to make out if it was a praying mantis or a stick insect.
“Jasmine did them for me.” Bonnie’s voice was sweet venom. “Such a wonderful, obedient granddaughter. It was part of
her etiquette and decorum training.”
My eyes widened. “She did all of them?”
Bonnie nodded. “You’re not the only one good with a needle and thread, girl.” Snapping her fingers, reminding me so clearly of her grandson who rested in some hospital, she said, “Come closer. I refuse to scream. And you need to pay strict attention.”
My socks ghosted over the pale pink flooring, sinking into a few sheepskin rugs before stopping beside Bonnie Hawk. My nose wrinkled at the familiar smell of rose water and overly sweet confectionary. I didn’t need to know her diet to guess she loved desserts.
She was rotten—just like her teeth from consuming too much sugar.
In my head, I cursed and hexed her, but outwardly, I stood calm and silent.
Do your worst, witch. It won’t be good enough.
She narrowed her eyes, inspecting me from head to toe. I let her, glancing out the window instead. Her chair rested beside a long table pressed up against the lead light glass overlooking the south gardens of Hawksridge. A water fountain splashed merrily, depicting two fawns playing a pipe. The colourful pansies and other flowers that’d run rampant when I first arrived had long since gone dormant, replaced by skeleton shrubs and the dull brown of winter.
“Do you have any skills in this arena?” Bonnie pointed at the hobby scattered over the table. The array of dried and freshly cut flowers painted the table in a rainbow of stamens and petals. Roses, tulips, lilies, orchids. The perfume from dying flora helped counteract the sickly stench of Bonnie.
“No. I’ve never arranged flowers, if that’s what you’re asking.”
She pursed her lips. “Hardly a lady fit for society. What skills apart from sewing do you have then? Enlighten me.” Reaching for a crystal vase, she snapped off a piece of green foam and shoved it into the bottom. “Well…go on then, girl. Don’t make me ask twice.”
What the hell is going on here?
The past few days had a strange consistency, as if I was stuck in quicksand. If I moved, it sucked me further into its clutches, but if I stayed still, it treated me as a friend—keeping me buoyant in its greedy granules.
What’s her point?
My back stiffened, but I forced myself to stay cordial. “I run my own fashion line. I can sew any item of clothing. My attention to detail—”
“Shut up. That is all one skill. One lonely talent. A frivolous career for a trollop such as yourself.”
Don’t retaliate. Do not stoop to her bait.
If her aim was to make me snap so she could punish me, then she’d lose. I’d learned from them how to fight.
My hand rubbed my lower back, checking my dirk was in place and ready to be used.
Wouldn’t now be the perfect time to dispatch her?
We were alone. Behind closed doors. Regardless of my past conclusion to kill Cut and Daniel first, I couldn’t waste an opportunity.
My arm tensed, agreeing.
Do it.
Almost as if she sensed my thoughts, Bonnie cooed, “Oh, Marquise? Can you come in here, please?”
Immediately, a door I didn’t see, camouflaged with matching wallpaper, opened. Marquise, a Black Diamond brother with shoulders like a submarine and long greasy hair pulled into a ponytail, appeared. “Yes, Madame.”
Shit.
Bonnie’s eyes glinted. “Could you keep us company, dear? Just sit quietly and don’t interrupt. There’s a good chap.”
“No problem.” He flicked a glance at me.
I hid my scowl as Marquise did as bade and perched his colossal bulk on a dainty carved chair. I was surprised the tiny legs didn’t snap under his weight.
“Now, what were we saying?” Bonnie patted her lips with a fresh rose.
I didn’t know how she’d read my body language so perfectly, but it put me on the back foot. I swallowed, letting go of my dirk. Grabbing a lily, I twirled it in my fingers. “Nothing of importance.”
Bonnie glared. “Ah, that’s where you’re wrong. It was very important.” Snipping the end of the rose with sharp shears, she jabbed the stem into the green foam at the bottom of the vase.
She caught me looking. “It’s called an oasis. It’s flower arranging basics. If you’d applied yourself at all, you would know that.”
My skin prickled. Hemmed between Bonnie and Marquise, my hands were tied, my mouth effectively gagged.
Damn you, witch.
“Applied myself? I was working until 10:00 p.m. most nights before I’d even turned twelve. I sewed my way through high school and college—I had no free time to indulge in useless hobbies.”
Bonnie swivelled in her chair. Her eyes shadowed, cheeks powered white. “Watch your tongue. I won’t put up with such contumelious talk.”
I sucked in a breath, doing my best to be quiet even though I wanted to stab her repeatedly. My eyes skittered to Marquise.
Damn him, too.
Grabbing a sprig of leaves, she wedged the plume into the oasis. “Know why I summoned you?”
My fingers tightened around the lily. I wanted to crush the white petals and scatter them over Bonnie’s coffin.
A coffin I’ll put her in.
“I’ve long since given up trying to understand you.” I narrowed my eyes, unable to hide my livid hatred. “Any sane person could never guess what madness will do or not do.”
Bonnie scowled.
Her tiny stature sat proud and stiff; arthritic fingers tossed aside a newly snipped tulip and wrapped around her walking stick. Never breaking eye contact, she stood from her chair and inched forward.
I stood my ground even though every part of me vibrated with the urge to smash the crystal vase over her head.
We didn’t speak as the distance closed between us. For an old woman, she wasn’t bowed or creaky. She moved slowly but with purpose. Hazel eyes sharp and cruel and her signature red lipstick smeared thin lips. “That mouth of yours will be taught a lesson now that you’re in my youngest grandson’s care.”
Not if I kill him first.
I balled my hands, keeping my chin high as Bonnie circled around me like a decrepit raptor. Stopping behind me, she tugged my long hair. “Cut this. It’s far too long.”
Locking my knees, I forced myself to remain tall. She’d lost the power to make me cower. “It’s my hair, my body. I can do whatever the hell I want with it.”
She yanked on the strands. “Think again, Weaver.” Letting me go, she continued her perusal, coming to a stop in front of me. Her eyes came to my chin. The height difference helped me in some small margin to look down on her—both physically and metaphorically.
This woman was as twisted as the boughs of an ancient tree, but unlike a tree, her heart had blackened and withered. She’d lived long enough. It was time she left the world, letting bygones be bygones.
Her breath rattled in antique lungs, sounding rusty and ill-used.
Minutes screeched past, both of us waiting to see what the other would do. I broke first, but only because my patience where Bonnie was concerned was non-existent.
Jethro’s alive.
The sooner I evicted Bonnie from my presence, the sooner I could think about him again.
“Spit it out.”
She froze. “Spit what out?”
My spine curved toward her, bringing our faces closer. The waft of sugar and flowers wrapped around my gag reflex. “What do you want from me?”
Her gaze tightened. “I want a great deal from you, child. And your impatience won’t make me deliver it any faster.” Snatching my wrist, she grabbed a thorny rose from the table and punctured my palm with the devilish bloom.
I bit my lip as blood welled.
She chuckled. “That’s for not knowing how to flower arrange.”
She let me go. Instead of dropping the rose, I curled my hand around it, digging the thorn deeper into my flesh. If I couldn’t withstand the discomfort of a small prick, how did I hope to withstand more?
This is my weapon.
Conditioning myself to
pain so it no longer controlled me.
Blood puddled, warm and sticky, in my closed fist. Taking a breath, I reached around Bonnie and elegantly placed the rose into the oasis, opening my palm and raining droplets of blood all over virgin petals and tablecloth. “Oops.”
Bonnie’s face blackened as I wiped the remaining crimson on a fancy piece of ribbon. “Anyone can arrange flowers, but it takes a seamstress to turn blood into a design.” My voice lowered, recalling how many nights I’d sliced myself with scissors or pricked myself with needles. I was used to getting hurt in the process of creation.
This was no different.
I would be hurt in the process of something far more noble—fighting for my life.
“You can’t scare me anymore.” I held up my palm, shoving it in her face. “Blood doesn’t scare me. Threats don’t scare me. I know what you are and you’re just a weak, old woman who hides behind insanity like it’s some mystical power.”
Marquise stood from his chair by the wall. “Madame?”
I glanced at him, throwing a condescending smile. “Don’t interrupt two women talking. If she can’t handle a silly little Weaver, then she has no right to pretend otherwise.”
“Sit down, Marquise.” Bonnie breathed hard, glaring at me. “I’ve never met someone so unrefined and uncouth.”
“You obviously never paid close attention to your granddaughter then.”
She’s rough as sandpaper and tough as steel.
Jasmine could lie like the best of them, but beneath that silk and satin façade, she outweighed me in strength of temper ten to one.
Why tell Bonnie that then? Shut up.
Bonnie shoved her finger in my face. “Don’t talk about her. Jasmine is a woman of eloquence. She knows how to speak three languages, play the piano, stitch, sing, and run a time-worn estate. She outranks you in every conceivable way.”
She has you fooled as wonderfully as she did me.
My respect for Jasmine increased a hundred-fold.
If any of us were playing the game best—it was her. She was the true chameleon, pulling the wool over not just her grandmother’s eyes but her father’s and brother’s, too.
She’s a powerful ally to have.
I couldn’t stop pride and annoyance from blurting: “Shame you’re delusional as well as decrepit.”