My eyebrow raised. “Oh? This will be interesting. Don’t torture me with suspense—what did I do?”

He grinned. “I’d hoped you would be able to tell me why. Explain in your words what the fuck was going on in your screwed-up mind. But I guess that won’t happen now that your insanity is cured.”

Insanity.

That annoying little word. Out of everything, it still had a smidgen of power over me. I hated that label. All my life, I’d been called insane, broken. My father had sent me away as a young boy to undergo counselling and get psychiatric help. The conclusion came back stating I was demented, mentally unsound.

Every day of my childhood, Cut reminded me of my flaws. I’d come to hate those words. Despise those words.

Cut laughed again, dragging me back to the present. “Can I ask if you did it because you truly didn’t think, or were you more clever than I gave you credit?”

A slight headache began. “I honestly have no idea what you’re getting at.”

What the fuck?

Until I had a guess, I wouldn’t say a word. I’d learned how to hide, and those habits were hard to break.

Cut laughed—a full belly chuckle dancing with pride.

My heart swelled. I’d never get tired of having him be proud of me.

“Your balls are iron, Jet. I’ll give you that. I always hoped having your own pet Weaver would fix you.” Leaning forward, he clasped my knee. “I like this man before me. I’m honoured to call him my son.”

Shit...wow.

Clearing my throat, I raised my glass to him. “Appreciate that, Father. More than you know.”

Reclining back in his chair, Cut said quietly, “Let me give you a quick history. You’ve seen the tapes of what I did to Emma, so you know what is required of you. In turn, you know what isn’t required of you.” He tilted his head. “The men of our family are weak when it comes to their Weavers. They fucked them—same as you. They fell prey to their charms—same as you.” His voice darkened. “However, unlike you, your forefathers saw what the Weavers were doing by enticing them into their beds. Nila is just like her ancestors. She was using sex to get to you—using her body to screw up your mind, and it fucking worked.”

My glass was empty. I wanted another.

Cut grew angry—the same mask I recognised slipping into place. “I have no issues with you fucking her. But what does make me rage is you did it without protection.”

I froze.

Conveniently, my mind had buried that titbit beneath all the other crap I’d been dealing with. No protection equals…

“Every time you sank inside that little whore, her face screamed victory. For her it wasn’t lust or love for you, Jethro, it was happiness at being the winner. She used you and it worked.”

Memories of her claiming to win made their way through my druggy fog.

He’s right.

Cut continued, “If your plaything is attractive, it only makes sense to use her for pleasure. As I mentioned before, Hawks are weak in that area and the Weavers somehow carry that knowledge in their bones. Didn’t you think there’d been accidents? Birth control wasn’t around at the start of this contract. Did you stop to wonder if there were half-breeds born of both Hawk and Weaver bloodlines? Impure abominations?”

My heart went from slow to interested. “No, I hadn’t.” I honestly hadn’t contemplated much of our heritage or history. Would that void the contract then? Firstborn carrying both genes?

I guess not, because it’s still in effect.

“What happened to them?”

Cut smiled cruelly. “Same thing that happened to their mothers.”

The alcohol I’d consumed oozed through my blood.

He leaned forward. “When Nila returns, when the time comes to extract more debts, you’re free to do whatever you want with her. I’ll put an end to any illegitimate offspring, and as long as you teach that whore her place, then I give you my vow that on your thirtieth birthday, I will gladly hand you the keys to everything I own. It will all be yours, Jethro.”

Finch majestically landed on the back of the couch, his beak sharp and deadly. Cut stroked the bird as if no threat echoed in his words.

I raised my empty glass. “Her tricks won’t work again, Father. Consider my eyes open and my heart firmly aligned with the Hawks.”

“Good to hear.” His gaze locked on mine. “Because if you disappoint me again, there will be two bodies in Nila Weaver’s grave. Mark my words, Jet. I love you, but I won’t hesitate to kill you if you screw this up again.”

Twenty-one days.

Five hundred and four hours. One hundred and twenty-seven tablets.

I hadn’t relapsed. I’d taken my medicine religiously, and Cut had tested me thoroughly.

I’d passed.

I was ready.

To celebrate the next stage of our plan, my father took the brotherhood off the estate to a local pub in the village. He hired out the entire place and bought each Black Diamond member dinner along with an open bar.

The night was full of laughter and drunken idiocy. Kes remained cool but friendly, and Daniel drank far too much, as fucking usual. I enjoyed myself, growing in my role as heir and basking in the way my men watched me. They looked at me the same way they looked at Cut—with trepidation and respect.

I’d truly taken my place, and there was no mistaking I was next in line for the throne.

After a four-course dinner and plenty of crude innuendoes, Cut stood at the head of the table, clinking a knife against his half-empty beer.

The low ceilings of the 16th century pub pressed down on us with hops drying in the rafters. It was quaint and country—so different to the imposing halls and artifacts of Hawksridge.

“Attention.” Cut tapped his glass again. Men continued to snicker and drink. Cut slammed his glass down, making the dirty plates rattle. “Attention!”

Silence fell; all eyes zeroed in on Cut. “Time to toast. Listen up.”

A few men saluted while others sobered.

“Stand up, Jethro.”

The past three weeks had changed us. His face had lost its pinched anger. I’d lost my defiant hatred. We no longer looked at each other like we wanted to kill and maim.

We were equals.

I got my wish. I found a place in my family. I became…him.

Cut raised his arms. “Tonight is a special night, boys. Not only have we expanded across Sierra Leone this month and done more trades than ever before, but I believe luck has finally granted us a true successor.”

I’d done everything he’d asked. Put everything into place like he wished. And tonight, I’d earned his ultimate respect.

He tilted his glass to me. “The newspapers are bored with shredding my name. The black market dealers are back to buying in bulk, and our notoriety has only strengthened. The Weavers think they’ve won, but this is only the beginning.”

I planted my heavy boots on the ancient floor, mirroring him in a toast. “Here, here.”

The men followed, murmuring ascent.

We’d all seen the newspapers, the broadcasts of Vaughn Weaver telling secrets that should never be told. He thought he’d ruined us. That any moment we’d be arrested and convicted.

Stupid, stupid idiot.

Dressed in black leather with our stitched emblem of Black Diamonds on the pocket, I felt invincible. Nothing could stop us now. No one could even try.

I was untouchable. And it was fucking magical.

“To Jethro.” Cut’s voice softened. “To my son. To Kite. I’m so glad you’ve finally seen the error of your ways. I always knew you had potential and have no doubt you’ll earn everything I have to give before this is over.”

I nodded. “You can trust me.”

The men stomped their feet, sloshing their beer onto the table.

Kestrel patted my back. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Daniel gave me a signature smirk. “Roll on the next debt, brother.”

I was firstborn.

This was my legacy.

After weeks of preparation, I’d agreed once and for all to prove it.

By killing Nila Weaver.

LIFE MOVED ON.

I learned to live with a broken heart and stopped jumping at shadows.

No one came to steal me back, and the threat of destroying my family’s life went unresolved. However, I had one question that never left: Are they just biding their time?

In my mind, I lived in a fake world of normalcy and safety. But somewhere out of sight, clouds were forming—growing heavier and more powerful every day.

I no longer trusted that the police could help or that publicity could keep me safe.

If the Hawks weren’t done with me, there was nothing anyone could do.

Hour after hour, I wondered why I stayed. Why I headed into the factory to work under crazy deadlines and demanding buyers. Why didn’t I just run?

The passion to create had gone.

I had no wish to sew.

I hated my listlessness.

I hated the coldness inside that no one could touch.

I lived in constant trepidation; serpents gathered in my gut, hissing with premonition. I missed Jethro with every fibre of my being. He was dazzling sunlight and now I lived in endless darkness.