Staring into the shadows, out of range of the light, we both waited for the mystery guest to arrive.

The moment a figure materialized from the gloom and golden eyes met mine, I bared my teeth. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Daniel snickered, moving to take his place beside Cut. Equal breadth and height, they matched in their leather jackets and complementing smirks.

“I’m here to teach you a lesson, brother.”

Fuck. All the tormenting and lording my firstborn status came back to haunt me. This was my true punishment. Not being shot or maimed but being disciplined by my fucking brother.

My gut churned. I had to will every cell to stay upright and stoic. In my mind, I conjured Nila. She possessed my thoughts—not in the everyday attire she’d worn around the Hall—but in the black feathered couture from Milan. Her skin was faultless. Her ebony eyes depthless. She’d been utterly perfect.

Then I’d stolen her. Degraded her. Fucked her. And ultimately loved her.

I pushed her image away as fast as I’d invoked it. It hurt too much.

“I don’t understand you, Jethro.” Cut entered the cell, his boot scuffing a pebble. “You were so fucking close to throwing away, not just a fortune, but sentencing your sister to the grave as well as yourself.”

My blood turned from liquid to rock. “Leave her out of this.”

“You’re saying you believe Jasmine doesn’t deserve repentance? After all, it was she who convinced me you could be fixed. She’s the one who gave her livelihood for yours that day…or have you forgotten?”

I breathed shallowly. “I haven’t forgotten, and it’s not her fault. Don’t fucking touch her.”

“Oh, we won’t touch her…if you do everything we say.” Daniel brushed past Cut, encroaching on my space. His aftershave of spice and musk overpowered me. My gullet fought to retch—to vomit right on his shiny black boots.

I glowered. Everything about this felt wrong. As if we were boys again playing games we didn’t understand. “What do you want?”

Cut chuckled. “Isn’t it obvious, Jet? I want a firstborn that I can trust. I want a man who will oversee my empire. I want a fucking heir who isn’t some sort of fucked-up delinquent.”

I straightened my spine. “Life is full of disappointment.”

“Yes, but at least I can get some enjoyment out of this.” Looking at Daniel, he nodded. “You’re up, Buzzard. Teach him a lesson.”

My eyes flashed to Daniel’s. I kept my expression blank. I refused to beg for mercy or let him see the fear percolating inside.

Daniel smiled, cracking his knuckles and slinking out of his jacket. “Hear that, Kite? Time for a little payback. And I have to say, it’s gonna taste fucking sweet.”

Tossing his jacket into the corner of the cell, he clenched his fists and danced like a seasoned fighter. I instinctually raised my arms, preparing to spar. Daniel was third born—the mistake—he was also the smallest out of all of us, but he was still strong. Plus, he had something I was missing: savage with no mercy.

“Ah, ah, ah, Jethro.” Cut tapped the gun against the bars, sending a god-awful twang around the cell. “You aren’t to fight back.”

I snarled, “You expect me to let him pummel me and not defend myself?”

Daniel laughed, circling me like some rabid hyena.

“I have a deal to offer you, Jethro.” Cut’s words fell like stones. Everything had new meaning. That ridiculous hope swelled in my heart again.

“What deal?”

“Last chance,” Daniel sneered, never stopping his aggravating circles.

Cut ran a hand through his hair. “I was fully prepared to kill you, son. Ready to put you out of your misery because—let’s fucking face it—you’re not happy.” Sympathy coated his features, confusing the shit out of me.

“You’re saying you were prepared to put me down like some rabies-infested dog? For my sake?”

Cut frowned. “After everything that’s happened between us, you still think I’m some kind of monster. I care for you. I care for all my children.”

Bullshit.

“It’s only natural that I want to help you.”

Crossing my arms, I tried to ignore Daniel and understand this new development. “What do you propose?”

“It comes in stages.”

“Go on.”

“First, you need punishing. I won’t tolerate any more disobedience.” Toying with the gun, his eyes bored into mine. “Part one of this new deal is…”

“Let me beat your ass with no retaliation.” Daniel laughed, socking a punch into my kidney from behind.

White-hot heat scorched my system, setting fire to every organ. I gasped, holding the throbbing bruise. Sickly sweat sprang over my skin. I sucked air between my teeth. “You can’t be serious.”

Cut’s eyes narrowed to slits. “I’m more than serious. Fight back or try to harm your brother, and I’ll put a bullet through your skull with no hesitation.”

Daniel threw another punch, right into my intestines. A grunt escaped as I staggered forward, bending over to spit on the slimy floor. Only once I’d straightened, trembling with adrenaline, did Cut grant me the next part of his rehabilitation. “When you’ve accepted a thrashing to what I deem payable, then I’ll tell you the next part of the deal.”

Coming forward, he pressed the gun under my chin, holding my eyes on his. “You say you hurt. That life is a constant hardship. Well, I have news for you. It’s not enough for me that your innards fucking hurt. I want your body to scream, too. It’s fitting and a worthwhile punishment for the son of a nobleman.”

Transcriptions of such punishments executed hundreds of years ago came to mind. Aristocrats dealt in different conduct when a crime had to be paid. Fists were a gentleman’s weapon rather than stocks or floggers.

Daniel’s fist collided with my jaw, snapping my head sideways. I groaned as my equilibrium turned to shit. I stumbled sideways, fighting every instinct to defend myself.

Cut stepped back as Daniel round-housed me, planting his boot squarely in my chest. With flaring pain, I tumbled to the earthen floor. Fuck, it hurt. Every inch of me was on fire—pounding with agony.

“Take your sentence like a man, Jethro. Then we’ll see if you deserve my proposition.”

I scrambled to my feet.

Daniel cackled as he kicked my ankle, sending me face-planting into dirt. I braced myself on all fours, presenting a soft target of my belly in line with his boot.

He kicked me like a fucking animal, breaking a rib and hurtling me into Hades.

I would’ve given anything to fight back. I howled inside—handcuffed by the illusion of leniency. I took each blow, not for my downfall of being what I was, but for what I’d done.

Every strike was my penance for what I did to Nila.

Each kick was a purging for my disastrous behaviour.

I nursed Nila in my heart and found a strange healing, even in such unjust brutality.

My eyes watered as Daniel yanked my hair and cracked his knuckles against my cheekbone.

Cut muttered, “I want you bleeding in apology, son. Only then might you deserve another chance.”

“WE’RE HERE.”

Powerful buildings and iconic landmarks replaced the rugged landscape of Buckinghamshire’s countryside. There were no trees or sweeping hills, no foxhounds or horses.

London.

“Bet you missed your family, Ms. Weaver.” The policeman driving had tried small talk over the course of our three-hour drive. I’d ignored every topic.

Instead of focusing on grey concrete and overpasses, I thought of Jethro.

Where was he? What were they doing to him?

My emotions split into an unsolvable jigsaw puzzle. I was smooth edges, crooked edges, and awkward corner edges. I was cutthroat and fierce, betrayer and deceiver, loved and lover.

Only a few hours had passed since I’d left Jethro, yet I felt as if I’d been adrift forever.

I have to go back.

I was no longer a girl who would bow to her father and submit to her brother. I wasn’t content with letting others be in charge.

I was a fighter.

And I owed Cut Hawk payment for what he’d done.

A fog rolled in over the busy cog-work city of London as we journeyed through ancient streets and new.

Every streetlamp and road sign spoke of home.

My home.

My old home.

I knew this place. I’d been born here. Raised here. Trained here.

You also met Jethro when you were too young to remember here.

The car came to a halt outside my family’s sweeping Victorian manor. The whitewashed bricks looked fresh and modern. The lilac windows decorated in my mother’s favourite colour. It was quaintly feminine despite its three-story grandeur.

It’s a dollhouse compared to Hawksridge Hall.

I missed the gothic French turrets and imposing size. I missed the richness and danger that breathed in its walls.

I missed Jethro.

The glass of my window on the second floor winked through the grey drizzle, welcoming me back.