My teeth clamped together as I fought every instinct to run. Forcing myself to ignore Cut, I focused on the man I loved—regardless of his mistakes, chilliness, and icy words.

Jethro sat with his family but somehow looked so removed. His eyes locked on mine. His face ashen and tight, cheekbones were blades, slicing through stretched skin. His posture spoke of a bound animal seething with the need to kill, while his jaw held a permanent clench of desolation and regret.

It hurt too much to look at him.

Kes caught my attention.

He gave me a sad smile, hiding everything he felt behind the incredible gift of illusion. He was a magician, deleting anything that might give him away. Even the connection we’d built the day he’d given me Moth didn’t let me see his thoughts.

Daniel, on the other hand, snickered, leaning back on two chair legs, chewing the end of his cigar. “Can’t say you’re pretty dressed like that…” His tone lowered. “But I’d still fuck you.”

Jethro tensed.

A gasp fell from my lips.

I stepped back, wishing I could ignore common-sense and run. Bolt down corridors and charge through doors. But there was no point. I would be caught. I would be hurt. And I would have to survive the debt regardless.

Jethro and Kes weren’t smoking, but they had a large tumbler of amber liquid beside them, glowing in the warm sidelights that cast more shadows than illumination. The room lurked in colour palettes of brown, maroon, and earth. Forest green drapery obscured the windows, while the carpet was a thick motif of a huge chessboard with black and white squares.

It truly was a parlour where games were played—the debts being the ultimate game of all.

“Jet, are you going to say something to our guest?” Cut narrowed his eyes.

Jethro’s knuckles turned white around his glass.

I stood motionless on the carpet, waiting…waiting for him to doom me to his heinous family once again.

Jethro tore his eyes from mine, glaring at the table. Kes nudged him subtlety.

Sucking in a heavy breath, he pinched the bridge of his nose. Without looking up, he murmured, “Your job is to serve us while we gamble, Ms. Weaver.” His eyes landed on mine only to dart away a second later. “You are to do as we ask in all instances. Understood?”

I didn’t listen to his words but his eyes. They shot their own message—but it was scrambled, hectic, unfathomable.

“Grab a fresh ashtray from the sideboard and replenish the peanuts,” Cut commanded.

I couldn’t move.

Cut twisted his body to face me. “Why are you still standing there? Did you not hear me?”

Oh, God. Oh, God.

My hands fisted and I tried to obey, but my legs seized with terror.

Kes stood up, scattering a few nutshells. “I’ll show—”

Cut slammed his palm on the table, toppling stacks of poker chips. “Sit down, Angus, and fucking behave.” Glowering at me, he snarled, “Do as you’re told, Ms. Weaver, or this gets a hundred times worse.”

Jethro hung his head, dragging a hand over his nape. His eyes infernoed with hatred, blazing at his father.

Cut bellowed, “Now!”

Kes hastily sat back down. I somehow found the strength to move. Silently, I made my way barefoot to the sideboard where staff had left an expensive bottle of cognac, more cigars, crystal ashtrays, and an array of nuts and crisps for the game.

With shaking hands, I grabbed a bag of honey-roasted peanuts and hugged them. Suffering another vertigo tilt-a-whirl, I spun to face the men.

Four Hawks.

One of me.

I baulked.

I didn’t want to go anywhere near them. The table had an aura of evil around it, dangerous and foreign, screaming at me to run. Even Jethro was shrouded, neither granting me strength through his love nor soothing me that somehow he would save me.

Cut snapped his fingers, cigar smoke wisping toward the ceiling. “We don’t have all fucking night.”

The grandfather clock chimed the hour.

The heavy gong reverberated like visible notes, rippling through the air.

Clang.

Clang.

I’ll move when it ends.

Clang.

Clang.

Four chimes. I forced courage into my veins, even though I’d used every drop. I couldn’t bear to look at the clock to see how many were left.

Clang.

Clang.

“Shit, girl. Get over here now!” Cut yelled.

Clang.

Clang.

Jethro looked up. His golden eyes had been cloaked before with chaos, but now they screamed with everything he wanted to say.

I read your text.

I’m sorry.

Clang.

My heart cracked open as Jethro’s lips formed two words. Two words that asked so much of me with no hint of deliverance.

Trust me.

Clang.

The final chime hung in the air like a cymbal crash, giving me nowhere else to hide. Ten p.m. and the night had only just begun.

Dropping my gaze from Jethro’s, I steeled my heart and trusted not in him but in me.

I was strong enough.

I was brave enough.

I trusted I could survive.

Straightening my shoulders, I moved toward the Hawks to serve them.

FUCK, SHE WAS beautiful.

I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the see-through shirt and awful trousers she wore. Instead of turning her into a scullery boy—an unwanted little heathen—the billowing material transformed her into a pixy. An ethereal creature barely fitting into human clothes.

Please, let this work.

I hadn’t had much time. I didn’t have the assurances I needed.

But I’d done all I could to protect her.

Trust me, Nila.

I waited for her to raise her eyes, but she kept them downcast as she approached the poker table. It was a proper gaming platform with cup holders, chip placers, and leather cushioning for hiding our winning hand.

‘Poker Night’ used to be a weekly occurrence. The Black Diamonds, my brothers, and my father would set up multiple tables and play until those tables morphed into one. The stakes of each game were high. Buy-ins were fifty pounds, and it wasn’t uncommon for a pot to reach five figures before anyone won.

But now, this was a private affair. Four Hawks and one lone Weaver. Along with the disgusting knowledge of what would happen tonight.

Nila leaned over to restock the bowls, trying her best not to get too close. Her smell wrapped around me, spilling rich, fresh scents entirely too sensual. She looked so good. Her eyes were darker, her lips so fucking kissable.

Damn her for being so pretty. She might’ve been protected if she wasn’t so tempting. Just like my family had damned her to this fate, her own genes ensured it would be worse.

“Thank you, Nila,” Kes whispered as she moved around the table.

She flinched, not acknowledging him.

My cock twitched; I gritted my teeth. I couldn’t handle my brother talking to her.

I couldn’t stomach what would happen next.

The intentions leeching off my father were too hard to ignore. Lewd excitement and salacious greed. A lecherous asshole who thought of nothing more than stealing money and pleasure from those vulnerable.

Fuck!

Breathing hard, I forced myself to slip back into the drug-riddled fog.

I’d tripled my dose.

Cut made the mistake thinking they kept me clearheaded enough to be controlled. I’d learned that they granted clarity to seek other paths. They gave me enough peace to look past the abominable thoughts existing in this house and become as wily as him.

His Will and Testament sewed up my future as a lunatic in some psych ward if I ever tried to dispatch him. But he didn’t have a safeguard if I played politics with politics…

Kes nudged me under the table.

I glanced at him from the corner of my eye, pretending to shuffle the deck. I hoped to fucking God I’d done all I could.

I hadn’t had enough time to prepare. What would happen tonight would be improv and sheer fucking luck.

If I didn’t pull it off…tonight would be a bloodbath. There would be no way to stop myself from slaughtering my entire bloodline—including myself.

So many things could go wrong.

So many unthought-of issues that could destroy my hard work.

Trust me, Nila.

Because you have no other choice.

Without a word, Nila took the used ashtray and spun to return to the sideboard.

Cut grabbed her around the waist, keeping her locked to his side. “I like this on you, Ms. Weaver. It looks rather…provocative.” He raised his hand to cup her breast. The wash of lust springing from him overrode my triple dose.

I shot to my feet, showering the table in fifty-two cards.

Everyone froze.

My chest pumped. My fists clenched. My body howled for fucking murder.

Cut cocked his head, glaring deep into my eyes. In a heated challenge, he twisted Nila’s nipple through the gauzy shirt.

Shit, shit. Do. Not. Deviate.

“Something you want to say, Jet?” Cut hissed, imprisoning Nila as she wriggled. Her lips pursed, sickness swimming over her face.

I couldn’t look at her without drowning in everything she felt. Horror, hatred, hopelessness. She expected me to be her champion. To save her at the final hour.