Fourth Debt - Pepper Winters Page 0,13

the library doors.

My eyes widened as I stepped into the old world charm of book-bindings and scripted letters. The large beanbags where Kes had found me dozing still scattered. The window seats waited for morning sunshine and a bookworm to absorb themselves in fairy-tale pages.

This place was a church of stories and imagination. But then my gaze fell on the antichrist, polluting the sanctity of peace.

“Nice of you to join us, Nila.” Cut waved at the one and only empty chair at the large oak table.

My teeth clamped together. I didn’t reply.

“Come.” He snapped his fingers. “Sit. We’ve waited long enough.”

You can do this.

Obey until an opportunity presents itself.

Then…

kill

him.

I drifted forward, drawn by the multiple pairs of eyes watching me.

Bonnie, Daniel, Jasmine, Cut, and four men I didn’t recognise waited for me to join them. The four men wore sombre black suits and aubergine ties—a uniform painting them with the same brush.

I drew closer to the table.

Daniel stood up, wrapping a vile arm around my waist. “Missed you, Weaver.” Planting a kiss on my cheek, he whispered, “Whatever happens here tonight doesn’t mean shit, you hear me? I’m coming for you, and I don’t fucking care what they say.”

I shuddered with disgust.

Withdrawing the hate from his voice, Daniel transformed into a cordial smile. “Sit.” With a gallant act, he pulled out the empty seat. “Take a load off. This is going to be a long meeting.”

I wanted to touch his pulse, count his heartbeat, relish in knowing they were numbered.

Soon, Daniel…soon…

Locking my jaw, so I didn’t say anything I might regret, I sat down.

The men in matching suits never looked away. They ranged in age from sixties with greying hair to mid-thirties with blond buzz cut.

Daniel kicked my chair forward so my stomach kissed the lip of the table. I sucked in a breath, straightening my spine uncomfortably in order to tolerate the tight arrangement.

His golden eyes met mine, smug and vainglorious.

I’ll cut that look right off your face.

My fingers twitched for my knife.

Daniel sat beside me, while the person on my other side hissed, “No speaking unless spoken to. Got it?”

My eyes shot to Jasmine. Her hands rested on the table, a cute gold ring circling her middle finger, while her seat perched on a small ramp, bringing the wheels in line with the chairs of the other guests. She looked like a capable heiress, dressed in a black smock with a black ribbon around her throat. She was the epitome of a mourning sister.

I don’t buy it.

I’d misjudged her—thought she was decent and caring. She’d fooled me the most.

Tearing my gaze from her, I glanced at the remaining Hawks. Just like Jasmine, they all wore black. Bonnie looked as if she’d jumped into a jungle of black lace and fastened it with glittering diamond broaches. Cut wore an immaculate suit with black shirt and tie. Even Daniel looked fit for the opera in a glossy onyx ensemble and satin waistcoat.

I’d never seen so much darkness—both on the outside and inside. They’d discarded their leather jackets in favour of mourning attire.

All for what?

To garner sympathy from outsiders? To play the part of grieving family, even though they were the cause of murder?

I hate you.

I hate all of you.

My hands balled on the table. I wanted to say so many things. I wanted to launch onto the table and stab them with my knife. But I heeded Jasmine’s warning and stayed put. There was no other way.

Cut cleared his throat. “Now that we’re all here, you may begin, Marshall.” His gaze pinned the oldest stranger. “I appreciate you coming after work hours, but this matter has to be dealt with quickly.”

Bonnie reclined in her chair, a faint smile on her lips.

Every time I looked at the old bat, I got the feeling she was the meddler in all of this. She was the reason Cut was the way he was. She was the reason why Jasmine was disabled and Jethro and Kes were dead. I guessed she was also the reason why Jethro never mentioned his mother.

I’d been in their lives for months, yet no one had uttered a thing about Mrs. Cut Hawk.

Unless it was a miracle conception and Cut carved his children from his bones like some evil sorcerer, she had to have existed and stuck around long enough to give Cut four babies.

Where is she now?

Images of Jethro and Kes reuniting with their mother in heaven gave me equal measure of despair and comfort.

If she’s even dead.

She