Third Debt (Indebted #4)(11)

The world continued to swing like a crazy pendulum, sending my brain sloshing.

V whispered, “You’re here. You’re safe. Those motherf*cking sons of bitches will pay for what they did. Starting with Jethro Hawk.”

Don’t touch him!

His voice had a duplex effect. My past personality sank into his capability and brotherly strength—grateful that he was now in charge. While the new Nila cringed from relying on anyone but herself.

I had him to thank for my freedom.

I had him to thank for my misery.

I lifted my head. Vaughn’s black eyes stared into mine, and the love I felt for my twin broke through. I hated myself for my previous thoughts.

I was safe. I should be so grateful.

But every minute that ticked past, I vowed to go back. Not because I’d been brainwashed into accepting torture or pain, but because death had tried to claim me only for love to save me instead. Jethro had brought me to life. I wouldn’t leave him behind.

We’ll both break free. We have to.

My heart twinged thinking of Jethro. I was lucky enough to be loved and accepted by a family who cared for me, even if they never really knew me.

What did he have?

A prison cell that’d existed all his life.

A future that might destroy him.

Collapsing to my side, I wrapped my arms around myself and heaved. My throat howled from drowning. My head pounded. And through it all, all I could think was…

This would never have happened if Jethro were here.

His very soul was an anchor.

The one I needed the most.

I groaned at the horrible irony.

I was free at Hawksridge in a way that I could never be free in London.

I couldn’t live without him.

I didn’t want to live without him.

I need to save him.

And soon.





THE CURE BEGAN slowly—whispering across my thoughts.

The unravelling Nila had achieved slowly stitched itself back together. The love, the panic, the pressure…it all faded.

My intense world became shrouded. The glare of intensity diminished and, tablet by tablet, I grew delightfully numb.

I liked this new blanket.

I was grateful to my father.

Without him, I would’ve resorted to opening the scars on my soles and living in pain to survive. What he hadn’t factored in was my conviction to save Nila. The drugs gave me strength to do that.

So I took another and another…believing they would be my salvation and her key to surviving.

How f*cking stupid was I?



Seventy-two hours.

Three days since Nila left.

My injuries from Daniel’s beating were stiff and mottled. I refused to look at myself in a mirror, as I couldn’t stomach the yellow and purple bruised * staring back at me.

Whereas my body hurt, my soul was miraculously floating. Every day the overwhelming hazards of my disease bleached further and further into a watermark rather than a vibrant stain.

Cut let me leave the dungeon under the condition of medicating myself. The choice between dank darkness and pills was no hardship.

I kept to myself. I didn’t visit Jasmine to protect her from my appearance. I didn’t go on shipment runs or seek out my father. I spent the days in the stable, finding solitude in Wings’ silent presence and slipping deeper into the drug’s embrace.

However, lying in bed at night couldn’t stop my mind filling with her.

Nila.

I missed her smell, her taste…her heat.

I craved to be inside her, to hold her in silence and find the gift that she’d given me by falling in love. She’d used me to help her. She’d manipulated me in a way I couldn’t refuse, but in the end, we were both losers…or winners—depending on my frame of mind. Her heart belonged to me. And my heart belonged to her.

I’d fallen for her.

I’d tried to become a better person for her.

But the drugs were so much more powerful than me.

I wanted to rejoice at finally finding something that worked. I should bow to the doctors for creating this miraculous cure. I needed everyone to know how incredible it felt to be cocooned by the gentle fog of intoxication.

Nila had obeyed me when she left—taking my heart and sanity with her. But now, I had a rare opportunity to fortify myself. I would become the man she needed, so when the time came to claim her, we would both be ready.



One hundred and twenty hours.

Five days since Nila left.

My injuries were healing—my ribs remained strapped and sore, but my face didn’t look as swollen or grotesque.

Five days equated to thirty-seven tablets. I’d become attached to my rattling bottle, devouring the promised fog as if each drug was exclusive caviar.

Nothing affected me anymore. Not loud noises, overpowering scents. Not even raised tempers or malice. The fog was thicker…the insulation between them and me growing deeper by the day.

The tablets were working.

They were stealing, healing.

But they hadn’t solved me completely. I still ached as if my heart had been ripped out. Every night I throbbed to slide inside Nila and have her come apart in my arms. My tattooed fingertips mocked me—reminding me she’d branded me and I’d branded her but for now…we were apart, even if we belonged to each other.