Only once I sat did Jethro take the seat beside me.
Folding his long legs beneath the table, he shuffled closer. His aftershave and natural scent of woods and leather trickled into my lungs, causing my heart to squeeze.
My mouth popped open as something pressed against my knee.
Jethro refused to meet my eyes, but I knew it was him, touching me…comforting me, granting me strength.
I sucked in a breath as he nudged me harder. The pressure sent combustible lust fizzing through my blood.
The heavy weight from last night settled on my chest. Words I wanted to spill gathered thickly, drowning me. I wanted to talk to him. I wanted to ask questions and hear his answers.
I want to know him.
Every inch.
Jethro continued to lean his leg against mine. He did it so calmly, all the while pretending nothing was different.
“Get on with it, Jet,” Cut ordered, his attention locked on us.
Jethro nodded curtly. “Of course. Don’t rush me. I think I’ve proven I’m more than capable of doing what needs to be done.”
Cut smashed his lips together.
Jethro’s eyes narrowed as he opened the Tally Box.
My heartbeat sped up as he lifted out the apparatus he would need. Keeping my attention on the needle and ink, I rubbed my foot against his ankle.
He tensed, but continued on as if everything was fine.
Last night, he’d given me power over him in the form of his life.
I knew things no one else did.
And after today, I would know everything.
Jethro was mine, and I would help save him, just like he said. We could change our fates from the plague of his family.
“Hold out your hand,” Jethro murmured, ignoring the table of onlookers.
My heart raced as he held up the tattoo gun.
Pressing my knuckles against the wood of the table, I bit my lip as he turned on the gun.
His hair had grown longer and it fell over his forehead. My fingers itched to brush it away, to press below his chin and bring his mouth to mine.
The air shimmered between us, growing thicker with lust.
My pussy ached from him taking me so roughly last night, but I wanted more. I wanted it harder, deeper, faster. I doubted I’d ever have enough.
Jethro bristled, fighting against the building heat humming where we touched. When it came to touching in public, we had no armor against the truth.
My gaze shot to Cut. My feelings were far too obvious—he’d see…he’d know. However, his attention zeroed in on his son, his hands steepled before him.
I gasped as the sharp needle bit into my skin. I endured the tiny teeth as they stained me with ink. The burn this time was faintly familiar, filling with memories—becoming part of the design as much as his initials.
It only took a moment.
Jethro reclined, eyeing up his penmanship. There, on the pad of my middle finger, he’d completed another .
A debt for a debt.
A tally for a tally.
The residual pain couldn’t compete with my other aches and bruises. It was rather refreshing to have a wound that was sharp, rather than bone-deep and throbbing.
Jethro turned off the gun and handed it to me.
Wordlessly, he splayed his beautiful long fingers and never stopped looking at me as I inked my ownership on his mirroring finger.
My lines were straighter this time, more confident. I embraced the marks because now it only bound us tighter together, rather than recorded a new debt.
When I’d finished, he had two branded fingers.
Like for like.
Same for same.
Jethro nudged my foot again, keeping his face blank and almost cruel. I pressed back, never looking up as I turned off the gun and placed it back in its box.
Awareness scattered over my forearms. I couldn’t stop a gentle sigh as Jethro deliberately brushed my pinky with his, tucking away the discarded vial and locking the lid.
Cut muttered, “Good to see you learned from your past mistake and things are following accordingly.” Waving at the sideboard groaning with food, he added, “Eat, both of you. You have a large schedule.”
My throat closed at the thought of what that could mean.
Cut narrowed his eyes. “Jethro, you’re in charge of the Carlyle shipment. The stones arrive in a few hours. You know what to do.” Turning his cold glare on me, he smiled. “And, Nila, you’ve been summoned by my mother, Bonnie, for tea in her boudoir.”
My heart raced.
Jethro threw me a look.
What about our plans?
He glared at his father. “Ms. Weaver was subjected to enough yesterday.” His voice lowered as he spoke through clenched teeth. “Give her a few days, for fuck’s sake.”
Knives and forks screeched across crockery as the Diamond men turned to see Cut’s reaction.
Cut fisted his hands on the table. “Don’t you—”
“Um, sir?”
All heads turned to the youngest member of the Black Diamonds, a twenty-year-old man named Facet. His floppy blond hair and kind eyes were a direct contradiction to the leader he now addressed.
Cut’s forehead furrowed. Black anger covered his face. “What? What is so fucking important you interrupt me mid-sentence?”
Facet shifted awkwardly. “Sorry, sir. Won’t happen again. But, eh…we have company.” His eyes flew around the room, looking for someone to help bear the brunt of his leader.
No one moved.
The guy sucked in a breath, reluctantly delivering his news. “I tried to stop them from entering the grounds. We did what you said. But they ignored us.” Sweat gleamed on his upper lip. “Even the gatekeeper at the lock house couldn’t stop them.”