“Nice bike.”

My head snapped up, eyes locking onto my prey. The same prey who’d run yet returned.

She’d returned? I was right before. She truly is stupid.

Nila drifted forward, threading and unthreading her fingers. I didn’t move or utter a sound. She responded to my silence—like everything. I’d learned that cursing and yelling could be frightening—but silence…it was the empty void where enemies’ fears polluted. Stay quiet long enough and horror would be struck with one whisper instead of a multitude of profanities.

She waved at my bike, her eyes wider than before…darker than before.

Deciding to grant her a reply, I said, “It’s my version of accessorising.” The Harley-Davidson was a new purchase. Sleek and sharp, nicknamed The Little Black Dress.

Stroking the throttle, I tilted my head. Her dusky skin had colour. Her pronounced cheekbones were flushed, trailing residual temper down her neck. Something had happened. Something had upset her.

Did she find her father, only for him to disown her and send her back to me?

I frowned. Could Archibald Weaver truly send his only daughter not once, but twice, to her death? He knew what awaited her. He knew what would happen if he didn’t give her up. But was family honour that strong? Or was there more to this debt than I’d been told?

Either way, it was time to go. Time to begin her nightmare.

“You returned.”

She nodded. “I returned. I want something from you. And I’m not going to be shy about asking.”

A flicker of surprise caught me unaware. She came across shy and timid, but there lurked steel in her voice. Little did she know what I wanted from her in return.

“Fair enough. I have something to discuss with you.”

Don’t make her suspect.

“What?”

Your future. Your death.

“Nothing important, but we need to go.”

Time to begin. The time is nigh to pay your debts.

Nila came closer, shedding the tameness, and embracing courage. I would’ve been intrigued if I didn’t already know everything about her.

Such a silly girl. A silly toy.

Whatever she wanted from me, I’d oblige. After all, she’d been given to me to do as I pleased.

And everyone knows you don’t give a pet to a killer.

“GET ON.”

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

Jethro didn’t move. He didn’t look condescending or annoyed or anything other than cold and collected. Nothing seemed to interest him. I thought I could use him for sex? He didn’t look like he knew what a smile was, let alone passion.

His legs bunched beneath the dark charcoal of his trousers, steadying the heavy motorcycle between them. “I said, get on. We’re leaving.”

I laughed. What a ludicrous suggestion. Waving down my front, I hoped he wasn’t blind, because no one could ignore the kilograms worth of black diamantes or acres of material I wore. “I struggled to get here in a limousine. There’s no way I can perch on the back of a stupid motorcycle.”

Jethro’s lips quirked. “Come closer. I’ll fix that.”

My heart jumped; I clutched my phone tighter. No response from Kite. Which is a good thing. I just had to keep telling myself that. I never wanted to hear from him again. “Fix it how?”

“Come here and I’ll show you.” His eyes drifted down the front of my dress.

I’d been around powerful, attractive men all my life. Both my father and brother were well known for being eligible bachelors, but they lacked something that Jethro held in abundance.

Mystery.

Everything about him spoke of trickery and wile. He’d barely spoken, yet I felt his requests. For some stupid reason, it felt as if he’d trained me with his silence to be alert, ready, eager to please.

I hated his effortless power.

Backing away, I shook my head. “I won’t.”

A small smile graced his lips, golden eyes flashing. “That wasn’t very polite. I gave you a request, kindly delivered, respectfully even.” His fingers tightened around the handle bars. “Should I ask again, or will you rethink your reply?”

A trickle of fear blustered down my neck. I knew that glint in his eye. Vaughn would get it when we were younger. It meant destruction. It meant getting their own way. It meant a world of pain if I didn’t obey. And for some reason, I didn’t think a wedgie and being tickled until I couldn’t breathe counted as pain in Jethro’s dimension.

Clutching the bodice that’d taken me weeks to hand-sew, I took another step backward. Keeping my chin high, I said, “I’m not being impolite; I’m stating the obvious. If you wish to leave, we need a different method of transportation.” Speaking so formally sounded odd after screaming via text message to Kite. “And besides, I don’t want to leave yet. I promised myself I’d ask you something, and I’m not going anywhere until I do.”

God, Nila. What are you doing?

Nerves attacked my stomach, but I kept my stance. I wouldn’t back down. Not this time.

Jethro shook his head, displacing his longish salt-and-pepper hair. His smooth face remained expressionless with patience, but it didn’t relieve—it terrified. With precision born of wealth and confidence, he kicked the stand down and placed the bike into a resting position. Swinging his leg over the machine, he climbed the curb and hunted.

No. Don’t let him touch you.

I stumbled backward, a slight edge of dizziness catching me off guard.

Jethro caught me, placing his large, cold hands on my waist.

I froze, breathing shallowly. Shoving away the moment of wobbliness, I fixated on his strong jaw and glinting diamond pin.

The temperature of his touch seeped through the ruffles on my hips, bringing with it fear manifesting like icicles over an innocent dawn.

“What’s wrong with you?” Jethro jerked me closer, peering into my eyes. The first sign of animation lurked in their golden depths. It wasn’t concern though, merely annoyance. “Are you ill?” Annoyance turned to carefully hidden anger.

I swallowed hard, hating my condition all over again. To him, I would come across as weak. He wouldn’t understand the strength it took to live a normal life while shackled to an improperly balanced form. If anything, it made me stronger.

“No, I’m not ill. Not that you’re worried for my health.” Twitching in his hold, I searched for a way free. But his touch only tightened. Blowing a blue-black strand from my eye, I added, “It’s not contagious. I suffer from vertigo. That’s all. Google it.”

That’s all. I scrape my knees if I get out of bed too fast and faint if I swivel my head too quick, but that’s all.

Jethro scowled. “Perhaps you shouldn’t wear such heavy clothing.” He plucked the dense material and delicate stitching on my waist. “It’s a hindrance and delaying my night’s activities.”

My eyes flared. Night’s activities?

Perhaps he had the same conclusion of where we’d end up? Captive in his strong hands, I stared up. I wasn’t short for a woman, but Jethro had at least half a foot on me. He didn’t move, only watched as if I were an interesting specimen he couldn’t decide to enjoy or throw away.

My breathing grew shallow the longer he held me. Dropping my gaze to his lips, it didn’t help my anxiety at having them so close. It’s now or never.

I knew nothing about him. He scared me. But he was a man. I was a woman. And once, just once, I wanted pleasure.

“I want something from you,” I murmured.

He stilled. “What exactly makes you think you’re in a position to ask something of me?”

I shook my head. “I’m not asking.”

A moment thickened between us. His nostrils twitched. “Go on…”

“Take me for a drink. I want to get to know you.”