His jaw twitched. “Five minutes, Nila. If you’re any longer, or I suspect you’re disobeying me, I’ll give you a taste of Diamond Dust.”

“Diamond Dust?”

His lips curled. “You remember…the drug Jethro gave you from Milan? The magical substance that turns you mute and obedient while you can scream all you want in the inside?”

I gulped.

I completed my stretches and a bathroom break in four minutes.

* * *

Six.

Seven.

Eight.

Nine.

Ten hours.

Clammy sweat broke out over my skin. Adrenaline drenched my system the closer we flew to England. The cast itched with hot imprisonment, eerily heavy with its tormenting cargo. Lack of sleep clouded my mind and I swore the facets and sharp edges of diamonds burrowed their way into my flesh, gnawing me like a worm gnawed an apple.

* * *

Eleven hours.

The captain announced our upcoming arrival. Breakfast was served and cleared away in record time. Cut smiled and patted my hand. “Almost there, my dear. Almost home.”

I cringed, looking out the window.

I just want this to be over.

* * *

Eleven hours and forty minutes.

The plane left clouds for earth, flying me toward my greatest challenge and worst debt yet. It wasn’t my pain on the line. It wasn’t Vaughn’s like the night with the dice. It was Jethro’s.

The man I’d willingly given my heart to. The man I said I would marry. The man who needed me as much as I needed him.

If I failed, he would die.

And not just die but be tortured until he begged for death.

My ears popped and my arm distended as the airplane tyres skimmed the horizon before skidding onto tarmac.

I didn’t speak as we taxied to the gate. Cut filled in arrival cards, running his fingers possessively over my passport.

My stomach performed circus tricks and trapeze stunts as the air-bridge attached and the flight attendants announced we could disembark. Passengers exploded into action, grabbing cases, children, and blocking the aisle in their rush to leave.

None of them were aware of what a monumental task sat before me.

Stay calm.

Don’t think about what’s in your cast.

Cut grinned, standing upright and holding out his hand. “Ready, Nila?”

I longed to scream and tell the truth. I wished I could tell everyone what I smuggled. If they knew, perhaps they could take away the worry that I wouldn’t make it.

Jethro.

Think of Jethro.

You’ll do this because of Jethro.

Standing, I took Cut’s hand for balance and followed the other passengers onto English soil.

“Miss?”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I turned slowly, doing my best to swallow my nerves. “Yes?”

“You don’t have any hand luggage to put on the x-ray belt?”

I blinked, holding up the line waiting to go through the body scanner. The new equipment did a better job than the metal detector in Africa. Upgraded facilities, shrewd airport staff, and suspecting officers kept my heart permanently lodged in my throat.

“Oh, no. No bag.”

The middle-aged security guard wrinkled his forehead. “No luggage on a long-haul trip?”

My stomach hurled itself against internal organs, knotting with kidney and spleen. “Well, I—”

“She’s with me.” Cut slung his black briefcase onto the conveyor belt, raising his eyebrow as if daring him to deny it.

I froze.

Why had he come to my rescue? Wasn’t it his intention to make me sweat? To give him reasons to hurt Jethro? Not that he needs a reason.

The man eyed Cut, taking in his expensive clothes and white hair demanding respect. “Okay…” He glanced back at me, beckoning me to step into the round chamber with its curved glass and two footsteps painted on the floor. “Hold your arms above your head and wait until I tell you to move.”

Tears sprang to my eyes. Tears of fear. Tears of pain.

I pointed to my tote bag sling. “I—I just broke my arm. I can’t—”

The man behind me snapped my forearm with a mallet.

He’s going to kill me when we return to his home.

Help me…

No sympathy glowed in his eyes. “Do the best you can.”

Jethro.

I still had his fate in my hands. I couldn’t falter.

Swallowing my racing heart, I slipped the cast free and raised my arms as best I could. Blood pressure throbbed in my fingertips and shooting pain bolted down my forearm. A terrible image of diamonds spilling out the end of the cast had me swallow a gasp-cough.

Closing my eyes, I waited as a two large sensors swung around me with the whirring noise of rotor blades.

“Thank you. Come out, please.”

I obeyed, forcing my legs to remain firm and not buckle. Standing beside the man as the screen lit up with an image of a nondescript person, he frowned as black splotches appeared on the screen where my cast, my bra, and diamond collar were.

The officer cleared his throat. “Miss, you’ll have to undergo a pat down.” Looking behind him, he said, “Jean, can you help this lady?” He sidestepped, giving room for the female staff member to move into my personal space with her rubber gloves and judgemental stare.

“Do you wish to go into a private room?” Her voice screeched across my nerves.

A private room.

I could tell her what Cut did. I could inform her of what I carried. I could destroy not just my life, but Jethro’s, too.