The driver pressed the intercom on the wrought iron gate, barring the Weaver Household from the rest of society. We lived in an affluent end of town. No one asked for a cup of sugar here. Everyone guarded themselves behind camera systems and armed fences.

“Yes?”

The moment my father’s voice came through the speaker, vertigo swooped in and held me hostage. The world spun.

“We’re here, Mr. Weaver.”

A crackle then a panicked bark, “Do you have her?”

The driver threw me a smile. “We have her.”

SOMETHING HARD THUMPED against my chest.

It roused me, dragging me from the bowels of hell and back into a body sobbing with pain.

“Open your eyes, Jet.”

I flinched, fearing another kick or punch. How long had Daniel punished me?

Long enough to break a couple more ribs and swell my left eye completely shut.

“He’s gone.” A presence squatted in front of me—a blurry figure obscured by blood and dirt.

I tried to swallow, but my throat was too dry. Incredibly, a water bottle was pushed into my lifeless hands. When I almost dropped it, Cut wrapped his warm fingers around mine, clasping the bottle tightly.

A wave of compassion and sympathy lapped around my sodden form, forcing my vision to focus. “Tha—thank you,” I whispered brokenly.

Cut nodded, sitting on his haunches while I sipped from the already open bottle and slowly wrangled my body into life.

Struggling to sit upright, Cut moved so I could spread out my legs and recline against the frigid, dripping wall.

“Better?” he asked. As if he cared about my welfare only moments after beating me to a pulp.

Still alive, unfortunately for you.

I fought my sarcastic response and glared instead. “Did I pass your little test, Father?” In that second, I hated him. I fucking despised that this man was my patron and relation.

He didn’t reply. Only motioned to the thing that’d landed on my chest and rolled to the side with an odd rattle. “That’s the second requirement of this last chance.”

I couldn’t make out what it was. My eyes flickered as my system organised my pain into filing cabinets of life threatening, throbbing, and liveable.

“Pick it up.”

Swallowing my groan, I slipped sideways against the wall and scooped up the small white bottle. I squinted, trying unsuccessfully to read the label.

“What—what are they?”

Cut shifted, bringing my attention to the gun resting on his knee. It still pointed at me, like it had during the beating Daniel gave me. “I told you. Your final chance.”

I scowled at the gun. “And if I don’t agree…to whatever you want me to do next?”

“It ends. Here and now. I put you out of your misery and life moves on.”

My heart raced, dragging Nila back into existence. “If you kill me, does that void the Debt Inheritance?”

Could I somehow free Nila from this by sacrificing myself?

Cut pursed his lips, anger shading his features. “You’re saying you would die for a fucking Weaver? Come on, Jethro. Be a man and accept what I’m trying to give you.” He opened his arms, signalling Hawksridge. “This will be all yours. The companies, trade routes, mines…all yours. Is one woman worth all that?”

Silence was syrupy, its only companion the chilled dampness surrounding us.

Yes.

She’s worth that and more.

“So that was a yes?” My voice croaked. I took another sip of water. “If you kill me, the debts are done. You need a firstborn. That’s why there’s only been seven Weavers claimed over the centuries. Things go wrong; life interferes. What did you tell me? That raising a Hawk and Weaver to age requirement without one dying, going missing, or failing in some way was a fucking miracle? Kill me—end this so-called miracle. Another generation would be safe.”

Cut shot to his feet and kicked my leg. Normally, such a blow wouldn’t hurt, but it landed on multiple bruises already given courtesy of Daniel.

I hissed, fisting my hands around the bottle and spilling water down my bloodied clothes.

“Ordinarily, Jethro, you would be right. With your death comes her salvation. She’d walk free. She wouldn’t be claimed because the firstborn didn’t survive.”

The biggest wash of relief enveloped me. That was the answer then. The only way. I could avoid any more hardship and Nila could avoid death.

I can give you that, Nila. I can give you a long life free from me.

“Do it,” I commanded, my voice firm with conviction. “It seems our wishes have finally aligned, Father. I wish to die. You wish to have a different heir. There’s only one logical conclusion.”

Gathering my threadbare energy, I somehow climbed to my feet. I used the wall as a cane and swayed like a drunkard, but I was on two feet—equal to Cut standing before me.

Cut raised the gun, pointing at my heart.

All fear was gone. I was happy with this sacrifice. I finally found a purpose for my screwed-up life, and Nila would be safe to live without being beheaded.

It’s the right thing—the noble thing to do.

And thanks to Daniel’s beating, perhaps I’d paid enough tax to find my way into heaven, rather than purgatory.

“You truly are twisted,” Cut snarled. “How can you piss me off and make me proud all at the same time?”

I stiffened. I didn’t need his mind games anymore. I needed an ending. I want it over with. “Just do it.” I held out my hands, one clutching the water bottle and the other the white container that rattled with who knew what. “You know you want to.”

Cut paced away, dragging a hand through his hair. “No, I do not want to! I’m not a fucking monster, Jethro. I’m trying to save your fucking life, not end it!” He stormed back, waving the deadly weapon in my face. “You know what? Death is too easy for someone like you. You’re too damn strong, and I refuse to put an end to a man who could rule our name as it needs to be ruled. Kestrel is a good man, but he isn’t steadfast like you. And Daniel—” He rolled his eyes. “He’s a fucking maniac who would whittle away our fortune in years.” Tapping the gun against his chin, his eyes came alight with a plan.

My gut twisted.

Fuck.

“There’s a new condition to my offer.”

I’d been so close to saving her.

I fought the urge to hunch in defeat. “Spit it out.”

“If you die…if you kill yourself, plan an accident, or find some other way to end it thinking you can protect that little Weaver Whore, then I’ll give her to Daniel. Do you hear me?”

My temper roared. “But he’s not firstborn—”

“I don’t care about the fucking rules anymore, Jet. Because of you, all of this is a complicated fuck-up. That girl will pay. She wears the collar. It will come off. And the Debt Inheritance will be paid—with or without you.”

I didn’t bother to ask how we’d sort out the media mess and get her back. My family was entirely too resourceful. Her escape was merely an interlude, and I was fucking kidding myself if I thought differently.

My heart galloped with hatred. “What are you saying?”

“If you do what I ask, you can continue to extract the debts. No one will lay a hand on her unless you command it. She’ll remain yours and in your protection until the Final Debt.”

My bruised hands tightened around the bottles. “And how do you propose I do that?” I laughed, the dark chuckle sounded like insects in the catacombs’ echoing chambers. “Let’s end the bullshit, Father. You know what I am. We both know I can’t change. Why bother keeping me alive when I’ll only cause more fucking hardship? Just get it over with. Forget about the Weavers. Forget about me. Just forget all of it and put an end to this madness.”

Cut grinned; the evilness I was used to overshadowed his pity for me. “I’ll never forget, Jet. A true Hawk never forgets.” Pointing at the white bottle in my hand, he muttered, “That will fix you. Make you my true son instead of this diseased creature before me.”

I winced as if he’d struck me again. Nothing like a few kind words from a father to make a kid feel adored.

“Get yourself under control. No matter what you think of me, I want you to inherit.”

Putting the water bottle down, I summoned strength and twisted off the lid of the small vial. I glanced inside. It was hard to see with the meagre light, but the tiny moon-shaped tablets gave me equal measure of despair and hope.

I looked up. “Drugs?”

Cut nodded. “Before this shitty debacle, you’d impressed me the past few years. You listened and obeyed. You showed such promise. I can’t dispatch you when I still believe you can be cured.”

I blinked. Was this my father? The man who’d threatened me all my life. He’d had a sudden change of heart?

“You know these don’t work on me. We’ve tried enough in the past.” Nothing worked. From antipsychotics to beta-blockers and downers. They were all the same—useless.

Cut put the safety on and shoved the gun down his waistband. The cocky confidence of winning already infected him. “These are different. Not even on the market yet.”