Blood Money (Dark Cartel Romance) (Dinero de Sangre Book 1)

by Lana Sky

  It’s about an inch wide, formed of polished white leather, with a golden clasp responsible for the subtle weight I feel against my throat. One detail that separates it from an innocent necklace, however, is the distinct indent in the center of the golden clasp—a keyhole. A few inches down from it, is a golden ring embedded in the leather, protruding slightly. The perfect attachment for a leash.

  I’ve seen dog collars more subtle.

  My eyelids flutter helplessly as moisture forms beneath them, burning and searing, blurring my vision. I barely see Ines’ face as she takes one of my hands, urging me after her. She’s a blob of color against this otherwise stark white realm.

  I follow her blindly, shocked when we appear in another room as if teleported there. I think I recognize it. A large circular foyer bathed in sunlight, with windows and doorways arching from it; the same place I woke up in last night.

  “Morning, Ada-Maria.” This iteration of Domino Valenciaga is still almost unrecognizable, dressed in black, the top buttons of his shirt undone. He sits before a small round table set for two and beckons me closer with a wave of his hand. “Thank you, Ines.”

  From the corner of my eye, I see the woman rush from the room, leaving us alone.

  I’m tired enough to assume that the figure before me couldn’t possibly be the man I’ve spent five years near. They don’t even carry themselves the same. The Domino who served my father did so quietly in the background, his posture such that, even with his bulk, he could seamlessly blend into the scenery when necessary.

  And, during the moments my father needed to make a point, the man could serve as a menacing, unmistakable presence.

  “You…” My throat is so dry it hurts to speak louder than a whisper. Even then, I have to battle with the chirping of nearby birds and the rustling of the wind through the room’s linen curtains to be heard. “You killed Papa—”

  “Bygones,” Domino says forcefully with another wave. His lips form an expression far too emotionless to be called a smile. It’s merely the shadow of one. “I suggest you focus on preserving your own life, Ada-Maria.”

  Fear and exhaustion go to war over what little part of my mind is functional enough to think logically.

  Focus, Papa would say. Ignore the emotion. You are a Pavalos, not some sniveling whore. Act like it.

  “Have a seat.” Again, Domino waves toward the chair across from him, but I don’t move.

  “Where am I?”

  Not in Terra Rodea. I can’t quite explain why, but the air tastes different than it does in the heart of the city. We must be somewhere beyond it. The countryside? Far from the city limits to justify the expansive gardens I remember from last night.

  In the light of day, the architecture of this room alone is blatantly opulent. Though minimal, I can tell this property is expensive. A house perhaps, in the style of the older villas like the kind my uncle Rodrigo owns in Mexico. Regardless, it’s somewhere that even the best-paid bodyguard would have trouble affording.

  In fact, anyone who could purchase such an estate wouldn’t need to work a menial job at all.

  Seconds tick by as I realize he deliberately left my question unanswered. His eyes rake over my body, and I’m painfully reminded of how thin this dress is. I wasn’t supplied any underwear, and the warm breeze blowing in ruffles the short hemline, snatching it from my body in a way that risks exposing what little the material does cover. All I can do is press it flat with both hands.

  A rich, deep laugh rings out, startling me so badly I nearly lose my grip in shock.

  “Please, Ada-Maria. The longer you delay with pointless questions, the more you prolong our much overdue discussion. You know where you are,” he declares, his eyes narrowing. “The gist of it, anyway. Somewhere far beyond your father’s influence. So, I suggest you drop the sheltered princess routine and act accordingly.”

  Something in his tone spurs me forward. I’m shaking, my knees knocking together with every step I take. When I grip the back of the chair to pull it out, I nearly tip it over.

  A tanned hand shoots out, gripping the wooden frame just inches from where mine rests.

  “Allow me.” He stands, triggering a rush of cologne and musk to hit my nose in a battering wave. Did he always smell like this? Intoxicating, but in a bad way. Too many nuanced scents to make sense of all at once. My brain aches with the effort, and I’m caught off guard when he appears directly behind me.

  “Sit.” The heat of his breath is scalding, raising sweat that instantly glues the thin layer of fabric to my skin.

  I obey—my knees bending to drop me on the edge of the chair—more out of a need to put any amount of distance between us that I can.

  My heartbeat plays an unsettling melody as he lingers behind me. The murmuring nature isn’t loud enough to drown out the ragged sound of his inhale. Alarm shoots through me, straightening my spine.

  God only knows what he wants with me, and, for the first time, I toy with the more dangerous possibilities I haven’t let myself consider before. Rape. Torture. Murder.

  He’s made you wear a goddamn collar, Ada—

  “I will tell you when it’s time to fear me,” Domino says, his tone casual as he reclaims his chair. He could be referring to the weather if the words alone didn’t contain a thinly veiled threat. “I suggest you save your energy for when that moment comes. In the meantime, relax. I’ve had Ines prepare some tea.”

  As he speaks, I notice the white porcelain teapot resting before him, pale enough to blend in with the table’s ivory surface. An exotic scent emanates from it, tickling my nose. It’s unlike any tea I’ve ever smelled.

  Instantly, my suspicions run wild—especially considering one fact that occurs to me now. “You drugged me.”

  He laughs again, sitting back in his seat. While holding my gaze, he snaps his fingers, and a different woman appears from the direction of the terrace. Racing forward, she scrambles to pour the steaming liquid from the kettle into two delicate cups.

  “The men I hired to apprehend you drugged you,” Domino says, reaching for the nearest teacup. “Though, given your history, I’m sure it was nothing your system couldn’t handle. Already, you’re awake and alert. What a miracle. Another woman your size would still be unconscious.”

  I stiffen at the implied insult, swallowing hard. This very man must have sat across from my father all these years while he received every frantic phone call and wrote the check for every therapist or brief stint in rehab. My father didn’t give a damn about my habit in general. Only to the extent that it might reflect poorly on him if I were stupid enough to be caught high in public.

  But even my father wouldn’t dare use my sobriety against me. The full extent of the danger facing me sinks in like a gut punch. This man is no stranger. He’s seen me at my lowest throughout the years and watched my father navigate some of the most challenging moments in my life. He knows the Pavalos family in and out.

  And he betrayed us.

  “Drink, Ada-Maria,” he says before sipping from his own cup.

  I eye my hand, pale and limp, against the table’s surface. In slow motion, I watch those fingers twitch to life, and every digit extend outward. Then I bat the teacup and send it flying, spraying boiling liquid in an arch.

  It falls short, landing inches from my feet. Stray drops speckle my thigh, and I flinch at the searing pain.

  And yet, the effect is clear—defiance.

  “You will pay for that.” Domino barely pauses before taking his next sip to utter the threat, but I feel it resonate down to my very core.

  The way his voice vibrates through flesh and bone seems to shake a million different revelations loose all at once. Primarily one.

  Run, Ada!

  I jerk to my feet, pushing the chair over in my haste. I don’t know which doorway leads to an exit. I pick the direction of the terrace, racing out into the blinding sun.

  The beauty I find is such a stark contrast to the fear building in my veins. As every atr
ocity I’ve witnessed flashes through my mind, it’s like my surroundings become even more dreamlike to counter the brutality.

  It’s as if the world itself is mocking me.

  The morbid images of Tristan’s death don’t match with the beautiful blue sky visible from a swath of swaying palm trees and potted ferns. The horror of being drugged clashes with the bountiful gardens that seem to go on forever beyond this balcony.

  The casual setting of white lounge chairs around a pristine fire pit doesn’t seem capable of holding the smoldering remains of a human body.

  My father…

  I sway and trip, landing hard on my right knee, tasting blood on my tongue. The sunlight lances through my skull every time I blink, my brain on fire, the noise of birds and insects swelling to a buzzing drone that grows louder and louder…

  I’m suffocating.

  “I didn’t want to use this unless absolutely necessary.” Like ice, that voice banishes all else in its wake. The world goes dead silent as a shadow falls over me, dark enough to obscure all traces of sunlight.

  The devil looms above, his eyes ablaze. They aren’t completely dark, I realize. I’ve never been close enough to make out the subtle green lurking beneath the swaths of brown before. A hellish hazel.

  Much like this property, he’s too beautiful to seem capable of sowing the fear that breaks loose, constricting my chest and flooding my eyes with tears.

  I can’t breathe. Can’t think.

  I can only stare as he reaches for my throat and his thick fingers snag the thin leather of my collar.

  He’s choking me…

  Abruptly, he lets go. Something swings between us as he steps back, and it takes my brain almost a full second to name it. A thin golden chain that feels surprisingly heavy. One end is looped around his fist, and the other…

  He tugs, and my body jerks forward, forcing me to brace my weight over my hands. I gag as the pressure around my throat tightens. With one hand, I reach up, feeling along the leather until my fingers strike the once inexplicable ring of gold. Only now it’s not empty—he’s attached the other end of the chain to it.

  Like a leash.

  “On your feet,” he demands.

  The pressure returns, tight enough to crush my throat. My body moves automatically to lessen the discomfort, and I stagger to my feet, my eyes watering.

  He’s cruel, stalking ahead at a seemingly leisurely pace that I have to lurch to keep up with. I realize, horrified, that he isn’t heading inside.

  From my peripheral vision, I see other people lurking in the fields or passing beyond the archways inside the house. Servants? None seem alarmed by the man dragging me to the edge of the balcony.

  “Take it in, Ada-Maria. Would you like to guess where we are?”

  I sense that he doesn’t require an answer.

  Regardless, I blink, struggling to make sense of the fields in a different context from their sheer beauty. It’s warmer here than it should be this time of year. The foreign scent in the air is more potent now.

  I can’t even begin to guess where we are.

  “I wanted to draw out this moment, I will admit,” Domino explains, winding the chain around his fist, forcing me closer. Closer. My feet wobble in these heels, threatening my precarious balance.

  Suddenly, I’m thrown forward, forced to grapple for the railing to keep from flying over it. I taste my pulse as I eye the stone courtyard awaiting below.

  “It is a beautiful view,” Domino says. “This home has been in my family for generations. The land, at least. I’m surprised you don’t remember it.”

  Remember?

  He’s insane—or worse, he’s toying with me, playing with word games and riddles. Irritation combats the fear just long enough for me to choke out a reply.

  “You were a guard.”

  He laughs at the insinuation.

  “I was a guard,” he echoes, his voice booming. “How the hell could I afford so much as a stone? It’s how your father taught you to see the world. In numbers and worth. In your limited thinking, someone like me could never amass a fortune of his own. Only on the back of men like Don Roy.”

  I tremble at the title. How soon have I forgotten what he called my father day in and day out. Don Roy. Typically, he uttered it with a quiet reverence that always irritated me for reasons I can’t explain.

  Everyone spoke of my father the same way. Like he was God. A man so righteous he commanded respect from even his enemies.

  I used to wonder if they were that desperate for a paycheck to grovel before him or just that blinded by money and power. They thought those fragile symbols of power made a man invincible.

  Now, I sense it was all an act—at least where Domino Valenciaga is concerned. He never respected my father. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be able to say his name with such disdain.

  I don’t know why that realization startles me so damn much.

  My therapist claimed my drug use stemmed from a lack of control in my life. I would describe it more like exhaustion. I became so damn tired of playing my role like the perfect daughter worthy of the magnanimous Roy Pavalos. I always suspected that everyone around me was doing the same, merely going through the motions like automatons at one of those arcade-style restaurants my parents took me to as a child. We all sing and dance and play by the rules provided to us, knowing that everyone else is in on the show. It’s all smoke and mirrors, but we’d die to keep the performance running smoothly.

  It’s another thing entirely to watch someone willfully drop the façade, exposing just how fake it all truly is, how false my life has always been.

  A game. A lie. A twisted play.

  A routine I have no idea how to survive outside of.

  Chapter Five

  “H-How?” I croak, craning my neck to face him. His grip on the leash keeps me hunched over. From this angle, I can only see his profile, stern and emotionless.

  “How could I afford this?” He gestures with a wave of his free hand to the gardens. They extend as far as the eye can see. “Or how could I slip under your father’s radar for so long? Don’t play coy, Ada-Maria. Ignorance doesn’t suit you. In fact, I’ll humor your questions, so ask them while you can.”

  I suck in a breath. I’m shivering, my teeth chattering despite the sweat I can feel beading over the back of my neck. It’s swelteringly hot in the direct sun.

  “Where are we?”

  “That question I won’t answer just yet,” he says with a laugh.

  The chain flashes in the light as he manipulates it so that I’m fully upright, no longer leaning over the railing.

  “Try another.”

  “My father…” The rest of the words die in my throat. I don’t expect the tears that fall, blinding me to everything else. Wracking sobs rip from my chest, and I welcome them. I don’t care if it’s a display of weakness. At least I can’t hear. I can’t think.

  As long as I give into the fear, I’m unaware of anything else.

  Until my windpipe is being crushed by the pressure of the collar. I’m on my knees, gasping for air. I’m choking…

  I’m dying…

  “Look at me.”

  I sputter as the pressure loosens enough for me to look up into the impassive face of the man before me. He’s crouched on one knee, the chain wound almost entirely around his fist.

  “I won’t tolerate your fear,” he tells me. “Your sniveling attempts at innocence. I am not one of your many, many paramours, Ada-Maria. When you speak to me, you speak with conviction. No games. Understood?”

  The chain clatters as he loosens his grasp, letting nearly the entire length pool on the courtyard between us.

  I flinch back, bracing my hands against the stone beneath me. This dress is too small, bunched around my thighs, the neckline gaping below my chest enough for him to see everything at a glance.

  I bolt upright onto my knees, grappling to cover my exposed breasts.

  He laughs in a way that makes me feel completely naked. Str
ipped. Every low chuckle creeps beneath this gauzy fabric in a way his eyes—or his hands—never could.

  “What did you really mean to ask me?” he prods.

  I rub my throat until I catch my breath again. “You killed my father.” It feels so strange to admit. A part of me doesn’t believe it.

  Someone like Roy Pavalos can’t just die. He can’t wind up turning on a spit over an open fire.

  He was larger than life, a creature I always assumed was too big to ever fall. Even a jail sentence wouldn’t stop him for long.

  “There now,” Domino growls, his eyes gleaming. “Continue.”

  I lick my lips to gain enough traction to croak a single word. “Why?”

  “Why gut your father like a pig?” He smiles, and I recoil, feeling my heart hammer against my ribcage. It’s not the expression alone that inspires the reaction—objectively, it’s a beautiful grin, enhancing the strange greenish hue to his eyes—but what alarms me is the fact that it’s real. He’s enjoying this. “I’m sure you can think of several reasons. I want you to pick one, Ada-Maria.”

  I manipulate my tongue to reply. “He trusted you.”

  And he did, allowing his virtual shadow to accompany him everywhere. At his office. Family gatherings. His political meetings. There wasn’t a place Roy Pavalos went without his trusty protector Domino.

  Part of the reason was that, as a man in his position, his life was always in danger. But there was another explanation, one my father would boast about on any occasion where he happened to drink too much wine. Smiling with pride, he’d discuss the origin of how he met his valuable friend and asset. Hell, I think he staked part of his political campaign on it.

  Roy Pavalos, el Salvador.

  The savior of all.

  “He saved you—”

  Stars explode to life before me, rivaling the intensity of the sun. My ears are ringing, my tongue flooded with the taste of salt. When I gasp in shock, I realize why. My mouth is on fire. Throbbing. Bleeding…

  And Domino’s fist is raised, his eyes so dark they suck all the warmth from the world itself, like smoldering coals feeding on anything remotely peaceful. He is hell incarnate.