by Lana Sky
No, I decide, looking at him. He merely wants another way to get inside my head.
“You did,” I point out.
“Yes.” He stabs at a green vegetable and brings it to his mouth. “I did. Which reminds me…” He pushes back from the table as well and motions with his hand. “Stand up.”
My first impulse is to immediately sink into my chair.
His eyes take on that hard gleam again. He isn’t asking. “I said stand up—”
I nearly knock over my chair in my haste to comply. When I do, he jerks his chin, and I step back from the table.
“Turn around.”
My cheeks flame as I spin. When his low growl catches my ears, I go rigid.
“Goddamn,” he rasps.
I don’t know why I look. Something well beyond fear compels me to. When I glance over my shoulder, I find him stroking his jaw, his eyes on my sore, rent skin. Only by watching him do I catch his lips move and make sense of the rough grumble of syllables to leave his mouth next.
“So fucking beautiful.”
Beautiful. Only a monster would find beauty in blood and pain. Whatever drug he gave me has long since worn off. I can feel every stinging, burning inch, and it hurts. But when I delve into that pain, my wounds don’t seem to be the source of it. Just a selfish, vain realization.
He finds me beautiful only like this, bloodied and broken.
But he fucked Alexi with her perfect flawless skin. He didn’t have to whip her.
“I always knew there was something wrong with you.” The words are flying off my tongue, and it’s too late to choke them back. I blame the wine.
From his amused glance, I assume he does as well.
“You did, did you?” He returns to the table and pours himself a serving of wine. Then he reaches for my glass and fills it as well. “Is that what you were thinking every time you pranced before me in one of those tight ass little skirts? That I was wrong for you?”
I grit my teeth. “I could have anyone in Terra Rodea,” I snap.
He nods and takes a slow sip of wine. “Anyone but me.”
He’s right.
I think of him again with Alexi. Fucking that bitch.
Impulsively, I stagger to the table, snatching my glass of wine. I start to bring it to my mouth but sometime during the motion, I pivot and hurl it against the wall instead.
It shatters, and the liquid goes flying, staining the white wall like blood.
“You’ll wish you hadn’t done that,” Domino warns.
Pride is a strong enough barrier against fear. “If I wanted you, I could have had you,” I tell him. “You think you’re better than any other sycophant to circle around my father like a vulture? You’re all the same, with the same greedy cock and the same taste for a tiny waist and big tits. In fact, you were never worth my time—”
I don’t even see him move.
My chin is in his grasp before I know it, wrenched back until I have no choice but to meet his gaze.
“And if I wanted you, I would have had you dripping wet any time of day and anywhere, wouldn’t I, Ada-Maria? God, you couldn’t hide it even if you tried. I only had to snap my fingers, and you’d suck my cock in a heartbeat, wouldn’t you? Even in the bath…”
He trails off, but my brain picks up the sordid taunt for him. When he touched me, I reacted the exact opposite way a woman should respond to her captor. With insatiable need, like a shameless whore.
Stab. I want to stab him with the syringe, injecting every ounce of Ativan. God, I want to. My fingers twitch with the desire, and I wrench out of his grasp, contemplating running to my room and grabbing the vial now. Seizing my chance.
Wait. It takes effort to choke down the shame and rage and find the tendril of logic lurking beneath. I can’t be stupid and waste my only chance at escape. A better route would be to milk him for whatever I can and lure him into relaxing his guard.
“You were always so transparent, Ada-Maria,” Domino taunts, drawing my notice again. I wonder if he’s been speaking to me all this time. “So desperate. So fucking pathetic—”
“Then what do you want with me, then?” I try not to let the pain in my voice show.
I fail.
Regardless, I turn to him, meeting those cold green eyes once more.
“Why kill my father but take me?”
“Why?” He laughs and snags my chin again. Using it as an anchor, he drags me toward him, bringing our faces within an inch of each other’s. “I want something from you, Ada-Maria. Something that your father entrusted into your pathetic, weak little brain. I want you to be honest with me. Where is the Inglecias file?”
I rip out of his grasp. “Don’t touch me—”
“Then answer me.” He advances a step, his expression colder than ever. “Where is the fucking file?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
“God damnit…” He’s closer in an instant, pressing his thumb against my bottom lip so hard it clips against my teeth. “You’re stupid, Ada, but not that stupid. Though sometimes, I will admit. You have me fooled.”
His voice… It’s dangerous, rumbling through my belly. So deep. So hoarse.
The way I’d imagine him sounding during sex, too drunk on lust to give a damn about maintaining his ruse as a stoic bodyguard.
Enough! I shake my head to snap out of it. It’s the damn wine addling my senses. Nothing more.
But then why is he frowning, still stroking my lip. Over and over again. “Give me what I want,” he tells me, contorting his voice into a mockery of gentleness. The effect is more alarming than when he shouts. “Be a good girl, and I’ll make this easier on you. Though admittedly, your fate is already far beyond my hands, Ada-Maria—”
“Get off me!”
I strike his chest with the flat of my hand and stagger away from him, crashing into the table as a result. Without looking, I feel along the polished surface for a weapon. Something. Anything. Then, as if by a miracle, my finger catches the edge of something sharp. Alarmingly sharp.
I find a dull surface to grab and brandish my weapon before me.
“Leave me alone.”
Rather than cower in alarm, he laughs. “You couldn’t use that on me even if you wanted to. Here, I’ll help.” In two strides, he’s practically on top of me, snatching my wrist—but rather than wrench the knife away, he manipulates my grasp until I’m holding the tip against his throat.
“Go on and do it, Ada-Maria,” he goads. “If you go straight into the artery, it’s easy. There will be no resistance from any muscle or bone—at first. Until the full extent of the bleeding kicks in. I hope you like a nice, hot shower because that’s what it will feel like—” his voice softens, damn near a whisper. “A warm, relaxing shower that tastes like salt and will stain that pretty little dress. So do it. I’ll even get it started for you...”
Horrified, I watch as he tightens his grip, driving the tip of the blade into his skin. He bleeds in a fat bead of scarlet that wells up right over the edge of the knife.
“N-No!” I pull back, and he lets me go. Off-balance, I stagger back and trip, landing on my knees.
“Thought so.” He shrugs, knife in hand, and brushes his thumb along the small nick on his neck. “A damn shame—” he brings that finger to his mouth and licks the tip. “I was looking forward to it. Your body covered in blood has always been a fantasy of mine.”
I choke. At the back of my mind, I realize this is exactly what he wants—to push me to the brink. I’m playing right into his hands by shivering, gaping in fear.
My father operated the same way. Men like them rule by terror. The ability to sow confusion and doubt in their enemies so that they never see the knife poised to stab them in the back. I can’t resist glancing over my shoulder just in case.
“I’ll warn you, Ada-Maria,” Domino says. “I’m almost bored of our game. Give me something useful if you want to play a little longer. Inglecias. Where did the bastard keep the file?”
<
br /> I truly don’t know, but I sense that now isn’t the time to admit that. Instead, I ask the obvious question and pray it doesn’t set him off. “Why do you care?”
He blinks, his eyes narrowing. “Information is money,” he says, switching back to that disarming growl. “Let’s just say I know someone willing to pay a damn lot for said information. Where is the Inglecias file—”
“It’s personal to you, isn’t it?” I ask, seeing through the lie. Still, I’m not completely sure I’m right until a muscle in his jaw lurches angrily.
“Where is it?”
“Did you know Pia?”
How could he, though?
We knew everything there was to know about each other. Or at least, we did. Weeks before she went missing, my charming, chatty friend grew quiet and evasive about what she did in her free time. And with whom.
I do have my own life, you realize? she sniped at me once, too busy eying a delicate silver ring on her left hand to even look at me.
Soon, she wasn’t just keeping secrets. Our meetings after school became shorter and more infrequent, but she wasn’t in any extracurriculars to explain all those consumed hours. I even asked her once, if she were seeing a boy.
Her response was a sly smirk and a wink. I could be, though I wouldn’t call him a boy. Why, Adie? Are you jealous?
Of course, I was, and out of sheer pride, I never asked her again. Domino is in his early thirties now, meaning he would have been in his twenties back then. Too old? For a normal teenager, perhaps, but I soon learned that Pia’s taste skewed far older than that.
Which makes Domino a fitting candidate, nonetheless.
“Congratulations, Ada-Maria,” Domino says dryly. “You have managed to bore me—”
“Have I?” A dangerous stunt comes to mind. It’s stupid, but I have nothing left to lose. He claims to not care? Then he can prove it. I wet my lips with the tip of my tongue and say, “Pia Inglecias was a stupid, dumb bitch, and she deserved whatever the hell she got.”
He lunges, his eyes flashing. I don’t think he even realizes what he’s done until his hand is already around my throat, snatching the chain and pulling so tight my eyes bulge.
“How dare you even talk about her?”
“So you knew her,” I croak, my eyes watering.
He lets me go as I grapple with the fact that I managed to pry some sliver of information loose from him. He couldn’t fake that kind of anger. He knew Pia.
And that irrational sense of jealousy returns. I am ten times better than Alexi Rojas in every goddamn way. But Pia? She was always the brighter star of our trio, shining so fiercely I was all but invisible in her shadow.
But back then, I didn’t mind being invisible. As the stereotypical ugly fat friend, I think I was at my happiest. I could live as Ada without being seen as my father’s tool or a hot piece of ass. In so many ways, it was a better existence than having to stand on my own. Even forty pounds lighter, with a full face of makeup, I always knew at the back of my mind that if Pia were still here, I wouldn’t come close.
Domino loving her…that I could understand.
“If you knew her,” I croak, rubbing at my throat, “then you probably have a better idea of what happened to her than I do, or my father. She was barely talking to me when she left.”
A fact that my father used to his advantage. Why show loyalty to someone who only ever used you? he demanded. I am the only one who will ever protect you. Go do this for me…
“And even now, you continue to play dumb,” Domino hisses. The level of disgust in his voice stings. Almost as much as his anger confuses me. “Pia Inglecias is dead,” he says. “Don’t look so fucking surprised. I’m sure you know when, where, and have been dancing on her grave for the past ten years. Your father kept meticulous records concerning all of that, I’m sure. How he blackmailed the Inglecias family and tried to have them killed—”
“Pia… She’s not dead.” I can barely say those words out loud. I haven’t, not once since she’s been missing—even if I’ve suspected as much in the pit of my soul. She can’t be dead. She ran away because she bit off more than she could chew. As for blackmail…
My father wouldn’t waste time trying to threaten anyone to keep them silent. He’d cover his tracks too well to care.
“She ran away,” I say slowly. I could laugh at the expression on his face. Or scream. “If you were fucking her back then, you’d know that—”
“Pia is dead.” His voice rings out, chillingly final. “Stop with the little girl lost act. Your father killed her. You know that—”
“No.” I shake my head. “No, he wouldn’t.”
“And how can you be so fucking sure of that? He’s killed women before. Children—”
“No!” I stagger to my feet. “He wouldn’t kill Pia, because I had to make sure he wouldn’t. I’m sure he gave her some money and made her skip town—”
“What do you mean?” He sounds so hoarse. So desperate that I almost forget the monster I’m speaking to.
“Pia stole from us,” I say, gutted by the admission years later.
My nearest and dearest friend turned out to be like everyone else in my shitty life—interested in me only as far as my last name went.
“She used me to break into my father’s private office, and she took money from the safe. A lot of money. My father was so pissed…” I shiver at the thought, feeling the marks on my back prickle. Not the new ones—the older ones that may have superficially healed, but they always cut deeper than my skin. “He told me that he didn’t want to press charges. He just wanted her to know how it felt to have someone steal something important. So, I snuck into her room and took her diary. He was going to use it as leverage to make her return the money.”
In retrospect, it was just a stupid act, too petty to despair over. In reality, I was saving Pia from a hell of a lot worse. But still, I never felt dirtier than I did then.
Until I read said journal, of course, and felt even worse…
“I’m sure he gave her some of the money,” I blurt, aware of Domino waiting. “And she skipped town, too ashamed to show her face.”
“She’s dead.” Something in his voice makes me look at him again. His eyes are glazed, his lips set in a firm line that makes me suspect that he’s moved beyond anger. He’s suspicious. And confused.
“I wouldn’t lie about something like that.”
“No,” he admits, and I’m startled by the sigh of relief that rips through me. “You spoiled little fool. Pia didn’t steal money from that bastard. She stole—” He breaks off, stopping himself from revealing too much. “Now I know why Roy kept you so fucking close all this time. It wasn’t because you were in on his schemes. You were just dumb enough to believe him at every turn. I’m sure that helped him sleep at night.”
He isn’t joking. He’s dead serious.
“Stop talking like you know me! You don’t know me!”
“Don’t I?” His eyes flash, warning me to tread carefully. “I’ve known you from that very first day in Don Roy’s office, Ada-Maria. I saw you then in crystal-clear focus. A woman with enough beauty to get a man hard in seconds. And the brains of a fucking bunny rabbit. You react to every man the same and prance around, noticing only those with a nice credit card or a sexy sports car—with your Papa’s permission, of course. Am I too far off?”
“Yes. You’re wrong,” I snap.
But he’s not.
Fully aware of that, he smirks, his eyes glittering. “How so? The brains part? Or your choice in men? Tell me, in between that lawyer you’re fucking and the old man you let screw you a month before dating him, where am I off base?”
My cheeks heat with shame because he’s right. I wait for him to grind my nose in my biggest fault of all—wanting him.
“I’m surprised you knew my name, Ada-Maria. At least beyond being your father’s dutiful lackey.”
And there I have it. It’s stupid to cling to this one shred of triumph, but I do.
<
br /> “I wanted you more than anyone,” I blurt, sounding smug for once. “Always.”
His smirk falls. “For a viper, bred from a family of liars, you sure are terrible at it.”
Though I should be lying. I shouldn’t want to prove him wrong. Obviously, this is bait to goad me into the trap of admitting my attraction to him. Still, I can’t seem to resist tripping right into it.
“I always wanted you,” I tell him, licking my lips as my mouth suddenly goes dry. He doesn’t race to cut me off this time. He’s watching, waiting. “Always. I watched you every night, in front of the guesthouse. I always tried to speak to you. And when I was in bed alone, I’d—”
I’ve said too much. My chest is heaving as every breath becomes a struggle. This dress feels too tight. My back is on fire, and beneath his gaze, I’ve never felt smaller, as fragile as the wine glass lying in pieces across the room.
Because in this moment, at least, all he wants to do is shatter me.
“I am not one of your old men, Ada-Maria,” he warns. “Don’t play your mind games on me.”
A suggestion I am more than willing to heed. I’m so tired. I think of that bed in the room he’s made my cell—but not the drugs hidden beneath my mattress. I just want to hide.
“Don’t you dare run from me.”
I’m spinning on my heel anyway, racing for the door. My thoughts are a blur. I don’t even have a clear aim in mind but to run. When I finally make out a direction, I realize that I’m not heading toward that large, rounded door. I’m staggering into that white bedroom instead.
I can hear him behind me, his steps deliberately slow. Thump. Thump. They echo as steadily as the ticking of those clocks he has. As relentless and inescapable as time itself.
Think! I move to the bed, gripping the end of the mattress just as he appears in the doorway.
“I think I’ve grown tired enough of these games, Ada-Maria.” He takes a step, and the harsh, pristine backdrop merely serves to illustrate how massive he truly is. So tall, with muscle straining against the sleeves of his shirt. The sliver of his chest visible ripples, his body tense with rage.