by Lana Sky
He’s right—and how much might he stand to gain by selling me? I don’t want to know.
Instead, I just pray he goes to sleep while I visually measure the distance between me and the vial. No longer is this a long shot attempt—it has to work. I’m so close. I only have to shift over an inch and reach beneath the mattress to grab it.
But then comes the logistics of getting the medicine into the syringe and injecting him without drawing his notice.
Worry about that as you go, a part of me warns. I’ve come too far to back down now.
“You aren’t curious,” he points out, reinforcing that he’s still very much awake. Fully in control. “I’ll admit, selling you might not have been my original plan—” I shiver as palpable anger stretches his voice taut. If this is him holding back, I shudder to imagine what his original plan may have been. “But then I asked myself, why disrupt what was already in place?”
I catch that low note in his voice. It’s a taunt, daring me to question.
“What do you mean?”
“Your boyfriend,” he says. “Tristan, was that his name? He’s been planning it for a while, Ada-Maria. To lure you somewhere far beyond your Daddy’s control. Arrange for a violent ‘kidnapping.’ Have you whisked away right under his nose and profit from selling you to an underground trafficking ring. It was a pretty solid plan when all is said and done. One I’m sure he didn’t devise on his own. All of it calculated to catapult him as the chosen media darling to speak out against the rampant violence against women crusade your father championed. Bravo—” he claps. “Sadly for him, he didn’t plan everything as meticulously.”
“You killed him,” I rasp, but some of my initial horror is tempered by the grim reality that I don’t believe he was lying.
My God…
I think back to how eager Tristan was to meet me, despite having blown off previous dates for important meetings or dinners with his father’s influential contacts. I suspected he was planning his own political run.
One of the main reasons my father sent me in his direction in the first place.
But this… It’s a level of ruthless, cruel calculation that has frankly become the norm in Terra Rodea. Everyone sees anyone else as either a prize to be won or a rung to step over on the ascent to power. Tristan, my father, Alexi. They’re all one and the same.
Ironically, the only person I ever suspected to be any different lies beside me now, the most cut-throat and cynical of them all.
“His plan didn’t go accordingly,” Domino says, in response to my last accusation. He sounds so unbothered by it all. So cold.
Any remaining heat on my skin cools, and I’m freezing—and yet this moment feels too fragile that I don’t dare slip beneath the covers.
“I always thought you were different from him,” I say, though I’m not sure why I choose now to make this confession. Though, there’s no better time than the present, especially if I can’t find a way to escape, my destiny leaves no other chance to say these words to him. In a sense, it’s cathartic to get them out. “My father. I used to think that you were too kind to belong in his orbit.”
“Kind,” he echoes with obvious skepticism at that word choice. “Was that before or after I performed hits on his enemies? Before or after I threatened his rivals and paid off the many women he fucked outside of his marriage? You have a warped perspective on kindness, Ada-Maria—”
“You were different,” I insist tiredly. On paper, his actions are just as horrific as Roy Pavalos’, but I always sensed an intangible quality to him that set him apart from the others. My father surrounded himself with cutthroats, cowards, and despots. None of them would drag me from a highway in the middle of the night without demanding something in return. None of them would make sure my mother always had her secret prescriptions filled while my father was too busy playing politician to care that she was dying.
I’m ashamed to admit it, but even I haven’t been there for her. I love her, but from a distance, admiring her gentle calm and the grace I never inherited. The reality is we’re virtual strangers. By the time I turned fifteen, she was already a specter in my father’s shadow, meekly agreeing to send me away to a school rather than go against him. And yet Domino deferred to her with perhaps even more reverence that he displayed toward my father. No one else blended duty with humanity the way he did. I saw it myself.
“So naïve,” he murmurs.
Something disrupts my matted, sweat-soaked hair—his hand, I realize, running over my scalp to smooth back the strands.
“So trusting. You hit the trifecta, Ada-Maria. Saint fucking Teresa herself.”
“You don’t have to mock me.” I shift away from him before I remember how important it is that I remain close to the edge, focused on my ultimate goal. I can’t let emotion distract me now. I’m so close.
“You’re right.” He starts to sit up, twisting toward the opposite end of the mattress.
“Wait!” I reach for him, desperate to keep him here any way I can. “Just tell me why. Just tell me, please!”
He pauses, reaching out to graze my jawline with the pad of his thumb. “I like you desperate,” he admits. “So eager to please. Keep this up, and you’ll fetch me a hefty penny at auction.”
I flinch. Auction? That term was designed to throw me off even more than he already has. It’s working.
“I just want to know,” I say, marveling at the fact that he hasn’t shrugged me off. “Were you planning to betray my family all this time? Please…”
“You seem very interested in initiating pillow talk,” he says softly. “I assumed your Tristan wanted to sell you for the clout and money it would garner him. I think I had it all wrong.”
It’s a low blow that resonates more deeply than I’ll ever admit. My eyes sting with the threat of tears. Suppressing them is my first impulse, but I can’t. They fall freely, and Domino’s eyes narrow.
He drags his thumb up to capture one, watching it break open against his skin.
“Fine,” I say, pulling away to curl onto my side. I’m taking a risk by doing so. But it seems to be the only way to reach him. To provoke him outright. “Leave. Prove me wrong. You’re just like him.”
I don’t turn to see how my words land. If anything, I almost hope he does leave. A million different realizations are waiting to descend the second he’s gone. I’ll have to face the aftermath of everything he’s revealed and everything I’ve done…
For now, he stays.
“I want to hear you say it,” he proposes, still in that unsettlingly deep tone. “You say you wanted me. Why? What gets little Ada-Maria’s pussy so damn wet?”
I cringe at the crass language. My only rebuttal is that same childish statement. “You were different.”
He’s sexy enough, but deep down, I can admit to myself that his personality was what kept me watching—the mystery of who Domino Valenciaga might be at his core.
Someone different, I’d hoped, far from the norm of bastards I grew up around.
And yet, he’s not satisfied. “How?” His fingers creep through my hair again, this time tugging as he goes, irritating my already sore scalp. “What about me was so damn special to you?”
“You could ignore me,” I croak, hating how pathetic my voice sounds in comparison to his. Weak. Vulnerable. He doesn’t scoff or deny me outright. No one could lie so tragically. “You didn’t treat me like some trophy. You watched everything and everyone. You seemed fair.”
Men in far lower positions of power than him lorded their influence greedily. As Roy Pavalos’ righthand man, he could have commanded an entire slew of lackeys and women in his own right.
Though, apparently, he had.
I’m dying to ask him about Alexi. How long has he been fucking her, and why? It couldn’t be for her thrilling intellect. It’s aggravating how deeply the bitch managed to integrate herself into my life. First Pia. Now any man I take an interest in.
No one in my orbit is spared her insidious influ
ence.
My assessment of him, however, only seems to amuse Domino. He laughs. “A fair man with an interest in being easily seduced—” a sharp reminder of my last slip-up. Thank God he can’t see my face. “You watched me enough to categorize the women I fuck?”
There’s another taunt lurking somewhere within that phrasing. More importantly, I sense a trap. Damn.
“I… I didn’t have to,” I say carefully. “I saw the closet. You must keep this place busy with a wardrobe as large as that—and expensive. I don’t even think my wardrobe is as well stocked.”
And considering that my only value to my father extended to how I dressed and how he could use my appearance to his advantage, that says a lot.
Domino continues to chuckle, and I stiffen at the sound. It’s harsher. Angry? As if he didn’t mean for me to see that part of this room.
“I’ll make sure Ines is more careful when selecting your clothing from now on,” he warns, and I shudder at the thought of getting the woman into trouble. Though, as he continues stroking my hair, I get the sense that the brunt of his irritation is directed toward me. “As for your little assumption, you’re wrong. Four days ago, was the first time I ever set foot in this house. Not long enough to parade a stream of women through it, unfortunately.”
I marvel at that. He supposedly came here the same day as my abduction, or close to it. Meaning he’s been planning this for a while. Just how long? Perhaps since the day he was first hired…
“So you’ve killed my father. Then you sell me. And then what?” I ask, unsure if I even want to know the answer. “My father has enemies, but he has allies too. Men who will hunt you down like an animal.”
“You forget that I know those men far better than you do,” he points out. “I am always one step ahead, Ada-Maria. The police are still scanning the restaurant, hunting for clues of your disappearance.”
I notice that he specifically doesn’t mention my father. If he were really dead, all of Terra Rodea would be in an uproar, and any missing figure from my father’s orbit would be a suspect. His face is probably plastered all over the city on notices stating he’s wanted for questioning.
Which means wherever this place is, he’s confident no one will find me here. At least not right away.
“We aren’t near Terra Rodea,” I say, risking taking my eyes from him long enough to glance from the window.
“No. We are far away from Terra. Far from the state. Far from the country.”
And somehow, he managed all of this within hours, transporting me supposedly out of the country, all without catching the notice of the authorities.
“Why me?” I ask him, returning my gaze to his face. “I never did anything to you.”
“You want to sleep, then sleep,” he says. “The rumors were true—your mouth is much more bearable with a cock stuffed in it.”
I cringe, my face heating. I hate the thought of him throwing those rumors in my face. Rumors I know for a fact were driven by Alexi.
But he’s right. I want to sleep. I want him to sleep, and hopefully when he does…
I’ll be ready to act.
Chapter Twelve
I startle awake, blinking rapidly through the darkness. Within seconds I realize I’m still in that white room, though now it’s bathed in shadow, the lights off. As I sense the mattress beneath me, my heart plummets with a mixture of dread and shame.
Damn it. I failed, letting down my guard long enough to drift off. Domino is gone, and I’ve blown my one shot at freedom. Numb with despair, I try to sit up and realize that my hair is tangled in something. In someone, their fingers, to be exact...
He hasn’t left.
Slow and steady, his breath fills the air as a dangerous lullaby. I gather the nerve to look up, catching the chiseled line of his jaw, barely visible in the dark. He’s actually asleep, and a terrifying question comes to mind. How long have we been like this?
Beyond the windows, the sky is pitch dark. Hope creeps up my throat as I look back at Domino. I raise my hand, waving it through the air. He doesn’t stir.
Slowly, I gather the nerve to roll unto my side next, lifting my head as high as I dare.
His hand falls free, but he doesn’t move. His eyes are closed, his chest rising and falling steadily. He’s asleep, and I nearly exhale in relief—only the fear that the sound might wake him keeps me silent.
What now?
My first thought is to scan the bed, searching for my dress, I find it slung over the end of the mattress, and I pull it on, ignoring my disgust at the stickiness coating my inner thighs. My lips…
Shaking my head, I try to focus. Carefully, I inch toward the end of the mattress, holding my breath as I feel along the seam between it and the bed frame. No. No…
Here! I clutch the smooth surface of the vial and wiggle it free. Shit! It slips from my grasp, rolling across the floor.
My heart falls along with it. There it is. I’ve blown my chance. I wait for Domino to wake up, but he doesn’t move. I strain my ears to track the rhythm of his breathing. Slow and steady, still. He’s asleep.
I don’t waste any more effort on stealth. I lurch to my feet, racing on tiptoe for the vial. Then I grab the syringe, trying to remove the plastic casing without making too much noise. It’s an eternity before I finally get it free and ease off the plastic cap covering the needle. It’s so dark in this room. All I have are glimmers of a faint glow entering from the windows. Yard lights?
They barely illuminate the glass of the vial enough for me to find the rubbery top through which I can inject the needle.
Luckily, muscle memory takes over. Ironically, as far as drug use goes, my injecting phase didn’t last long. It was too risky. Too ugly, leaving angry red marks that threatened my one defining attribute—beauty.
I switched to snorting and never looked back, but you never forget the intricacies of manipulating a syringe. Though, I don’t think this needs a vein. Just muscle. Like an arm or a thigh.
Eyeing the bed, my gaze fixates on one of his outstretched legs, and I decide on my method.
For all my confidence, my hand shakes so badly that the needle goes into the vial crooked on my first attempt to fill the syringe. When I pull back on the plunger, liquid seeps through the rubber top, but I keep going. How much should I pull up? Is the whole vial too much?
I can’t remember the dosage, so I just draw back until I can’t anymore. The liquid glows amber in the faint orange light. It nearly fills the entire barrel, and for a second, I weigh the possibility that I could potentially give him an overdose. Kill him.
My finger jerks, spilling some of the liquid onto the floor, but there’s still plenty left, and my conscience is a little lighter.
Though why the hell should I care at all? This man is a monster, and as I rise and pivot on my heel, I realize that if I do manage to hit a vein when I inject the needle, I could kill him with this. If not with the drug alone, then the infection he’ll get from my sweaty, filthy hands, and the lack of sanitation.
But I don’t have a choice.
Cautiously, I reach for his thigh, touching him as lightly as I can. Hard bone flexes beneath my fingertips. His knee? I go higher, until I find the thicker, sturdier feel of solid muscle.
Then I aim and stab, shoving the plunger down.
“What the fuck?” He comes alive swinging, easily snagging my hair in the dark—but not the chain.
I clutch the length of it in my palm and leverage my weight against him, ignoring the pain as strands of my hair are ripped clean from their roots.
“No!” I lunge for the door with everything I have.
Somehow, I break away, and I don’t look back, staggering into the hall, racing for the circular room.
“You bitch!”
I can hear him raging behind me, crashing like a bull.
Don’t look! I just move, despairing as I reach that round door, sure it will be locked. But when I throw my weight against it, it opens.
I race on
bare feet down the stone path, meeting no one to stop me. It feels easy. Too easy, but the doubt isn’t enough to make me second guess this plan.
I’ve come too damn far.
So I run, my lungs heaving, muscles aching. Still, I don’t stop until the ground beneath my feet switches to dried, rough earth. It strikes me now that I have no idea of where to go or which direction civilization may be.
It’s not like I have a choice to stop and plot.
All I can do is run.
Chapter Thirteen
It isn’t long before I realize that my “escape” is just an illusion.
This has always been a game from the start.
The sun rises, first as a faint glimmer of pink over the horizon, and then turns into a sweltering ball within hours, scorching my body from overhead. The illumination throws into stark contrast just how barren this landscape is. It’s the middle of nowhere. In either direction, I only find cactus, dry earth, and scraggly brush.
I’ve gone far enough from the house that I can’t even see it at least. Though, it’s not much of a comfort when I compare being held captive there to dying of heat exhaustion.
Or exhaustion in general—my entire body is a throbbing mass of pain. The golden chain, wrapped around my wrist, is a boiling hot iron shackle weighing me down, but I can’t stop moving. The second I do, I doubt I’ll have the strength to get up again. Sheer desperation is the only thing keeping me going, even as the despair gets harder and harder to ignore.
No wonder he kept the doors unlocked, and the staff never stopped me from leaving. There’s nowhere to go.
This place must be miles from any town or even a gas station.
And I don’t have the strength to make it that far. My steps are sluggish and staggering as the heat drives out what little liquid remains in my body as sweat.
When I first see the approaching car in the distance, I’m stupid enough to feel a tendril of hope. I even turn to it, limping, my throat so dry it hurts to suck in the air needed to speak, let alone scream. Help me…