by Lana Sky
Chapter Seventeen
His room contains its own private balcony, through a door I missed on my earlier visits. Open to the night air, it’s a wide space, shrouded by more trees and hedges—as well as an extension of the roof that protects us from the light rain beginning to fall.
Built into a raised platform near the balcony is a bubbling jacuzzi, arranged to his chilling specifications.
Rose petals coat the stone patio, tinging the air with the sickly-sweet scent. Soft music plays from unseen speakers, the tune light, featuring a male singer crooning in Spanish. Steam emanates from the bathwater, and along the rim, someone laid out a black, crushed velvet blanket strewn with red cushions. Placed in the center is a golden tray sporting various sweets, from cakes, to cookies, and pieces of chocolate.
It’s terrifying how he can arrange something like this at a moment’s notice. It shows the level of resources he has at his disposal. But how?
“So much fresh fruit,” I say thickly. “But you said we’re miles from any city.”
Or any supermarket capable of supplying the amount he’s paraded before me. I doubt he sends Ines on regular supply runs, either.
He’s behind me, his breath hot on my neck. I rebuttoned my dress for the trip here, but he’s already reaching around me to undo them, one by one.
“The estate is self-sustaining,” he replies. “Most of the fruit and vegetables are grown here. The rest has been stocked well in advance, so if you’re planning on seducing some charming delivery man into whisking you to safety, I would think again.”
I smother my disappointment beneath a sigh. He already has me partially naked, tugging the dress down my hips.
“It’s my turn to ask the questions.” He palms my waist, guiding me forward. Only belatedly does he seem to remember my bandages. He fingers one along my forearm then withdraws his hand.
The second I hear the telltale hiss of leather on metal, I stiffen, already aware of what he’s doing without having to look. I didn’t even realize that he had his knife, dangling from that battered sheath affixed to his belt loop. He presses the flat side of the blade to my skin in a shockingly cool caress. Slowly, he guides it down, catching the edge of a section of bandages. It easily slices apart, falling away.
“You have such delicate skin,” he remarks, cutting through a strip of bandages along my thigh next. “I have to take special care with you. I wouldn’t want you to boil alive in the bath.”
He keeps going, clearing the next wrapping around my left elbow before crouching down to clear away the ones on my feet.
The wounds beneath glisten, a pale pink. None of them are deeper than a few layers of skin, most resembling blisters formed after a bad sunburn.
“Don’t worry,” Domino says, rising to his feet. He smooths my hair down my shoulders, tucking a stray lock behind my ear. “I’ve taken precautions with the water’s quality to ensure you won’t risk an infection. I would never take the chance of you dying such an easy death, Ada.”
A breath sticks inside my chest. It’s several tries before I can suck in enough air.
“Is that why you went after me?”
I can almost hear the muscles in his jaw straining as he frowns. He doesn’t like that insinuation. Roughly, he snatches my wrist, wrenching me around to face him. One of his fingers grazes my skin, settling against my throat.
“I went after you, because I own you.”
He’s lying. I can hear the subtle growl edging those words. Irritation.
“You don’t, do you?” I rasp, recalling a name Ines said. The speaker on the telephone. “J-Jaguar? Does he own me?”
His eyes flash, and I have my answer. It’s horrifying, proving that all along, his taunts have been true. He sold me. Maybe, deep down, a part of me refused to believe it. For five years, this man pretended to be willing to lay down his life to guard my father and me. Was it all truly a lie?
I don’t want to think anymore. I don’t want to fight or resist him. I’m too tired. I just want to sink inside myself and sleep. Burrow beneath the blankets in that white room and endure the remaining hours I have left.
“I’ve decided that a week and some change is not nearly enough to divulge from you all that I want, Ada-Maria,” Domino warns.
The pure malice in his tone snaps me from my self-pity. I’m on edge again, painfully aware of his darker intentions. If I needed a reminder, he trails his hands down my back, carelessly running over the healing wounds.
“I want you to keep that in mind, no matter what you perceive to be happening at any given time. On your father’s behalf, you owe me far more than could ever be paid in a lifetime, even with money. You owe me blood, Ada. I aim to take every last drop from you, in whichever way I choose.”
The sheer weight of the promise in his voice is dizzying. He means every word—no matter how badly they contradict everything else he’s stated up until now.
“How?” I demand. “You’ve already sold me. I’m not yours anymore… Not that I ever was.”
He chuckles, urging me forward with a surprisingly gentle nudge.
“Your bath water is getting cold.”
He makes me climb in by myself as he watches.
The water is hot, though nowhere near the searing heat he taunted me with last time. Still, I suck in a breath, hissing in agony as the water contacts the open sores on my feet and legs. I go rigid, anticipating the pain to last.
But it’s brief, perhaps due to the gently swirling jets and whatever he must have added to the water. It smells faint but crisp like flowers. Soon, my torso is nearly submerged, leaving just my shoulders and up exposed.
I wait for Domino to squeeze into what little space remains. To my shock, he stretches out on the black blanket, picking at some of the items on the platter.
He’s stripped his pants, wearing only a pair of black boxers, but his loose-fitting white shirt remains firmly in place, the top two buttons undone.
“You don’t ever show your chest,” I point out warily. Looking back, I realize that I can’t name a single time I ever saw him in less than a buttoned shirt or the occasional wife beater. Could he have gruesome scars he’s trying to hide? I doubt modesty is the reason.
Raising a grape to his lips, he takes a bite. “I would be more concerned with preserving your own beautiful skin than worrying about mine.”
Point taken. I’m more than willing to stare down at the churning water or beyond the balcony than watch him. We’re high up despite the house seemingly being all one level. This section of the property dips into a startlingly steep hill that puts into question any possibility of sneaking back here and trying to climb down.
Not that I would have to go to such lengths to escape, anyway. I’ve already walked out of the front door twice. Beyond this strange, lush realm is only desert.
The amount of water needed to sustain the gardens, let alone a supposed farm, must be astronomical.
“Were you able to buy this place with whatever you made by selling me?” I ask, daring to look at him again.
“I’ve always had my own means,” he says. “Long before I toiled away for your father, doing his dirty work for scraps.”
I say nothing, thinking back to the first day he arrived at the guesthouse. His truck had been a decade old, his clothing worn, all able to fit in a single suitcase. I remember being in awe of him for that, such a modest man from a humble background. I thought that made him different from my father, who prized his expensive possessions and expansive estate.
How wrong I was, especially if Domino owned this estate that entire time. It’s larger than my father’s, just in sheer size alone.
“Perhaps that explains your newfound obsession with my cock,” he adds, fingering another lock of my hair. “You realized that I’m not some poor bastard living off your father’s teat.”
I cringe from his touch. “I always wanted you. Before,” I clarify. “I didn’t care that you had nothing.”
And I didn’t. Money to me
was always an obscure concept, anyway. My father had it—not me.
“And now?” Domino asks. He sounds curious as to the answer, but I take my time devising one. How best to provoke him?
“I wanted to know if you were worth obsessing over for five years.”
He scoffs. “And?”
I look down at the water, weighing my answer. Insulting him is the most obvious retort, but it’s too easy—and exactly what he’s expecting, I think. So I tell the truth instead.
“You aren’t who I thought you were.” And that saddens me deeply. I’m used to being disappointed in people, but Domino was admittedly my benchmark for so long…
It’s a little like going to heaven and learning that Jesus snorts cocaine and has a gambling addiction, no different from the rest of us. Not that I ever thought Domino Valenciaga was quite on that level. But in a world of men populated by my father, he might as well have been.
“And who did you think I was?”
I shy from the real answer, but it isn’t like I have anything left to lose. Meeting his gaze, I decide that this perhaps is the best way to keep provoking him. With the past.
“Someone I could love,” I say. It sounds so juvenile out loud, though maybe it should. I’m utilizing Pia’s logic and the future she always saw for me. Someone desired. Obsessed over. A woman who could dare to find true love.
“And what did I do to garner such an esteemed view in the eyes of Ada-Maria Pavalos?” His tone is disapproving. Skeptical. He doesn’t believe me.
I sink deeper beneath the churning water until it sloshes at my chin. What did Domino do then that stuck out to me so? I ignore the man he is now, seeing past the cruel hard gaze for the vulnerable warmth I used to swear lurked beneath.
“You dragged me from the road in the middle of the night and never told my father. He would have beaten me senseless for that. Not because he cared, but because I might have been seen by someone else, and how would that look? He would have given you a handsome raise, I bet. Or you could have extorted what you wanted from me. I would have done anything to keep you quiet. And you knew that,” I add before he tries to play dumb. “You knew him better than anyone. Don’t pretend like you didn’t.”
“And if I did, I’d know that he wouldn’t want to be bothered with tales of his drunk, coke-addicted daughter taking a nap on the freeway—”
“Don’t minimize it!” I’m shouting, my throat on fire. When I look at him, he has the gall to appear shocked by the outburst. “You could have left me there if you really didn’t give a damn.”
“No.” He leans forward, bracing his elbow on the edge of the jacuzzi to prop his chin on his hand. “That is where you are wrong, Ada. I see it now. You never understood your true worth, did you? How could I leave Roy Pavalos’ daughter, drugged out of her mind, unaccompanied in the middle of the road? Any number of enemies would have taken you for their own.”
Just like he has.
Anger plays on my common sense, making me think of the pettiest way to provoke him. He thinks he owns me, does he?
“Whenever I get to my real owner, I’ll make him an offer—he can do whatever he wants to me. Just so long as he leaves me in the middle of the highway after—”
“Now it’s my turn to warn you not to minimize.” Domino snatches my chin, tilting it for his inspection. “You think this is a game? You have no idea what one of those men is capable of. Trust me, Ada-Maria. After one night, your entire time here will look like a trip to the spa.”
I don’t flinch. “You act as though this is new to me, Domino. But it’s not. Cruel men and senseless brutality? You are just one in a long line of them. Trust me, I’m looking forward to this new place. I’ll pray for a man who won’t hit me on the face and feel I’ve won the lottery—”
Water splashes as he lunges into the tub, still wearing boxers and his shirt. Drenched, the fabric molds to his muscle-like armor as he yanks me to my feet.
“You want to know the kind of men you’ll meet there? Men who will chop you into pieces—I’m talking literally, Ada. As they fuck you, knives stabbed right into your skin. They’ll sic ten of them on you at once and gladly feed the pieces to the animals they keep there in cages, right next to the women. Still, sound preferable to me?”
I blink, startled by the tears that slip down my cheeks. The worst part is that I know he isn’t lying. He’s done this to me. He’s condemned me to that fate.
And for what?
Growling with rage, he digs his nails into my jawline. “You didn’t answer my question—”
“Yes! Yes, I’d prefer anyone to you! Because I hate you. I do. And even being eaten alive, I’ll at least be comforted by the fact that I’ll never have to see your face again.”
Hearing that bothers him. I can see the rage boiling beneath his skin until he can’t contain it. He shoves me back so fiercely I wind up sitting on the rim of the tub, bracing myself with both hands. As a result, I cannot defend myself as he advances, boldly nudging himself between my legs.
“You sneer down your nose at me, Ada, but I know who you are. A nasty, backstabbing little trollop-whore.”
That word choice…
My eyes widen, my shock apparent. Only one person I knew ever spoke like that.
“P-Pia—”
“She told me all about you,” Domino says coldly. He encircles both of his hands around my throat, forming a makeshift collar. “How sneaky you are. How untrustworthy. That you fed her to the wolves and made her life hell.” He tightens his grip, pressing against my windpipe. “She told me everything I need to know about you, Ada-Maria Pavalos—that beneath that beautiful exterior, that haughty pout, and those limpid fucking eyes, you are a cunt, far more evil than even your father. Roy did what he did to protect his money. But you? You were a conniving bitch merely out of jealousy.”
“Pia told you that?” I can barely get the words out.
He nods, stroking the falling tears from my cheeks. “Yes. She told me—”
“And did she tell you why I hated her?” I’m whispering. It’s as if my own body is doing everything it can to resist unearthing these memories. I’ve spent so long ignoring them, smothering them, hating myself.
And yet Pia, wherever she is, has been laughing over it all, toying with the truth, turning men I barely know against me.
“Pia was a whore.”
He moves to slap me, as if the impulse to protect even her name is that damn strong. But I don’t cringe. I wait for the impact, so hard I see stars.
I cough, tasting blood as I stagger, forced to grip the bench hidden beneath the water just to keep my head above it. Meeting his gaze, I spit.
“She was… Pia was fucking my father. Did she tell you that? She was never my friend. I… I was only a tool to her. She used me. Just like everyone else did.”
Chapter Eighteen
He blinks, his hand still raised as if he intends to strike me again. I recoil this time, holding my hands before my face in a pathetic attempt to protect it.
“You’re lying.”
It’s my turn to laugh, frothing at the mouth as I do. He hit me hard enough to split my lip, and the blood drips freely. “How do you think she got access to steal from us in the first place? My bedroom wasn’t where my father kept his accounts; it was in his office.”
The same office where I would catch her scent on the days she told me she was too busy to hang out after school. The same office where my father would work late. I wasn’t sure until she wore a ring she said her secret boyfriend had given her.
It was my mother’s. I didn’t realize that until later, of course, after things with Pia had already reached a boiling point.
“She was fucking him,” I add tonelessly, “and she tried blackmailing my family when he grew bored of her. She was never my friend. She never loved me. It was always him.”
For everyone, it’s always him. Don Roy. Roy Pavalos. Until the day someone did something as simple as dragging me from a highway in the middle of the
night without asking for a damn thing in return.
“You were the only person who didn’t treat me like a way to get to him! I thought you were…”
And it guts me to realize how stupid a hope that was. How childish.
“All along, you were just like them. Like Pia. Like everyone!”
I shove him away and climb from the tub, tripping over my own feet. My eyes are on the balcony, and I lunge for it, leaning over the railing. I eye the darkened landscape below. I’m not afraid. I don’t feel anything, and in this moment…
I know for sure I could jump.
Fall.
“Are you fucking crazy?” A masculine arm comes around my waist, wrenching me back.
“No!” Blindly, I lash out, striking whatever part of him I can reach. None of my blows do a damn thing. He’s immovable. As impenetrable as a brick wall. “Let me go!”
He doesn’t, gripping my entire body within a bear hug so that I can’t fight. All I can do is scream, no matter how painful it is, until my voice breaks and I can’t even make a sound.
But as I fall silent, I realize that he’s still speaking to me. He always has been.
“…you walk around with your nose in the fucking air. How could I think you were any different?” The words are meant more for him than me, I realize. With my face pressed against his chest, I can hear how fiercely his heart is raging. A near-constant boom that rattles his ribcage.
“The dumb whore with a heart of gold—no one fits that fucking cliché. No one...”
He’s trying to justify it, I think. Why it was so easy for him to believe Pia about someone he hadn’t even met. All along, he’s thought the worst of me, lies planted by my old best friend.
“How could I ever think any bastard who would work for my father could be any different?” My voice is so hoarse I’m sure he doesn’t hear that.
Regardless, he looks down, his eyes sharp and mistrusting. He adjusts his grip, loosening his bear hug to grip me by both forearms, holding me captive inches from his chest. When he lunges, I go still, expecting another slap.