by René, Dani
Respect goes a long way. Mr. Cordero, Victor’s father, trusted mine for so long, I was shocked when I heard that papá did what he did. I so badly want to see my father. To know he’s still alive. I wonder what the cost would be to ask Victor to let him go free.
Would I forever be a prisoner in this place?
Would he keep me hidden away like a princess locked in a tower?
At least I’m comfortable. He could’ve easily kept me hidden in the dungeon, but the bed is beautiful—soft and inviting. The bathroom was indeed stocked with toiletries that any girl would fawn over. And the food, the coffee, everything make it feel as if I’m not a prisoner, but a guest.
How can someone live in luxury like this while the people of his beloved country are drenched in poverty?
The streets are laden with poor, homeless, and even sick people, and here, Victor sits on his throne surrounded by money. Anger swells inside me, turning my stomach at the thought. I’d always feared him, but the more time I spend here wallowing in my thoughts, the more my anger morphs into something much more volatile and vengeful.
It turns to rage, to hate.
The door swings open behind me, stealing my attention to the man who’s consumed my every thought. He’s dressed in one of his black suits, the dark shirt under the jacket a stark contrast to his silver tie, which has been tugged loose, as if it had been choking him.
His mouth curves into a dangerous smirk. It’s a frightfully sensual movement, and I can’t stop my body from responding to him. He’s handsome—dark and brooding—with an air of malevolence following him around like a cologne.
“I trust you’re feeling better.” He enters the room confidently. With each long stride, he invades my space further. “You’ve eaten.” His observation is filled with amusement, and when he smiles, I find myself staring at him.
How is it a man who kills for fun can be so devastatingly gorgeous?
He sighs when I don’t respond. Pulling up the small stool, he unbuttons his suit jacket and perches on the small cushion. He doesn’t say anything for a while, sitting in silence, he watches me as if I’m about to do something interesting, but I don’t. My body remains rigid, not because I’m afraid of him, but because the moment I move, I’m certain he’ll pounce.
“Sofía, you came here of your own free will.”
“I came here to free my father,” I bite back, my gaze meeting his gold one. “It’s not of my own free will. Being coerced to walk into your home, offering myself as a sacrifice—”
“That’s a rather arousing thought.”
“Fuck you.” My retort causes him to shoot up from the chair, his hand instantly finding my throat. He wraps his long fingers around the column and squeezes, causing me to splutter. He pulls me to my feet by the hold he has on me and shoves me against the wall so hard, I see stars behind my eyelids.
The glass I was holding falls from my hand onto the plush carpet, staining the expensive rug with a dark patch of water. I claw at his wrist. Even though the material of the shirt is in the way, I do it anyway. My attempts are futile.
He’s a monster, there’s no way I can even hurt him. My feet flail when he picks me up off the floor and his fingers dig into either side of my neck, causing my vision to blur as I try to focus. My lungs scream at me, but I can’t say a word. Victor’s grin is enough evidence to tell me he’s enjoying this, he loves to hurt me, and in my muddled brain, I wonder if he’s hard.
He leans in, closing the distance between our mouths. “You’re under my roof, you will respect me.” His voice is cold, barren of any emotion. This is the same man who bought me the medication I need. This is also the man who would no doubt torture my father while I watched in horror.
When he eases up his hold, I cough out, “respect is earned.”
“And your life is as fragile as you are, juguete,” he bites out, brushing his lips over mine, causing sparks of electricity to shoot through every nerve in my body. The jolt is nothing I’ve ever experienced. I try to shake off the feeling that tightens my belly, but it’s useless, I feel the unwarranted burn of desire all the way from my head to my toes.
“Let me go.”
He sets me to my feet but doesn’t release my neck. “You are here to serve as payment, once you’ve completed your time, you can leave.” He steps back, allowing me to breathe in deeply, filling my lungs with much needed air. I watch as his back turns toward me, how his jacket molds to his broad shoulders.
“I want a contract.” I speak to his back.
He turns to me, the mischief in his features making him look far younger than the thirty-seven years I know him to be. “What?”
“An agreement. I leave after I’ve paid for what my father did.” My words are breathy, and I inwardly chastise myself for it. My legs are wobbly, I can’t stand for too long, so I settle in the chair before I inhale and exhale slowly and steadily. My arms wrap around my middle, in an attempt to hold onto myself. I need to ground the feelings that are warring within me.
The pain from his hand around my throat still burns, and the ache caused from his lips on mine rage through me, alarming me in every way.
“For a girl so young, you’re rather resilient,” he surmises with a grin, which doesn’t help the hankering inside me. It doesn’t quell the need to have his lips on mine, just once more.
“I’ve learned to grow up fast in this city,” I tell him. “It’s the only way to survive. Please, Mr. Cordero, my father may have done something stupid, but he did it for good reason.”
He doesn’t respond, just turns and heads for the door. With his hand on the knob, he twists it, steps out, and glances my way, before offering a tip of his head and shutting me inside my ornate prison.
Once I’m alone with my thoughts, I try to overlook the ones that remind me how my body responded to him, and I attempt to focus on the fact that he’s a bad person. He’s done things that would make anyone shudder in revulsion.
It’s only when I glance outside again that I realize he didn’t tell me if I can see my father. Our conversation was steered in the opposite direction, and I’m left with the empty feeling that’s been gnawing at me for days—perhaps my father is already dead.
An hour later, the door opens again, and Valentina smiles when I glance over at her. I’d been lost in the book, trying to focus on anything other than my situation, when she sets down another tray.
“Master Victor asks that you get ready to see your papá.” Her words have me on my feet, the book forgotten on the windowsill.
“What? Right now?”
She shakes her head, points to her empty wrist. “In one hour.” Leaving me to my excitement, she shuts the door behind her, and I race into the closet to find a pair of jeans, and a T-shirt, which I quickly change into.
The thought of seeing my father has my heart racing wildly, anticipation prickling my skin. I hope he’s okay. Who am I kidding? He’s probably hurt, close to death. What if it’s the last time I see him? I don’t think Victor would do something so heinous to let me watch my father’s death. Would he?
I rush into the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth. I’m not sure why I’m doing it, I put it down to nerves. I hear the click of the bedroom door, as I’m combing a brush through my long dark hair. His cologne fills my nostrils, taking over my senses, and I know he’s in the bedroom. I can feel his presence like a storm cloud, heavy and foreboding, looming over me, and there’s no protection from his downpour.
When I enter the room, I find him perched on the foot of the bed. He seems so out of place in this feminine room that seeing him is jarring. As if he feels me behind him, he rises and turns to face me.
“Your father wanted to see you,” he informs me curtly. The earlier incident vanished, the anger, or whatever it was, is gone and his expression is smooth, calm almost. And I wonder if this is what he looks like before he kills someone.
“I thought he may be dead by now,” I offer an honest answer, instead of hiding what I really
think. A dark brow arches at my retort, but he doesn’t respond, which frustrates me. I want him to react, I don’t know why, but there’s something about him that makes me want to see him lose control. Each time he’s entered the room, he’s been calm and cool; the only time I saw the real Victor Cordero, the one I’ve grown up learning about, was when he grabbed me by the throat earlier. His harsh hold on my neck left a ghost of his touch on my skin.
“Let’s go.” He turns to the door, expecting me to follow behind him like a damn puppy. As much as I want to refuse, to pout like a goddamned teenager, I can’t because he knows what I want. So, I bite my tongue and fall into step behind his large frame.
The house is so quiet, it’s as if there’s no one else here, but there must be. Surely, he has men surrounding the house, watching him, or watching for trouble on the grounds of his compound.
With every step we take, I allow my gaze to take in the doors, the walls, even the windows when we reach the center of the staircase. The place is a fortress. It’s alarming at how scary it looks from the outside, but inside, it’s decadent and beautiful. An elegant, alluring home that keeps the Devil in his cage.
A woman strolls into the foyer as we descend the stairs. She’s dressed in a long black dress, her hair is tied in a bun behind her head, and a thick necklace of large gleaming diamonds sits around her neck.
I don’t know why, but a pang of jealousy swirls in my gut, causing my breakfast to curdle in my stomach, threatening to make itself known, but I swallow the feeling down. Forcing it away, I watch her watch me.
“Is this her?” Her voice is cool, rigid, but her eyes never leave me as she speaks to Victor. I want to slap her for some reason. She sparks rage within my gut, but instead of acting out, I offer her a curt smile, keeping my head up.
13
Victor
Camila is staring Sofía down as if it’s her job to protect me. Her piercing eyes are locked on the beautiful girl beside me, and I wonder how she’d react if I told her I wanted Sofía to stay here. Perhaps forever.
“Is there something you needed, Cami?” She can tell by the sigh that leaves my lips that I’m not in the mood for this bullshit. I want to get to the warehouse and back before sundown. Camila shakes her head, offering me a smile, before she turns on her heel and heads down the hall toward the office.
“You really should keep your guard dogs at bay,” Sofía bites out behind me, causing me to chuckle. Glancing over my shoulder, my gaze meets hers, finding those grass green orbs penetrating me right to my black fucking soul.
“Are you jealous, juguete?”
Her body visibly vibrates with anger at my question, which only makes the challenge more entertaining. Watching her rage, seeing how she fights this thing between us, is adorable. When I whispered my lips across hers earlier, I felt it, I know she did too. And I know as much as I’m attracted to her, this will merely be a short-lived interaction.
“You’re an asshole, I will never be jealous of anyone wanting you.”
Nodding, I lead her out of the house and toward the waiting car. I reach for the door and pull it open. She follows, just like I expect her to. Javi glances my way as I allow Sofía to settle on the backseat.
Before I can climb into the car, he informs me, “we need to do something before we take her to see Hector.” His eyes hold excitement, which shine playfully, and I know what he means.
“Is he ready for me?”
“Yes, perhaps we can show the girl what happens to thieves,” Javier suggests, and I glance at her for a moment before I make my decision. Nodding to my right-hand man, I settle in the seat beside her.
“Seems we have one stop before you can see your precious papá,” I tell her.
“Where are we going?”
I smile, but don’t meet her questioning gaze. “To see a man who stole something from me. You should learn what kind of man I am.”
“I know who you are, what you are.” Her voice is low, a mere whisper, as if she’s afraid of speaking the truth.
The car moves through the streets with my convoy, both leading and following. I never travel light, and now that I know Rodrigo is trying to make a play for my territory, I’ve ramped up my security.
It doesn’t take us long to come up to the house, where we find more of my men standing guard. Once I exit the vehicle, I have Javier bring Sofía along behind me, and the moment I step into the putrid smelling home, I know the asshole has already pissed himself a few times. The stench of his excrement will only intensify once I’m done with him.
I find the asshole who’s double crossed me by spewing my upcoming shipment locations to Rodrigo. I find out everything that happens under my nose, and he should’ve known that. He’s bound to an armchair that has seen better days. The leather is torn and shredded, and the rest of the room looks as if a hurricane swept through it.
“Mr. Cordero,” he mumbles. “P-please.”
Sofía gasps behind me when she sees the man. He may be a stranger to her, but she’ll soon learn that he has something in common with her precious papá.
“Sofía, this here is Juan,” I tell her, while waving my hand in his direction. “He needed money for his gambling debts and decided that working for me would get him that.” I speak to her, but refrain from meeting her eyes. “Only, he wasn’t happy with his earnings and decided to steal from me.” I unbutton my suit jacket before moving my hand to my belt. The sheathed blade I keep wrapped safely is in my grasp and the beauty behind me gasps once more when she sees it in my hand.
“No, seńor,” he mumbles. “No, I mean, lo siento. Lo siento,” he repeats, over and over again. It’s always the same thing—they get caught, they plead apologies as if it will save them. I step forward, turning to face my little toy, before I have one of my men hold his wrists against the arms of the chair.
The creak of leather is the only sound besides Juan’s weak pleas for mercy. I lock my gaze on Sofía’s before I grip two of Juan’s fingers and smile at the beauty. “This is what happens to men who steal from me.” I bring the blade down on the two fingers. Luckily, I had Javi sharpen it this morning, because it slices through the flesh easily; it’s when I get to the bone that I need to work at it a few times before the fragile bones give way and two digits fall to the filthy floor.
“Oh god,” Sofía chokes out, the color fading from her gorgeous face, and I know she gets the gist of what her father faces. The screams from the man beside me are a dark symphony of pure agony, something I’ve become accustomed to hearing. I may be the king, but I do enjoy getting my hands dirty.
I cut another two digits from his left hand, ensuring I leave only the thumb. I lock my dark gaze on his watery one. “Are you ready to tell me what you did with my money?” It’s only fifty grand, but it’s mine, and nobody takes from me and lives to see another day.
“I-I-I can’t, señor, they collected an hour ago,” he tells me in a wobbly voice, and I’m sure he’s about to cry like a four-year-old who had his lunch stolen. Picking up one of the bloody digits, I twirl it between my fingers, before I gesture to one of my men who knows exactly what I’m about to do.
He tugs on Juan’s head, opening his jaw in the process, and I slip the thick fleshy finger down his throat and listen as he slowly chokes and coughs. A smile dances on my lips. I turn my attention to Sofía who is shuddering, a retching sound echoes around me, and I glance at Juan who’s attempting to spit out the digit.
“Shut his mouth, he needs to learn the consequences of fucking with the King of Colombia,” I tell my men. “We will allow you to breathe long enough to tell us who the men are you gave the money to, once you do, we will feed you the rest of your filthy, thieving fingers.” I straighten, glancing at Alejandro. “You got your job to do. Can you handle it?”
“Sí, señor,” he nods confidently.
“Once you find the assholes, get my money and then kill them all. I don’t have time for bullshit games today, I have places to be.” I step into the filthy kit
chen and twist the cold metal tap until clear water gushes from the faucet. Rinsing the blood from my hands, I pull out my white handkerchief and wipe my hands before I head outside.
Once we’re back in the car, Javier takes the wheel, and we silently drive from the house through the back streets, until we hit the docks where my warehouse is situated. With the two SUVs following behind and one in front of us, I know our evening can only get better from here.
“Are you going to do that to my dad?” she finally whispers after a while. I can smell the desperation emanating from her. It’s beautiful and alluring. I am the evil monster she’s painted me as just from how hard I get when she’s scared.
“I haven’t decided yet,” I tell her honestly.
“Please, Victor, Mr. Cordero, please don’t do this. He didn’t take from you for a bad reason like gambling. He was trying to save my life,” she pleads, and even though I know she’s right, I can’t allow him to walk free.
Turning my attention to her, I speak softly, “He stole from me, thousands of US dollars’ worth of product. Do you understand that consequences come no matter what?”
The pain that flashes across her face is clear. She knows I’m right. Hector was one of the longest serving members of my team. He worked for my father; he can’t get away with what he did.
“Yes, Mr. Cordero,” she mumbles, and her fat lower lip wobbles, but she keeps herself strong, not allowing any tears to escape, even though they fill her wide green eyes.
The looming structure where Sofía’s father is being held is hidden behind other high buildings, and when we drive between them, I find eight of my men guarding the entrance.
The fearful energy surrounding the beauty beside me is like a goddamn perfume. She’s trembling with nerves, and I wonder just how much longer I can delay this without her fire burning me alive. I want it though. It’s those dark flames dancing in her eyes that remind me, she’s nothing like the women I’ve become accustomed to.