by Julia Sykes
After he’d seen the shameful scar that had ruined my physical appeal, I was no longer the perfect woman he’d so obviously desired. I was damaged. Unworthy. Unwanted.
I shuddered to think how he might be treating me now if he’d seen the extent of the repulsive marks carved into my thighs. He’d only glimpsed one of them, and that had been enough to earn his revulsion.
“I want to talk to you about what happened yesterday,” he announced when I finished the final bite of the omelet he’d prepared for me.
My stomach dropped. I didn’t want him to mention my scars or acknowledge them in any way. It was painful enough know that he was disgusted by them. Hearing him express that sentiment aloud would crush me.
His dark eyes roved over me, assessing my body language.
I realized I’d hunched my shoulders and hugged my arms around my middle, bracing myself for the pain of his censure.
“I didn’t let you go when you asked me to,” he said, his tone steady and even. Despite the reassuring cadence, he made no move to reach out and comfort me physically. “I broke your trust.”
“Oh.” I didn’t really know how to reply. He wasn’t saying anything cruel about my scars, but he wasn’t saying he wanted me, either.
“This is a two-way street, and I haven’t been fair to you,” he continued. “You promised me that I could trust you, but I failed to reciprocate. I’ve decided that you can go back to your classes. I’m choosing to trust that you won’t try to run from me, Sofia. I hope that in return, you will choose to trust me again.”
He was sending me back to my classes? I still hadn’t caved to his demand that I surrender my most important contact details to him. I hadn’t given him the information he needed to send the messages that would smooth over my sudden absence. He’d been so rigid and uncompromising when it came to my cooperation with my captivity.
Heat pulsed between my legs at the memory of his discipline. He’d been serious enough about enforcing his rules that he’d spanked me in punishment for my disobedience.
But now that he’d seen only one of my scars, he was relieved for the excuse to get some time away from me. He had a life to get on with, things to do that didn’t involve babysitting me.
“Okay,” I agreed softly, breathing through the knifing pain at the center of my chest.
When Mateo had held me over his knee with such harsh affection, I’d been foolish enough to believe that he wouldn’t withdraw that care if I disappointed him.
Why did I never learn? Time and time again, I deluded myself into thinking my world was a much brighter, more pleasant place than it actually was.
I got to my feet and stepped away from the kitchen island. Breakfast was over, and I was obviously being dismissed.
I straightened my spine and summoned up a cheery smile. “I’ll go get ready, then,” I announced. “I just need twenty minutes.”
I kept my stride casual and my shoulders back as I walked down the hall, making a conscious effort to hide the fact that I was devastated by his rejection. If I allowed my body language to reflect my misery, I would appear even more displeasing to Mateo. No one liked a moping girl.
Once I made it to the privacy of my bedroom, I willed myself to keep up the brave front. I didn’t have time for self-indulgent tears. Mateo was waiting to get me out of his house, so he could get on with his day. He’d been cordial with me over breakfast, and I didn’t want to jeopardize his lingering kindness. It was all the positive attention I had left, and I would bend over backward to keep it.
I checked my reflection in the bathroom mirror, scrutinizing my appearance. Mercifully, my curls had been put back in order, the tight spirals falling around my face in an effortlessly wild, carefree style. The free spirit aesthetic was a carefully constructed lie, my rebellious attempt to assert my individuality and defy my mother’s rigid, orderly definition of female beauty.
The amount of effort I put in to create this look was far too elaborate and meticulous to truthfully reflect the attitude of a free spirit. But the control and calm I found in methodically styling my curls had helped me gain a small sense of personal power as a teenager. I was grateful to have that shred of familiar control back, now that my entire reality had been shattered beyond repair.
My bohemian chic dress enhanced my carefree lie. I ran my fingers over the dove gray fabric, feeling the embroidered floral pattern that was sewn in subtle shades of slate. The loose-fitting garment told the world that I didn’t care about showing off the shape of my feminine curves to their full effect.
But I’d spent hours shopping and sorting through dozens of outfits to select this dress. It completed the image I wanted to present to the world, the deception that I didn’t care about what they thought of my appearance.
Despite my defiance of my mother’s sleek, sophisticated style, I lived within the vain constraints she’d imposed upon me, my insecurities and desire for approval too deeply ingrained to eradicate.
I shook my head slightly, my artfully-designed curls swaying around my face. I might still live in an emotional cage of my mother’s design, but at least I’d decorated the cramped space as my own.
Reminding myself that Mateo was waiting, I got to work polishing my look: a few coats of curling mascara, a soft sweep of blush, a neutral gloss to make my lips shine and pout.
I set down my makeup and took a final assessment.
I looked perfect, my appearance utterly effortless and carefully crafted.
I hoped Mateo liked it.
Taking a deep, fortifying breath, I turned away from the mirror and grabbed up my laptop bag, marveling that I’d been allowed to have it in my possession.
When Valentina had come to visit me yesterday, she’d brought all my clothes from my walk-in closet at my apartment, as well as my beauty products and school supplies.
I’d been wary of her at first. During our initial meeting to discuss the curriculum at UCLA, I’d gotten the impression that she was kind. But I was now aware that she was part of the criminal underworld I’d fallen into. Adrián Rodríguez was a vicious drug lord, and she was deeply in love with him.
My discomfiture was compounded by the fact that my father had kidnapped and terrorized her. She’d covered the marks with makeup, but her efforts hadn’t fully obscured the bruises on her neck.
Had Daddy done that to her?
The thought of my doting father wrapping his hands around Valentina’s throat made me want to vomit.
Even if he hadn’t personally been the one to hurt her, he’d arranged the circumstances that had resulted in the horrific injury.
After her ordeal, the compassionate woman had come to Mateo’s house to comfort me. She’d worried that I was distraught over being held hostage. She’d been brutalized during her abduction, whereas Mateo had been nothing but gentle with me.
Except for when he’d spanked me.
But even that hadn’t been an act of violence. The spanking had stung, but with his immense strength, he could have easily damaged my body if he’d wanted to. Instead, he’d given me the most intense orgasm of my life. My past experiences rubbing my clit with my fingers when I was alone in my bed hadn’t come close to that earth-shattering pleasure.
I closed my eyes and shoved back the wash of grief at the loss of my connection with Mateo. Familiar shame twisted my stomach.
My mother had told me my body was ruined by the marks on my skin, and she’d been right.
I plastered a pleasant smile on my glossed lips and walked down the hallway to rejoin Mateo.
“Okay, I’m ready to go,” I announced when I stepped into the living room.
His attention turned from the hockey game highlights he was watching, his dark eyes focusing on me. His gaze raked over my body, eliciting a small shiver. The intensity of his attention after a day of distance was so overwhelmingly gratifying that it caused palpable pleasure. I drank it in, greedy for his approval and affirmation.
“You look beautiful,” he told me, the rough
edge to his tone making my heart lift. Maybe he wasn’t completely disgusted by me.
I was more grateful than ever that Valentina had brought me my full array of dresses and beauty supplies. “Thanks,” I murmured, basking in the praise but also feeling the familiar tinge of anxiety that came along with it. Such praise could always be taken away if I failed to present myself in a pleasing manner in the future.
As much as I wanted to revel in his approval all day, I was conscious of the fact that he wanted me to leave his house. “Is one of your cars an automatic that I can drive, or should I order a rideshare?” I asked.
“No.” The denial was deep and immediate, his heavy brows drawing together with an expression of censure.
I tried not to squirm at his sudden shift in demeanor. He threw me off-balance, and I didn’t know how to act around him anymore. Things had been so easy between us before. Even when I’d been arguing with him—even when I’d fled from him in a bout of terror—he’d kept himself firmly in my space, captivating me with his reassuring touch. He’d felt too solid for my own good, and I’d taken his staunch presence for granted, imagining that nothing I could do would cause him to reject me.
“But I thought you wanted me to go to class,” I said, my voice lilting into a questioning tone. “How else will I get there?”
“I’m going to drive you.” He got to his feet, his massive body seeming to swell as he stared down at me. The disapproval in his features shifted to something equally intense, but somehow softer: sternness. “You didn’t think I was going to let you leave on your own, did you?”
I licked my suddenly dry lips. “I thought… I didn’t think you’d want to come with me. I figured you could do other stuff with your day, and I promise I’ll come right back here after class. You can trust me.”
He took a step toward me, closing the distance between us. For a moment, I thought he would reach out and tenderly touch my face, but his arms remained at his sides.
“I know I can trust you, dulzura,” he said. “But I won’t leave you to wander around on your own. There’s nothing else I’d rather do with my day than guard you.”
I shrank in on myself. “Because I’m your hostage.”
His head canted to the side, and I surmised that he was considering his response carefully. “Because I want to keep you safe,” he finally replied. “Your father and I have arranged an uneasy truce, but he might be tempted to bring you home if I leave you exposed. I doubt he would dare to send anyone to pick you up while you’re on campus. It’s too public if you decided to make a scene. But I won’t risk it. I’m going with you to make sure he doesn’t try to take you from me.”
Was I imagining the possessiveness of his statement?
All mine. I remembered the savage claim he’d made over me when he was gripping my swollen sex in his huge hand and bringing me to orgasm.
He broke the moment with a gruff order. “Come on. You’ll be late for class if we don’t get going.”
My hand twitched toward his, longing to take it as we walked out of the house. But he didn’t seem to notice the tiny movement that betrayed my pathetic neediness. I pressed my palm against my dress, fingering the embroidery to prevent myself from stupidly reaching for him.
When we stepped outside, my attention caught on the ostentatious, cherry red Porsche parked in the driveway.
“You’re driving me to class in that?” I asked, taken aback.
He frowned, glancing at me as he opened the passenger door. “You don’t like it?”
“No, I like it,” I assured him, compliantly sliding into the leather seat. “It’s just a really fancy car to take such a casual trip.”
A dazzling grin lit his features, and his eyes sparkled as he reverently ran his hand over the aerodynamic hood of the car. I’d never seen him in this mood before: something between boyish excitement and covetous hunger.
“It’s brand new, and I want to take it out for a spin. Even if we are just driving into the city. I’ll take it to the track later and see what it’s really capable of.”
His giddy energy was baffling coming from a man who was so strong and serious. He’d been playful with me, and he’d looked at me with similar possessiveness in the past. But he hadn’t pulsed with this pure, thrilled aura. Like a kid with a shiny new toy on Christmas morning.
“You can come with me,” he said, more of an edict than an offer. “Have you ever been to a race track?”
I shook my head, making an effort to prevent my jaw from dropping. Mateo’s joyous attitude was shocking and more endearing than my heart could bear. I wanted him so desperately, but I worried that he would never want me again. Not the way he had before he saw my scar.
“You’ll love it,” he informed me before he shut my door carefully.
He practically had a spring in his step as he circled the car and opened his own door. When he settled into the driver’s seat, he ran his hands over the steering wheel before stroking the gear stick. My skin tingled in response. I wanted him to touch me with that tender reverence, like he’d done yesterday morning while he cuddled me at breakfast.
When he put the key in the ignition and the car roared to life, he chuckled. I almost expected him to rub his hands together in glee.
Instead, he placed one hand on the wheel and put the car in gear with the other. Although I knew the sports car was capable of insanely quick acceleration, he pulled smoothly around the circular driveway at a reasonable speed.
Despite the fact that he wasn’t able to test the limits of the Porsche’s features, he still radiated pure pleasure.
“You really like fancy cars, huh?” I said, remembering his over-the-top collection that he kept protected in his massive garage.
He glanced over at me, sharing his tilted smile before pulling through the open gate at the end of his drive. “Guilty,” he affirmed. “How did you manage to figure me out?”
He was teasing me, and I suppressed the impulse to stick my tongue out at him. It was far too easy to slip into acting playful with Mateo when he was exuding this excitable energy.
“Your collection is almost hoarder-levels of insane,” I replied blandly, teasing right back. “Do you really need to own a working replica of the Batmobile?”
His rich, deep laugh boomed through the car, filling the space with warmth. I relaxed back into my leather seat, just like I wanted to snuggle into his big body.
“What man wouldn’t want to own a working replica of the Batmobile? I’m living the dream. Besides.” He shot me a smirk. “What else am I supposed to drive when some little troublemaker destroyed my favorite Ferrari?”
“Sorry,” I apologized quietly, my levity melting in the wake of guilt. His flashy cars obviously brought him great joy, and I’d broken one of them. “Did I totally ruin it?”
He shrugged, the softer smile he offered reassuring. “It’ll take a while to get all the parts to repair it, but you don’t have to be sorry. The damage to the Ferrari was my fault for scaring you so badly. Don’t worry about it. Adrián owed me a new ride, anyway. He just dropped off this sweet baby this morning.” He patted the Porsche’s dashboard.
My brows rose. “That’s a really nice gift.”
I was accustomed to my own family’s limitless supply of disposable wealth, but the idea of anyone offering such an expensive vehicle as a present was mind-boggling, even for me.
“It’s not a gift,” he explained. “It’s payment. Adrián ordered me to wreck my last one, and he made the mistake of promising to replace it with any model I wanted. I traded up.”
“Why would he order you to wreck your car?” Concern furrowed my brow. In my world, a car wreck wasn’t something to be taken lightly, but Mateo spoke about it so matter-of-factly. “Did you get hurt?”
He laughed. “Nothing was damaged other than my favorite Porsche. We had to ditch it when we took Valentina away from her husband. It was too conspicuous and easy to trace. Adrián made me abandon my baby to be dismantled and sold for parts. And I�
��d just bought her, too.”
“You helped Adrián rescue Valentina?”
His expression shuttered, enigmatic. “I helped him get her away from her husband and bring her back to LA from Bogotá. She’s safe from Hugo now. He’ll never hurt her again. Adrián made sure of that.”
I bit my lip, struggling to sort through my conflicted feelings. Adrián had always scared me, but now that I knew what he really was, he was downright terrifying.
Valentina wasn’t frightening at all. She was kind and compassionate: the total opposite of Adrián, as far as I could tell.
Her love for him was obviously genuine and utterly unshakable. It was evident in her glowing expression and reverential mannerisms every time she mentioned his name. I didn’t understand how she could love him, but she did.
And he must love her, too. I didn’t have a full understanding of the circumstances surrounding my kidnapping by Mateo, but I did know enough to realize that Adrián had risked a lot to rescue Valentina from her abusive husband. When Daddy had stolen her to send her back into that hellish marriage, Adrián had made the ruthless decision to take me as a hostage.
Mateo had ensured that I hadn’t been harmed in any way, but I understood that things were beyond tense and were balanced on a knife’s edge between Adrián and my father. When I’d first woken up in his house, Mateo had warned me that things would get very bloody if he gave me back to Daddy.
Adrián had put himself and Mateo in a potentially deadly situation so that he could save Valentina, the woman he loved.
The complexities of this dark new world I found myself in were far more confusing than I’d initially thought. When I’d still been living in my normal little bubble, drug lords and criminals were bad men who did evil things.
I’d never thought about them being capable of love or fierce protectiveness.
“I’m glad he saved her,” I said after several seconds of silence.
Mateo didn’t glance over at me, and his fingers tightened around the steering wheel. “Even though it means you’re my hostage?” he asked, his calm tone belying his physical tension.