by Julia Sykes
I lifted my chin and stared defiantly into his burning green eyes. “Go ahead,” I spat, bitterness curling my tongue. “If you want things to be the same as they were with Daniel, just go ahead. Take what you want. I won’t fight you. It’s not worth the extra pain.”
His granite jaw went slack for barely a heartbeat. Then, his heavy brows drew together, shadowing his eyes. He ground his teeth, and a vein pulsed down his forehead in a bulging line.
Tense silence stretched between us, making the air grow hot with both of our heaving breaths. Fire licked through my body, and my fingers curled to fists at my sides.
“What are you waiting for?” I demanded, screaming in his face. “Just go ahead and rape me. Show me this one small mercy and get it over with.” My clenched fists raised to pound against his chest, struggling to inflict even a fraction of the pain that was ravaging my heart. “Just do it already!”
His brawny arms closed around me, and he pulled me against his chest. I froze, but a soft, keening sound slipped between my lips.
This was it. He was going to violate me, and I would never be the same. This would break me in a way that the other men hadn’t managed.
But instead of tearing at my clothes, one big hand splayed across my upper back, and the other slid up my nape to cradle the back of my head, tucking my face against his hard chest. His heart thundered beneath my ear, as though he’d been running for miles.
“I will never hurt you like that.” His chest expanded on a deep breath, and his hand firmed on my back, holding me closer. “I don’t rape women.” He uttered the words like a fervent, irrevocable oath.
A chasm opened inside me, all my rage dropping down into a black abyss. My muscles were weak and wrung-out, and it was far too tempting to lean into his strength. Tears slipped from my eyes, wetting his shirt.
Confusion muddled my mind, but I couldn’t stop my fingers from curving against his chest, clinging to him. Raúl was a drug lord. I’d seen his brutal capabilities. There was no law he wouldn’t break, no sin he wouldn’t commit.
Except this one. I don’t rape women.
I desperately wanted to believe him, but I didn’t understand. “Why?” The soft question was almost entirely muffled by the bulk of his solid chest.
The way he stiffened told me he’d heard. I waited for a response, but as the seconds stretched to minutes, it became clear that he wasn’t going to answer me. After a while, his tension eased, and he started running his thick, calloused fingers through my hair in a soothing rhythm.
In that moment, it didn’t matter that I didn’t understand. I believed him.
Chapter 8
Raúl
Why? Marisol’s soft, simple question hit me like a gut punch.
I don’t rape women. I repeated the oath to myself. I’d drawn that line in the sand a long time ago. It wasn’t a question of morality; it was a matter of defiance.
But Marisol didn’t need to know about that. I scarcely allowed myself to think about it. It was simply a rule, the only shred of a code I lived by. I didn’t have to contemplate it in order to follow it.
I definitely didn’t want to think about it now, not when Marisol was clinging to me. Impossibly, she was leaning into me for comfort, when only minutes ago, she believed I’d violate her.
I’d held her hostage for weeks. When she’d run from me, I’d hunted her down. I’d drugged her and dragged her home with me.
And I had no intention of letting her go.
Even through my rage at her betrayal, releasing her had never been an option. The moment she’d surrendered beneath my rough hands, leaning into my touch and moaning for more, I’d decided she would be mine. Her treachery didn’t change that.
Her deception—her willingness to put my life at risk in order to escape from me—would only make me that much harsher in my merciless, perverse games with her. She would suffer for defying me, but she would still be mine.
If she were thinking clearly, she wouldn’t be sniffling in my arms. If she knew what I planned for her, she’d rail at me and scream for release.
Because our kiss had been real. Her reactions to me had been genuine. Once she accepted that, she’d understand that I was keeping her for her own good.
No one could protect her like I would. She’d scarcely been out of my sight for twenty-four hours before being attacked by the thief in Juárez.
A rush of possessiveness firmed my hands on her, but she only pressed tighter into me, seeking my comfort.
Mine. I would have my lost little lamb all to myself, in my home and in my bed. Where I could indulge all the wicked desires that I’d been denying myself since I’d first captured her.
I’d imagined several appealing ways to torment her while I’d tracked her to Juárez. I wouldn’t violate her, but she would learn who was in charge. Marisol had proven that she was rash to a suicidal degree. She needed a firm had to protect her from her own recklessness.
I could give her everything she needed, and in return, she’d give me everything I wanted. By the time I finally fucked her, she’d be begging for my cock, eager to obey my every command if only I would give her what she craved.
I stepped away from her before I could get a hard-on. The last thing she needed right now was my erection pressing into her belly.
I kept my hands on her shoulders, steadying her. She’d been exhausted and terrified to the point of passing out when I’d found her in that dirty alley in Juárez, and the drugs I’d given her might still be affecting her balance.
“Come on, corderita,” I urged gently, taking her small hand in mine. “You need a proper meal. Then, you can go back to sleep.”
She stiffened slightly and glanced around my bedroom. “Where will I be sleeping?”
I cocked my head at her. She clearly wasn’t ready to accept that she’d sleep in my bed, regardless of whether we fucked or not. I was going to keep her close, in case she got any foolish ideas about trying to escape.
“We’ll discuss it after you’ve eaten,” I decreed, giving her hand a little tug as I started walking towards the kitchen.
She hesitated for half a second, but she followed meekly behind me.
I huffed out a breath, something between a sigh and a chuckle. My captive wasn’t nearly as meek as I’d always thought. Her daring bid for freedom had demonstrated just how much fire she’d hidden beneath her lowered lashes during her weeks as my hostage.
The reminder of her betrayal soured my moment of levity. No matter how genuine her apology had been, that didn’t change the fact that Marisol had colluded with my enemies and left me for dead.
I’m so sorry. I thought I was helping Carmen. I didn’t know what Daniel planned. Her ragged explanation played through my mind.
Ever since Arturo had told me of her involvement in the coup, I’d been blinded by rage. But holding her petite body against mine and petting her hair seemed to have calmed me as much as it’d soothed her.
Thinking more clearly now that I had her safely caged in my home, I reconsidered the events that’d taken place since our kiss. I remembered the blood on her cheek and the terror in her dark eyes while she begged me to believe her.
I tried to stop him. I swear I did.
Marisol might’ve agreed to help Daniel access Stefano’s penthouse, but she wouldn’t have consented to take an injury like that. If her goal had been to run for freedom, a head wound would’ve slowed her down.
Keeping her hand trapped in mine, I led Marisol from my bedroom to the kitchen. Her head swiveled as we passed through the cavernous, ultramodern lounge, but she wouldn’t be able to see the grounds outside. The view through the floor-to-ceiling windows that formed the western frontage to the house was shrouded in darkness. Floodlights would trigger to illuminate the yard if someone was stupid enough to breech my property, but I wasn’t concerned about that. Not now that Stefano and I had crushed the coup and Miguel Armendariz, essentially eliminating all immediate threats to our regime.
The gat
es that surrounded my property on three sides had served to keep unwelcome visitors out during the twelve years that I’d lived in this house. And beyond the small garden to the west of the house, the ground dropped away in a sharp cliff that left me with a nice view of Mexico City in the distance. No one could scale that without triggering my security system.
I glanced back at Marisol to find her staring at the darkness outside the huge windows, as though she could see the garden if she just squinted hard enough.
“It’s a much nicer view during the daytime,” I offered. “Wait till tomorrow morning. You’ll see.”
She turned wary eyes on me. “Where are we?”
My hand firmed around hers, ensuring she couldn’t pull away. “My house.”
As I’d predicted, she halted. I kept walking, forcing her to keep pace with me as I passed the massive fireplace in the center of the lounge and led her into the open-plan kitchen. I only released her hand so I could pull out a chair for her at the marble-topped kitchen island. “Sit.”
She cut her eyes away and bit her lip, but she slid onto the black leather seat without protest.
I studied the pillowy pout of her lush mouth, tempted to claim a kiss and remind her of our combustible chemistry. Then, a bright red line appeared as her dry lips split beneath her teeth.
Automatically, I curled two fingers beneath her chin and lifted her face to mine. “Stop that. You’re too dehydrated to be biting your lips.”
She stopped immediately, her mouth softening as she stared up at me. For the first time in days, the rich chocolate tone of her eyes was more prevalent than her dark pupils, which were no longer dilated with fear. Without thinking, I gently rubbed my thumb across her lips, soothing the sting.
“I really am sorry,” she murmured, her mouth brushing against the rough callous on my fingertip. The sensation was so exquisite that it took me a moment to catch on to what she was saying. “I was so worried about you. I told myself you would be okay. You’re so strong and…” A little shiver raced over her skin, and she swallowed.
Hunger knifed through my gut, but I wasn’t craving food. I liked this reaction to my touch. I liked when she said I was strong. I liked when she told me she was worried about me.
I wanted all of it. I wanted all of her.
“I couldn’t bear it if you died because of me,” she whispered. “I thought I was saving Carmen. I wouldn’t have helped Daniel if I’d known he was taking her to men who would hurt her. I didn’t know she wanted to be with Stefano.” Her lip quivered beneath my thumb, and her eyes began to shine. “When I realized what I’d done, I really did try to stop Daniel. That’s when he attacked me. I knew Stefano would kill me once he found out that I’d helped with the coup. But I couldn’t just run away without telling you their real plan. I couldn’t leave Carmen to that fate.” Her voice dropped lower, little more than a pained exhale. “I couldn’t let you die in that ambush. I couldn’t do it.”
Something warm pulsed in the center of my chest, and my free hand lifted to brush a stray lock of silky black hair away from her cheek. “I forgive you.”
I wouldn’t be able to fully erase my dark, twisted feelings about her betrayal for a while yet. But even if I couldn’t make myself forget, I could forgive her. How could I not, when she looked so distraught over the prospect of my death? When she’d risked her own life to tell me the truth about the coup instead of running away?
“You were scared, and you thought you were helping Carmen. You did it for good reasons, even if it was insanely reckless.”
The fine lines around her eyes drew deeper with anguish. “But I did it for me, too.” She uttered it like a confession, like she was admitting the gravest sin. “I wanted my freedom. I didn’t care about hurting the cartel—the cartel hurts plenty of people, including Carmen. Including me. But I did care about risking your life. I worried, but I did it anyway. And it was all for nothing. I just made everything worse.”
“Actually, everything turned out for the best.” I offered her the complete truth. “Carmen is safely back with Stefano, and we were able to eliminate Miguel Armendariz as well as the traitors in our own organization. Thanks to you, the cartel is stronger than ever.”
Her lips pinched to a frown. She obviously didn’t care for that description of the outcome.
I shrugged it off. Marisol was staying with me now. She’d have to get used to the cartel.
She would learn that the cartel was stability; it provided me with power and wealth that would protect us both. Surely, she wasn’t so naïve to think the world was divided into good people and evil criminals. She’d been living on Carmen Ronaldo’s estate prior to being taken as my hostage. There was no way she was ignorant of the world’s harsher realities.
But her frown broke the intimate moment, and I managed to pull myself away from the allure of her softness and concern. She really did need to eat and drink, and she needed a lot more natural sleep to recover from the trauma of Daniel’s attack.
The memory of a different cruel man’s hands on her made my fists tighten, and I moved stiffly as I crossed the kitchen to get food for her. The fucker who’d attacked her in Juárez might’ve survived. There was a chance he’d choked on his own blood, but I’d been too concerned with taking Marisol away from that place to stop and finish the job.
I wrenched the fridge door open with a bit too much force.
I hope the bastard died slowly.
“What the fuck were you doing wandering alone down an alley in Juárez with a pocketful of cash?” My anger at her attacker roughened my harsh demand.
I was more certain than ever of my decision to keep her. Marisol definitely needed to be kept and closely guarded. Her survival instincts seemed to be nonexistent.
She’d appeared shattered when she’d stepped off that bus in Juárez. I’d arrived well before she did, having taken Stefano’s private jet. But I’d hesitated. Even thinking she’d left me for dead, I’d stalled at the prospect of causing her more anguish. Obviously, she’d been desperate to be free of me. I’d craved to take her, but I’d flinched at the idea that she’d loathe me forever.
When I’d seen the man follow her into the alley, I’d acted immediately. I’d known then that I couldn’t leave her alone.
I didn’t want to leave her alone. I wanted her for myself.
“I was running for my life,” she retorted, some of her inner fire flaring in response to my barked question.
I glanced up from the cold cuts I was piling on her sandwich and found her glaring at me, her arms crossed over her chest. “I thought Stefano would kill me, remember? If he doesn’t want me dead, you could’ve just let me go. You didn’t have to come after me.”
I fixed her with a hard stare. “Yes, I did. Where do you think you’d be right now if I hadn’t pulled that man off you?”
She shuddered and dropped her defiant glare.
“Why Juárez?” I pressed. “You must’ve bought that bus ticket within half an hour of telling me about the coup. You could’ve gone anywhere, but you’ve obviously had this plan in place for a while.”
Her eyes snapped back to mine, and her chin lifted. “It’s a border city. I was going to the US to seek asylum. It’s where I’ve been headed for months, long before I was dragged to Carmen’s estate by one of her lecherous underlings. I’ve paid for my passage to America in pain, and you stopped me when I was only a few miles away from my goal.”
I frowned and slapped the second slice of bread on top of her sandwich. I took a minute to mull over her words while I poured a glass of water and took it to the kitchen island, along with her food. I set the plate down in front of her and paused at the edge of her personal space, seemingly unable to stray too far from her soft warmth.
I hadn’t known that she’d been taken to Carmen’s estate against her will. Now that I thought about it, I barely knew anything about her at all. We’d hardly exchanged more than a handful of sentences during her time as my hostage.
So, she w
asn’t seeking asylum from my cartel. She’d been headed for the States before she’d been my captive, fleeing from something else.
Or someone.
“I didn’t think you were so naïve.” It was a simple observation, but she bristled. I continued on before she could say something snappish. “Do you know what would’ve happened when you crossed the border? You would’ve been detained in some hellhole for god knows how long until they eventually scheduled a date to hear your case. And after all that, you’d be shipped right back to where you came from. Right back to whatever—or whoever—you’re running from. It’s a death sentence, one with a particularly long, cruel wait for the judgment to be passed.”
She shook her head, her eyes narrowed on my face. “You don’t know that. You don’t know that they would reject my case.”
“Yes, I do,” I informed her bluntly. “Maybe you’ve been too busy living in your fantasy version of your destination to pay attention to reality. Or maybe the people you paid to take you to the States fed you pretty lies, and you were desperate enough to believe them. But I promise you, you would not be permitted to stay in the US.”
“I don’t believe you.” But the wetness pooling on her lower lashes gave her away. She was lying to herself, and she knew it. Part of her must’ve known all along.
“Your disbelief doesn’t change the facts.” I didn’t bother to soften my tone. She had to understand that trying to cross the border again wasn’t an option. Leaving me wasn’t an option. “I won’t let you go through that. You’re staying here. With me.”
Her soft features firmed to stone, and her thick lashes narrowed. The tears that’d dampened them didn’t spill; she settled into anger and resentment to avoid facing the loss of her deluded fantasy.
I stepped back and mirrored her, folding my arms over my chest and fixing her with my hardest, most unyielding stare. When I turned this menacing expression on men, they jumped to do my bidding. Marisol seemed to shrink in my shadow, and her slender arms shifted to hug herself protectively instead of holding her defiant posture.