Blood Ties (A Dark Cartel Romance) (Dinero de Sangre Book 2)

by Lana Sky

With his back to me, it’s easy to forget the sheer depths of evil this man is capable of. His body is sin, beauty, and strength melded into one glorious form. Flexing muscle dances beneath his skin in a mouth-watering display.

  I almost forget I’m meant to despise him.

  Then he turns to face me. “Over there.” He inclines his head toward the direction of the balcony. “Follow the balcony around to the left.”

  I bite my lip before obeying, exiting into the warm morning air to find the full extent of the estate unfolding before me. In the dark, what looked like a sheer, endless drop turns out to be a small hill where the terrace gardens meet swaths of rolling, lush fields.

  Standing here feels so surreal—bringing home just how isolated we are in this tiny sliver of the world. A man could easily hold a woman captive on a property like this one.

  Forever.

  Luckily, my stint at Domino’s villa already has an end date—Tuesday. By the beginning of next week, I’ll belong to Jaguar and be subsequently dragged off to only God knows where.

  “I said to the left.”

  I flinch as the reminder is voiced directly against my ear, I didn’t even notice him coming up behind me, gripping the railing on either side of my body, trapping me here.

  “Don’t let the arrival of prying eyes lull you into a false sense of security, Ada-Maria. They won’t stop me from punishing your insolence in any way I see fit,” he warns, his voice a fraction deeper. “Trust me, I’ll very much enjoy having an audience to perform for, their gasps drowning out your screams…”

  I shiver, sufficiently cowed. Still, I can’t resist a parting jab of my own. “Shouldn’t you be busy fucking her now?”

  Alexi.

  Her presence bends the rules of this hellscape prison, and I latch onto the distraction. It’s petty to be jealous at a time like this, but fear is the only alternative. It was easier to suffer as a lone captive under a madman’s purview. But as a third wheel, forced to inhabit the same dwelling as two of my enemies fuck like rabbits in the other room?

  Or plot against me…?

  “She can join us, if you’d like,” Domino says in a tone so neutral I can’t tell if he’s joking. “I, however, am not fond of sharing my toys.”

  I cringe, noting yet another subtle warning. About Jaguar? He’s sold me to him, and yet he seems irritated by the reality of what that means.

  It’s a dangerous theory to test. His possession isn’t out of concern for me, of course—mere jealousy. But how strong?

  Hopefully strong enough to buy me more time.

  “I could ask her what positions my new owner might like.” What I intend to sound mocking comes out far too hoarse. I’m horrified. Still, I can’t stop. “If he likes anal or oral—”

  “Enough.” His grated rasp startles me silent as he grabs my arm, manually steering me toward the direction he first indicated. To the left. Just beyond the bedroom doorway is a narrow path leading to a sliding glass door, and inside is a space that might be classified as a bathroom.

  Or a torture chamber.

  Still, behind me, Domino cups the back of my throat. “This is where you will bathe from now on,” he declares against my ear. “And where you will bathe me. You can start now. I think we both could use a shower, no?”

  He’s right. His seed is still drying between my thighs, his taste in my mouth, his sweat on my skin.

  And yet, Alexi’s presence is too glaring to ignore.

  For whatever reason, amid the possibility of being sold and the arrival of Jaguar, she stands out as the most alarming factor in this twisted equation.

  Why the hell is she here?

  “Aren’t you going to invite your guest?” I croak, still unable to pull off a playful tone.

  He turns, stepping into me so that he’s facing me directly, his jawline grazing mine. “Jealousy isn’t becoming on you, Ada,” he scolds, his tone low with warning. “Don’t misunderstand me—you will never mean more to me than as a tool. A body. A hole. Whatever I desire in the given moment—” He cups my cheek, roughly smoothing a stray curl behind my ear as he pulls back to hold my gaze. “If I want another woman, or another man, or several to fuck you—or whatever the hell I want them to do, I will say so. Do you understand?”

  My eyes brim with tears as I force a nod.

  But I won’t let him hurt me without a parting shot in return. Prying my dry lips apart, I croak, “I’ll be ready for every last one of them. Jaguar seems like he might be promising in that aspect at least.”

  His eyes narrow, but he turns away before I can decipher what the reaction might mean. Instead, I shift my focus to examining the room in full, becoming more awed—and terrified—with every observation I make.

  It’s massive, everything gleaming with a shiny new aura that makes me suspect it’s an addition that he had built specifically for this purpose.

  To “bathe” together in torturous harmony.

  At the back of my mind, that suspicion doesn’t mesh with the fact that he plans on selling me by the beginning of next week. Why go through such trouble?

  But this man is a mystery I don’t have the energy to solve. I’m too damn tired to.

  So rather than think, I stare and make a note of every alarming detail of this space. There is an enclosed walk-in shower large enough to constitute an adjacent room, lined with black marble and complete with large, built-in benches on either side. A computerized screen affixed near the entrance presumably controls the spray.

  Across from it is an oval-shaped pristine tub, large enough to fit two people—and more. The sleek silver fixtures give it a more clinical design than the other bathroom. A look that implies it could be used for soaking, as well as the perfect vessel for a madman to boil his kidnapped lover alive just for the hell of it.

  The thought makes my breath catch in my chest, though I’m not sure which detail unnerves me more. The fact of him actually doing that to me, or that I referred to myself as his lover.

  I’m not.

  The appraising look he sends my way next makes that more than crystal clear—I am his trophy. A toy. A minor inconvenience.

  “Get in.” He nods to the shower stall and reaches for his slacks, intending to remove them. I look away, my cheeks flaming.

  Not that I have the right to any shred of modesty. I’ve already seen and experienced nearly every inch of him. What little I haven’t lingers in my mind, and I can’t resist sneaking another glance at it as he marches past me and fiddles with the shower’s electronic screen, his ass bare.

  That mark on his chest undermines everything I’ve come to believe about Domino Valenciaga—before the kidnapping, at least. More than anything he’s said or done, the sight of that scarlet, surgical scar proves that the man I knew was a well-crafted lie.

  The real man is a stranger. Domino isn’t even his name.

  He is Navid Inglecias, brother of Pia, the girl who was once my best friend—until she went missing—a disappearance Domino insists was because of my father. That’s why he’s done all of this, after all, betrayed us and killed my parents.

  He thinks Roy Pavalos murdered his sister.

  And that I know why.

  Chapter Two

  “I said get in.”

  I snap to awareness at his hostile tone, but he doesn’t seem inclined to follow up with violence. Yet. He’s already gotten the water going and steps beneath the spray first.

  Numbly, I set aside the clothing I procured for myself on a nearby row of pristine gray countertops. When I face him again, I’m still wrapped only in a sheet. As the seconds tick by, I take my time fiddling with the twisted fabric to study him in full.

  Based on Jaguar’s demand, I have until Tuesday. On its face, I’m not even sure what that date symbolizes, or what I plan to do in the meantime. It’s not like I have a wealth of options—I could either escape, kill Domino outright, or convince him not to sell me. The sad part? I’m not sure which of those aims is even remotely achievable.

 
I already tried the first plan to no avail.

  Killing him is a far more tempting option.

  But seduction… It’s the only method I’ve had even a modicum of success attempting—though, I assume that depends on what one might determine as success. I’ve gotten him to listen to me, anyway, and let his guard down long enough to sleep in the same bed.

  Twice.

  That must mean something.

  “Don’t make me tell you a third time.” His voice, aided by the roar of rushing water, comes as a low rasp I know better than to challenge. Without fanfare, I yank the sheet away from my body and stagger toward him, wincing as I walk directly through a cloud of warm steam.

  “Wait.” He meets me as I cross the threshold, grabbing my wrist. I wince before I realize what he’s doing—unhooking a brown watch from my wrist. I’ve forgotten I’m still wearing it, one of his, taken from his closet.

  He throws it onto the counter, near my pile of clothing, and turns his back to me. “Sit—” He nods to indicate a long bench on the other end of the space. The surface is textured so that I have purchase on it, even while wet. Shuddering, I find myself fixated by the only sight in view—him, his naked body facing away from me, his hands braced over the stone wall.

  The angle strains the coiled muscle along his back and upper thighs, conveying better than words how this morning’s impromptu visit has affected him. He’s pissed, though damn good at hiding it. For someone so solidly built, I marvel at the fact that he was once a sickly boy who needed a heart transplant just to have a shot at survival.

  Or so he says.

  Were he anyone else, I’d use his past as a delicate attempt to start a conversation and pry what little information from him I could. It would be so easy were we still in Terra Rodea, and I had the cloak of my father’s power to hide behind. Why wouldn’t it be? I’ve been bred to manipulate men and women alike, all with a coy grin.

  This iteration of Domino Valenciaga makes me rethink my entire approach toward people—and my life as a whole. From day one, none of my attempts at friendliness—or otherwise—ever worked on him. Maybe I never was as charming or as pretty, or as sexy as I thought?

  Or at least, not until he ensconced me in his private estate in the middle of only God knows where. Here, away from the city where I always believed I had influence, I could finally get him to fuck me.

  And I hate myself for being proud of breaking down his barriers in such an insignificant way.

  “Why don’t you let me go now?” The question springs from my lips before I can rethink the pros and cons of asking it. “After all, if my father is dead—” I choke, barely able to spit out that word. “Then I’m of no danger to you. You have no worry of anyone seeking revenge.”

  “If?” He scoffs at the phrasing, his head lowered, hair hanging damply. “Don’t be flattered by your presence here, Ada-Maria. I’ll still give what’s left of you to Jaguar when I’m done.”

  It’s a horrifying threat that robs the air from my lungs, just as he intended it to.

  And…

  It’s a lie. I’m not sure at first. Not until I parse over that subtle dip in his inflection. No, I don’t think he intends for me to go to Jaguar.

  Not anytime soon, at least.

  And the confusion sowed by that thought is more than enough to dispel any exhaustion I may have felt. I sit forward, newly electrified with a desire to get a rise out of him. It seems to be the only way we communicate effectively.

  Via taunts.

  “You had no problem letting Alexi go to him,” I point out, cringing at the feel of her name in my mouth. I hate the thought that he had his cock in her first. That he enjoyed her first.

  That he did so without the excuse of hateful lust and that she had the nerve to smile after. She smiled like his attention was comparable to heaven itself—that elated fucking smirk porn stars spend years trying to emulate.

  God, I hate her.

  I hate him more. Enough that I don’t take the tensing of his entire body as a warning sign like I should.

  “Is that what this is about?” I continue stupidly. “Revenge? He stole your woman, and so you have penis envy—”

  “Finally.” Pulling away from the wall, he whirls on me. “That mouth says something relevant for fucking once. Say it again.”

  Penis, I presume, because he grabs his, cupping his fingers along the engorged shaft. I feel my eyes bulge. How could I miss the extent of his erection until now?

  Does the topic of Jaguar fucking his women get him so horny?

  No, I realize as he stalks in my direction, spraying droplets of water as he goes. It’s anger that arouses him. Rage. Disgust. All things inspired by me alone.

  When he’s close enough, he cups my chin, tilting it. I grit my teeth experimentally, wondering if I have the strength to resist the intention written in his gaze.

  I don’t. He merely flexes his fingers, and my lips fly apart.

  “These lips,” he murmurs, shocking me further by stroking the underside of my jaw with his thumb. “Some men would kill to have a mouth like this at their disposal.”

  Still holding me, he returns his opposite hand to his cock. In this position, I’d only have to lean forward to have access to him—and the way he tilts his hips in a silent demand makes it clear that’s exactly what he wants. Me at his beck and call like a worthless whore. Like trash, as disposable as he claimed I am. My cheeks heat with shame.

  Though why should I feel that way?

  I’m not the man absently praising a woman he hates. He assumes there’s power in degrading me. But I am a Pavalos.

  We were born into power and taught from day one how to claim it. The catch is that I never had to do so without my father’s commands, but there is no better time than now to start.

  Meeting his gaze, I hold it, leaning forward of my own accord to graze the tip of him with my tongue. He lurches, and I savor the brief moment of triumph. He claims to own me, but he can’t own this.

  If I ignore the man, his cock is a beautiful specimen. He’s circumcised, his arousal so thick already, he’s practically pulsating. Were I the whore he claimed I am, his beauty alone would make his personality easy to overlook.

  Warily, I cup him in the palm of my hand, testing the formidable weight. Aided by the warmth of the water, he’s molten, and I feel a jolt shoot through my core.

  “You look at my cock like it’s a lollipop.” His cool remark complicates my desire to ignore him. To thwart me further, he grips my chin, forcing me to meet his amused stare.

  “Let’s see what that beautiful little mouth can do. Open it.”

  I bristle at the command. No. This moment feels as fragile as he proved my body can be against his violence. If I let him dominate me in this arena, I might as well roll over and present my throat for the killing blow.

  This brief power, and my sexuality…

  They’re all I have, and I own both by delivering a slow, savoring lick to the underside of his shaft despite his warning.

  His shock is a thing of twisted beauty. He groans, his head shooting back while the hand on my chin slides down to my throat, almost in a grateful caress. Then he squeezes so tightly my eyes bulge.

  “I told you to open,” he grates.

  Choking down any doubt, I lick him again, going slower, so slow the entire world seems to come to a screeching halt, hinging on the time it takes my tongue to clear the length of his shaft.

  “Dios mío…” His voice is constricted with a grudging hint of something that could be pleasure, paired with his low grunt of annoyance. The hand around my throat sinks into my hair, cinching a fistful. “I told you to—”

  I cup him again, curling my fingers around his impressive width. Then I stroke, up and down, each time with increasing amounts of pressure.

  He breathes out roughly, his head still tilted back, eyes on the ceiling above. The shower spray continues to pelt us in that faint, fine mist, but the sensation acts like a cloud, obscuring us from the re
st of the world.

  In here, only the two of us exist, battling for control of this secluded realm. I aim to win. I have to—there isn’t any other choice.

  “Damn you.” His anger is palpable in the vibrations running through me as he speaks. “Obey me. Open your fucking mouth—”

  “I want you to make me come, instead,” I gasp out, the first request that pops into my head. My aim is merely to test how far I can push him—nothing else.

  And his soft, startled grunt shouldn’t make my stomach flip. His brows shoot together, eyes like slits, and I nearly back down. Almost. But I’m genuinely curious of the answer to a question only he has ever made me bold enough to ask.

  “Can you? Just with your cock, nothing else?” It’s a fantasy I used to mull over in agony while in my old bed, forced to make do with my own fingers, while the Domino I thought I knew ignored me.

  Here and now, the real man doesn’t even try to disguise his interest. His expression shifts as he processes the challenge. When he grazes my windpipe with the tips of his fingers, I expect him to grip it, forcing my mouth open. Instead, he withdraws…

  Only to snatch a length of my hair in the same breath. Viciously, he tugs, yanking me to my feet, wrenching me around so that my back is to him, my hands forced to brace against the wall of the stall.

  He gives me no forewarning. No preparation. Only the water basting our bodies provides him any lubrication as he slams inside of me with a ferocity so intense, I cry out—that and the fact that I’m already wet for him. He hisses as my readiness drags him deep—so deep that his balls smack against my inner thighs, driving home the depth he’s reached.

  It should hurt, I think.

  But it doesn’t.

  It stings, and it burns, and it’s terrifying just how good it feels.

  I should hate this man, vomit at his mere touch.

  And yet, he has me moaning in a way I never have. Only as he abruptly withdraws do I realize he imparted that single thrust. Nothing more.

  “You think you can command me,” he murmurs against my throat. Then he bites, raking his teeth down to my shoulder. My startled cry nearly drowns out his next words. “I am the one in control here, Ada—” He jerks me around to face him, his eyes glowing, teeth bared. “Do you understand that?”