by Lana Sky
“You will pay for this,” he warns, his voice ice. “You—”
“Tell me why or I’ll scream,” I croak, still stunned by how quickly he moved.
The threat, however, must slip beneath his armor. He flinches, his eyes slits as I open my mouth and suck in air in preparation.
“Tell me—”
“You aren’t supposed to know that I’ve sold you.” He says it so tonelessly. As if he’s referring to a pair of shoes and not a woman. Me. My body. My life.
Voice rasping, the only reply I can choke out is, “W-What?”
“Why would I tell you?” he adds, closing the door to the balcony with a thud. Arms crossed, he starts to pace, his back to me. Ironically, it’s reminiscent of the times I would watch him in the dark, performing this very act in front of my family’s guest house, seeming as though the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. “As far as Jaguar knows, you think I’ve rescued you from the attack that killed your boyfriend. You think you’re safe under my protection here. It minimizes the risk to him for you to be in the dark.”
He doesn’t laugh or sneer. He’s telling the truth.
In Jaguar’s eyes, I’m his simpering little fool.
“You… You unimaginable bastard.” My voice breaks. I almost can’t fathom the cruelty—let alone the thought that he’s telling the truth. That could have easily been my reality if I didn’t regain consciousness to overhear his two goons discussing his ownership of me.
He even said it himself—I aimed to use her ignorance to my advantage.
The worst part that I find truly horrifying is that it could have worked. In a different world, I could have easily been lulled into a false sense of safety, believing he was my savior. In fact, that was my first hope soon after I awoke here.
And he took great pains to reveal that hope for what it was—fragile and pathetic.
“Why?” I demand. “Why tell me at all? Do you get off on my fear?”
Or maybe he truly hates me that much. He couldn’t even endure a lie long enough to gain my trust and have me put my faith in him. I am that repulsive to him.
The thought stings, but he never takes the chance to drive the truth home, right when it will hurt me the most. When I look up, he’s watching me, his expression devoid of any hint of emotion. He might as well be stone.
“You know what I want,” he says.
And maybe I do.
“Pia,” I rasp. Drawing my knees to my chest, I hunch over myself, suddenly aware of how naked I am in comparison to him. “You think she’s dead, and you think I know where some file my father had is. Because you are her brother.”
Navid.
Surprisingly, he doesn’t deny it outright. He cocks his head as if weighing my word choice. Apparently, I got some details wrong.
“You know where she is,” he says softly. “Maybe you think you don’t, but somewhere in that vapid, fucking brain is the answer. I’m sure of that.”
“You’re wrong,” I say. I don’t think I’ve ever heard my voice sound so hollow. So hopeless.
Can I even blame him?
I could play the victim and ignore the things I’ve done to Pia. I may not have killed her, but I certainly betrayed her. I conspired against her, and I shunned her without hearing her side.
Though who could blame me?
She slept with my father and used me to get to him, just as Domino seems determined to use me. And my father…
That’s all my life has been—being used, and used, and used.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Domino demands.
I’m staggering to my feet, heading for the balcony despite him moving to stand in front of me.
“I’m going to see if Jaguar is still here and beg him to take me with him—”
“Don’t!” He snatches my arm, yanking me back. “You have no fucking idea who he is. You think he’ll be your knight in shining armor? You are dead wrong, Ada-Maria.”
“I don’t care.”
And I don’t.
“Wait—” He tightens his grip when I attempt to take another step.
“Why should I?” I pull back to see his face, but I’m not prepared for the expression I find. Not one of hate. Instead, his eyes are narrowed, his head tilted as though he’s contemplating a puzzle he only has seconds to solve.
“I want to find Pia’s body,” he admits, pulling me even closer.
Not because he truly thinks I can break away, but because he’s that worried about being overheard. Whatever he’s saying, he does so while being fully cautious of Jaguar, despite the other man being yards away outside of the house.
“Help me, and you will have my protection. Trust me, it’s a better offer than anything else you’ll be presented with.”
“I…” Don’t know is my first impulsive reply. Truly I don’t. If Pia is dead, she could be anywhere. Besides, Domino has worked with my father; if anyone would have an idea of where he’d bury the body of a dead girl over a decade ago, it would be him.
And yet, something makes me swallow those words before I can fully voice them.
He means what he said to me—you will have my protection. It could be a lie, or another mind game. In the grand scheme, he could just sell me to Jaguar once he’s through with me and never look back.
But he’s right.
I don’t have a better option.
Why not get some leverage over him, no matter how fragile, and bide my time until a better opportunity comes along?
“Jaguar is a dangerous man, Ada-Maria,” he warns, still speaking in an undertone, his jaw practically pressed against mine. “You have no idea what he’s capable of, the things he will do to you if he gets the chance. I am your only hope of surviving with that pretty little body intact.”
“Fine.” It pains me to choke down a nasty retort and face him while keeping my expression blank.
He’s wary, his eyes slits as they scan my gaze, hunting for any sign of deceit. I don’t know if I aim to reassure him, or I merely have to hear myself say it out loud to believe it.
“I’ll play your game if you promise to protect me. I’ll do what I can to help you find Pia.”
That phrasing makes it not an outright lie.
But he didn’t miss it. “You lead me to Pia’s body if you want a damn thing from me,” he warns. “In the meantime, you prance around here like a happy little cum whore, and you let Jaguar and his spy believe that you are oblivious to everything. I am your hero who rescued you from a living nightmare after you watched your boyfriend be murdered right in front of you. Understand?”
I don’t. My head is spinning, trying to juggle it all, and now I know why he locked me in here—to protect his lie.
And yet, it betrays a rare hint of vulnerability on his part that he’s even revealed as much to me.
“I guess this means that you have no need to lock your naïve, captive bunny rabbit in a bedroom without her consent, then,” I croak. His nostrils flare, his grip on my arm tightening—but the display alone reveals that I’m right. Therefore, I don’t mind twisting the knife just a little more. “I guess that means no more collar, either.”
“Don’t forget that Jaguar knows I injured you badly enough to require an extra week for you to heal, Ada-Maria. This isn’t some fairy tale fucking romance—”
“How did you explain it?” I ask, jutting my chin as I parse through what few possible explanations I can come up with. None make sense. “Why would any woman stay with you willingly after what you’ve done? Why would my ‘hero’ collar me and have me whipped?”
“Do you really want to know?” He smiles, but it’s a grotesque distortion of his mouth, nothing more. “I told him you like it rough—” He releases me, retreating toward another corner of the room. A second later, a wad of fabric lands against my chest, thrown by him. “Get dressed. And if you want to extend your life beyond Tuesday, you’ll do what I say—which is keep your mouth shut.”
The clothing he gave me is his, I realize
. His shirt, which I pull on without complaint, too distracted by his revelation to care that, in this context, my little stunt has lost all its meaning.
No longer am I toying with his boundaries, but playing right into his sick narrative. His loyal, love-struck captive would, of course, choose to wear an item of his.
Did Alexi?
Her presence here irritates me more the longer I ponder Domino’s reaction to her. He kept pictures of him fondling her naked body in his closet. And yet, how did he refer to her?
Jaguar’s spy…
“Ines will bring you your lunch here,” Domino says.
I look over my shoulder to find him entering the hall. From the way he reaches for the doorknob, I can tell what he intends to do.
Lock me in.
“I thought you said I could leave?”
He scoffs. “I am not as dumb as I look, Ada-Maria, and you are not as convincing as you think you are. I’ve humored you this once, but if you want my trust, batting your eyelashes and showing off your tits isn’t how you get it. You earn it. Or so help me God, I will get that collar you like so much, wrap it around your throat and tie you in the closet like an animal for the week. Jaguar be damned. Do you understand that?”
He doesn’t give me the chance to answer.
He slams the door, and a definitive click that sounds after reveals that he wasn’t bluffing.
I’m locked in.
Quickly, though, I realize that I’m not completely without a weapon of my own.
I almost miss it as I pace, tearing my fingers through my hair as I consider going back onto that balcony and screaming bloody murder for anyone to hear.
He left it on the glass case of watches in the middle of the closet, perhaps as his own twisted attempt at a peace offering.
Or a taunt.
The pink surface mocks me as I approach it and warily run my fingers across the cover. Apart from last night, I haven’t touched this object in ten years. A decade.
Plenty of time for Pia’s lies and schemes to come back to bite me.
You think you’re so different from me? she screamed at me during one of the last times I ever saw her. You’re just a selfish, spoiled little bitch who can’t see beyond her stupid life. The rest of us? We’re not so lucky, Ada. I don’t have a papa to snap his fingers and fix my problems!
I’d been so angry; I could have exploded. Never, had I felt that kind of rage before, or since. So that’s why you had to fuck him, then? I’d thrown back at her. Who’s the bitch now?
She blinked, her green eyes blazing, glistening with unshed tears. I’ll never forget the look she gave me. Almost one of pity. You have no idea what the hell is going on, do you? God, you’re pathetic, Ada. Just give me my fucking diary back, and we can forget this ever happened…
But it was too late by then, of course.
I’d already given it to my father.
And I’d already read every word.
Chapter Four
This time, I don’t read a single page of the diary.
Maybe I’m just not brave enough. Or the avoidance is more an act of defiance than anything else. As much as he pretends not to, Domino badly wants me to help him decipher whatever mysteries his sister left behind. He’s desperate enough to hope that the answer to her supposed death lurks within those pages.
Though why should I help him? My own self-interest aside, trusting him would be foolish. If my father did kill Pia, and I lead him to her body, only God knows what he’d do to me in retaliation.
He’s already claimed to have killed my parents as well as Tristan.
Using the past as a predictor of the future, he’ll more than likely shoot me himself and bury me in Pia’s grave.
If there even is a grave.
A part of me still can’t buy it—which makes the revelation that Domino might be her brother even harder to stomach. He would know, wouldn’t he? If his sister were alive. She would have tried to contact him at least once within the past ten years?
Or Pia turned out to be the same old Pia, as selfish and cruel as I remember.
Though, even as a part of me desperately wants to cling to that belief, I can’t. Pia may have hated me, but she loved her brother. His name dominated the pages of that diary, from what I can recall. Her entire justification for stealing the amount of money she did was for him.
His surgery.
I have to wonder if, indirectly, Roy Pavalos paid for the transplant he inevitably received. That would make his betrayal far, far worse, I decide. To betray the man whose fortune saved your life, no matter his supposed crimes.
Only a monster would do that.
Though, to be fair, Domino doesn’t seem to have any idea as to who his sister truly was. Can I blame him? For the longest time, she had me fooled as well.
I loved her like a sister.
But to her, I was nothing but an obstacle to overcome.
The painful thought spurs me as far away from the diary as possible. Thankfully, he didn’t lock the door to the balcony. As I escape into the warm, mid-morning air, I find that Jaguar—and his posse—is gone. So is Alexi from her position on the terrace. An image of her and Domino fucking somewhere else, in some distant room of the house, sneaks into my skull, and I don’t have the strength to block it out.
I hate that I can’t predict him. Despite five years of knowledge regarding the man he used to be, I’m forced to admit that I know nothing about who he is.
Apart from what turns him on, of course. I know that a smart mouth—literally and figuratively—gets him going. But nowhere near as much as the sight of blood can.
My blood.
Here, in the warm, humid air far from prying eyes, there’s nothing to stop me from reliving those sordid moments. Over and over again.
His touch. His pleasured moans rippling through my eardrum. His breath, hot on my throat. His taste.
His chest.
I keep seeing the stark, surgical line that denotes a past I can’t deny. Whether or not he truly is Navid Inglecias, he’s suffered. Suffering that he seems to blame my father for—and, indirectly, me. It certainly puts an ironic twist on my past attraction to him, anyway.
To crave a man without a heart… His own, at least. It’s why his body can fuck me despite the hatred he harbors inside.
And yet, he’s the only man to truly make me feel…anything remotely close to pleasure during sex.
How goddamn sad is that?
Ines comes hours later, leaving a tray of food for me on the bed.
I ignore it, barely paying it a glance on my way into the bathroom. I strip his shirt, leaving it carelessly over the threshold, and approach the now empty shower stall.
It’s an exercise in clicking through various options on the digital control panel before I manage to get the water running. Safe within this glass cocoon, I lean against the granite wall and force myself to think.
If my father did kill Pia all those years ago, where could she be?
In our backyard? It’s an obvious guess, but one I can easily rule out—my mother would have long since found her during all of the many renovations she’s had done to the property in the last decade. I’m sure during the tennis court reno, it might have gotten back to us if the workers stumbled upon the body of a fifteen-year-old girl.
It isn’t long, however, before my thoughts turn away from Pia to the man who claims to be her long-lost older brother.
Because he’s here.
His scent packs a physical punch despite the overall stealth of his entrance. He watches me for a while, from beyond this realm of glass. I can see him from the corner of my eye, a shadow over the gray color scheme.
Eventually, he grows bored of merely watching. Without bothering to disguise his entrance, he slides open the glass door—slowly enough for the cool air to battle with the wall of steam I’ve let build up.
I don’t turn to see if he’s naked or not. When I sense him claim the bench across from me, I move to a different corner of t
he stall, finding a hook where he left the washcloth from this morning.
He never let me clean myself, I realize. Even now, I can feel the remnants of him, stubbornly clinging to my innermost, sensitive parts. Snatching the rag, I find a bar of scented soap and work it into a lather. Then I take my time, scrubbing every last inch of my body.
I’m methodical, so intent on my work that I almost forget he’s watching.
“You think you can ignore me?” he asks, his voice heavy, though I don’t detect his usual anger.
A good fucking session could do that to a man, leaving him languid and relaxed after.
Enough! I shake my head to clear it and run the rag between my breasts, then over my stomach—all without paying him a single glance.
“I like you quiet, Ada-Maria,” he continues, still sounding as if he’s across the stall. He hasn’t moved.
Yet.
“I don’t think I like you bitter, though. Your lips aren’t meant to be pursed so tightly. The expression ages you.”
I scoff, giving him the attention he wants. “Don’t tell me you’re partial to my father’s tastes. How did you put it? Young, dumb, blond—”
“I’m not talking about any other woman, am I?” he counters in a tone that makes me grip my washcloth tighter. “I’m talking about you.”
“Me,” I echo hoarsely. “The woman you hate. The woman you hurt and have brutalized. The woman who hates you.”
“You couldn’t fuck a man you hated the way you fuck me.”
I feel my mouth fall open at his bluntness. The worst part? He sounds confident—too confident.
As if he’s studied how I fuck in general, well enough to make an educated inference.
“I’m good at faking it, Domino,” I counter. Finally, I gather the nerve to meet his gaze from over my shoulder.
There is no sly, mocking smile on his face. He’s dead serious.
“That you are,” he agrees, seated on the bench, leaning back against the wall. He’s naked, I realize, my cheeks flaming. The water pelts him, glistening off his skin and erasing any traces of sweat or exertion that he might have sported beforehand. “You are a damn good faker, at least for a man who doesn’t know any fucking better.”