by Lana Sky
I tremble at the pure, vicious intent in his voice. He means every word, and the gleam in his eyes seconds that. Whoever this man is now, he’s not my father’s trusty lackey or Pia Inglecias’ long-lost brother.
He is a monster…
And I am at his mercy.
Chapter Seven
“I’m not talking about sex, either,” he clarifies, lowering his gaze to my mouth. “You seem to enjoy that. I’ll take pleasure in learning what it is you don’t enjoy, as soon as I grow tired of hearing those pretty little moans of yours.”
My cheeks sear, and the despair I feel is enough to drown me—but not yet. This time, I won’t go down without a fight. I’ll drag him down with me.
“You can do them,” I rasp, “Whatever vile things you can come up with in that sick brain of yours—and know that with every vile act, I’ll hate you more and more. Not that you’ll care about that. But then you’ll have to wonder, Domino. You’ll have to compare every scream and cry to every night I’ve spent with you, and you’ll realize just how damn good of an actress I am. Because every ‘pretty little moan?’ I’ve been faking them all this time. Why?” I force a laugh that has his nostrils flaring. “You truly believed that a brute like you could ever really get me off? Keep dreaming.”
The lies assuage my aching pride, and his darkening expression makes toying with him in this way worth it. No matter how violent he is, or how much he claims to hate me, he’s still susceptible to the same weakness as any other man.
Male pride.
“Sell me if you want to, you bastard,” I add, hissing through my teeth. “At least then I might experience what a true orgasm is before I die—”
He grabs me by the throat, and I swear I see my entire life flash before my eyes. And what a sad, pathetic excuse for a life it truly was. Who was Ada-Maria Pavalos in the grand scheme?
Just a memory, the daughter of Roy. No one special enough to make her own mark on the world. Merely a tiny blip on a much bigger picture.
Men like Domino and my father make lasting impressions without even trying. They destroy the lives of those weaker, leaving destruction in their wake.
I wait for the violence in his touch—for the suffocating ache of my throat being crushed in his fist. Instead, he strokes his thumb along my windpipe as a lethal, gentle reminder of the damage he’s capable of.
“So bold without your papa’s shadow to hide behind, Ada-Maria,” he taunts, but I can tell that beneath the mocking amusement is genuine curiosity. “That smart mouth has many hidden talents, though I strongly suggest that you reconsider which attributes might help extend your life a little longer.”
“Why?” I ask in a tone that resembles a wail more. A whine. “I have nothing left to live for.”
Except trying to preserve what small shreds of freedom I can claw back from him.
“You’ve taken everything.”
“Everything?” The shift in his inflection is my only warning before he spins me around, putting my back to the railing. With his gaze boring directly into my own, he uses his grip on my neck to steer me back.
Back…
The metal rung digs into my lower back, but he keeps going, forcing me to bend against it. My heart lurches as I scramble for purchase, gripping the barrier on either side of me with both hands. Already, a sheen of sweat disrupts my grip—it will be child’s play for him to shove me over entirely.
Kill me.
But, at least for now, his eyes lack any murderous intent.
“Everything?” he wonders softly. Viewing him from below, the harsh lines of his face are even more starkly beautiful in contrast to the way the moonlight glints off his skin. Soft, overhead light bathes everything on the terrace in a gentle, orange glow. The hue reflects off his eyes—he’s on fire.
“There are so many things I deliberately haven’t taken from you, Ada-Maria,” he tells me. “Yet.”
He releases my throat, and I writhe to pull myself upright. But he doesn’t fully withdraw, forcing me to balance awkwardly, practically sitting on the railing while he blocks me in with his sheer bulk.
“Do you want to know why I put that feeding tube down your throat myself?” His eyes trace the line of my throat, skimming over my breasts to fixate on my heaving stomach. “Do you?”
His tone is persistent, though I’m too stunned by the abrupt change in subject to come up with a fitting answer. “W-What?—”
“I wanted you to have meat on that ass so that when I take you there, I’ll have something to grab onto.”
I blink, shocked by the coarse, blunt word usage as much as I am by his tone. Real emotion breaks through the level baritone, rousing a fear I’ve never felt before. He isn’t angry or trying to scare me. He is dead serious.
“I needed you stronger,” he adds, sliding his fingers against my jaw before cupping my entire cheek against his palm. “The things I have planned for you, Ada… You’ll need all the strength you can get.”
My mind goes blank as my fear builds to the point that I can taste it—fire, salt, and blood.
“First, you offer to save me,” I croak. “And now, you threaten to hurt me.”
“Don’t sound so surprised.” He drags his gaze up to mine, and I find his eyes devoid of a hint of sympathy or guilt. “I am a man of many talents,” he confesses. “However, I never said that you wouldn’t enjoy what I plan to do you. Oh no, Ada, I think you’ll enjoy them very, very much. So much so that we can put your little theory to the test. How good of an actress are you?”
He laughs, leaning in so that his face is directly beside mine, his eyes on my throat.
“One could say I’ve become a connoisseur of the sounds made by Ada-Maria Pavalos over the years, and I have to admit that if you were faking, your acting skills have grown remarkably from over a month ago.”
Was that the last time he watched some sordid recording of me?
I don’t feed into his narrative outright. Instead, I meet his gaze and choke down the crippling unease warning me not to tangle with him. I should keep my mouth shut, or better yet, run.
Instead, I say, “What you think you heard, you’ll never hear again. At least not in person. If you’re still planning on selling me after all, then maybe you’ll get lucky while I’m with my buyer. He might even let you watch.”
His eyes narrow, and a jolt of alarm shoots down my spine. Careful, Ada. You’re on fragile ground. “I don’t think you’ll enjoy making the sounds he’ll wring from you, Ada-Maria.”
He. The way he voices that word carries such vitriol that I know he’s not referring to some nameless man in general. No, he has someone specific in mind.
Licking my lips, I hazard a guess, “Jaguar?”
“You…” Voice rumbling, he lowers his head, and his hair falls forward, shrouding his expression from view. “I think you’ll want to be very careful with what you say next...”
I shiver, but I’m too tired to fight. The longer I maintain this precarious balance, the less fearful I feel. Why not just let him push me over? At least I’ll be in control of my life for those final few seconds. No one can manipulate me anymore.
And yet, I can’t resist one last jab, aiming to get under his skin any way I can.
“I’ll ask him to record it for you,” I murmur, arching my back, so that my mouth is near his ear this time. “And I’ll make whatever damn sounds he asks me to.”
He lunges.
A scream builds in my throat, but I don’t even have the chance to voice it before he withdraws his support from me completely. I slip as my fingers lose their grip on the railing. In a heart-stopping jolt, I pitch backward.
At the same time, his hands latch onto my hips, anchoring me down. Rather than push me over, he sinks to his knees, wrenching my thighs apart.
A new kind of fear has me croaking, “D-Don’t!”
Not that he heeds the refusal.
Unconcerned, he snatches up the hemline of my dress, exposing me to the warm night air. I shudder, tryin
g to clamp my knees together, but he’s too strong, utilizing brute force to keep them spread. Then his head lowers…
I squeeze my eyes shut, praying that he won’t do what his position implies he might. Every muscle in my body goes rigid in grim anticipation as I feel his breath graze the innermost parts of me.
He breathes in. Out.
In and out.
I think he’s toying with me on purpose, heightening the tension until it’s electric. Unbearable. The folds of my pussy burn, exposed to his heat. Nerves explode, even without the aid of his touch. It’s a cruel, pulsating sensation.
“S-Stop—”
“I could have you begging me to fuck you.” His voice is a grated rasp—as if every word is being torn from the darkest parts of his brain. Those fantasies he’s barely even aware of. “I could. I could have you screaming for me, gushing like a fucking geyser. I’d make you choke on every last word you’ve said.”
The warmth basting my pussy turns hotter. Sweltering. I can’t stop myself from writhing, wanting to pull away.
Get closer…
“But I won’t.” All at once, he stands, wrenching me down from my perch. His grip on my shoulder is the only force keeping me upright. My knees are wobbling, my legs jelly. “You want to know why? The world doesn’t revolve around Ada-Maria’s pussy.”
He lets me go, forcing me to grapple for the railing to find my balance.
Dazed, I watch him re-enter the bedroom as his voice reaches back to me. “Decide if you plan to waste my time or not. You only have one chance to earn my trust. If not, I’ll drag you to Guarida del Tigre myself, and believe me when I say that I will watch, Ada-Maria. But I don’t think you’ll enjoy yourself half as much as you seem to think you will. Jaguar’s world won’t be as kind to you as mine has.”
When he’s gone, the impact of his words resonates like a gut punch. Dejected, I sink to my knees, still gripping the balcony, my eyes on the shadowed landscape below. I’m terrified of what might await me; I truly am.
I’m more terrified, however, by the prospect of what his “protection” entails. Something tells me that Domino Valenciaga has a warped concept of the phrase. The last thing on earth I should strive to gain is his trust.
And yet…
I don’t have a choice.
It’s either him or the unknown, and—at least for now—I’d rather take him.
If only to be the one to push him figuratively overboard in the near future.
Chapter Eight
I wake up in the white room, startled and disoriented. For one, I don’t remember how I got here. I have no recollection of leaving Domino’s room…
In fact, my last memory is huddling on the balcony, still stung from his taunt.
For now, I put the mystery out of my mind and sit upright, realizing that I’m lying on the bed, atop the neatly made sheets.
Alexi isn’t anywhere in sight, at least. Golden sunlight bathes the room in warm shades of yellow that cast a chilling background to the tension still lingering in the air. Domino isn’t around either, but he’s close. I can sense him and his rage smoldering somewhere within the house, waiting to descend.
I’ll make him wait a little longer, though.
I enter the closet and strip my black dress in favor of a new one. This style is lighter, made out of white cotton, and breathable in the heat. When I return to the bed, I find that someone must have come in without me realizing it, leaving a silver tray on the bed. Ines?
I barely pay the food a passing glance, but something catches my eye. A square, white envelope strategically placed upright against a plate of scrambled eggs and beautifully arranged fruit. My name is written across it in sloping handwriting.
Cautiously, I open it, finding just a plain white card with a message written on it. While Ines may have left this tray for me, I doubt she penned these two lines in menacing black script.
I suggest you eat. Or you will regret it.
A friendly morning missive from Domino.
I rip it in half, letting the pieces fall at my feet. Then I turn my back on the tray, fully intending not to eat so much as a damn bite. Let him make his demands and pose all the threats he wants.
But then I realize that I would only be giving him an opening to escalate his taunts. My stomach drops as I remember what happened on the balcony. Every time I try to meet him tit for tat, he turns the tables.
Ignoring him now would be a blatant invitation for him to impose yet another change to our dynamic. Perhaps try to do more than shove a feeding tube down my throat, for instance.
I shudder at the prospect and wind up sitting on the edge of the bed before I can rethink my options. I grab a fork, stab at a piece of egg and bite it, chewing mechanically.
The taste barely registers, but the sickening sensation of food filling my stomach is unbearable. I nearly spit it out. The need to purge is so damn overwhelming that it takes effort to swallow. Once I do, I drop the fork, lurching to my feet.
I’ve done enough.
But then I picture his expression as he said, “You’ll need your strength.” In reality, he likes me weak and powerless. He prefers having the utmost control over my body and my life.
He’d love having one more reason to rip away what fragile autonomy I have left.
So I force myself to pick up the fork and take another bite. And another.
The food feels like lead going down my throat, but with every subsequent bite, I can’t ignore the selfish satisfaction I feel at denying him a victory in this arena. He’ll have to look for something else to lord over me, another weakness to exploit. I won’t let him play on my insecurities so recklessly.
Fuck him.
I surprise myself and nearly clear the entire plate. I even manage to consume most of the fruit, and when I finally step back from the tray, I’m grinning. For the first time in years, a full stomach doesn’t make me feel disgusting and stuffed.
I feel ready to face him and whatever he might throw at me next.
But the second I step one foot beyond the doorway, that bravery fades. I’m on his turf again, forced to navigate his twisted, dark world without any sense of direction.
It’s still morning, I think. When I head for the circular foyer that serves as the heart of the house, a rare sound reaches my ears, so disarming that I stop in my tracks and crane my head to listen.
Laughter. Sexy, raucous laughter—a female and a male’s, his deep and melodic and unmistakably genuine.
I’m skeptical as I gather up the nerve to follow it, convinced that a different man must be out on the terrace where the sound resonates the strongest. Perhaps the mysterious Jaguar returned to see our dynamic in action for himself?
But no.
The figure chuckling shamelessly on a white lounger, his head thrown back to expose his throat, is Domino Valenciaga, Alexi seated across from him.
“I told you,” she purrs, leaning toward him so that her ample breasts threaten to spill from her low-cut white tank top. “I am a woman of many talents.”
“I believe you,” Domino replies. “It takes a certain talent for attracting trouble to catch Jagger’s attention.”
“Oh no you don’t,” Alexi teases. “No prying, Dom. It’s rude.”
She doesn’t see me, smirking at him, her blue eyes sparkling.
But he does. He goes silent mid-laugh, and even I can admit that the shift in him is terrifying to witness. His eyes lose what hint of warmth they had and go cold as his shoulders fall into a hard, rigid line. With a stern tilt of his chin, he levels his gaze in my direction.
God, he must truly hate me. It’s the only explanation for why he can react to me so harshly within seconds.
And yet, while alone with Alexi, display a relaxed demeanor I don’t think I’ve ever seen him embody. Not once during my captivity, not even during all the years he worked for my father. In fact…
I don’t think I’ve ever heard him laugh like that.
“I need to speak to Ada-Ma
ria in private,” he says. His chilling tone spurs Alexi to lurch to her feet without argument. Swaying her hips, she heads inside, staring right past me, her nose in the air. I ignore the slight and focus on the man before me.
He’s leaning forward, his hands braced on either knee like a soldier readying for battle. His outfit reinforces that comparison. He’s swapped the dark attire for white today, opting for slacks and a loose shirt—but, for what I think is the first time, he’s left the buttons completely undone.
Given the fact that Alexi didn’t seem bothered by the sight of his scar, I realize that it wasn’t modesty or shame that drove him to cover it all this time. It was me.
He didn’t want me to see it, and I doubt that fear of my reaction was his motive. He wanted to make sure that he held all the cards at his disposal until the last possible second, shielding his supposed identity as Pia’s brother.
Which means that he doesn’t think I’m quite as stupid as he pretends.
“Morning. Did you enjoy your breakfast?” he asks, his tone flat in comparison to his laughter.
I force a smile in return. “It was marvelous. I was starving, thank you.”
I see his eyebrow go up, and I get the sense that he’s wrestling with storming into my room and seeing the tray for himself. Instead, he snaps his fingers, and a woman appears in the doorway, too short to be Alexi.
“Ada-Maria is done with her breakfast, Ines,” Domino says, which I assume is her cue to go check.
In the meantime, he nods toward the lounger Alexi vacated.
“Have a seat.”
I deliberately skip over the lounger he indicates, claiming the one slightly further apart, just beyond his reach.
His eyes narrow at the insolence. To my shock, though, he doesn’t call me out directly. Instead, he sits back, crossing his arms to inspect me with a searching glance that has me squirming.
“I’ll give you one last chance to rethink lying to me,” he says, his voice soft and nonthreatening—which just makes me even more on edge. I don’t trust this suddenly patient side of him. A threat lurks beneath it, I’m sure of that. “Admit now that you were playing a game, and when I whip you in punishment, I’ll do so gently.”