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

by Lana Sky

  And what he’s done.

  “What are you doing?” I ask him in a whisper.

  That simple question flips a switch in him. “My Ada,” he growls, shoving me from his chest as he rolls onto his side, putting his back to me. “Still begging.”

  I don’t bother to deny him. I’m too tired. I merely lie back, looking up at the ceiling and count the many ways I’ve let him regain the upper hand again.

  On second thought, denying him is the only modicum of power I have left. Still, not in the outright sense of the word. It’s more subtle than that, lurking in all the things he hasn’t said just yet.

  “Why Domino?” I ask of the darkness surrounding us, so thick I can only see the outline of his muscular back, ghosted by a hint of pale light coming in through the windows. “Why that name?”

  It’s so long before he so much as sighs in response. I think he won’t reply at all.

  “Because Navid Inglecias is dead,” he says, startling me.

  At first, I think literally—that he’s revealing yet another twist to this wicked plot he’s set into motion. Then I realize that he would sound far smugger if that were the case.

  Not…exhausted.

  “He died of a congenital heart condition,” he adds. “The poor bastard.”

  “Why pick Domino?” I ask, though I’m not sure why I’m even curious. His origin means nothing as it relates to my ultimate fate. One he seems resigned to.

  “If you were listening closely, Ada, I think you might be able to put the pieces together all by yourself.”

  I bristle at the brush-off. Then I remember a name he mentioned once. Domin… Domingas.

  “Carlos Domingas,” I say. “Did you pick the name as an homage to him?”

  “Again, you prove that you are nowhere near as dumb as you pretend to be,” he says.

  A compliment? “I don’t think even Don Roy made that connection.”

  I can see how the name would appeal to someone like him. He could rub his true allegiance in the face of his enemy from the start. Considering how long my father kept him around, maybe he never made the connection at all.

  “What about Valenciaga?”

  I expect that he won’t answer directly or spin another riddle at my expense.

  “My mother…”

  Something in my chest gives way, startling me at the intensity of the emotion. Is this sympathy? When applied to him, I can’t tell.

  I don’t remember Mrs. Inglecias much. Just that she was a kind, beautiful woman with dark hair and warm brown eyes. Pia spoke of her rarely, but I got the sense she respected her in a way I never would my own mother.

  “Her mother’s maiden name,” he adds, his voice gruff. “An obscure enough distinction to hopefully go unnoticed by Roy Pavalos.”

  He put a lot of thought into this, I realize. He had to in order to go five years undetected. The level of depth is mind-blowing, especially when I consider the trajectory of my life during the same amount of time. I lived in my parents’ home, on my father’s dime, and I implicitly trusted any man he brought into our orbit. Before now, if I had been forced to guess which of my father’s associates would have betrayed him, Domino would have been at the very bottom of the list. I would have never imagined he could be Navid, either. Namely for one reason.

  “Your heart? How did you afford it?” I ask, rolling on my side. The box spring isn’t as forgiving as the mattress would be, and the material protests in grating creaks with every movement.

  He sighs. “I’ll humor you, Ada-Maria. Would you like the long version or the short?”

  I’m surprisingly curious to hear any ounce of information he’ll give, but I’m not foolish enough to waste his amicable mood on one story.

  “Short,” I say, to play it safe and hope he hasn’t grown bored of me yet.

  “As a favor to my mother, a kind, mysterious benefactor gave it to me out of the goodness of his heart. How is that explanation?”

  “A lie,” I suspect. “No one does anything out of the goodness of their heart.”

  Not even him, apparently.

  “I’ll let you put the pieces together,” he says, cryptic once again. “In the meantime, I suggest you shut that pretty mouth of yours, unless it’s to beg.”

  Because Jaguar is coming tomorrow.

  And I have no idea what that heralds for me.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I wake up to the sensation of warm sun on my back and the feeling of an empty bed, over which I’m lying lengthwise, my feet dangling off the edge. I know without having to open my eyes that Domino is gone.

  Maybe I’m too fucking pathetic to check for myself. I don’t need any confirmation to reinforce the coolness of the box spring beneath me or the lack of thick, brutal fingers raking through my hair.

  And I can hear his voice…

  Faint, it sounds like it’s coming from beyond the room, but not in the direction of the hall. The closet?

  “…be ready for me. I know it’s earlier than we planned. Just be fucking ready. I have no idea what he’ll do; just wait for my signal. Gracias.”

  Curiosity alone spurs me to open my eyes, just in time to catch him storming from the closet, a cell phone in hand. My gaze latches onto it for a second before my brain sleepily catches up, and I realize why the sight strikes me as so odd.

  I’ve heard him on the phone, but I rarely see him with it. In fact, the last time Jaguar called, Ines brought the phone to him. He must be keeping it hidden somewhere beyond my reach.

  Just in case, I decided to do the smart thing, like call for help or try to figure out where in the hell we actually are.

  “Get up.” He meets my gaze while stowing the phone in his pocket—a spot where I know for a fact that he doesn’t keep the device regularly.

  As if aware of me watching, he gathers the clothing scattered across the floor one item at a time.

  “Go wash yourself and get dressed,” he tells me, tugging at his collar. Today, it’s buttoned all the way, the closest he’s come to embodying the dress style he utilized while working for my family.

  Is it merely coincidence that today happens to be the day Jaguar has made it known that he’ll arrive? I’m not bold enough to jump to that conclusion. Yet.

  Instead, I scramble to my feet, still naked. I catch his eyes raking over me, and I note that they gleam as coldly as his tone. It’s a subtle, but disarming change from his relaxed mood last night. Once again, I have whiplash at how volatile he can be. Calm, like a sheet of ice one minute, and blazing the next to rival the most intense inferno.

  Staggering to my feet, I slip past him, eagerly darting into the closet. I can’t escape the tension weighing down the atmosphere. I can taste the unease. The dread.

  In so many ways, it reminds me of those brief moments when my father would be away on business, right before his return. The faint smile my mother would sport in his absence would fade, and the servants would become frantic, ensuring every little detail was in place.

  On second thought, it’s not exactly the same. Jaguar inspires something in Domino that not even my father seemed to. In the presence of Roy, he was always the stoic bodyguard, despite his supposed hatred of us from the very beginning.

  But when it comes to Jaguar, or Julian, there is no ounce of restraint that I can sense. He’s shamelessly angry, uncaring of who sees it.

  As hilarious as a comparison it might be, in my head, I’m bold enough to make it. When it comes to Jaguar, Domino reminds me of…

  Well, me. Trapped in a world, he has no clue of how to escape. All he can do is go through the motions and loathe every minute of it.

  But therein lies a murkier set of questions that I’m not even sure I want to toy with speculating on. My father had twenty-five years to break me down and mold me into the creature I’ve become. In essence, that time has numbed me to all of the vile things he’s made me do. Some of them, anyway.

  But what has Jaguar made Domino do to garner such hatred? For the past f
ive years, he’s spent nearly every waking moment in Terra Rodea? Does their feud stem from before that, maybe around the time he received his mysterious transplant?

  I’ll let you put the pieces together, he said last night. I thought it was a cruel jab at first, but now I can parse over all of the other little breadcrumbs he’s let slip. Once, he told me that he owes a debt that can’t be paid with paper money—only blood.

  How did he put it? An eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth.

  A heart for a heart.

  I brush my fingers along my chest and realize I’m shaking, even before my newest suspicion has fully taken hold. Could Jaguar’s interest in me go beyond sex? He bought my “body,” but in the literal sense…

  “I told you to get dressed.”

  I turn, startled by the sight of him still here. His gaze flits over me, dark and unreadable. Any other moment, I don’t think I’d be brave enough to provoke him so early.

  But, as it turns out, I might not have much time left to find answers of my own.

  “You sold me,” I croak, hating the raw pain in my voice—and the fear. “Be honest. You didn’t sell me to some sex dungeon, did you?”

  “I don’t follow,” he replies.

  “Did you sell my…b-body. You said you owed Jaguar more than money. Did he find your heart? And now you’ve promised him a new one.”

  He laughs, and I blink at the sound; it’s rich. Almost as real as the one he displayed with Alexi. As he chuckles, he enters the closet again, and my own heart stutters.

  “You think I’ve sold your body parts on some transplant black market? That’s too creative, Ada-Maria, even for me.”

  “So then clarify it and stop dancing around the truth.”

  His eyes cut to slits. “I sold you to be fucked and tossed from buyer to buyer. Use your imagination to fill in the gaps.” He might as well be referring to an animal. Or a bug. Something he deems beneath the need for empathy.

  An object.

  I don’t know which ultimate ending would be worse, to be honest. To be used for sex or sliced to pieces. Either way, it’s obvious that he doesn’t give a damn.

  “Maybe you should wrap me with a bow,” I whisper, feeling so helpless… I could scream. “Then I’ll be ready either way.”

  “I’d tie the bow around your neck,” he suggests. “Then you would be ready either way. Now get dressed.”

  He stalks past me and snatches a dress from a hanger. Then he reenters the main room and approaches the makeshift barricade still blocking the door. With graceful ease, he shoves the mattress aside and pushes the wardrobe back to its usual spot.

  Opening the door, he leads the way into the hall and into the bathroom. Then he runs the water in the tub, and when he reaches for me, I can tell from the set of his shoulders that he expects me to run or put up a fight.

  I don’t do either, letting him drag me into the water with no resistance.

  I submit to the surprisingly warm—not scalding—bath and barely pay him any attention as he retreats to the other end of the room.

  I’m too busy dwelling on the current state of my life. In retrospect, could I have ever expected to end up any differently? Still a pawn of my father’s, despite what Domino claims. It’s hate for Roy Pavalos that darkens his gaze every time he looks at me.

  “You have that look,” Domino scolds, reappearing with a towel that he places on the floor, a rag, and a bar of soap. Sinking into a crouch, he dips the rag into the water and works it into a lather. “That pining, kicked-puppy look that warns Ada-Maria hasn’t gotten her way.”

  “I’m not in the mood for jokes,” I say absently, staring straight ahead even as I feel the water swish as a result of his ministrations. “I’m thinking of how sad your life must be. Five years. All this effort, and my father is hooked up to a machine keeping him alive, and I’m ‘at your mercy.’ And yet, you don’t seem very happy, Domino. You could have done so much more rather than gain so little. All in the name of revenge.”

  “How many times do I have to say it?”

  A gasp catches in my throat as the warmth of the rag strokes over my chest, guided by his hand. He makes the motion brusque on purpose, I suspect. I’ve seen men wash a car with more care.

  “This was always about more than just you or your father.”

  I finally look at him. He’s hunched over the tub, seemingly intent on dragging the cloth down over my belly before moving to the part of my thigh exposed above the water’s surface.

  “Then why work so hard to infiltrate us?” I demand. I sound angrier than I have the energy to feel. If he did it all for no reason, then that makes him less dangerous mastermind and more… Callous, sloppily cruel for no reason. “Why arrange for my mother to be killed. Why—”

  “I’ll tell you a story, Ada-Maria.” He tosses the rag aside and braces his hands against the rim of the tub. “A story about a stupid, poor boy with a broken heart who made a deal with the devil because he believed life was worth living, enough to fight for it, no matter the cost. Then he quickly realized what men like Roy Pavalos take for granted. Some bargains aren’t worth the price you wind up paying. Life, as wonderful as it may be, isn’t worth selling your soul to maintain, and sometimes the consequences for hunting down wealth and power, no matter the cost, can be heftier than anyone is willing to pay. You may sob for your father, all while forgetting the hell he put countless other people through. The dozens of papas and mamas he stole, the families and lives he ruined. And yet, as twisted as he may be, Ada-Maria, he is but a tiny cog in the wheel of evil men who keep this cruel world turning. I suggest you dry your tears, because this is only the beginning.”

  I am crying, though I didn’t even realize. It’s like my eyes have been so overworked these past few days; they drip without any warning or input from my brain, painting warm trails down my cheeks.

  I try to garner any meaning that I can from his little story—that my father is just one in a long line of men he plans to ruin? A part of me doesn’t care, and doesn’t want to waste any more time trying to understand the complexities of Domino Valenciaga. It’s the same impulse that used to drive me to drugs—a vicious need to ignore my life and current surroundings no matter the cost.

  I embrace it now, putting everything else out of my mind but a desire for quiet. I ignore him, leaning back to wet my hair beneath the water. Then I submerge myself fully beneath the surface, drowning out the world. And him.

  He’s still speaking, I realize, as a rumble of syllables reaches me, distorted by the water. I contemplate ignoring him, using that as an excuse to stay under, long past the moment my lungs start screaming for air, and the blood rushes through my skull…

  Finally, I sit up again, gulping for breath.

  But he’s still speaking, unperturbed by my interruption. “…and what if this boy made a bargain without knowing there was a price to pay at first,” he says softly. “He merely wanted to live and cease being a burden to those who loved him. He lived his borrowed life like a good soldier, staying within the confines of his new identity. But then he realized that it’s suffocating as hell being forced to live a life you never asked for. You start to believe that you’ll do anything to escape it. Kill anyone. But everything in life comes with a price, one that must be paid.”

  I’m holding my breath again. He sounds different than before. I suspect this story is less hypothetical than he led me to believe, and I scramble to listen, inspecting every word and the picture they paint. Domino believes himself to be that boy, I think. He made a deal with the devil—Jaguar?

  And now he’s paying the price.

  “So to cancel your debt, you sacrifice me?” I ask him, gathering the nerve to meet his gaze. I expect to find the same bold, mocking man I’ve been battling with all morning, poised to deliver an insult at my expense.

  “No.”

  The figure I’m faced with now is a man I’ve almost forgotten he used to be these past few days. The stoic, cold Domino Valenciaga with a wealt
h of secrets hidden behind that searching stare. Even without the aid of his cowboy hat, his mystery returns in full force—and I can’t escape the feeling that I’m only seeing a fraction of the real danger he’s thrust me into. Only what he wants me to see.

  “No, Ada-Maria.” He plunges his hand beneath the water’s surface, skirting my parted legs, to withdraw the rag. Deliberately, he takes time wringing out every drop of moisture from it. “You haven’t been paying attention. If selling your cunt could save the world, Tristan Lucas would be a very happy, very alive, and very wealthy man. You have value only to the right people. The right kind of men.”

  I’m more frustrated than ever. It feels like he’s spinning me around and around, taking immense satisfaction in watching me squirm and question. He loves keeping me blind and off-balance.

  What’s the point of even attempting to resist him? Why not give him exactly what he wants?

  “I want you to protect me,” I ask him directly. “I’m asking you to.”

  I expect him to grin evilly over the prospect of me pleading for help. Instead, he frowns, his eyes narrowing.

  “I was wrong,” he says, rising to his feet. “Begging doesn’t look good on you. Get up.”

  I obey, letting him dry me off and dress me in the outfit he procured from the closet—a black dress with spaghetti straps and a neckline low enough to rival Alexi’s.

  I wonder where she is. Has she left now that Jaguar is arriving? Was she the one who called him in the first place?

  “I’m sorry if I caused a rift between you and your little friend,” I say, as he withdraws from me and heads for the hall.

  “Don’t be.” The look he shoots over his shoulder is eerily calm. Composed. Too composed when paired with his rage from last night. “You did exactly what was expected of you.”

  He leaves without grunting out a command, and I don’t race to follow him. Damn the smug bastard. He has my head spinning again. Just what was he hinting at? That he knew I would lose my cool around Alexi and blow up his little plan? Then why tell me to keep quiet in the first place?