Reparation of Sin: A Sovereign Sons Novel

by Zavarelli, A.

  I grip her hair, pivoting my hips forward as I fight my own will to make this stop. But I can't. I can't stop thrusting into her warmth as her nails dig into my thighs.

  I don't know how long it goes on for. I just know that my baser desires take over at some point, and I am splitting her jaw apart as I use her mouth like I promised. She takes it. She takes every inch of it and doesn't once protest, even when she’s coughing and sputtering around me.

  When my muscles begin to tremble, and the tension is at a breaking point, I yank myself free of her lips at the last second, spilling my come over her naked breasts. My chest heaves from the force of my release, and the hammering pulse in my throat leaves me stumbling back from the venomous creature beneath me before I cave in to another desire. Like kissing her. Touching her. Treating her with a gentleness she could never deserve.

  "Santiago?" She calls after me as I head for the door, tucking my cock back into my trousers as I go. "You aren't going to do anything to them, are you? I did what you wanted."

  Silence is my only response.

  10

  Ivy

  “It’s better than the cellar,” I tell myself for the hundredth time. The thousandth.

  I get up, go into the bathroom. It’s the only place with electricity and a light bulb. There’s electricity in my room too but no bulbs in the few light fixtures. That was the case since I first came here. It’s not a part of my punishment. That, I know, is because Santiago doesn’t like people looking at him.

  I think about what I know about my husband. Not much. Not really. Yet he and I are tied together, locked in this strange, dark place acting out this strange, dark story.

  The light is dim, but it’s better than the three candles I’m allotted daily. I think it’s daily at least. I have no idea what day it is or how much time has passed, but it feels like weeks. I have no way to mark the time apart from the meals Antonia brings in or the visits from my husband although he isn’t consistent. The light from the window that I’d been allowed for so short a time has been closed up again, so I don’t even have the luxury of the small square I used to have when I first came here.

  No, when I first was brought here. I never came willingly.

  In the dim light of the bulb, I splash water on my face, then take in my reflection. I’ve lost weight. You can see it on my face. And for all the sleep I’m getting, I have dark circles under my eyes. My face is starting to look like the tattooed half of his.

  I step back with a rueful smile and take in my small breasts and concave belly. I think about how weak I am. How easily broken both literally and figuratively.

  Bruises have created a pattern of deep blues, purples, and decaying yellows along my arms, my stomach, my legs and hips. I don’t think he’s seen them. It’s so dark in here even his eyes couldn’t penetrate it. I wonder what he’d think if he did see. It’s his fault. All of it. He may as well physically beat me himself because being locked in here without light, without exercise, and with the heightened anxiety of what he’ll do to me, to my family, I’m completely out of sorts to the point it’s becoming dangerous. I turn a little to touch the still painful bruise on my hip, the gash. It’s from the edge of the dresser.

  Taking out the first-aid kit, I pour antiseptic onto a cotton pad and wince when I touch it to the wound. I should let it get infected and put myself out of my misery. Deny him the satisfaction of torturing me to death.

  But that’s a fantasy. God knows what he’d do to Evangeline if I took my own life. And then there’s Hazel. Could he find her? Would he?

  After discarding the cotton and washing my hands, I leave the light on and walk back into the bedroom to sit down on the bed and wait. It’s all I do now. I wait for Antonia to come, happy for the exchange of a few words when she does. I get the feeling she’s not allowed to talk to me, but she does anyway, at least a little.

  I wait for him to come. To fuck me. To degrade me. To leave.

  My stomach sinks, and my eyes fill with hot tears, but I am quick to wipe them away.

  “It’s better than the cellar,” I say again, gathering the blankets up to cover myself when I hear the key in the lock.

  “Dinnertime, dear,” Antonia says as she opens the door.

  I am greedy to take in the light of the slightly brighter corridor behind her. She must see my face because she starts to close the door but then stops and leaves it open. But her kind nature and pitying looks only make me feel sadder. More alone. More like crying, and I don’t want to cry anymore. Not for him. Not in front of any of them. So, I swallow it down.

  “You need to eat, Ivy,” she says after looking at the untouched lunch tray. It was the same with breakfast.

  “I’m not hungry. Do you think I can call my sister?” I don’t even know why I ask. I know the answer, and besides, I wouldn’t want to get her into trouble.

  She comes over to sit on the bed, straightening the comforter. “If you eat your dinner, I’ll talk to him.”

  I turn away. “Never mind then.”

  “You’re only hurting yourself if you don’t eat.”

  “I’m tired.”

  “He’ll come around.”

  I turn to her. “Do you think I did it? What they’re accusing me of?”

  She pushes my hair behind my ear. It’s a mess. I haven’t brushed it in days. Haven’t showered in I don’t know how long.

  “Of course not. I don’t think you’re capable of anything like that.”

  I smile in gratitude. “How can he think it was me?”

  “Cozy in here,” comes his dark voice.

  Antonia and I startle and turn at the same time, she rushing to her feet as I push up to sit straighter, holding the blanket to me.

  “Sir,” Antonia says as she clears my untouched lunch tray and walks past him.

  Santiago looks at it, then holds out his hand to stop her as he studies the contents. “Did she eat anything?”

  Antonia looks guiltily at me. “No, sir.”

  He glances at me, his look hateful even in the dim light. “Breakfast?”

  She clears her throat, casts her gaze down, and shakes her head, and I wonder how many days it’s been since his last conjugal visit.

  “Is my food not good enough for you?” he asks me after dismissing Antonia.

  “How can I be sure you’re not poisoning me?”

  He snorts. “That’s rich.” He enters the room, and I grip the blanket tighter, remembering how he’d torn it away the last time he was here. He closes the door. “If you don’t eat the entire tray of food there, I will tie you to your bed and force it down your throat. Am I clear?”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “That’s too bad.” He pulls the chair out at the small table. “Come here.”

  I look away from him, rubbing my face with one hand. “I didn’t do it. I swear, Santiago.”

  “But you lie. Come here. Now.”

  “Will you listen to me if I do?”

  “Did I give you the impression we were negotiating?”

  “No, I know you don’t negotiate.”

  “You’re smarter than I thought, then.” He lifts the chair and slams it down. “Don’t make me come get you.”

  I push the blanket back and get up, taking a moment to steady myself when a dizzy spell comes.

  “Don’t bother with the acting. It won’t win any points from me.”

  “I’m not acting, you jerk!” I tell him once the spell passes, and I walk over and take the seat, being careful not to touch him. I don’t even care that I’m naked. He’s seen all of me. And in this light, I’m sure I’m not much more than a shadow anyway. A ghost already.

  “Now pick up your knife and fork and start. I have more important things to do than babysit my wife.”

  “Why do you care if I eat if you hate me so much?” I ask as I pick up the fork and poke at the meat. It’s underdone. Bloody. I’m sure just like he likes it.

  “Oh, I don’t,” he says so casually I have to look u
p at him. He meets my eyes, the flickering candles casting shadows on his skull face tattoo. “I care that the babies you carry won’t be malnourished.”

  “Babies again.” I stab a piece of broccoli.

  He leans down close to my ear, pushing my hair over my shoulder. “Why do you think I haven’t killed you yet?” he asks in a whisper, sliding his hand down, pushing the rosary out of the way and cupping my breast.

  I shudder.

  He straightens, dragging his fingernails along my breast before releasing it. I wonder if he realizes all that does is serve to arouse me. Because somehow, even now, I’m still aroused by him.

  “Eat,” he says, taking my jaw in his hand and turning my face to his. “Unless you want me to force-feed you.”

  I tug my face away and start to eat, knowing there’s no way I’ll be able to finish the entire meal. I’m already having a hard time getting just the first few bites past my throat.

  He takes my hair in his hands, feels the texture. The knots. He brings it to his nose.

  “When was the last time you washed your hair?”

  I shrug a shoulder.

  He twists my hair around his fist and tugs my head painfully backward. “Words.”

  “I don’t remember. I don’t know what day it is. I don’t even know if it’s night or day. I don’t know how long you’ve had me locked up in here.”

  “Do you prefer Judge’s cellar?”

  “Judge?”

  “I can take you back there. With the rats.”

  “You’re hurting me.”

  “Do you want me to take you back there?”

  I give a slight shake of my head.

  “Use your words, Ivy.”

  “No,” I spit.

  “Then watch your mouth and do as you’re told. When I come in here, you should drop to your knees eager to please me, yet what do I get? A petulant, defiant little wife who can’t even be bothered to wash herself.”

  Tears are forming at the corners of my eyes, and the food in my mouth is turning sour, but he finally releases me roughly like he’s disgusted by me, and I chew and chew as my stomach turns and idiotic tears run down my cheeks. I feel so hated, so unwanted. And it hurts so much more than I ever thought him hating me could.

  He leans against the wall, arms folded across his chest, death glare on me as I finish every morsel. I’m so full that I’m sure the meal will make a reappearance. When I’m finished, I turn to him.

  “Did your brother give it to you?”

  “What?”

  “When he was here for that impromptu visit conveniently on the day of the gala.”

  The poison again. I exhale, shaking my head. “Why do you ask me? You don’t believe anything I say anyway.”

  I push my chair back and walk up to him, closer than he expects because he straightens to his full height, and I have to crane my neck to look up at him. This close, I see his gaze roam my face, slip to my breasts, then back up to my mouth. Looking at me arouses him. He’s just as attracted to me as I am to him despite everything.

  So, I steel my spine and stand a little taller.

  “I don’t know why you’re hell-bent on finding me guilty when I am not. You have an enemy so hateful he is willing to poison you. To murder you. That enemy is not me. But let me ask you something, Santiago. Have you ever stood back and thought about why? Thought about how someone can inspire such emotion in another human being that they would go as far as murder? You are hated, Santiago. You. Are. Hated. How does it feel?”

  Fury sparks in his eyes, darkening them, and it takes all I have not to back away.

  “I’d think you’d have some sense of how that feels by now, Ivy.”

  His hand closes around my throat hard, making me cry out in pain as he spins me so my back is to the wall. I’m trapped between it and him. He keeps me pinned, and I listen to the sound of the belt unbuckling, the zipper of his trousers going down, and a moment later, he bends his knees to lift me, grabbing my thighs and forcing them wide.

  My legs wrap around him naturally as he impales me, his face so close I can feel his breath on me. Using the wall to balance me, he puts his hands on either side of my face and brings his mouth to mine. I lick my lips, but he doesn’t kiss me. Instead, he takes my lower lip between his teeth and bites just hard enough to break skin and draw blood. And I wonder if the taste of it arouses him even more because he feels thicker, fucks me harder, more frantically as my arms come to his shoulders, my breathing uneven as he draws more blood and I close my eyes because I’m going to come. I’m going to come so hard as he hate fucks me, and when I do, I cry out, digging my fingernails into his shoulders, hoping I’m drawing blood even through his shirt.

  When I open my eyes again, he’s watching me intently, and with one hand, he grips my jaw and forces my head against the wall.

  “You stole that one,” he says.

  He thrusts once more, burying himself inside me as he wraps his other arm around me to carry me to the bed, to pull out before throwing me down and spinning me so I’m facedown. He grips a handful of hair and twists, forcing me to look back at him as he slides his thick cock into me and closes one finger over my back hole. He’s been doing that, and I know that’s coming too, and I wonder how much it will hurt.

  “Do you think you’ll come when I fuck this tight little hole? Because I don’t think so, sweet, poison Ivy.” He jerks my head back so painfully I swear I hear something pop.

  “You’re… hurting me.”

  With a snort, he lets go of my hair and grips my hips, splaying me wide as he drives into me. He’s close. I can hear it. I know the sounds he makes now like he knows the sounds I make. And I want to come again just to piss him off, so I slip a hand between my legs and finger myself. He slaps my ass hard and drives deep inside me and stills, cock throbbing, emptying, the sensations calling one more orgasm from me before he’s finished, before he pulls out and stumbles backward like a drunk man.

  I slip to my knees onto the floor, turning so my back rests against the bed. I draw my knees up, feeling his seed spill out of me.

  He tucks himself back into his pants, murderous eyes on me. That fuck did nothing to dispel his hate. He comes to crouch down in front of me and takes my jaw in his death grip.

  “You steal what I don’t give, and you will be made to pay.”

  I try to jerk out of his grasp, but he just tightens his hold on me. I wonder how much more pressure before my jaw breaks.

  “Do you know what the difference is between me and you, Ivy?”

  “What?” I spit.

  “I know I am hated. I don’t care. I use it as a strength. You? You care. Hate steals your strength. My hate of you weakens you. Makes a pathetic victim out of you.”

  I swallow, shuddering in this arctic chill of his hate as I stare up at him.

  “You think you will ever win against me?” he asks.

  “No, Santiago, I don’t.” That must surprise him because I swear there’s a momentary flash of confusion in his eyes. I don’t think he expected that answer or any answer. “I have no doubt you will beat me. No doubt you will bury me.” As I say the words, I know they’re true, and they feel like a weight in the pit of my stomach.

  We stay like that for a long moment just looking at each other. And then, without a word, he releases me and gets up. He turns to the door.

  “I won’t beg you for mercy,” I call out when he opens it.

  He stops and turns around.

  “And I will never stop fighting you,” I add.

  He grins, walking back inside, and the look on his face is that of a victor as if he’s already won. He comes close, so close the tips of his shoes press against my bare toes. It makes me think of the bones of the dead mice in that cellar. How they crunched underfoot.

  He leans down and brushes his knuckles over my cheekbone so gently that it takes all I have not to lean into his touch. Not to close my eyes and take comfort in him.

  He chuckles. He must see it. And he stra
ightens to his full height, looming over me like the shadow he is.

  “I hope you won’t ever stop fighting because I will enjoy breaking you bit by bit.”

  11

  Santiago

  "Antonia said you wanted to see me as soon as I got home."

  I blink up at my sister in the doorway of my study, eyes bleary. I'm not even sure what time it is, but it seems late.

  "Where have you been?" I demand.

  She crosses her arms and shrugs. "Shopping."

  I suspect she's not telling me the full truth, and it's something I'll have to follow up on with her driver and guard later. But for now, I have other things to worry about.

  "I need you to make sure Ivy bathes tonight. By force, if need be. Take two of the maids and Marco with you. He will remain in the bedroom if you need assistance."

  Mercedes stares at me with a vacant expression. I was expecting a fight, but her protest is minimal.

  "Why can't Antonia do it?"

  "Because Antonia is getting too close with her. She feels sorry for her, and I will not tolerate anyone's sympathy toward her right now. This is why it is the perfect job for you."

  "I see." She offers a stiff nod. "Call in the emotionless robot when you need her."

  "You've always been so proud of it." I arch a brow at her. "Why change your tune now?"

  "There is no changing anything," she answers somberly. "I am who I am, Santi."

  She turns to leave, and I stand and walk around my desk, calling her back.

  "Should I be worried about you?"

  "No." Her response is flat. Toneless. And before I can say anything else, she is gone.

  I spend the next hour going over the file for Angelo while I wait for my meeting with Judge. He arrives on time, punctual as always.

  "Don't you ever get sick of sitting in this office?" He takes a seat across from me and notes the disarray of the space. I haven't allowed Antonia in here to clean in days.

  "I have a lot of work to catch up on."