Without thinking, I let my feet carry me to his door, and this time, I don’t knock. I push it open, and Santiago’s gaze snaps up from what he’s doing. The volume is so high I can’t hear myself think, but from the candles on his desk, I can see how red his eyes are. It makes me wonder how much of the bottle of scotch that sits half-empty he consumed after dinner tonight. I don’t know all that he’s carrying, but it’s heavy. I see it. And I feel doubly guilty about pushing him earlier.
I walk inside and close the door behind me. I don’t say a word as I go to him. He drops the pencil into the notebook and lets it close as he pushes his seat back when I come around the desk. I pull my nightgown off. I’m not wearing anything underneath but the rosary, and I stand before him and let him look at me with his sanguine eyes and his sad skull face.
Something about the look in it breaks my heart a little. What was so terrible that he’s gone from the man driving the sports car too fast through dark, winding streets to this one? This broken man.
I drop to my knees between his legs, and he leans back when I reach to undo his belt, then his trousers. I take him out and look up at his sorrowful face.
He puts his hand on my head as if giving me his blessing, and when I lean forward and close my mouth around him, I hear a choked sound come from deep inside his chest. His hand soon turns to a fist in my hair as he takes over, moving fast, pushing deeper, both hands on me now as I taste the first salty drops before he pulls me off, the pop strangely loud as the suction of my mouth is broken. He lifts me, laying me on his desk, and the leatherbound book digs into my shoulder before he shoves it to the floor.
He spreads me open and looks at me like a starved man before a feast, and when he dips his head between my legs, I arch my back and close my eyes, fisting handfuls of his hair as he licks hungrily. He brings me just to the edge of orgasm before straightening. Tugging me closer, he locks eyes on mine when he thrusts into me, leaning closer to me as I claw at his shoulders. I pull at his hair, wanting him closer still, deeper because it’s not enough. It’s not enough. He’s still too far, and I need him.
“Ivy,” he grunts, these final thrusts punishing. And then he stills, and I watch him, watch his beautiful face as he comes. Something inside me flutters and twists, and it’s bittersweet, this. Our lovemaking. Our violent, raw lovemaking.
And I think in time he will break me whether he wants to hurt me or not.
26
Santiago
I'm still inside my wife, touching her and breathing her in. I can't seem to stop. My head dips to her neck, lips trailing over the tender flesh. How did she know I needed her tonight? Why does she come to me like she needs this too?
Already, I can feel myself hardening inside her again. Perhaps it is just her and this cloyingly sweet intoxication I seem to find myself indulging in far too often. Or perhaps it is because I know this could be the night I finally claim her in the most primal of ways.
"You've been here for three months now," I murmur against her skin. "Did you know that?"
She stills beneath me, her palms flattening against my back.
"I have?"
"I did some digging in Chambers’ practice," I tell her. "Scoured through his drug inventory. On the day of your visit with him, there was only one injectable used. That shot you had was a progesterone shot. It was only effective for eight weeks."
When I pause to look down at her, Ivy curls her fingers against me, her expression soft, eyes wild.
I brush the hair away from her face, staring into her eyes so deeply it feels as though we are tethered together by some unbreakable cord.
"You could be pregnant right now." My hand comes to rest possessively on her belly. "Any day now, you could have my child inside you."
She sucks in a sharp breath, and I swallow her exhale when my lips crash against hers. Logically, I’m aware that fucking her all night won't increase our chances, but it doesn't change the fact that I want to try regardless.
My phone rings as I grope her breast in my palm, and she arches into my touch with a moan. I swallow that sound, desperate for more, only to be interrupted by the phone again.
A feral growl leaves my lips as I yank back, glancing at the ID, torn between answering it and testing how long Ivy can withstand my obsession tonight before she collapses from exhaustion.
"Santiago," she pleads beneath me, reaching up to cup my face. "Please don't stop."
I grunt and pivot my hips inside her, just enough to let her feel what she does to me. The glazed softness in her eyes has me leaning in her favor. Fucking wins out over every other priority. But when I pull back to thrust into her once more, the phone rings again.
I know it's Marco, and as pleased as I am to be inside my wife, I can't quell the quiet dread creeping up my spine.
Reaching across the desk, I grab the phone and bring it to my ear, rolling my hips against Ivy as she stifles a groan.
"Yes?"
"Boss?" Marco replies, half breathless like he's been running.
"What is it?"
"I think Mercedes found who she was looking for," he tells me. "She's been on the trail of some woman who left Abel's house tonight. Followed her to a shitty apartment building in the 7th Ward and forced her way inside. I've been trying to let you know."
"Is she still inside?" I swallow, pausing as Ivy looks up at me.
"She's been in there for twenty minutes and hasn't come out. I thought I heard a scream. I asked you if you wanted me to break in."
"Fuck." I pull my cock out of my wife and tuck it back into my pants as she leans up on her elbows.
"What do you want me to do, boss?" Marco asks, his voice tinged with the same uneasiness I feel.
"Go in after her," I say. "Make sure she's safe, and don't let either of them leave. Send me the location. I'm on my way."
"Will do."
The phone disconnects, and I reach out to stroke Ivy's face one last time. "We'll have to continue this another time. I need to leave now."
"Is everything okay?" She sits up, squeezing her thighs together.
"It will be. Get yourself cleaned up and go to sleep. I'll check in on you when I get home."
I pull away, prepared to leave, but Ivy reaches for my hand and tugs me back. When I glance down at her in question, she leans up and gives me one last gentle kiss to take with me.
"Be safe, Santi."
* * *
Be safe.
Her words echo through my mind as I navigate the dark streets to the 7th Ward. Wondering what Ivy meant by that request is the only thing keeping my thoughts from drifting to darker territory.
During the drive, Marco called to update me that he's inside the apartment, and Mercedes is safe. But he requested that I get there right away, and something in his voice alarmed me. It was an urgency I seldom hear from him.
It takes me thirty minutes to reach this part of the city. The part that isn't safe for anyone really, let alone girls like Mercedes. These apartments are a high crime area, and almost everyone will turn a blind eye for a bit of cash. There's a level of paranoia in this district that separates the residents from the outsiders. Anyone who isn't local is a threat, and it isn't uncommon for lost tourists to wander into these areas only to get stabbed or mugged.
If the mystery woman Mercedes is following lives here, it's because the apartments are cheap, and she can pay cash. The neighbors won't talk, and it's a good place to hide. Without even seeing her yet, I can take a stab that she is the same woman from the gala. The question is, why is Mercedes chasing after her?
I still don't want to accept the correlation. Not until I see it for myself. But the evidence is stacking up against her. She's been avoiding my calls and hasn't returned to the house. The updates I've received from Marco indicate that she's been staking out the Moreno house, which means this has something to do with Abel.
I can't believe Mercedes would ever lower herself to the level of Abel Moreno as a companion or even a participant in her scheme
s. But the connection can't be denied.
I pull up onto the street in one of my guard's cars, something inconspicuous with a fake plate. The second I shift the car into park, my phone chimes with another message from Marco with instructions on where to enter.
I follow his directions to the back of the building, where he's waiting for me at an exit door that's riddled with bullet holes and large dents from previous break-ins. So far, the gloomy state of this place isn't inspiring any faith that I'm going to like what I find inside.
Marco gestures for me to follow him silently, opening the door and leading me down the hall. When we reach the apartment door, he glances over his shoulders, checking for prying eyes before we enter.
His large frame blocks my view at first, but almost immediately, my shoes are stepping over the debris of broken furniture and glass. And then Marco steps aside, unveiling a scene from a horror movie. That's the only way to describe it.
Lying in a gory heap on the floor is a woman I don't recognize, but even if I knew her, I doubt I could recognize her. Her hair is matted with blood, clothing torn, and pieces of what I think are a lamp shattered around her.
"Is she—"
"She's dead," Marco answers quietly. "I already checked."
Glass crunches under the weight of someone's shoes in the hall, and a second later, Mercedes appears. Her hair is a tangled mess, blood spattered across her face, a large gash down her cheek. She's visibly shaking, wobbling in her heels as if she's on the verge of collapse, and when her eyes collide with mine, a mournful sob bursts from her lips.
"I didn't mean to, Santi." Tears splash against her cheeks as she shakes her head violently. "I was going to bring her to you so you could do it."
Fragments of sentences eject between her ragged breaths. "She wouldn't listen to me! She just kept fighting me. I had no choice. She was going to kill me. She tried to kill you."
On this last sentence, she breaks down entirely, dropping to her knees and hiding beneath her hair as she dips her head. "Oh God, what have I done? What have I done?"
For a few long moments, I can't even speak. I can't bring myself to move or think. I'm paralyzed by her confession. This is the woman who tried to kill me. Somehow, Mercedes knows that, and right now, I don't know if I want to strangle her or comfort her.
"We need to handle this, boss." Marco gives me a gentle nudge in the right direction. "Perhaps you should take your sister home, and I can call for a body removal."
"Yes." My voice cracks as I nod. "We should probably do that."
27
Santiago
It's late morning when Mercedes emerges from the bathroom in one of the lodging rooms at the IVI compound. She's wearing a pair of cheap sweats from the only store that was open on our way here. Her hair is clean, face completely free of makeup, and the gash on her cheek is starting to scab over as a bruise forms around it.
She looks like someone I don't recognize anymore.
"Santi?" She lingers there hesitantly. "Why are we here?"
I can't bring myself to answer that question. But I don't need to. Mercedes is aware the conversation we are about to have will determine her fate, one way or the other.
"Tell me everything," I order gruffly.
She pads farther into the room and sits down on the bed, squeezing her hands together in her lap. "I will. But I need you to promise you won’t hate me. No matter what. I need to hear that from you."
"I can't promise you anything." I glower at her, angry she’s put us in this position. We shouldn’t even be having this conversation. None of this should have ever happened.
She chokes up again, and I give her a moment to collect herself, but only a moment.
"Now, Mercedes. If you don't tell me now, you will decide for both of us. You will never hear from me again."
She peers up at me as gut-wrenching agony twists her features. "No. You can't do that."
"You aren't in a position to argue anymore." I walk to the window and pull back the curtain just slightly, glancing down into the courtyard. The compound is mostly empty right now, apart from the few other guests utilizing similar lodgings on this level. These rooms are reserved for out-of-town members or those who imbibed too much at the club. It isn't somewhere I would have ever considered bringing my sister. But now, I can't imagine taking her home.
"It wasn't supposed to happen this way," she blurts out. "I never meant for any of this to happen. I was just so irritated with you, Santi. To see the way you looked at that Moreno girl. You were falling for her right before my eyes. I could see it, and it felt like such a betrayal."
I release the curtain and turn to look at her. There is no mistaking the misdirected anger in her features. She's envious of Ivy. A confirmation that she’s too dangerous to have around my wife.
"She was going to take you away from me," she says. "I had to do something. I just wanted to make her hate you. So, I hired that courtesan who used to work for IVI to lure you away at the gala and seduce you. All that was supposed to happen was that Ivy would come out of the bathroom and see you together. That was it. Nobody was ever supposed to get hurt."
I pace a few steps across the room, and Mercedes rushes to cry out the rest of her confession.
"I know it was a stupid idea. I was naïve to think I could trust that woman. I didn't know she was one of Abel's regular conquests. He used to meet with her at the club here until she was shunned by The Society. I didn't figure that out until after the fact. He paid her for information about the members of IVI, and when he found out what I'd asked her to do, he was the one who gave her the poison and the antidote. He put her up to it and paid her three times what I did. They double-crossed me, Santi. I had no idea they would put you in harm's way. If I had, I would have stopped it. You have to believe me."
"How can I believe anything you tell me?" I turn my back to her and shake my head. "How can I believe any of what you're telling me now is even true?"
"Because she told me so herself!" Mercedes shouts.
"When you were beating it out of her?"
A long silence follows my question and then a shaky breath. "It wasn't like that. I was fighting for my life. I didn't mean to kill her, but I had no choice. It was either her or me."
When I collapse into the chair, Mercedes starts to sniffle again.
"Would you rather it was me? Is that it? Do you wish it were me who was dead on that floor?"
"What I would have rathered was that you never lied to me at all!" I roar. "You betrayed me. You schemed. You nearly fucking killed me. My own sister. Do you understand that?"
She sucks in a sharp breath, a fresh wave of tears falling as she watches me pleadingly. "I would rather die than hurt you, brother. Please believe that. If nothing else."
My throat is tight, stomach tied up in knots when I look at the girl who used to follow me around constantly as a child. The one person in my life I thought I could always trust without question. But right now, her every word, every tear is just salt in the wound. It feels like I’m being torn in half by this decision, her betrayal. It’s an agony unlike any I’ve ever known.
I know what I need to do for both our sakes. At this late stage, my harsh words will be of no benefit to Mercedes. I could verbally eviscerate her, and it would make no difference because this is the monster I've allowed her to become. I've watched it happen. She's been coming unglued since the deaths of our father, Leandro, and subsequently, our mother. Lost to her grief, she has turned into a shallow, manipulative, hateful shell of a woman. A reflection of myself, if I'm being honest. And while I can accept that I am who I am, I can't accept that fate for her.
I won't allow her to destroy her life or anyone else's any longer.
"Get in bed and try to get some sleep," I tell her.
"What's going to happen now?" she croaks.
"Now, you are going to sleep," I answer flatly. "And when you wake up, you will start fresh."
She looks relieved but hesitant. Regardless, her exhau
stion wins out, and she does as I ask, pulling back the covers and curling up to sleep. For a long while, I remain in the chair, unmoving. Frozen by the understanding of what it is I must do. I can't have her in my house any longer. I can't have her under the same roof as my wife and my future children because it will be impossible to protect them both. Mercedes has made her bed, and now she must lie in it.
It is the hardest decision I have ever had to make when I drag my phone from my pocket and dial a familiar number.
He answers on the third ring, greeting me by my first name.
"I'm ready," I tell him. "I need it to happen now.”
Three hours later, Mercedes stirs from her sleep, gasping for air as she bolts upright, clutching the blankets to her chest. She seems to sense the danger lurking in the corner of the room, and her eyes move to the dark figure sitting opposite me in the shadows. Watching. Waiting for her.
“Santi?” she whispers, her eyes moving back to me. “What’s going on?”
I rise from my seat on rigid legs, steeled by my retreat back into numbness.
“You are dangerous,” I tell her. “And you have proven that I can’t trust you. Not in my home. Not in my life. And now, there is only one solution that can save you.”
Her eyes move to the figure again, widening with fear as she begins to shake her head. “No. You can’t send me away. You can’t!”
“It’s done.” I tear my gaze away from her, breathing fire into my lungs as I nod to Judge.
He steps forward from the shadows, and Mercedes scrambles from the bed, prepared to fight. To flee. But for one split second, her eyes connect with his, and she pauses, almost… relieved. It doesn’t last. She’s bolting for me when Judge intercepts her, capturing her around the waist. Within seconds, he has her arms pinned behind her back as she screams for me, her desperation clawing at the last shred of my sanity.
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