Violent Ends (White Monarch Book 2)

by Jessica Hawkins

  He wanted an out, but not for me. He’d walked right up to the line, and now he expected me to pull him back so he wouldn’t cross it. So he could sleep easy at night knowing he wasn’t his father.

  He was. And I’d be the one to prove it to him.

  I met his burning gaze over my shoulder, and I could see that no part of him doubted I’d concede my loyalty and my dignity. “I won’t beg for anything, even your forgiveness, and I won’t be bent over your knee as punishment.”

  He drew back. It gave me a secret thrill to surprise him. Now, the tables were turned, and he had to decide what to do. “Careful, sweet girl. The thought of spanking you until you’re dripping wet turns my dick to stone. But my cartel’s name on your skin? I’ll truly own you then, and I don’t think I need to tell you what that means.”

  Heat pulsed in me. I didn’t need to be told because I felt it, too. His hand would only dominate my ass for tonight, but the act of permanently marking me said ownership in a soul-deep way.

  “Give me a reason to do it, and I will take it,” he warned.

  “Take it.”

  He searched my eyes, perhaps looking for any doubt or reservation. After all, I had to be willing, or I suspected he wouldn’t go through with it. His expression eased as he tilted his head and seemed to find the answer in my gaze—one that pleasantly surprised him.

  Cristiano wanted my loyalty, and as with anything else he desired, he would take it.

  But that wasn’t enough. He would make sure the world knew it.

  He’d make sure I never forgot.

  I belonged to Cristiano now, and I’d have it permanently stamped on my body for all to see.

  17

  Natalia

  The butterfly stung. I peeled back the bandage on my shoulder. Orange wings shimmered iridescent within black window panes. Slightly whimsical and a touch artistic, I was grateful to see it was a tattoo I would’ve chosen for myself, although until tonight, I would’ve balked at the script, sugar skull, and red roses inked around it.

  In the mirror of Cristiano’s bedroom on the top floor of his nightclub, I read the tattoo reflected back at me over my shoulder.

  Calavera Cartel.

  Yes, I’d agreed to it, but that didn’t change the fact that the asshole had branded me like I was cattle and sent me upstairs to bed like I was a petulant child. I’d tried to sleep, but I was drunk on a cocktail of emotions. A bitter aperitif of adrenaline, anger fizzing like soda water, an infuriating sweet-and-sour clash of irritation and worst of all—secret excitement from Cristiano’s absolute arrogant and unapologetic claim over me. I was sure he couldn’t wait to pluck off the cherry garnish and slice clean through it with his teeth. It would be irreversible when he did. Cristiano liked permanence, no room for question. An entire town nobody could take from him, a Catholic marriage to bind our souls, a tattoo to remind me of my place. Or was it a warning to others? Certainly, nobody else would get too close to me when they saw who I belonged to.

  When we’d danced at the costume party, my fury was aimed as much at myself as at him for my unsettling attraction to a man who’d so flippantly come on to me while knowing I was spoken for. Not many men would take another man’s woman, then threaten to remove his hands if he touched her again.

  I was angry at myself again, this time for the secret thrill that came with being staked by a man as wild and hard to pin down as Cristiano. Could the thought of it both make my pussy flutter with excitement and also piss me off? Could I have both allowed it to happen and use it to prove he was a bastard to decorate my body like a wall in his home? He had no right to assert his dominance in such a permanent, irrevocable way, even if it aroused the hell out of me.

  And like splashing alcohol over a wound he’d created, he’d done it an hour after I’d learned he was an advocate for women.

  I was the exception. The one captive. Keeping his dick in his pants allowed him to convince himself he was different. That he was a protector. That he’d made up for his father’s sins.

  No monster thinks of himself that way. He’s just living by a different code than yours.

  Frustration over my traitorous reaction, and with Cristiano himself, simmered close to the surface. I needed somewhere to direct it. I knew just the man to receive it. If Cristiano’s definition of evil was a man who liked his women helpless, then I’d hold up a mirror and show him the reflection of a soulless beast.

  I turned away from my naked body. The black and gold bedroom on the top floor of La Madrina looked like the kind of bachelor pad you’d find in a nightclub. It shared the same soundproof walls and one-sided window as Cristiano’s office so he could look out over the dancefloor in complete silence. I imagined him standing here, choosing a woman, and having her sent up to him. And the thought of him touching someone else, putting his mark on someone else, made me even more eager to rail at him.

  Surely the playboy mini-mansion was woman-friendly for the many guests it saw. I found pink disposable razors, a blow-dryer, lavender-scented deodorant, and a black satin robe in my size on the back of the bathroom door.

  The bedside clock read one in the morning, and once again, I was alone. He was a hypocrite to demand I sleep in his bed while he came and went as he pleased. Every day he asserted more dominance over me, and tonight, he’d taken control over my own body. But I suspected neither of us completely grasped the power I possessed.

  I slipped into the robe, leaving my shoulder uncovered as I cinched the sash around my waist. Descending the staircase to return to his office, I was unsurprised to find Eduardo out front, his back straight and hands crossed in front of him. Even as I approached, he kept his eyes trained forward, as if I were Medusa, and one look would turn him to stone.

  If only.

  I reached for the door handle, but Eduardo blocked me from it.

  He held his two-way radio to his mouth. “Your wife is here.”

  “Uno momento,” Cristiano responded and cleared his throat.

  Another power play, making me wait to see my own husband. I folded my arms over my chest and muttered, “Asshole.”

  “He’s not,” Eduardo said, his voice quiet but sharp.

  I balked at him. “Excuse me?”

  He rubbed his face over the tattoo darkening his cheek. “You’re lucky to have his protection and affection.”

  “Lucky? You were in the church when we married. You know the truth of the situation.”

  “The truth is, he’s our leader. He puts all of us before himself. He puts you before himself. And we reciprocate—but do you?”

  It was, in much subtler words, the same threat Jazmín had leveled at me my first morning in the Badlands.

  “If ever I come in here and find you’ve betrayed the man we consider our savior, you won’t make it off the property.”

  The office door opened and a tall, slender blonde in skinny jeans stepped out. Her damp hair made wet spots on a white t-shirt. She waited for me to move so she could pass, but I was too stunned. My already sizzling anger boiled over. I didn’t want to move. He was seeing another woman in the middle of the night while I was upstairs? Regardless of our arrangement, he was my husband. Her eyes sparkled as she ducked her head and went around me with a small smile.

  Eduardo grunted what sounded like a laugh.

  “Come in, Natalia.” Cristiano called my attention to where he stood at his desk in a white, ribbed undershirt. His gaze drifted down my body as he picked up a tumbler of alcohol. “I thought I told you to go to bed.”

  “I’m not a child,” I said.

  “Then don’t make me spank you like one, or that tattoo would’ve been for nothing.”

  My insides tightened with a rush of desire, but equally potent mortification ripped through me as Eduardo listened on. On some level, I must’ve believed Cristiano when he’d said there was nobody but me, because now, the blow of seeing a woman exit his office had turned my feet—and possibly my throat—to concrete.

  “Eduardo’s standing
right there.”

  Cristiano sighed. “I can see to it that to him, you’re only one of my prized possessions. Like a car or watch. That my men hear nothing, see nothing, touch nothing, and wouldn’t think of you as a female.”

  I gaped at Cristiano. “He thinks of me as a car?”

  “He might, if he knows what’s good for him—but would you like me to enforce that on him?”

  I slammed the door to the office and walked in. A white terrycloth robe, far too small for Cristiano, had been discarded on the couch. “So every other man should see me as nothing, but you can enjoy your whores whenever you feel like it?”

  Cristiano’s eyebrows dropped, disturbing his normally unreadable expression. Confusion played over his face like film slides. “I see. Earlier she was a victim, now she’s a whore? What changed?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “That was Sandra,” he said, shuffling some papers to one side of his desk. “The bait from earlier.”

  I glanced from the robe to his bare, muscled arms. “You’re sleeping with her?”

  He scoffed. “God, no. She showered, and I changed shirts because we were both wearing another man’s blood. Well, several men’s.”

  “What was she doing in here then?”

  “What are you doing in here?”

  I didn’t answer, because I wasn’t even sure I knew. He had tattooed me and sent me away—and didn’t seem to hold any remorse over the extreme punishment. I wondered if he’d every truly thought I’d beg. And then, let him spank me—even if he suspected I wanted it.

  I’d thought, maybe foolishly, I could turn Cristiano against himself. That I could gain a measure of control and freedom—not by escaping, running, or petulance, but by luring out his demons so he could no longer hide from them.

  If I was enticing enough, could I undermine his work, his willpower, and his self-control, and finally get him to cross the line?

  He ran a fingertip along the rim of his glass. “Sandra was here to discuss a top-secret project,” he conceded when I didn’t answer.

  A large ice cube melted in another glass on his desk. “Have you cheated on me?”

  “Is it cheating if you don’t care?” he asked. “Although it seems you might at the moment.”

  “It makes me look stupid.”

  “To whom? As I said, my men see nothing, say nothing, think nothing about you.” He set down his tumbler. “You shouldn’t be down here. I sent you upstairs for your own good.”

  “Why? What will you do? Call Scratch back?” As if given life by my acknowledgment, my exposed mariposa tingled. “Go ahead. Mark me once and you might as well mark me everywhere.”

  “I intend to, just not with ink.”

  “Another baseless threat.”

  “Baseless?” He whipped his undershirt over his head, every muscle in his arms and torso flexing as he pulled it off. “Careful, Natalia, sweetheart. You tempt me.”

  I bit down on my lip at the embodiment of his power, surprised that my first thought was how elegant and sensual such profound and brute strength could be. My strength didn’t lie in my muscles, but I wanted to prove that it didn’t make me any less powerful. I stepped toward the desk. “But you’re a master of resistance.”

  “Not tonight.” He balled up his shirt and tossed it on the couch with the robe. “I haven’t had so many sleepless nights in a row since I was on the street. My willpower isn’t as strong as it has been.”

  “That explains the girl.”

  “All it explains is why I sent you away.” He heaved a sigh and his eyes drifted to the paperwork and laptop in front of him. “Believe me, I wish your accusation were true,” he said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “To care so little that I could be buried in someone else’s pussy right now.”

  I clenched my teeth, stemming jealousy at the thought—and then satisfaction that he’d resisted something he clearly wanted . . . for me.

  “Especially when you stand there looking like you came here to fuck.” His expression turned pained. “I need it, Natalia.”

  An answering ache between my legs caught me off guard. It was becoming clear that each time he voiced a need, my body’s primal response was to question how I could fill it.

  I couldn’t imagine him asking anyone for what he needed. As he’d said before—he took what he wanted. He didn’t ask. So what stopped him now?

  I took another step forward, and he moved back.

  This was where my power lay. Tonight, his weakness was on display. Perhaps because he’d thought I’d gone to bed and had naïvely let down his guard. I forced words from my mouth before I could chicken out. “What do you need?”

  “You’re the one who came to me,” he said. “So I ask you again—why are you here?”

  “It’s hard to change the tattoo bandage when I can’t see it that well.” A small fib. I raised my chin as I delivered a jab just to irritate him. “Although, if it gets infected, maybe they’ll remove it for me.”

  “Anyone else in my position would have killed you in a heartbeat for putting his livelihood and team in jeopardy—I shouldn’t need to remind you of that.”

  “I shouldn’t need to remind you that kidnapping me didn’t make my loyalty automatic.”

  “It’s your duty as my wife.” He pressed his knuckles to the surface of the desk. “We’re family now, and family comes above almost anything else.”

  “I’m not your family just because you put words on my skin. I’m not your property, either.”

  His eyebrow rose in challenge. “You’re both.”

  I breathed through my urge to rage at him. That was why I’d come down here, after all. But it was a bad idea. I needed to be smarter . . . to keep my cool the way he did . . . and to find and employ the right weapons, not the obvious ones.

  He’d told me once I’d have to play the game, or I’d lose, and sex was the only defense I had.

  He’d made it very clear he didn’t want to be his father. I’d made it very clear I didn’t want to be his wife. But he’d proceeded anyway. So would I.

  “But none of that means I’ll fuck you against your will,” he said with finality. “So leave. I have a lot of work to do. I’ll fix your bandage in the morning.”

  Cristiano wanted me. It had been written on his face since before I’d even known it was his eyes I was looking into. Under Calavera face paint as he’d asked for a dance, his want had shown. It showed now, and it’d grown into need.

  He had the strength and prowess of a lion. He could tear me apart. Perhaps he would.

  He’d promised in the church that I’d bleed in other ways.

  But at some point, I’d shifted from trepidation over that—to what would happen if I loved it.

  Even when I hadn’t known what to call it, that fear had weighed on me from the moment he’d put his hands on me on the dancefloor and threatened to take me from my fiancé and make me his.

  I untied my robe and let it drop. “I’m neither your property nor your wife until you claim me.”

  Dark, ravenous eyes raked over me, and I felt them like hands. “Claim you?” He nearly growled. “What happened to consummating the marriage?”

  Exposing myself this way, I had to contain a shiver of fear while my nipples hardened with the hungry way he looked at me. “This isn’t about that. I’m not doing this for Diego.”

  He walked forward until he towered over me. “Let me see my tattoo.”

  It took me a moment to register his meaning. His tattoo. He owned it, even when it was on my body. I wanted to tell him to go to hell, but I needed to control my reaction. Slapping him in the church had been satisfying, but it hadn’t accomplished anything. Getting him to break down and fuck me against my will? That would be much more effective.

  I turned, and he hovered his fingers over the ink. “I hope it serves as a strong enough reminder of who you are and where your loyalty belongs.”

  “I expect it will,” I said, facing him again.

  He ra
ised my chin with his knuckles. “You’re more exquisite, more finely drawn, than any piece of art I’ve collected over the years.”

  “I’m glad my body pleases you.”

  “As am I,” he said, his voice deep enough to register in my mind as desire. My own craving for him reared its ugly head. “But it’s more than that, my Natalia. Mmm. I do like the sound of that. My Natalia. What once was his is now mine.”

  “I’m not thinking of Diego now,” I said. “But you are.”

  “No. No more. He’s an echo—and you, darling, are a symphony.” He bent his head as if he might kiss me. “I sent you to your room out of anger, but also because seeing my name branded on your body gives me the most raging hard-on I’ve ever had. It’s a dangerous combination. I haven’t been in a situation where I didn’t trust myself in years. I can’t say how I’ll react.”

  My heart pounded with his thinly veiled warning. I could already feel his hands on me, consuming every inch of my skin, charting new lands, conquering curves and valleys. I was the one in dangerous territory, though. I had to hold strong. He could have my body, but he would never possess my heart. That wasn’t on the table. Diego had broken it, and Cristiano was the last man who could put it back together.

  I turned my cheek as he leaned in to kiss me.

  He stayed there a few moments, his breath warm on my cheek. “You’re turning away from me?”

  “No. My body is yours, Cristiano. But I won’t kiss you.”

  “You’ve kissed me before.”

  And each time, I’d lost any sense of my surroundings, and that was why I couldn’t let it happen again. Not until I’d grown stronger and held more control. “I can lie back on the couch for you. What more do you want?”

  “I want to know what it will take for you kiss me the way you did on our wedding day.”