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I gasped and braced my hands on the sink.
I’d told Andrés about my feelings for Dex. That put him at risk. I’d made him a target for the Moreno brothers. They would go after him to make me cooperate. I couldn’t let them hurt him.
I stormed back into the bedroom, going straight for Andrés. His brows rose in surprise, but my unexpected ire didn’t slow his reaction time when I launched myself at him.
He dodged to one side, catching my fist where it had flown past his face. His other hand caught me in the center of my chest, knocking the air from my lungs as he shoved me away. I fell, my back hitting the mattress. His weight settled over me as he straddled my hips and pinned my arms above my head with one hand. My legs kicked out uselessly as he locked the chain to the front of my collar, tethering me to the bed again.
He gripped my jaw, stilling my wild thrashing. “What’s this about?” he demanded.
“You leave Dex alone,” I shouted at him, jerking desperately against his hold. “I’ll kill you if you do anything to him. I swear, I’ll kill you.”
His fingers tightened around my face to the point of pain, and he snarled down at me. “I have no interest in this man. And from now on, neither do you.”
“But you said Cristian would kill him if he found out,” I said, panic seizing my senses. Oh god, I’d betrayed Dex for an orgasm. How could I do that?
“I am not my brother,” he growled, the words so garbled I could barely discern them. “I won’t torture you or threaten the people you care about to get what I want out of you.” He leaned in close, so I could feel the heat of his anger slapping against me. “I don’t need to torture you to get what I want.”
“And what do you call tying me down and whipping me until I scream? Is that not torture?”
“If you knew what torture really was, you wouldn’t have to ask,” he said roughly.
“And how would you know?” I challenged. “It’s not like you’d ever let anyone whip you until you cried.”
“You think I don’t cry when I’m hurt? You think I don’t bleed when I’m cut? You think I don’t scream just like any other man in pain? I might not be sane, but I’m still human, Samantha. Don’t talk about things you don’t understand.”
I stared up at him, wide-eyed. “Is that how your face…” I trailed off when he bared his teeth at me in feral rage, his scar twisting into something terrifying.
“Don’t talk about things you don’t understand,” he repeated, enunciating every word. “And don’t say your friend’s name ever again. I don’t want you to even think about him. I’m the only man you should be concerned with, the only one you should think about. Your purpose is to serve me, to please me. No one else.”
“Please,” I forced out, my eyes watering. “You’re hurting me.” His fingers were digging into my face, hard enough that I thought I might bruise.
He instantly released me and rolled off me with a curse. He didn’t look at me as he stiffly crossed the bedroom to his wardrobe and started getting dressed.
“Andrés?” I asked timidly.
He didn’t respond.
I decided I believed him when he said he wouldn’t go after Dex. He seemed furious that I’d even think he’d hurt someone I loved in order to hurt me.
I will never cause you harm, not your body and not your heart. I remembered the promise he’d made me. Maybe he did hurt me when he flogged me. And maybe he did enjoy my pain. But he’d never lied about what kind of monster he was.
Guilt nipped at me. Someone had hurt him. That should have been obvious from the very beginning, given his scars. But I’d been so focused on how scary they were that I hadn’t stopped to think about the pain he must have endured when he got them. Not to mention the reminder of it when people cringed away from looking at his ruined face. I hadn’t been able to bear looking at him when I’d first seen him. What must it be like to have people flinch at the sight of you?
“I’m sorry,” I said quietly.
He stiffened further, and he stopped in his tracks. After a few tense seconds, he spoke, but he still didn’t turn to look at me.
“I got something for you,” he said. “It’s on the tray next to your breakfast.”
I glanced at the food cart that must have arrived while I was still sleeping. A large, gift-wrapped box sat beside the covered tray.
“What—?”
“I’ll see you tonight,” he cut me off and strode out of the room.
Curiosity spiking, I went straight for the gift rather than the bacon. I tore off the iridescent white paper and pretty blue bow to find a plain cardboard box. When I opened it, my jaw dropped.
“Wow,” I whispered, running reverent fingers over the laminated, first edition X-Men #101 comic book. The first one featuring The Dark Phoenix. It must have cost a fortune. Not to mention acquiring it so quickly. I’d confessed my geeky cosplay kissing session to Andrés like, two days ago. And only yesterday I’d appealed to him about my boredom. How had he managed to get this for me?
