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One is fleeting, based on his current whim—but the other? It conveys far more than parading me around as part of his harem. It means in case he isn’t working with Diego, he will defend me from him.
No matter the cost.
“I won’t promise you a damn thing,” he says, his grin unfolding in full. “I’ll keep you guessing. No one yanks my chain around here, sweetheart.Youare the only one on a leash.”
And maybe he has a point, but he isn’t the one holding the other end of my strings.
Seemingly done washing me, Jaguar shuts off the water and exits the stall, returning seconds later with a towel slung over his waist and another that he tosses to me.
Still dripping wet, I follow him inside his main bedroom and gape as he towels himself off and strolls naked into a massive walk-in closet.
His bimbos must not stay in here. The clothing on the hangers is all masculine, primarily in his chosen shade of black. He dresses in jeans and a leather jacket before tossing an oversized T-shirt to me.
I don’t move to put it on. Being here increasingly feels more surreal than my tired brain knows what to do with, but there isn’t time to rest. I should call Pedro. I need to get in contact with Franco. I need to know what Braulio meant about Tiena selling him out. I need…
“I want that magic tongue well rested,” Jaguar says, intruding upon my thoughts. “You’ll need it for what I have in mind. Just this once, I will make another exception for you. You can rest here rather than in one of the other rooms.”
He snatches the shirt from me and pulls it over my head himself. Then he takes my hand and leads me to the bed.
“Be a good girl,” he warns before I can open my mouth to protest. Displaying that disarming strength again, he makes me lie down and drapes the blankets over me. It’s a cruel, demented comparison to a child being tucked in by a doting caretaker. He even settles me on my stomach so I don’t aggravate my back.
Then he kisses my cheek.
“Sleep tight, little Lupe,” he says before retreating for the door. “Don’t let the monsters bite. I am the only one allowed to dwell inside that head of yours. Remember that.”
CHAPTERSIXTEEN
It should be impossible for me to find comfort in the bed of a twisted psychopath like Julian Domingas. If anything, I should spend the next few hours tossing and turning, unable to find more than a few snatches of sleep at a time.
The truth is, when I finally peel my eyes open again, the room is dark, and I know in my gut that I slept for hours. Blissful, dreamless, much-needed hours.
Perhaps because my tormentor isn’t anywhere to be found? Even in the darkness, I can tell the room is empty apart from me. A gentle orange light emanates from the center courtyard, and I can make out low voices and playful music.
Is he out there, perhaps, lording over those under his purview?
I try not to care. Sleep has cleared my head and refocused my attention on only one goal—keep Franco safe. Keep him alive, no matter the risk to myself.
He is all that matters. Not Braulio. Not Jaguar. Not even Diego.
Playing the role of Jaguar’s puppet can’t help him much in the long run. I need to get to him now. That is the only desire in my skull as I finally pull myself upright and stumble from the bed in the general direction of Jaguar’s office. I don’t dare turn on the lights in case he can see them from below, so I feel my way through the dark and trip into several heavy objects.
When I finally enter his office, I drop to my hands and knees and scour the area around the desk for anything useful. In his drawers, I find only loose scraps of paper and expensive pens. There is no computer to rummage through, and I don’t find his cell phone conveniently in view, either. I could always try his private study, but I doubt I’d be able to make it there unseen.
Suddenly, a louder noise coming from the courtyard draws my attention. It’s persistent, uttered in a guttural voice that I instinctively react to even before I creep to the window and spy the source.
Jaguar.
Bathed in the orange glow of outside flood lights, he’s standing near the pool, drink in hand, eyes in my direction. “Tiena,” he calls. “I know you’re awake, chica. Come join us.”
Shit.
In his shirt, with my ratty, still damp hair, I feel too vulnerable to expose myself to him and the roughly ten other men and women around him. I will not back down from a direct challenge, either.
So, I improvise. Since the jig is up, I switch on the lights and find my way into the female bedroom next to his suite. In the hallway, I find Horatio, and I wonder if he’s been plastered there this whole time, waiting for me. In fact, he could have been the one to alert his master to the fact that I was awake in the first place.
Ignoring him, I enter the bedroom and enter the closet. Luckily for what I have in mind, the space is practically overflowing with string bikinis. Praying that it’s at least been washed since its last wearer, I change into a red one, descend the main staircase, and exit the house through the dining room terrace.
He claps when he sees me, seated on a couch-like lounger near the pool. An army of half-naked women encircles him, jostling to get as close to him as they can.
