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“No. No. No,” she screams from behind my hand like it will make any difference. Like I’m going to take pity because she doesn’t want to be here. As if I want her here. As if I want to deal with any of this.
“You are way more trouble than you’re worth.” Especially since I can’t seem to think straight with her body wiggling against mine, rubbing against me in all the best—or, depending on how I look at it, worst—possible places.
My hunger burns, desire unfolding low in my gut, the devil on my shoulder reminding me how easy it would be to take her here and now. There’s nobody to stop me. Even Prince left, not wanting to face my wrath over the way he touched her.
“Keep it up,” I growl in her ear. “The more you fight, the worse it will be when I shove my cock in your mouth. Or maybe I’ll put it in this cute little ass you keep rubbing against it. Is that your way of telling me what you want?” Her enraged scream only makes me harder. I bet she’d be explosive in the right situation.
“Back to bed for you,” I grunt, bitterly accepting the fact that I can’t give in to anything as coarse and low-level as desire right now. Losers, weak assholes—they’re the ones who lose sight of the end goal, too undisciplined to fight what they want here and now in favor of the bigger picture.
One of Renato De Luca’s many lessons. It runs through my head as I lift her off her feet and carry her kicking and screaming back to the upstairs bedroom.
“This is probably my fault,” I snarl. “I should have locked the door. I won’t be making that mistake again.” Her dismayed moan makes me laugh. She really thought she was being slick, like she could get away from me. All she’s done is fuck herself over. I’ll be doubly sure to secure her from now on.
I don’t know whether it’s a relief or a disappointment when I finally reach the bedroom and throw her onto the bed. She flips onto her back right away. Rage, hatred, and fear fight for control of her expressions as she scrambles back until she hits the headboard. Like she expects me to fuck her now. At least I know my intimidation tactics are working.
“Try some shit like that again,” I warn, “and I won’t be so nice. Do you doubt me?” When she’s slow to respond, still breathless and almost weeping, I lean over her until she recoils in fear. “Answer me. Do you doubt a word I’m saying?”
“No.” The word is feeble, but exactly what I need to hear.
“That’s what I fucking thought. Don’t let me hear you in here for the rest of the day if you know what’s good for you.” The slamming of the door almost drowns out her heartbroken wail. But not quite.
Let her be heartbroken, dammit. Some spoiled princess with probably no idea how the world actually works or the sort of sacrifices involved in our business. Pampered her entire life, expecting everything to turn out the way she wants it to simply because she said so. She’ll be lucky if I don’t take my frustration with her father out on her. Maybe I should remind her of that later; how easy it would be for me to vent my frustration on someone who shares Alvarez’s blood.
Yet if Grandfather ever found out about that—and he would, I’m sure, he misses nothing—he’d have my balls for it. If I’m going to be head of the family one day, I have to learn to think strategically, not emotionally. I can almost hear his warning in my head as I pace the room that will be mine for the duration of this trip.
A trip that now seems like it will take longer than originally planned.
I have to do something, anything, to get rid of this ball of fire in my stomach, threatening to fry me from the inside out. Now that it’s only the two of us in this house, the temptation to take all of this out on her is almost unbearable. That stupid motherfucker Alvarez. He thought he was being clever by leaving me hanging. Does he know what he’s done? How easily I could make him regret his ignorance?
For lack of a better way of killing my erection, I locate the file Grandfather gave us for the purpose of brushing up on the Alvarez family and the Marielito. There it is, the line denoting the existence of a daughter. Elena. There’s no more information on her aside from the fact that she’s an only child.
Wouldn’t a man without the benefit of sons be a bit more careful with his only child? Granted, in our world, women are generally treated as a means to an end. A subject to be bred for the gain or extension of power. Something to fuck or use as a means of solidifying family alliances through marriage. Yet without her, there can be no such alliance. He’s losing some of the only capital he has. How can a man in his position not be smart enough to understand that?
I’d bet I could find a way to make her talk using the correct motivators. She thought the sensation of my switchblade pressed against her chest was scary? How would she feel about it if I offered to cut her a second slit between her thighs? Or maybe she wouldn’t miss the presence of her nipples. Maybe I could offer to remove them for her.
Yet even now, storming around a bedroom that’s only mine for the time being, part of me shrinks away from that idea. Not because it wouldn’t give me pleasure. No, I have no doubt I would savor her screams, her promises, and apologies. The very thought of watching her unravel in front of me until I become the only god she knows revives my softening erection, heightening my hunger.
I shrink away from the idea because no one has ever reached that part of me before. The part of me Grandfather has struggled for so long, so unceasingly, to suppress or even silence.
“You have a darkness in you,” he told me once, “thanks in no small part to that bastard who fathered you.”
Never would he consider his daughter’s blood to be the reason I’m like this. She was nothing less than a saint, an angel who deserved so much more than what life gave her.
Having met my father before ending his worthless life, I have no trouble believing that. I need to turn away from the creature my father turned me into, thanks to what he did to us. No matter how I crave the satisfaction, I can’t sink that low.
Once I’m calm enough to control myself, I leave the room, walking slowly down the hall. I’m sure she can hear my footsteps, and the idea of her cowering on the bed while I pass sends a thrill through me. She would be such a nice way to pass the time.
I’ve never reacted this way to a woman, any woman. I’ve had more than my share, and they’ve all served the same purpose in roughly the same way. It’s never difficult to attract them—the name De Luca is hardly unknown, and I suppose my father passed down decent genetics when it came to physical appearance. Money, power, looks? An aphrodisiac if there ever was one.
But it has always been the same. I meet one, she excites me for one reason or another, and by the time I’ve spurted out the last of what brewed in my balls, I can’t wait to never see her again.
This Elena, on the other hand? I was ready the instant my body made contact with hers. It was that simple. Finding her at the door, pinning her against it, the friction her body made against mine. My cock sprang to life, and all of a sudden, it would be the simplest situation in the world. I have to take her, claim her,ownher.
And it makes no sense. Hell, I got a better feel for her body last night when I carried her to the car. Yet while she was unconscious, she wasn’t fighting. She was no longer the scrappy, feisty hellcat. Perhaps that’s the missing link in all this. It isn’t so much the girl but rather the fact of her not dropping to her knees at first sight, the way most women do once they know who they’re looking at.
The thrill of something new for the first time in forever. That’s what this is. Nothing more. Once I know how to brush off the situation, I can move past it. It’s clear that I need to. I have to find a way past this if there’s to be any hope of succeeding in what I’ve been tasked with. She will not get in the way of our plans. If anything, she might help move things along.
The beginnings of an idea brew in the back of my mind. I think I might know how to get through to her. It will just take another plan of attack. A new direction.
