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He says those words with that rare conviction he uses only when it comes to Juan—or when he asked me to carry his child.
“I won’t lie to you. I never intended to kill him. I didn’t plan it. You, with that magic tongue, were right in at least part of your accusation. It happened when he treated my brother’s heart like another pawn in his game. Another way to grow his empire. A toy to give away.”
Anger tinges his voice, startling me enough that I open my eyes again. He’s staring up at the ceiling, his teeth bared. As if sensing my gaze, his grip on my hand tightens, verging on the point of pain.
“I could have forgiven him for that,” he admits in a guttural tone. “Perhaps. But not what he did to the poor bastard he placed Juan’s heart into. He molded him, Lupe. Corrected the goodness and purity of my brother. He made him cold. A killer. He made him…”
“Like you,” I croak. His twisted logic shouldn’t make any sense to me. Nor should I sympathize with a murderer.
But though our body counts most certainty differs, I guess it’s fair to say that in that realm, we are the same. Murderers. I have no right to judge him.
“You are the only person in the world I have told that story to,” he adds with a low, unsettling laugh. In the same breath, he turns to face me, reaching out to smooth my hair from the space between us. “How does that make you feel, Lupe?”
“I don’t know,” I admit, sounding broken. “You strike me as the sort of man who isn’t frivolous with his secrets. You tell them only to people who you are sure will never use them against you.”
“Ah.” A corner of his lip quirks in a way that makes my belly flip. “Or I tell my secrets to those with hidden revelations of their own to share. Loyalty is only part of what I want from you. I want what lurks in that skull, chica. I want to know who you killed and why. I want to know the depth of your relationship with the man you cry out for in your sleep. I want to know… Everything.”
I can’t deny that I’m so damn tempted. Come clean and take whatever punishment he dishes out. For a man who killed his own father for a perceived betrayal, the longer I deceive him about my past, the worse it will be. For all I know, I could wind up in Gatita’s cage again the second I let my guard down.
My lips part…
“Not tonight,” he says with another rasping laugh. He smooths his hand along my hair, lingering against the back of my skull. “Not while you are broken and shaken. I want you whole when you avail yourself to me. I want to hear that smart fucking mouth at its most spicy. I want you in your right mind when I pick you apart, Lupe. Only then, will you give me what I want.”
The request isn’t comforting in the slightest. It heralds that patience he has honed so well—the fact that he believes he has all the time in the world to decipher me. To learn me inside and out.
“And when will I get your secrets?” I counter.
Rather than seem annoyed by the impudence, his eyes seem to sparkle. Then he leans in, pressing his mouth to my cheek. There, he murmurs, “I’ll feed them to you slowly, Lupe,” he says. “Drop by drop, the same way you so greedily took my cock. I wouldn’t want you to choke. For now, rest, chica. When you wake, I’ll give you the remainder of your gifts. Then you’ll cease to look at me with those lost, angry eyes.Sí?”
He kisses me again, running his lips over my nose.
“Sleep tight, chica. I’ll be here. And if you are worried about what you might say in your sleep…” He draws back enough to meet my gaze, suddenly serious. “You only do so when drugged.”
I don’t know whether to take that as a threat or a compliment.
CHAPTEREIGHTEEN
Iwake up hungry, sore, and exhausted. I don’t even want to move, and the persistent pain from my various injuries is bad enough that I almost crave a drug to take the edge off. I am not comfortable in the slightest. These sheets are too soft. The mattress is too decadent. I’m too warm. Too…content.
I hate that I can’t blame it on the bed alone. It’s the feeling. The warmth that seeps into my skin, undeniably from another body that recently rested beside mine. The smell flooding my nostrils with every breath. A scent that should terrify me—thick, masculine musk.
It lulls me into a dangerous state of mind. One in which I almost forget the danger at my back, and the risk presented by the man this scent belongs to. He’ll be the death of me if I let him, in more ways than one. I need to keep my guard up. I need to…
“A contented sigh.” The low rasp of approval comes from nearby, and I wrench my eyes open, scanning my surroundings for the source. I find him standing at the foot of the bed wearing only black slacks, his chest bare. Around his neck, he’s in the process of draping one of two dark ties he has in either hand. “That must be a good sign. You slept well, Lupe. Good. It’s about damn time you enjoyed our bed.”
My newfound peace seems to affect my tongue, since a response emerges before I can think it through. “Where…”
Am I?I meant to ask, but it all comes back to me at once—I’m in the master bedroom of some secret mansion in or near California, under the sway of one man.
“You will have me for one more day at least,” he says, continuing to test how each of the two ties rests against his bare skin. “Get dressed. I’ll have your breakfast brought up to you.”
Slowly, I pull myself upright and note that I’m still naked from last night. When I stretch out my limbs, the side beside me still feels warm. He must have only just gotten up.
“My breakfast,” I echo. “Is pampering me more of your way of atoning?”
He laughs, and my heart stutters. “No. Oh no, chica. I need you well rested and well fed for what I have in mind for you today.”
I grip the sheets beside me so tightly that my nails catch on the delicate fabric. “Oh?” Somehow, I manage to keep the fear from my voice. I think.
