Beauty in the Broken: A Diamond Magnate Novel

by Charmaine Pauls

  “Try again,” he says.

  “Yours?”

  “Mine. No one endangers what’s mine. Anyone fucks with this,” he cups my sex roughly, “and I’ll fucking cut off his hand.” His fingers clenches in the swollen flesh of my folds, giving my pubic hair a soft yank that sends moisture between my legs. “Anyone who lays a finger on you will lose it. Anyone who puts you in harm’s way is dead. Understand?” He pulls again, creating a painfully delicious sensation.

  “Y-yes,” I cry on a gasp.

  “I’m going to punish you for today so that you know how goddamn serious I am about keeping you alive.”

  “Don’t.” Even as the words whispers past my lips, I know it’s futile.

  “Sorry, angel,” he replies, not sounding one bit sorry. “You know you deserve this.”

  I’m about to say I don’t when the next lash falls across my whole ass, covering it from left to right. It’s not a knife. A blade cuts with cold pain that sets into pulsing spurts of agony when the adrenaline from the physical shock wears off. The strap burns under my skin as if every molecule has been set on fire.

  “Two,” he says. “Four more to go.”

  I draw in a shaky breath, steeling myself, but no amount of mental preparation is enough for what follows. The next lash almost cripples me. My knees wobble under my weight. Before I have time to recover, another strip of fire bursts over my skin.

  “D-Damian!”

  “Almost there, angel. Only two more.”

  He gives them to me consecutively and with no repose in between, heating the skin under the curve of my ass and the line that follows my crack. The tip of the strap curls between my legs, the clack it makes as it covers my folds and clit reverberating through my flesh in sparks of agonizing torture. My elbows cave. My upper body hits the rug. My thighs shake uncontrollably. That I manage to stay on my knees is a miracle. I won’t go down, damn him. I won’t give him the satisfaction of falling all the way.

  I haven’t shed a tear. I haven’t screamed. I hold onto the knowledge while I gasp for air and will my strength to return so I can peel myself off the floor. Before I can execute either action, something presses on my dark entrance. Too weak to fight, I fling my face to the side with my cheek resting on the rug. Damian is pressing the thumb of one hand between my ass cheeks while sucking the other into his mouth. When the pressure lifts, I almost find that breath I’m chasing, but then he puts his wet, hot pad against the protesting ring of muscle.

  “Breathe, Lina.”

  I can’t, but my heart demands I do. The minute my lungs clear and oxygen expands in my chest, he sinks the whole length of his thumb into me. Two pumps, and more fingers join his thumb. I can’t tell how many he’s slipping inside me, but it burns and fires up sensitive tissue all at once.

  “D-Damian.” His name is a garbled cry.

  Keeping still, he gives me a small moment of mercy to adjust to the stretch. “Let me put my tongue in you. You’ll feel more pleasure.”

  Manipulation. Again. It’s just a way of stealing more permissions from me.

  My teeth chatter around my rejection of his wicked proposal. “N-no.”

  Twisting his fingers from side to side, he increases my discomfort but somehow decreases the burn. Then he pumps. He takes me in the only virgin hole I have left in my body with fierce thrusts, the heel of his free hand slapping hard against my folds.

  “I’m going to take your ass, Lina.”

  I clench around him in fear, my muscles involuntarily drawing his digits deeper.

  “But not today,” he continues. “One day, I’m going to sink my cock balls-deep into your tight little hole, and you’re going to love it.”

  From the bottom of my almost-empty soul, I scrape together enough strength to keep my voice even. “Never.”

  He chuckles cruelly, and the pace in my rear picks up with a grueling rhythm. Every thrust forces a groan from my throat. The grunts he beats out of me are raw and dirty. My fingers curl into the rug, my nails scraping over the woven thread. The rough wool is abrasive against my distended nipples through the thin fabric of my dress. I’m a slut on my knees uttering shameful sounds that give away my dirtiest secret. Despite the discomfort, despite the lingering pain, an ache grows in the empty spot between my legs. My need throbs fiercely, demanding little extra than the humiliating pummeling of my ass. A few flicks over my clit is all it takes. When he grants me the reprieve, I come with a wail. My hips give out, and my arms fall uselessly beside me. Sweating and shaking, I’m a quivering mess. Tremors run over me from head to toes. A shadow extends over me and hides me in blissful somberness. The electricity of another body bending over mine sends static sparks down my spine.

  A warm breath fans my cheek. Full lips whisper in my ear. “If that’s how hard you come on my fingers, imagine what I’ll do to you with my cock.”

  I lift my lashes to look at him. Our eyes connect. Knowledge and satisfaction blend in his at the foregone conclusion as he wipes his hand on a paper napkin. That’s what I am. A foregone conclusion. He knew from the day we met, before I’d even turned eighteen, he’d take me, have me, and reduce me to a woman on her knees. I can’t let him break me further. Struggling, I force myself back onto my knees. I ignore the swaying of my body and the places that hurt.

  His palm smooths over my sore bottom, rubbing warmth into the ache. “You’ll carry these marks for a couple of days. Every time you feel them when you move, I want you think about what you promised me. Say it.”

  “I…” My mouth is too dry. I swallow and try again. “I won’t put my life in danger.”

  “That’s my girl.”

  Gathering me into his arms, he stands. I’m too weak from the physical toll to fight him. There’s not a stitch of energy left in my body. He goes to the sofa and lowers us onto the plush leather. I let myself sink deeper into his warmth as he arranges my body until I’m cradled against his chest. He picks up a leather folder from the coffee table with one hand and caresses my hair with the other.

  “Rest,” he says in his autocratic tone.

  I hate him, but bite back the words. It’s as if my body recognizes the truth in his command. I’m more tired than I’ve been since sleeping without handcuffs. It doesn’t take long for me to doze off on his lap. He only wakes me when the shadows in the room are long and Zane knocks on the door to tell us dinner is ready.

  The announcement of Dalton Diamonds becoming Hart Diamonds comes a day later. Damian doesn’t let me read about Harold’s downfall in the newspapers or see it on television. He tells me in detail what to expect and briefs me on what to say to the media, should someone manage to get through the gatekeepers holding those calls away from me. No comment.

  I’m surprised Harold hasn’t called. I expect him to put more pressure on me to find the documents, but maybe he knows it’s too late, at least for saving his business. I continue to look for the evidence, but a search of Anne’s room produces nothing. The only room I have left is Zane’s.

  Since our shopping spree, Damian has worked mostly from his study, but I haven’t seen much of him. The bat boxes are installed, and I’ve taken over the menu planning. The simple tasks bring a measure of relief from the daily stress of being my husband’s captive. I had plans to study art history after high school, but when Harold married me off to Jack shortly after I turned of legal age, all chances of studying flew through the window. I’ve never been granted any duty other than being a sex object, and it’s soothing to keep busy with actions instead of nothing but my thoughts.

  In the afternoon, I push my comfort zone by pulling on the white bikini Damian had bought. I study my body in the mirror of his dressing room. My ribs are less pronounced, and my breasts are filling out, plus I have a newfound level of energy. Eating well agrees with my health.

  Twisting my hair into a bun on my head, I tie a wrap around my waist and grab a towel. I’m taking a bottle of water from the fridge when a small gasp startles me.

  Jana stands in
the middle of the kitchen, a shopping bag in one hand and the other on her heart. She pulls her gaze from my arms to my face, her cheeks flushing red. “Lina, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stare.”

  “It’s a lot to take in, huh?”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “It’s all right. It’s hard not to look.”

  “I saw the newspaper article, but…” She bites her lip.

  “It’s worse seeing them in real life, right?”

  “Right,” she agrees meekly.

  “At least everyone has seen them. Now I can get on with my life.”

  She regards my attire. “And wear short sleeves.”

  I don’t say Damian destroyed all my clothes with long sleeves. “Exactly.”

  “Don’t let me keep you.” She drops the bag and all but pushes me to the door. “Go on, then. It’s a nice day for a swim.”

  She’s eager to get rid of me, but I don’t blame her. The situation can’t be comfortable. Granting her the space she wants, I venture to the inviting blue water. I haven’t been in a pool since my eighteenth birthday. As usual, Russell follows a few steps behind. It’s sweltering hot, and he’s wearing a suit.

  “Why don’t you get out of that suit?” I ask. “You must be dying of heat.”

  He shrugs. “Uniform.”

  “I’m sure Damian won’t mind if you take a dive.”

  “Thanks, but no thanks. It’s against protocol.”

  We don’t speak for the rest of the way. Anne is already there, as usual drifting on a float. When she spots me, she lifts her sunglasses and assesses me with unmasked curiosity.

  I walk to the deep end. “Do you mind?”

  She looks annoyed, as if I’m disturbing her peace. “It’s your pool.”

  In that case…I dive in, creating enough of a wave to splash her. Just because I’m hoping she’ll divert my husband’s attention doesn’t mean I have to put up with her sarcasm.

  The water is heaven. The coolness ripples over my skin. Chlorine tickles my nose. When I surface, Anne is gasping, holding her dripping sunglasses in the air and patting her ruined hair. Smiling to myself, I swim a length. My muscles are weak from lack of exercise for too many years, but I slip effortlessly through the water, feeling weightless.

  I swim only one more lap before I tire. Leaning my arms on the edge of the deep side, I stop to catch my breath. Disturbed by my splashing, Anne stretched out on one of the deck chairs. She makes no secret of her irritation, giving me a pouty look. I’m about to push myself out of the water when a pair of polished shoes appears in my line of vision, Italian shoes, shoes I felt against my naked heel, between my legs. I lift my gaze to the face of the owner. Damian is staring down at me, his hands shoved into the pockets of his suit pants. His shirtsleeves are rolled up, revealing a hint of his manly forearms.

  He gives me a peculiar smile. “Having fun?”

  “The water is nice,” I say carefully, keeping on neutral ground. With Damian, I never know how the conversation is going to turn.

  Crouching down, he pushes a wet tendril of hair behind my ear. “You invited Russell to join you.”

  His words are as gentle as his touch, but his eyes are probing, piercing, searching for something that isn’t there.

  I swallow. “How do you know?” Is he spying on me?

  He doesn’t answer, but at the edge of the pool Russell stands as stiff as a stick, Zane a short distance to the side. I bet Zane was following us, listening to what I was saying.

  Damian’s voice is tender, but there’s an edge to it. “Lina?”

  “It’s hot. I was only being polite.”

  He traces a drop of water that runs down my neck with his finger before withdrawing his touch. “Are you going to invite me?”

  “You’re busy.”

  He narrows his eyes a fraction. “Am I?”

  I motion to his clothes. “You’re dressed for work.”

  His smile is all forced patience. “I suppose that means I don’t qualify for politeness.”

  I can only look at him. Any answer I give will be the wrong one.

  He straightens. “Don’t burn.” With another look that seems to burn right through me, he walks away.

  Goosebumps break out over my body. The water suddenly feels too cold. I watch his retreating form with a nervousness building in the pit of my stomach. Zane gives me a cold look before he turns and follows Damian. I’m not the only one watching. Anne looks at Damian with lowered lashes and her lip caught between her teeth. She eats him up with her eyes from top to bottom, a sinful grin curving her lips.

  There’s a small movement in Russell’s stance when I push myself out of the water, as if he’s about to move forward and extend a hand. He must think the better of it, because he settles back into standing on attention.

  I’m not going to let Damian spoil my fun. I’ve taken the big step. I may as well enjoy it. Following Anne’s example, I stretch out in the sun, feeling the warm rays on my body for the first time in as long as I can remember.

  When I get back to the house later, Jana tells me Zane is out jogging, and Damian is having dinner in town. Is that what he came to tell me at the pool? Who is he sharing his dinner with? He doesn’t owe me explanations, but I can’t help but wonder. Russell and Jana say their goodbyes shortly after, and I’m left with Anne and the guards patrolling the door and gate.

  A quick walk through the house tells me Anne is reading on the terrace. My wet hair leaves a trail of drops on the floor as I hurry in nothing but my bikini and wrap down the hallway, but I don’t take the time to change. Quietly, I slip into Zane’s room. Leaving the door open a crack, I lean against the wall, taking a steadying breath. I look under the mattress and behind the paintings. I go through his drawers and closet. I even check for false drawers in the writing desk. Documents of such tremendous importance would be locked in a fireproof safe. A safe like that could be hidden under the floorboards, in the walls, or behind a false panel. The only place left is the bathroom. It’s an unlikely location, but I’ve exhausted all other options. With a last glance through the crack in the door, I tiptoe to the en suite bathroom. It’s smaller than Damian’s and the one in Anne’s bedroom. There’s only one cupboard with towels and toiletries to search. I knock on the backboard, listening for hollow sounds, but it seems sturdy everywhere. Moving bottles aside, I check the sides. Nothing. I’m about to turn back to the room when Zane’s voice speaks from the door.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

  Chapter 10

  Lina

  Bottles fall over as I back into the cupboard.

  Zane’s T-shirt is soaked with sweat from his run. He advances with menace edged on his face. “I asked you a question.”

  Ignoring the impulse to flee, I stand up straight. “In case you forgot, this is my house.”

  He clicks his tongue. “You were doing such a good job of steering clear of me.”

  “Was I?” I arch a brow. “I thought you were the one avoiding me.”

  He grabs me so fast I don’t see it coming. His fingers dig into the scars on my upper arms. Repulsion ripples through me.

  “Nothing is yours. Not this house and certainly not Dami.”

  The anger of where and how he’s touching me squashes any sense of self-preservation and fear. “Are you sure about that? From where I’m standing, you’re a guest overstepping your boundaries.”

  His nostrils flare. The scent of his sweat intensifies. The feeling of it as he rubs his slick body against mine makes me gag.

  “You’re such an ignorant bitch.” He presses closer, his drenched T-shirt sliding over my stomach. “You have no idea, do you? Has he hurt you yet?”

  I flinch.

  He smirks. “The walls are thin.”

  I can’t stop the heat that creeps into my face.

  “You like it,” he says, pressing me flat against the shelves with his weight. “Is that why you’re here, flaunting your half-naked body?” He pu
lls on the string of the bikini bottom that ties on my hip.

  It’s a battle not to show my panic. Focusing on my anger to disguise my weakness, I swat his hand away. “Get your hands off me or Damian will hear about this.”

  “It’s only a matter of time before it’s my turn, darling. Rest assured, when Dami gives you to me, your screams won’t be in ecstasy.”

  He hurls me away from him with enough force to knock my body against the basin. A bone-deep pain shoots through my hip.

  “Dami and I,” he says, “we share everything.”

  Shaking with rage, I barely hold myself back from attacking him like a savage feline. “You’re wrong.” I wipe his disgusting sweat from my stomach with a palm. “I’m the one thing you’ll never share.” Damian said so himself, and he always means what he says.

  “We’ll see,” Zane says on a snicker. “I know what you’re looking for, whore. You’ll never find those documents. Now get the fuck out of my bathroom.”

  I stretch myself taller, ignoring the ache that spreads from my hip to my leg. Maybe the small responsibilities Damian tasked me with gave me a new sense of self-worth and a chunk of courage. “You get out. Until Damian divorces me, this is my house as much as his, and it’s my hospitality you’re abusing.”

  He turns redder than a dragon on the verge of spitting fire. The backhand that connects with my cheek doesn’t come as a surprise. Neither does the blood that runs in a trickle from my nose. I’m familiar with this particular pain and its symptoms.

  He pales a little, as if he knows he’s gone too far. There will be bruises.

  He pushes his finger in my face. “A word about this to Dami, and I’ll tear you apart at every chance I get, do you hear me?”

  Wiping the blood away with the back of my hand, I give him the coldest look I can muster. “Hit me again, and I won’t ask Damian to cut off your finger. I’ll do it myself.”

  I limp past him, physically bruised but feeling mentally strong.

  “You talk,” he says to my back, “and I’ll tell Dami what you’re searching for. You’ve seen for yourself what he does to thieves and traitors.”