Blood Money (Dark Cartel Romance) (Dinero de Sangre Book 1)

by Lana Sky

  The circular room is empty this time, but just beyond the archway leading to the terrace is a set of white loungers, centered around a low table stocked with platters of fresh fruit, cheese, and crackers.

  Domino commands one, a glass of red liquid in hand. He meets my gaze as he takes a sip. Then he nods to the space across from him. “Sit.”

  I deliberate running. The fact that I’m entirely dependent on Ines to stand is the only reason why I comply with his suggestion—she hauls me there herself, lowering me as he directed.

  The chaise is luxuriously comfortable, and this area is shaded by several massive palm trees in terra cotta pots. As a result, the wrath of the sun is diminished to a gentle warmth, and, again, I get that eerie sense of being in most people’s version of an ideal vacation home.

  Minus Domino Valenciaga.

  I try not to look at him at first, but as his lounger creaks with movement, I glance over to find him hunched over the table, piling various items onto a small plate. Finished, he hands it to me.

  “Eat.” A low rumble, his voice alludes to an unspoken warning. So, help me God.

  A shiver runs down my spine. Even so, I consider throwing the plate over the balcony.

  But then he’d drag me into that room and shove the tube into me himself. He will. That much is all but promised in his gaze. In fact, I think he prefers I disobey him.

  So, I grab the plate and snatch an item at random. A grape that looms large as I raise it to my lips with trembling fingers. My throat feels so raw that eating anything at all feels more unappealing than ever. Still, I ease the grape into my mouth and bite.

  I chew and chew, cringing at the sharp flavor. When I finally choke it down, tears spring to my eyes. I’d scream if I could; it hurts so damn much.

  Still, I embrace the pain a second time to croak, “You disgust me.”

  He sits back, a lazy grin playing over his mouth as he balances his own plate on one palm. “Try the berries,” he suggests dryly. “They’re ripe and sweet.”

  It’s a taunt. I can almost see the invisible threat he wields behind the request. I find one of the aforementioned berries on my plate and grip it between two fingers. Sweat beads over the back of my neck as I attempt to bring it to my mouth.

  Then I choke it down, squirming at the thought of it sliding down my throat, filling my stomach.

  He’s watching me, I realize. Sharp with avid interest, he tracks my every move.

  “Why didn’t you just let me die?” I ask. It’s a thought that haunts me as I recall just how close I must have been to that reality. Another hour in the sun. A few more feet of being dragged behind his car…

  It’s as if the universe is conspiring to bring me just to the brink, over and over again.

  “You’re worth more to me alive,” he says.

  “Because you want to sell me,” I rasp. “Was that always your plan? Is that why you saved me before? To bide your time for five years?”

  He chuckles. “You saved me. You saved me. Your imagination gets away from you, Ada-Maria. So prone to exaggeration—”

  “I was lying on the highway,” I say. Did he really have such a low opinion of me? To think that all I wanted was attention.

  But I didn’t.

  And, naively, I assumed he knew that. That he cared.

  His expression hardens again, unreadable.

  “Why not now?” I demand, setting the plate aside as the remnants of the berry churn in my stomach. “Sell me now.”

  He raises a single dark eyebrow. “You’re that eager to be paraded on auction before a bunch of bastards willing to buy you? They won’t intend to take you out to some fancy restaurant, Ada-Maria, I can assure you of that.”

  I cringe, but I see through the taunt to his real motive. He wants me afraid. He thinks the prospect of that scares me. It does.

  But one factor outweighs any potential horror that might await me.

  “I’d prefer anyone to you.”

  “No, you wouldn’t.” He sits forward, his jaw tense. “I can promise you that.”

  I try to ignore how earnestly he says that.

  “I hate you.” I’ve told him that before, I think. Shouted it.

  He cocks his head, dropping his plate onto the edge of the table as if he means to lunge across it. “Good. Your hate means nothing outside of the walls of that fancy house of yours, Ada-Maria. Without your Papa here to wipe your ass and pay your bills, your only worth to anyone is as a body. A warm, wet hole. You’ll learn soon enough.”

  He sounds so serious. As if he doesn’t truly realize that he just described the only worth I’ve ever had from the very start.

  I close my eyes, swaying as the air sticks in my lungs and my breathing feathers.

  “I want you to sell me,” I say hoarsely. God, it scares me how honest I sound. Genuinely ready. “Sell me now. Anyone and anything will be better than you.”

  And now I can say that truthfully, I realize in horror. I’m armed with the experience of what it’s like to have him firsthand. I cringe from the memories, craving anything harsher to replace them. Old men with breath like stale cigars. Greedy lawyers with small dicks and no lasting power.

  All of them never pretended to be more. I never expected more. Never wanted more.

  “Do it,” I hear myself beg in a whisper. “Just sell me. Get me far away from you—”

  “You don’t want that.” His voice is deeper, radiating a warning. Tread carefully.

  I open my eyes to find him standing before me, grasping my chin with one hand. He’s careful this time, applying just enough pressure to force my head back, leaving me no choice but to meet his gaze.

  “We can play this your way,” he tells me, stroking along my jaw with his free hand. “I’ll coddle you, Ada-Maria. I’ll hold your hand and treat you like a goddamn princess. Then you give me what I want—” He leans in, brushing his lips against my earlobe. “And then, you can gladly take the hundreds of cocks awaiting you after me, and you can comfort yourself with the fact that I gave you the one thing they won’t. It’s mercy.”

  Mercy. My mouth is still wet from the berries, so when I spit, it comes out red like blood, splattering his forearm.

  He eyes the liquid with a sigh, an eyebrow raised. I tense, waiting for him to strike me. He smooths a piece of hair behind my ear instead. Gently.

  “When you heal enough, I’ll make you wish you didn’t do that, Ada-Maria,” he says. “Count yourself lucky that I am a forgiving man.”

  He releases me, reclaiming his lounger.

  “Forgiving? You are a monster.”

  He tilts his head as if he never heard the term applied to himself before. Then he nods and grabs a grape from the platter, popping it into his mouth. “I don’t think you’re in a position to judge the moral character of anyone.”

  The words sting. They’re meant to, designed to keep me on the defense, reacting out of anger. And stop me from asking him the questions he doesn’t want to answer.

  “When are you going to sell me?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “When I grow bored of you.”

  He’s lying. A snippet of conversation returns to me, muddled like static and hard to parse through. A week, I remember someone saying.

  “A week,” I parrot out loud.

  A hint of alarm flashes across his gaze, confirming the timeframe as correct.

  But in his orbit, seven days might as well be seven years.

  “Sell me now.”

  “Then tell me what I want to know,” he counters, sitting forward. I’ve irritated him, but I don’t think my talking is the sole cause.

  “Sell me now,” I repeat, watching him carefully. “Tonight… I’d take a thousand different cocks just to forget yours—”

  There. He’s more than angry; he’s furious, looming larger, his muscles straining against the fabric of his shirt.

  All because I dared to compare him to someone else.

  “You’ll get your wish soon enough,” he growls. “And
for the first few, I’ll watch. I’ll watch them brutalize you in ways you could never dream. This? You’ll look back fondly on these days as heaven on earth.”

  He’s not lying this time, which confuses me even more.

  My eyes burn, they’re so dry, but somehow tears manage to form regardless, sliding down my cheeks. “I don’t think so, Domino. No matter how horrible they are, I will gladly forget you.”

  He’s on his feet, and I’m sure he’ll strike me this time. He lashes out, instead grabbing my plate.

  “Eat—” He snatches an item seemingly at random and shoves it against my mouth.

  Instinctively, I clamp my lips shut, turning away.

  He hooks his fingers beneath my jaw, wrenching my head back around. Brutally, he continues to shove a piece of fruit against my lips so hard the flesh clips over my teeth.

  I cry out, and he lets go, dropping the plate onto the stones.

  “D-Don’t!” I nearly fall off the chaise in my rush to get away from him. I’ll jump off this balcony if I have to.

  As if reading my mind, he raises a hand. “Ada—”

  “Sir.” Ines’ monotone voice is like ice water dumped onto a raging fire. We both whirl around to find her standing in the archway of the house, a cell phone in her outstretched hand. “Mr. Jaguar is on the phone for you.”

  Domino blinks, raking a hand through his hair. “Tell him I’ll call him back—”

  “He says it’s urgent,” Ines replies. “Regarding your business back in Terra Rodea.”

  Domino’s eyes widen. “I’ll be there in a minute.” He turns away, eyeing the mess of fruit scattered across the terrace. “Fuck! Can I get someone out here to clean up this mess?”

  “Right away, sir,” Ines replies. She rushes to gather up the spilled food herself as Domino storms inside. A second later, I catch his voice, uttered in a low tone, rapidly fading as if he’s moving deeper into the house.

  “You call me twice in one day? I’m not your fucking whipping boy.”

  The phone must be on speaker because I hear someone reply, though barely audible, their voice even gruffer than his. “Try ignoring my call again, and we’ll test that theory, Dom. I may have let you keep your little toy, but that doesn’t mean you get a vacation. I need you on the border. Tonight. A shipment is coming in, and I don’t trust Vodello not to fuck us…”

  “I will show you back to your room now, Miss.” Ines stands before me, her hand outstretched, her expression as blank as ever. She’s already cleaned up the food, piling everything neatly onto the platter.

  I let her guide me back inside as my mind races. That man sounded familiar, the same figure he spoke to earlier. Jaguar, Ines said. A name? Or an alias?

  It doesn’t matter. What does is, for the first time since I’ve met him, I think I know a way inside Domino Valenciaga’s brain. It turns out that he has the same weakness as any man—pride. A smart woman would be able to play on that. Play him.

  But to be sure…

  I startle to awareness as I’m lowered onto the mattress. We’re already in my room, and Ines is swiftly retreating toward the hallway.

  “Wait!” I call after her. “He’s leaving, isn’t he? Ask if I have to stay in here. Please.”

  She blinks, and I feel that I’ve caught her off guard. She has to remember which part of her script she needs to recite next. “You should get some rest,” she says, her expression carefully blank.

  “Please! Just ask him! Ask if I can leave the room. Please…”

  She nods and scurries off, while I wait, so anxious I’m holding my breath. When footsteps return, I’m expecting Ines, but Domino is the one who appears, his brow furrowed with open suspicion.

  “You want to take your chances in the desert at night this time, Ada?” he wonders. “Don’t be fooled by the sun. The temperatures can plummet after nightfall, and I won’t come after you quickly, should you try to run.”

  I lick my lips, contemplating my reply. I’ve toyed with enough men in my life that it should be easy to manipulate him. In a sense, I already have.

  And then I wound up being dragged behind a moving car by my throat.

  He’s too dangerous to play with. I’ll have to tread carefully, treating his ego like a loaded gun. But if he truly wants my admiration, he’ll enjoy having me beg.

  “Please,” I shamelessly croak. “I… I just want to take a bath and stretch my legs. I won’t leave the house.”

  He’s advancing toward me in an instant, stroking his thumb from my lips, down to my jawline. It takes everything in me not to recoil.

  “I warned you once not to treat me like one of your desperate little fucks,” he says. “I’ll let you roam to your heart’s content, Ada. When I return, I better not find so much as a pretty little hair out of place. If so? I’ll have you begging me to sell you—and it won’t be some coy attempt to rile my pride, either.”

  He lets me go, marching into the hall as my heart pounds furiously enough to drown him out. I’m not as clever as I thought. He saw through even my little game on the terrace. And yet…

  Did he play along out of pure amusement?

  Or because he couldn’t help himself…

  A door slams, presumably the entrance to the mansion. I know he’s gone without having to check. The entire atmosphere of the house shifts, and I can breathe somewhat easier.

  But not by much.

  Time is a constant adversary, but if I work quickly enough, I could use each passing minute to my benefit—or accidentally doom myself more than I already have.

  All in all, I have a week to seduce Domino. To what aim? To convince him to let me go? To sell me sooner?

  Either act feels preferable to submitting to his form of mercy. I need answers, no matter where my fate takes me. Who is Jaguar? The man he plans to sell me to? And for what purpose exactly?

  Though I can guess.

  My mind is buzzing as I try to stand on my own and wind up crawling to the closet. Groaning, I manage to open the door on my own and blink to take in the array of clothing.

  When viewed the second time, this closet is overflowing in comparison to his. There’s at least a full year’s worth, and I figure that’s without having to wear a single item twice. Obviously, he was lying. Maybe he hasn’t dwelled in this particular house long, but he could have had the clothing shipped from somewhere else where he kept a steady stream of women wined and dined.

  Or held captive.

  Though in five years, I can admit that he wouldn’t have much time to “play” with those toys, though. He barely left my father’s side, let alone the estate, for longer than a few hours at a time. Once, I tried asking him about his family, during the holidays, I think.

  He just nodded respectfully and ignored the question entirely. And all that time, he seethed in silence, hating my father, and hating me.

  I can’t dwell on that now.

  I need to seduce him—no. I cringe at that word choice. It’s too simple to describe manipulating a man like Domino. I need to get inside his head, whether he likes it or not.

  I need to provoke him.

  Of all these outfits, however, two modes of attack become clear. Aim for sex appeal with one of the skimpier, black ensembles, or try to claim innocence wearing one of the frothy white dresses like the one I am now.

  No. I shake my head, irritated with my own thought process. It’s too simple. No. No…

  In fact, I’ve already tried both methods, and both have failed. But I did get him to fuck me using another route entirely—blatant honesty. Desperation.

  And if I were desperate to screw him again, I wouldn’t waste time on pretty dresses or makeup—none of that fluff has ever swayed him before. I can’t resort to the same bag of tricks that I would use to confront a man like Tristan, who rarely thinks without his cock.

  Domino uses his brain.

  And mine is too damn sore to think. I’m exhausted enough to lie here unmoving and sink into the sleep waiting to descend.

&nb
sp; But I can’t.

  Determined, I brace my hands against the wall and use the support to stand. Slowly, I limp into the room and then the hall, finding my way into the bathroom alone.

  The spacious room looks surprisingly welcoming without Domino to taunt me from the clawfoot tub.

  “Would you like to take a bath, Miss?”

  I jump and nearly trip as I turn to see Ines standing behind me, hovering near the doorway.

  “Y-Yes,” I say.

  Nodding, she starts forward and performs the same routine Domino did, running the water and gathering various materials.

  She runs the water pleasantly warm, however.

  “Your bandages are due to be changed,” she explains before unraveling the ones on my feet. I wince as she helps me into the tub, but whatever she placed in the water feels soothing against the raw flesh.

  I smother a groan as I lean my head back against the rim of the tub and let her work.

  She washes my hair, combing through the damp strands, and supplies me with a rag to run between my legs. I’m frowning by the time the water finally turns cold, and she approaches me with a stack of towels.

  “I will get a nightgown for you to wear, Miss.” She starts for the door, but something makes me reach out, spraying water all over the floor.

  “Wait! I… I’ll find one on my own.”

  With the bath comes a renewed sense of clarity. I can think again.

  And I know exactly the kind of stunt Domino can’t ignore. Ironically, it’s the same plan I thought of for five years. One I fantasized about, but never had the balls to implement. I had no problem approaching men—but his rejection was one I didn’t think I could stomach.

  So I never followed through on creeping into his guesthouse, finding his closet, and lying in his bed wearing one of his shirts as a blatant invitation.

  This time, there is no thrill. Just a heavy sense of dread as I pad down the hall wearing only a towel. Perhaps she senses my intentions, because Ines vanishes as I creep past my room, toward that door near the end of this otherwise deserted hall.

  The door is closed, and for a heartbeat, I’m sure he locked it, thwarting my attempt outright. When I twist the knob, it opens easily, but I have to feel along the wall for a light switch.