“Oh no?” she questioned. “Could’ve fooled me.”
When he released her, he pointed toward the ground and jabbed his finger lower over and over again. “Jenna, we’ve been very good to you. The least you can do is act like an adult when you’re around our barns. We take pride in our place here, and I expect you to do the same.”
“Pride in your place, huh?” she asked, laughing. “I bet. Those stalls over there don’t have horses because you showcase the women here as freely as the animals? Oh if this barn could only talk!”
She shook her head and marched off again. This time he easily caught her and pulled her against him. She landed against his chest with a loud thud.
Brogan ripped his shirt over his head. “This fit is because I won’t tell you about these scars? You wanna know about them? Can you handle the truth if I tell you? What do you say I give you the blood and guts of it and make sure you get a real good image in your mind, huh? Would that work for ya?”
She swallowed hard, detecting the change in his voice, the anger lying below the surface, one she didn’t have any inclination to stop. Brogan needed this. He needed to talk about what had happened to him. She continued to push him.
“What’s wrong, little woman? You don’t want to hear the truth now, do you?”
“Yes,” she said, provoking him, tilting her chin up in the air. “I need to know. Tell me who did this to you and why!”
“Why does it matter, Jenna?”
She noticed Jules’s eyes were wide. He stood close enough to grab her out of harm’s way and looked as if he thought he might have to make a sudden leap about anytime. “Brogan, no. Heath didn’t okay this.”
“To hell with Heath! I didn’t know who she was until this morning, and you’re worried about Heath?”
Jenna gulped. The change in his voice startled her. The anger he tried to keep intact shattered beyond repair.
“What do you mean, who I am. I’m Jenna Martin. That’s who I am. I’ve been honest with you. There’s no great story behind my life, Brogan.”
“Jenna Martin,” Brogan mumbled. “Jenna Martin aka Jennifer St. Martín, the only child of Velázquez St. Martín.”
The name stilled the barn. Even the animals stopped stirring in their stalls. Brogan narrowed his gaze, and Jenna felt her chin quiver like the name of her birth father stunned her quiet and threatened to slowly drain the life out of her, what little she had left.
“That’s what I thought. You can’t handle the truth any more than he could,” he spat, pointing toward Jules. “Now you wanna go, you go. You run like hell because now that I know you belong to Velázquez, this isn’t an easy situation for any of us. You get what I’m saying?”
With tears in her eyes, she slowly nodded. She turned toward the house and slowly walked away. Then, she took off in an all-out run. She had one goal. She needed to place a phone call. It was long overdue.
* * * *
“St. Martíns’ residence,” a cool voice answered on the other end of the phone.
“It’s Jenna, I mean Jennifer. I need to speak to Velázquez.”
“Ah, Jannnifer, your father has been awaiting your call. He’s very excited to know you’re staying at the Evans property.”
The voice on the other end of the phone sounded familiar, one she recognized by the way he drew out her name and made it sound more like Jannnifer rather than Jennifer. Only one man said her name with such exaggerated pronunciation. A person in her past that she’d never be able to leave completely behind because he’d trained her for the life she was now ready to live.
“Is this…” She paused. She knew damn well who had answered the phone and his apparent position in her biological father’s life didn’t matter. What mattered most was the truth she’d longed to find and she wanted to hear a dose of long-awaited honesty. She needed to hear it from the man she loathed most. “Put Velázquez on the phone.”
“Ah, Jannnifer, is that any way to address your Master?”
Her rigid body dropped to the bed, and she gripped her cell phone. “You’re not my Master. Now…I said…put him on.” She repeated herself, unsure of where she found the inner strength to defy the man who had trained her for the life of a submissive woman.
He was an evil man, a fellow who never took her for his own but trained her for the lifestyle by using a cruel hand and terroristic tactics in various forms of manipulation. He still made her sick to her stomach. She could still smell him, that Cuban cigar on his breath and even his spicy cologne forever burned in her nostrils. The man was vile and hell had a special place for his kind.
She could hear him breathing, but he didn’t respond.
“I want to talk to Velázquez!”
She heard the phone click and a man’s voice said, “If you wanted to talk to your father, Jennifer, it would become you, sweetheart, if you requested a conversation with your father, the man deserving of the title. It’s so good to hear your voice, darling. Are you well? Do you need anything? Where are you?”
Jenna’s father started off every conversation they’d ever had in much the same way. He wanted her respect and longed to hear her refer to him as her father but he’d abandoned her and her mother at an early stage in her life. She couldn’t call him dad, let alone daddy.
“You know damn well where I am,” she snapped. “You orchestrated this from the beginning, didn’t you?” She closed her eyes, squeezing them as tightly as possible to block the tears from falling. She couldn’t think about how he’d used Heath and Fiona, her friendship with Serena, her family. The only real family she’d ever known.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk, Jennifer. You’ve always jumped to so many conclusions.”
“I know you, Velázquez. I’ve always spotted your ways and understand how you manipulate the people in your life. Those you claim to love.”
“Ah, but, dear daughter, you understand nothing about my life. It’s time now to introduce you to the life I’ve trained you for, the life your mother has allowed others to train you for. See, it’s time for you to assume your place as my daughter and join your brothers here in Spain when you finish your task.”
Jenna shook as her father’s words stung her. Rather than argue with a known madman, one wanted by more federal agencies than Charles Manson was ever wanted by the people of California, she chose to stick to her reasons for placing the call.
“Do you know Heath, Jules, and Brogan Evans?”
Silence.
“Velázquez! Answer me! Do you know the Evans brothers?”
Silence.
She took a deep breath and set her jaw. She knew he wouldn’t give her the answers she needed without complex mind games. “I know you killed their parents. They were overseas when they died, somewhere near Madrid if I had to guess. I don’t know the particulars, but it all makes sense now. The bombing had your signature, and while I never wanted to believe it, I now know the truth. I’ve seen Brogan’s scars. No one scars a man like that and leaves him alive to remember, except you.”
Silence.
Jenna looked down at her bouncing leg. Uncontrollably, her foot tapped the carpet underneath her stylish sneakers. The ones dusty with the sawdust from her recent trip to the barn. “Velázquez! You answer me! You owe me that much!”
“I owe you nothing. I helped provide you with life and beyond that one duty, I don’t have to give you anything more unless you do as I tell you. Do we understand one another?”
“We always have.”
“As for your friends, I am familiar with the name. I’ll have to check with Cal, I mean”—he paused and chuckled—“your former Master.”
“You sorry son of a bitch.”
“Ah yes, your mother used to call me those names, too. We made a sport of it.”
Jenna knew what she had to do. She needed to see him, call him out, and ask for more information. “I need to know what you plan to do with the Evans brothers. They’re my family. Don’t you understand!”
“I’m your family!” he e
xclaimed, roaring with an anger she’d never heard before.
She backed up, regrouped, and tried again. “Yes, yes you are. But you returned to Spain, and you left me to fend for myself.”
“You were well provided for.”
“I was deserted!”
“You had your mother!”
“I was beaten!”
“You were trained!” he replied. “And because of it, one day, you’ll be glad you’ve endured such hardships because no one will ever be able to break your will or destroy your strength. No one except—” He paused and then said, “Your rightful Master.”
“If you think I belong to Cal, you’re crazier than the woman who gave birth to me.”
Silence.
“She was a little nutty, huh?” he asked, laughing.
“I suppose anyone in bed with the devil earns the right to be insane.”
“Tsk, tsk,” he said.
Jenna stared across the room, the bedroom Jules and Brogan willingly allowed her to share with their niece when they first brought her into their home. She felt guilty now. She was in place for a grander purpose, one her biological father deliberately orchestrated.
“I’ll tell them everything I know about you,” she declared.
“And you think Brogan Evans doesn’t know more about me than he ever wanted to know?”
“I’ll lead them to you.”
“You have no idea where I am, dear daughter. I could be your next-door neighbor for all you know.”
“What do you want from me!” she screamed, eyeing Jules as he walked into the room, apparently surprised to see her on the phone if his wide eyes and dropped jaw were any indication of shock.
“I want you to secure your place in your Master’s bed, or both of their beds for all I care, and then I want you to wait for further instructions.”
“I won’t,” she defiantly said. “You can’t make me and I won’t do it.”
“That plantation you’re on, dear daughter, is the gateway to the north and the south. I want the land. I’ll make the Evans brothers extremely wealthy if they’ll provide a little labor, a little cover-up, a little respect. Oh, and the perks of course include my endless gratitude, unmatched protection, and, yes, you.”
Jenna dropped her head and refused to look at Jules. He sat down on the bed next to her and reached for the phone. She was tempted to let him have it. She wanted him to protect her from the one man who always had a way of tearing her life apart, even now.
“I won’t let you hurt them.”
“Ha!” he exclaimed. “Darling, your lovers have already been stamped with my vengeance. Jules is marked as mine. Brogan has seen hell’s gates and almost entered them because of his defiance. Their mother and father were defiant all the way to their deaths. As for Heath and Fiona? The targets have long since been positioned at their backs, and let’s not forget their bratty child Serena. I have delicious plans for her.”
“Don’t you hurt them!”
“I won’t have to, Jennifer. Fiona is going to die. Heath is known to take a sip or two every now and then, and his broken soul will lead him into a bar one night —in a moment of weakness, no doubt—and straight to his untimely, but highly anticipated death. Serena, well, I may eventually bring her here. Perhaps she’ll be on a search for a family by then, much like you were when you found them. An eye for an eye. What do you think?”
“I’ll…” She began cautiously and then continued with more confidence. “I’ll do anything you want, Father.”
Jules dropped his head.
“Ah, there’s my good daughter. Excellent. And you’ll be happy to know, you’re already doing precisely as you should. You’re in bed with my enemies, and we’re all about to become very good friends.”
Chapter Thirteen
Brogan walked into her room while she was packing. Jules hadn’t moved except to go downstairs once and when he returned, he slid an ice-cold water bottle in her hand. Their fingertips had touched, and the electricity between them shocked her. She’d lowered her eyes, and he’d tilted her chin upward so he could gaze into her face.
He didn’t say anything. She didn’t either. She continued packing.
Brogan cleared his throat. “It won’t help if you run, Jenna.”
She kept making her way to the closet and back again, tossing her clothes, hangers and all, into the luggage. “It might.”
Jules checked the window and then backed against the large windowsill, propping his ass on the wood. “He’s right. Velázquez has long arms, and his limbs are wrapped around us with a good, strong grip.”
“I’m so sorry,” she said, shaking her head. “Maybe if I’d never befriended Serena, maybe then things would’ve been different.”
“Honey,” Jules began, “he even orchestrated your friendship with Serena. Don’t you know? He was after this property long before you and Serena met. He needs us as much as the land. Our property is in a central location between the north and south, close to one of the major interstates, but it’s also a working ranch, one of the few profitable ones in the state. A sudden sale would raise eyebrows unless we help by ensuring a smooth transfer. It doesn’t matter where you go or if you run, he’s not going to give up on us. We’re his targets, and if you think by leaving us you’ll make it better, you’re wrong.”
Jenna noticed her hands shook, and she tried to steady them. Hurriedly, she stuffed her clothes in pockets on the outside of the luggage as well as the inside. Finally, she broke, sinking to the bed with her hands against her wet cheeks. “I don’t know what to do!”
Brogan sat on one side. Jules on the other. Brogan made the first move and took her hand.
“Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s time for me to tell you about these scars,” he suggested, taking her fingertips and running them over the large imprinted slice across his left arm.
She shook her head. “No, it’s too late for that. I didn’t know what I was asking of you. I don’t want to know, not now.”
“I need you to listen to me,” Brogan said, clasping her hands in his. “We really don’t want you to go.”
Jenna slowly raised her eyes to meet his. “You don’t?”
“No, Jenna. We don’t,” Jules said, patting her leg.
“But if I stay, Velázquez will come after you.”
“Honey,” Brogan began, dropping her hand and standing. “He’s already had a large piece of me,” he told her, stripping off his shirt and showing her precisely what he meant when he took her hand and placed it on the widest cut across his God-given six-pack.
“Your parents died because of him.”
“Yes,” Jules replied. “And there are few guarantees that we won’t meet similar fates.”
“We still want you to stay,” Brogan said. “Really, Jenna. We do. We can protect you better than you can protect yourself. We want you here with us.”
She dabbed the corners of her eyes with a T-shirt she pulled from her luggage. “What would Heath and Fiona want me to do?”
“They want you happy,” Jules replied. “Heath wants you home, of course, but Fiona talked to Brogan at the airport, remember?”
She nodded.
“She asked me to take care of you,” Brogan said. “I gave her my word I’d never hurt you. I made the promise because I meant to keep it then, and I plan to make good on it now.”
She laughed, a soft sob slipped from her lips. “I love your family,” she said, immediately dropping her gaze to the floor.
“And you may fall in love with the best of the lot, too, if you’re not careful,” Jules said, grinning.
“I think that’s a given,” Brogan added. “What do you think, Jenna?”
Her hand drifted over his stomach, and she watched his expression change from one full of deep concern to one translated easily as pure lust. “You want me to stay?” Her hands dug deep, her fingertips following the pattern of a jagged scar.
“We want you to stay,” Jules rasped at her ear.
Brogan gui
ded her arm lower. He placed her palm against his cock, pressing his hand against hers. “I want you, period.”
Before she could respond, he lifted her into his arms. He wrapped her legs around his middle, carrying her off to his room. She had little doubt of where he planned to take her.
* * * *
When a woman falls in love with a man, she typically finds she wants to love only one man until the end is near, and death calls her number.
Jenna knew nothing of monogamous love, but for some reason she thought of a line from her favorite poem written by an anonymous author. She knew nothing of love at all until Jules and Brogan showed her how to love two men and do it with more passion than she’d ever imagined.
Jenna Martin was deeply in love. She would die for her lovers, live for them. She would do pretty much whatever they asked of her.
As she watched Jules and Brogan undress, she realized her fate. She couldn’t fight her feelings regardless of who was responsible for bringing them together.
Brogan gathered her in her arms. “What’s wrong, subbie? You want your Masters to undress you?”
“Is that what you are?” she asked, her lips parting, waiting for a kiss to accept, a tongue to sip.
“I am. Jules is. You’re ours. Maybe it was decided long before we took you to bed. Who knows, maybe your father is truly responsible, but I don’t care.
“The only thing I care about is how quickly I can make love to you.” He took her by the hand and twirled her around. “Look at this sweet ass, Jules. Tell me if that’s not an ass worthy of a good fuckin’.”
Brogan went from serious to playful in a minute flat, showing her a side of him she’d never seen.
She laughed, and Jules took the lead. He came in behind her and reached for her shorts. He loosened the snap then released her zipper. Brogan pushed down her shorts and drew in a breath. “You didn’t wear panties?”
“I wear thongs,” she advised. “Sometimes, they’re so annoying.”
“Most of the time we want you naked,” Brogan informed her.
Blaine, Destiny - Domination Plantation [Southern Plantation 1] (Siren Publishing Ménage and More) Page 14
