Violent Delights (White Monarch Book 1)

by Jessica Hawkins

  “My mother is watching,” I said into the dark. If any part of him regretted what’d happened to her, maybe he’d soften.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said.

  I supposed that was the best I could ask for. To come out of this no more wounded than I already was. I pulled down my dress and stood in my thong and strapless bra.

  He placed his palm on my upper back. “Walk,” he said.

  I raised my eyes to the bed in front of me. He could have me any way he wanted, and nobody would stop him. Everything I’d saved for Diego would be taken in a flash. Was there anything left of that man who’d been so devoted to our family that he’d carried baskets of flowers for us? There had to be. I wasn’t sure how I knew, but like the way he’d nonchalantly referred to Natasha, my gut told me Cristiano only wanted to see how far he could push me.

  I straightened my shoulders and stepped toward the bed. When I neared the footboard, he applied pressure to my back, guiding me away from it and toward the en suite bathroom instead.

  Inside, he flipped on a dim overhead light. I watched in the reflection of the mirror over the sink as he circled me, his eyes roaming over my back. He set his jaw, inspecting my body almost clinically. Just another Natasha.

  He stopped at the counter to empty his pockets. With his attention diverted, I studied him back. His stark white dress shirt had been marred by smoke, ash, and what looked like blood. My blood, I realized, from when he’d carried me down the access ladder. Without thinking, I dropped my gaze and sucked in a breath at the bulge in his pants.

  He glanced up at me, his watch clinking as he set it on the Italian marble countertop. He tightened the roll of one sleeve, securing it at his elbow, then the other. The mere sight of his powerful, sinewy forearms made me light-headed. They were weapons in their own right. Every part of him was, it seemed, down to the beast straining against his zipper. Most of the men I knew couldn’t match his strength. What chance did I stand against him if he tried to overpower me?

  He stepped forward, towering over me, soot smudged on his admittedly handsome face—he looked the way I imagined the Grim Reaper might if he shopped in the finest apparel stores and possessed the chiseled features of a god. “Wash the cuts,” he said.

  I tensed. “What?”

  He moved around me and turned on the faucet to the bathtub. “The cuts on your arms and legs. I told you to watch out for glass, did I not?” He grunted. “I can’t help but think you ran through it just to spite me.”

  “I did it for Diego,” I said, although it was only half-true. “And I’d do it again.”

  He looked over his shoulder at me, his gaze shadowed. “So you continue to remind me, even though I was there. I watched you run into the fire for him.”

  I limped to the tub. “You were wrong earlier. Butterflies aren’t delicate.”

  We switched places. He pulled open my top drawer and started pushing products around. “No?”

  “During a wildfire, they don’t go up in smoke. They bury themselves in soil.”

  He moved to the next drawer, shoving aside my hair dryer. “Another way they’re survivors.”

  I perched on the inside edge of the tub so I wouldn’t have my back to him. He kept his to me as he rifled in my drawers, his muscled back rippling under his dress shirt. He dumped my makeup bag into the sink, picking through items while I gently soaped my right arm and hand.

  He went through every basket, drawer and cabinet, including the medicine one over the sink, gathering things and placing them by the side of the toilet.

  I moved on to cleaning my feet. Eventually, Cristiano sat on the outside lip of the tub and held out his hand for the soap. I gave it to him, and he reached in to clean my other foot. He alternated between lathering the soap over my cuts and massaging my ankles. “What happened to your shoulder?” he asked.

  I hadn’t realized I was holding it. Or the throb of pain when I raised my arm. “I fell.”

  When he seemed satisfied with my feet, he stood and lowered the lid of the toilet. “Sit,” he said to me before disappearing into my bedroom.

  I moved from the bath, dried myself off, and slipped on my purple satin robe. Seated on the toilet, I swayed a little, recalling the sensation of riding for the first time in over a decade. For some time, I’d craved that feeling of driving a horse again the way I had with my mother on one side, but the longer I put it off, the harder it was to get back on.

  Cristiano returned with my desk chair. He sat in front of me and handed me a towel of ice. “For your shoulder.”

  I inspected it as if it might be hiding mini daggers before deciding to take my chances. I held it to my arm. “Thank you.”

  He took tweezers from the counter and grasped my wrist. “This is a deep one, but it’ll be the worst one.”

  I’d sooner faint than show him my pain. I made a fist with my opposite hand as he squeezed my skin.

  “Why were you at the warehouse?” he asked quietly as he inspected the cut. Somehow, he was more menacing when he was calm and collected than when yelling.

  “Diego stopped to check on a problem.”

  “And he decided that was the right place to fuck you? You’re a foolish girl.”

  “Foolish?” I bit out, my temper flaring. “For your information, we barely touched.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  I set my jaw. “You don’t know a single thing about him, me, or our relationship—”

  One corner of his mouth crooked. “There it is.”

  “What?”

  Belatedly, dull pain radiated from a spot on my palm. He held up the tweezers to show me a thin but substantial shard of glass. “If you can take that, the rest should be easy.”

  I shut my mouth. I hadn’t even felt it. He’d tricked me to distract me.

  His expression defaulted to a scowl as he turned over my hand to inspect my knuckles. “You should never have gone anywhere without your guards,” he scolded. “Not the club, and especially not the warehouse.”

  “I don’t need to be looked after,” I said firmly, but my heart skipped. Perhaps what scared me most wasn’t Cristiano’s reputation, but the fact that he was unreadable. Unpredictable. That he had not only the strength to shove me down a dark tunnel but that he might do it for no other reason than to amuse himself. How could Father trust him?

  “You’d feel differently if there wasn’t anybody to look after you.” He tweezed a few small pieces from my forearm. “You’ve never had to survive in the wild. You’re just the kind of prey some predators are looking for—one with a false sense of bravery.”

  He had no right to accuse me of that. We’d faced off when I’d been weaponless and small enough that I’d only come up to his waist. I’d held my own for a kid. “I have survived,” I said. “Not all danger is physical. I’ve navigated through a different kind of wild, one you know nothing about.”

  He worked silently a few moments. “You forget I’ve lost parents too—and a brother as far as I’m concerned. I was thrown out of the only life I knew and forced to fend for myself.”

  “You have only yourself to blame for the consequences of your actions.”

  He glanced up at me. “You still think I’m guilty?”

  “Yes,” I said. No matter what questions I had, he’d latch onto any weakness I showed, so I kept my mounting doubts to myself.

  “Nah,” he said. “I’m innocent. You know I am. Yet my brother chose not to believe me, even though it would end my life. So what do you suggest I do about that?”

  I tried not to let his twisted truths worm their way into my consciousness. He was only trying to manipulate me against Diego, that was all. “Nothing.”

  Like Diego, Cristiano had long, full lashes. But behind them, his dark, calculating eyes betrayed the differences between them. “You know I can’t let something like that slide.”

  Goose bumps spread over my skin, prickling my hair under my silky robe. “So you are here for revenge.”

&nb
sp; He returned to the task in front of him. “I reached out to him once, about four years after Bianca’s death. Did he tell you? I wanted to come home. To tell Costa the truth and pledge my loyalty to him.”

  I shifted on the seat. I’d only been thirteen and already away at school. I hadn’t heard anything about Cristiano reaching out then or since. “What happened?”

  “He said he’d broker a meeting between your father and me, but it was a setup. He tried to have me killed.” Holding my wrist in one hand, he ripped open a bandage with his teeth and stuck it on one of my cuts. “There’s no trust amongst us, and there never will be.”

  It wasn’t as if my father or Diego told me much to begin with, but that seemed like an important detail to keep from me. And if they’d hide that, what else didn’t I know? Could I even believe Cristiano?

  “What about me?” I asked quietly. “I said you were guilty too. You must think I also betrayed you.”

  I swallowed when he didn’t respond. If Cristiano had anything to do with the fall of the Maldonado deal, he must’ve known they’d come after Diego—and the people he cared about. “I guess that was your plan all along. We didn’t give you a chance to prove your innocence. My father and Diego hunted you for years. Now, the Maldonados can take us all out in one fell swoop and you command both cartels.”

  “If you believe that, why aren’t you running for your life?”

  “I wouldn’t leave my father or Diego behind.”

  “You don’t know what you’re toying with, mamacita,” he said, shaking his head. “Where was Diego when you were on the roof alone? He left you behind.”

  “He had to salvage what he could of the product. When he ran downstairs, the fire hadn’t started yet. He couldn’t have known that would happen.” I adjusted the ice pack. “He was coming back for me.”

  “It only matters that you believe he would’ve.”

  He released my arm, and I pulled it back, cradling it to my body. “That’s not fair. Diego has been there for me my whole life.”

  “It must be coincidence that staying by your side also serves his best interests.”

  I wanted to ask Cristiano what he meant, but giving him the chance to spin more lies felt like a betrayal to Diego.

  I bent my knee as Cristiano picked up my foot and placed it in his lap. He held my ankle in one hand and ran his fingers along my arch. I jerked but tried to hide that I was ticklish. His touch firmed and my reflex to squirm disappeared. A sharp, pleasant thrill traveled up the inside of my thigh. My instinct should’ve been to pull away, but warmth coursed through me instead. Satisfaction bloomed like surrendering to a protective embrace as arousal tightened my insides.

  Cristiano had a face made to lure prey, a voice as powerful as the sensation of skin on skin, a presence that demanded my attention. But I knew the danger he presented—how could I possibly harbor any attraction to him? What had given me the confidence that he hadn’t brought me up here to hurt me? My body and mind betrayed me.

  As he dug the tweezers into a particularly sensitive spot, I clenched my fist around the towel of ice and sucked in a breath. He raised his eyes to mine. “Mmm,” he said. “Qué interesante.”

  “What’s interesting?” I breathed.

  “You’re excited by a little pinch.”

  “I am not. I’m in pain.”

  “And a part of you likes it.” He blinked lazily at me. “A part of me likes it.”

  I inhaled. Please tell the heavens it is my dying wish to hear you scream. The warmth he’d awakened in me simmered to a tingle between my legs. Why did things that should intimidate me arouse me instead? So far, his threats had been hollow, but just because Cristiano was handling me gently now didn’t mean I was in the clear.

  “I’ll bet you wish your guards were here now,” he said with an almost imperceptible smile.

  “I want my gun back,” I said.

  He paused, then glanced up at me. “Will you learn how to use her?”

  “Yes.”

  He extracted more shards and wiped them on a towel before setting aside the tweezers to spread antibiotic ointment onto the wounds. “Better?” he asked when I put down the ice pack and rolled my numb shoulder.

  I mumbled my agreement as he applied bandages to the deepest cuts. He smoothed his thumb back and forth over the final one to make it stick but didn’t stop there. The pad of his finger slid to my ankle, and he turned my foot over to inspect it. It tickled slightly, but resisting the urge to squirm only made me more aware of his palm as it grazed upward. His breath shallowed as he looked over my leg, then glanced at me. His pupils dilated, and his eyes grew darker.

  My heart pounded, not just because his hand kept going but also with surprise for the effect I had on someone as taciturn as Cristiano. He wanted me and wasn’t hiding it. My traitorous body came alive under his firm but deliberate examination. I shouldn’t notice how good his touch felt. I should have cared that we were alone and nobody could hear me scream.

  As Cristiano moved the hem of my robe aside, I slapped my hand over his, stopping him in his tracks. “I’m waiting until marriage,” I blurted. I wasn’t sure why I said it, or why I thought that might deter him.

  His lip curled in a way I could only interpret as angry. “A virgin?”

  I swallowed as an electric current passed between us.

  His fingertips dug into my thigh. “You’ve saved yourself,” he said slowly, half statement, half question. “And you think using that as an argument won’t have the opposite effect you want it to?”

  My brain scrambled to keep up. It sounded as if he meant my virginity was something he’d want, but I couldn’t fathom why. I wouldn’t know what to do with a man as experienced as he was.

  But I could learn.

  I forced the thought away. “I’ve saved myself for Diego,” I said. “You’d be taking that away from him. From me.”

  His nostrils flared. “You think I’d go as far as to rape you in your father’s home?”

  My thigh pulsated with warmth where his hand had stopped, my skin sensitive under his rough palm. “I think back then, whatever plans you had were interrupted by my mother or by me. And I think you’re too smart to make that same mistake twice.”

  His gaze drifted down between my legs, where only a silky piece of fabric hid what he so clearly wanted. “Plans? Regretfully, I have none for you, Natalia.”

  He stood and returned to the sink to replace his watch and the contents of his pockets. I waited, tense as a bowstring, until he left the room. And I didn’t breathe again until I heard the front door close.

  Once the immediate fear of what Cristiano might do subsided, a violent tremble overtook me. I waited for relief to come, but adrenaline coursed through me. Now that I was alone, I felt as if I should do something. I was safe, but would it last? How long until he returned? Until he struck again?

  I hugged my shoulders, dropped to my knees on the bathroom floor, and crossed myself. I thanked La Virgen de Guadalupe for sparing myself and Diego.

  Then I prayed I’d never see Cristiano again.

  16

  Cristiano

  In my office overlooking La Madrina, I fixed a drink. Mid-afternoon, the nightclub was quiet as the cleaning crew scrubbed the downstairs floors and walls. In a few hours, the bar staff would prepare for all the sinners who’d spend their Good Friday night celebrating tonight’s theme—la iglesia roja. Red church. Sturdy construction would mute the thump of bass, and the dancefloor’s crimson glow would make my office look like an opium den.

  I’d been up most of the night, but I felt invigorated. Serving justice could do that to a man. With a third direct attack on his deal, Diego would’ve worked everything out by now—but he’d be missing the final piece. “You can expect my brother any minute,” I said to Maksim, who stood straight-backed by the door to my office.

  “I figured.”

  I held up a bottle of Rey Sol Añejo. “Drink?” I asked.

  “Nah.” Max chewed on a
toothpick. “Guess I should have my wits about me. His claws will be out.”

  “He’ll fight, but not physically. He can’t win. Instead, he’ll try to manipulate the game board.”

  Diego had run out of moves, though. After over a decade of being hunted by my brother, our day of reckoning had come. Only, I wasn’t the one caught in a trap. For a third of my life, I’d been mislabeled a traitor, had been forced from friends, family, and a life I’d valued, and I’d done whatever I’d had to in order to survive. And in mere moments, Diego would pay the price for it.

  I swirled my drink, breathing in caramel and tobacco. “Try not to kill him if you can help it.”

  Max’s two-way radio beeped and Alejo’s voice came through. “We’ve got a visitor.”

  “Bring him in,” I said.

  Max removed his assault rifle from across his body and held it with one hand. “You got it, jefe.”

  “Oye. Mirate. Your Spanish is coming along.”

  With barely a chuckle, Max went downstairs to meet Diego and his other escorts. I shrugged into my suit jacket and stood at the one-sided glass wall. I wasn’t in the habit of spending so much time at the club, but it’d been easier to conduct business here than drive back and forth from the Badlands. The evening before, I’d been on a call to Turkey when my men had alerted me of Natalia’s presence. I could still see her now, all bronze legs and arms, the ends of her black hair brushing her waist as she’d moved her hips to disco. Her wide, nervous eyes as she’d turned to face me on the dancefloor.

  I shouldn’t have been surprised to return home and find Natalia so enchanting—she’d always fascinated me, but not just with her beauty. She tested boundaries, even when fearful. Especially when fearful. She’d manipulated her parents in childish but effective ways. She held unwavering devotion to my brother. Her sheltered childhood had given her a false sense of safety as an adult, but I’d hoped her mother’s death, and our encounter that day, would scare her into obedience. I didn’t know if it was more frustrating or charming that it hadn’t.