Violent Delights (White Monarch Book 1)

by Jessica Hawkins

  By Diego’s words pleading me to hold on just now, he did have plans. And Cristiano l likely knew it.

  Cristiano stuck his hands in his pockets, looking down on me. “Didn’t I warn you about him? You should’ve listened. At least with me, you’ll be safe.”

  “Safe? With you? You’re forcing me into marriage.”

  Even as I straightened up, Cristiano seemed to grow bigger. He filled the room, demanding everything of the space around him. “There’s always a choice, Natalia. If there wasn’t, I’d throw him to the wolves and take you anyway. Who’d stop me? Diego? He’s giving you up. Your father? He isn’t here. I can easily take you, but I’m offering a choice. Come with me willingly, or go and say your good-byes.”

  Without moving from his post, Max said, “The car is here, boss.”

  Cristiano checked his phone. “Vámonos.”

  I shut my eyes and tears spilled down my cheeks. There was no more time, and no more I could say except my decision. “I’ll do it,” I said in darkness, then opened my eyes.

  With slow, deliberate movements, Cristiano slid his phone in his jacket pocket and closed the space between us. “A lesser man would make you beg for another chance—I already took the deal off the table. But a simple ‘please’ would go a long way.”

  I dug my fingernails into my palms until they throbbed. “I won’t beg.”

  “Oh, you will, mariposita. But I can be fair. I’ll go first.” Our gazes met, and for a moment, it was just the two of us. “Marry me, Natalia. Please.”

  “You’re mocking me.”

  “I’m not.” He stared into my eyes, seeming almost unsettled, as if battling something inside himself. “I’ve not made this arrangement lightly. I would like very much to call you my wife.”

  “Then you will. But I want to hear, from your mouth, what will happen if I don’t. Diego has said it. You should have to as well.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “Now you’re being smart. It’s only good business to hear the terms of an agreement.”

  “This is my term—promise me you won’t hurt my father.”

  “I have no quarrel with him.”

  “Swear it on my mother, who placed all of her faith in you.”

  He pressed his lips into a line. “You have my word.”

  Perhaps it was foolish to believe him, not that I had much choice, but I took him for his word.

  One corner of his mouth rose into a crooked, sinister smile as he looked to Diego. “Now for the other terms you failed to mention to her.”

  I glanced back. Diego’s shrewd green eyes were fixed on his brother. I could read the hatred in them. Cristiano wanted to torture him, and it was working.

  Diego loosened his tie and turned his head out the window.

  “At a loss for words? I’m happy to fill her in.” Cristiano rubbed his jaw and took a few paces to one side, stopping at the end of one pew. He turned to me. “Diego has confirmed what you shared with me the other night—that you’re waiting for marriage.”

  Diego put a hand to my back, spreading his fingers between my shoulder blades, a warning to keep my silence. Cristiano thought I was a virgin. “Why does that matter?” I asked.

  “Because denying him brings me pleasure,” Cristiano said. “I’ll be your first. Your last. Your only. So there’s no question—the deal is contingent on the consummation of our marriage.”

  My head filled with images of Cristiano’s massive arms trapping me to the mattress. An ache formed between my legs as his beautiful but cruel face hovered above mine, his broken soul taking what he wanted. His broad shoulders blocking out everything else. Everyone else. Your first. Your last. Your only.

  Had Diego come to my balcony knowing any of this? He said he’d spoken to Cristiano but had decided against bringing me into their deal. My heart said Diego wouldn’t lie, but doubt formed in my mind, mingling with a tinge of humiliation over my complete faith in him. I hadn’t breathed in so long that I gasped with an inhale. Had Diego taken my virginity after promising me to his brother?

  Cristiano tilted his head at me, smoothing a hand over his jacket. “You are a virgin, aren’t you, Natalia?”

  To admit the truth would mean Diego’s death. To lie, I feared, could mean my own—I would have to take the secret of my night with Diego to the grave. “Yes,” I said. “I am.”

  He narrowed his eyes and took a step toward me that echoed around us. “You’re sure?”

  I dipped my head in a firm nod. “Yes.”

  “Then you, Natalia Lourdes King Cruz, and your virginity—are mine.”

  Surrounded by people who stood by and did nothing as Cristiano imposed his will on me, my face burned. As he declared me his and promised to defile and abuse me, his men stood back. And Diego—he had arranged this.

  You will die for him, your love.

  “What’s your decision, Natalia?” Cristiano asked.

  I inhaled a deep, cleansing breath and exhaled the things I could not control. I had to trust that Diego wouldn’t accept a life without me in it. He had to have a greater plan that would put Cristiano in the ground—this couldn’t end any other way. Because I knew without being told that when Cristiano said till death do us part, he would mean that literally. Even when my use to him had run out, I wasn’t naïve enough to believe he would release me.

  To save Diego, I could hold on until he and my father came for me. I had known strength and poise in my mother. She’d fought back and lost, but her determination would live on—in me.

  “Que será, será,” I said. “My answer is yes.”

  Cristiano stilled, his eyes dark, bottomless pits that stewed with plans—the games he would play, and the violent delights he would take. “Then it is done,” he said with a rumble. “I will make you a very good husband, Natalia. Come to me.”

  I glanced back at Diego.

  “I’m not leaving,” he said. “I’ll be right outside, waiting.”

  “You’ll watch every moment,” Cristiano said to him, then turned to me. “And you will not look to him again. You’re finished with him. Now, come.”

  21

  Natalia

  Candles flickered along the aisle, burning a fiery path to the man watching me from the altar.

  Cristiano de la Rosa—my future husband.

  I picked up my bouquet and twined the rosary around the stems. As everyone around us looked on, I took one step toward him, then another, wobbling in my heels as the room tilted around me. I steadied myself on a pew. Cristiano tightened his shiny tie but didn’t rush me.

  Father Rios avoided my eyes, but when I reached him, I saw the tears in his. The suited men with guns flanked him—a bridal party from hell, hired to enforce Cristiano’s will. To force fate’s hand—and mine, in marriage.

  I kneeled on the pillow before the priest. Organ music I hadn’t noticed stopped.

  “Pilar.” Cristiano faced the back as his voice echoed around the room and vibrated in my chest. “Trajiste un lazo?”

  “I-I . . .”

  I didn’t have to look back at my friend to know she was scared—I heard the fear in her voice. “Yes,” I answered for her. “There’s a lasso in my bag.”

  “Bring it to me,” Cristiano said.

  Pilar’s rapid but light footsteps sounded toward us. She handed him the shoulder bag.

  “You can sit,” he told her, pointing to a pew behind me and said to no one in particular, “I like this tradition, this unification of man and wife.” He took out a black rope and inspected it, tossing the bag aside. “Where’d you get this?”

  “It’s the tie from my curtains,” I murmured. “That was the best I could find on short notice.”

  “It will do fine. Someone else lassoes us, no?” he asked the priest. “I haven’t been to many weddings.”

  “The priest or a family member,” one of his men answered. “I can, padrino. I did it for my sister.”

  Cristiano hummed. “I’d like to do it myself, if it’s acceptable to the reverend.
”

  As if anyone would stop him. Cristiano came to stand in front of me, waiting until I looked up. Even when I wasn’t on my knees, he towered. Now, he reached the sky. He ran the silken cord through his hands as if deciding the best use for it. He tied the ends of the lasso together to form a circle, then tugged to tighten the knot.

  Cristiano squatted in front of me and looped the rope around my neck, letting his fingers brush my throat and collarbone.

  My back ached from holding it so straight, but I couldn’t loosen if I wanted to. I avoided his gaze by looking at his suit. I’d never seen such fine tailoring in all my life, even though my father had benefited from my mother’s good taste.

  Cristiano pulled the lasso taut enough that I could feel it when I swallowed. He lifted my face by my chin. With a rough touch, he used his whole hand to palm away my tears. “I wish my bride not to cry on our wedding day.” He kneeled beside me and handed me the remaining cord. “Now you.”

  Finally, something I could happily agree to. I twisted toward him and coiled the lazo around his neck to form an infinity between us. To leash me to him. I gave the rope a tug and he arched a dark, scolding eyebrow at me.

  If I’d had the guts, I would’ve asked why he’d bothered with this charade at all. As “willing” as Cristiano demanded I be, summoning tradition didn’t make this anything more than an extravagant kidnapping.

  As fresh flowers perfumed the space around us, and tall candles warmed it, the priest recited a prayer with a shaky voice and obvious trepidation. I had to keep myself from looking back at Diego.

  Cristiano’s shoulder touched mine, and only then did I realize I’d been shivering. Despite the way he bullied and intimidated, he had that kind of soothing touch, one that would still you, if not with serenity, then out of dread. It confused me now the way it had when he’d frisked me at the club, or when he’d bandaged me up after the warehouse fire.

  The way he’d slid his hands up under my dress and then robe . . . and I hadn’t run away either time.

  And his touch wouldn’t end there. As Father Rios married us, my wifely duties were placed upon me. Cristiano hadn’t hesitated to put his hands on me before, even knowing I was spoken for. That I was opposed to it. There was no question he would demand everything from me.

  My trembling started anew, and he turned his head. I kept my gaze forward, even as the priest’s speech slurred, or perhaps it was my mind that blended and muffled words to protect me from what I was hearing.

  Father Rios went quiet, breaking me from my stupor.

  After a moment, Cristiano said, “I do.”

  “Natalia,” the priest said, “do you take Cristiano to be your wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and obey till death do part you . . .”

  Obey. I hadn’t heard a word of his vows, but somehow, I doubted he was under any obligation to obey me.

  They both stared.

  My chest was tight from holding my breath. I couldn’t bring myself to say the words. I looked to the guards on each side of the priest. One had a face tattoo, an untucked shirt, and stood unevenly, but was dressed in the finest artillery. He gave me a close-lipped smile that made wrinkles around his eyes. The other wore a matching gun and restrained grin, with deep dimples and scars that peeked out from his t-shirt.

  I returned my eyes to Father Rios, who seemed to be whispering his own prayer while waiting for my answer.

  Cristiano turned to me, laced our fingers together, and raised my hand between us. “He has asked if you’ll take me as your husband, Natalia.”

  I can’t. I can’t say it.

  After a moment, one of Cristiano’s men said, “She does.”

  “I heard it too,” the ugly guard said.

  “Por favor,” the priest pleaded. “I can’t proceed without her consent.”

  “Nor can I,” said Cristiano. My palm perspired in his rough one. He squeezed it gently. “Tell him, Natalia Lourdes.”

  Father Rios’ fallen expression took my heart down with it. He was as trapped as I was. I straightened my shoulders and looked at Cristiano. His dark eyes danced. The sharp lines of his angular face almost softened with something like happiness. “I do,” I said to him.

  Cristiano stood and helped me up. He reached for my left hand. “I don’t have your ring yet.”

  “I don’t need one.”

  He removed a considerable but simple diamond in a gold setting and slipped it on me. “For the sake of the ceremony,” he said. Next, he undid the rosary. “What do you think?”

  I looked between the chain and him. “This is from you?” I asked. “But how did you know?”

  “It’s not a replica. It was your mother’s.”

  I could clearly remember my mother turning these beads through her slender fingers in this very church. The memory brought tears to my eyes. Now, I truly had a piece of her, but under such dire circumstances.

  “With this ring, I thee wed. With my body, I thee worship.” Cristiano commanded my attention, and again, the others fell away. As his dark eyes drank me in, I only wondered how, if he’d not been to many weddings, he knew what to say. Or why he seemed to say it with such vehemence, as if he meant it.

  It wasn’t like he needed anyone in this church, not even the reverend, to believe it.

  “With all my worldly goods,” he continued, “I thee endow—en el nombre del Padre, y del Hijo, y del Espíritu Santo. Prometo amarte y respetarte todos los días de mi vida. Amén.”

  He hesitated, as if he half-expected me to repeat the words back to him.

  I promise to love and respect you for all the days of my life.

  My new husband was turning out to be a riddle.

  But I wouldn’t mock the church and say what he asked of me.

  A man in cowboy boots and a matching hat appeared out of nowhere and clomped down the aisle to us. “¡Felicidades!” he said. “Congratulations to the happy couple.”

  “Remove your hat in the church,” Cristiano said.

  “Of course.” The man did as he was told and held out a folder.

  Cristiano opened it, looked over some paperwork, and rearranged the pages. Satisfied, he turned the file around for me. “Sign.”

  I glanced at the sheet on top. “What is it?”

  “To legalize the marriage with a civil ceremony.”

  “Why all this trouble?” I asked, shaking my head. “You could take me to the Badlands and imprison me there whether we’re legally married or not.”

  “I have my reasons.” He nodded at the cowboy, who patted his pockets before producing a pen. “Sign.”

  I started to protest, but what could I say? And what did it matter? Signing on the devil’s dotted line was no more permanent than the verbal agreement I’d already given. I had lost this battle already, and I feared I’d need my strength to fight bigger battles later.

  The man started to put his hat back on, then seemed to remember Cristiano’s order and held it to his chest. “I’ll need those medical records, compañero. They’re supposed to be done weeks in advance.”

  “I’m grateful for all the concessions you’ve made for my wife,” Cristiano said, returning the folder to the man once I’d signed. “You have a friend in Calavera.”

  “Gracias, de la Rosa,” the cowboy said, slipping the paperwork under his arm. He bowed to me, replaced his hat, and returned from wherever he’d come.

  I found myself staring at Cristiano like everyone else in the church. He thought himself a god and expected the same of others.

  He’d called me his wife. My fingers and toes curled. I was what my mother had been to my father. In some ways, it was a stretch—the devotion between them had run deep, the love profound, and here I was marrying a man who I knew little better than I did a stranger. Yet that wasn’t true. Cristiano had been a constant presence in my life, even after he’d left. There were similarities to our marriages too. My m
other and father had trusted Cristiano with their lives and now, I was putting that same faith in him.

  Trusting him with my eternal life as we descended into hell.

  Promising him my love everlasting while my heart belonged to another.

  Cristiano turned to the priest. “Finish it.”

  Father Rios nodded. “You may kiss the bride.”

  Cristiano gestured for my bouquet. For strength, I called upon a moment in which I hadn’t feared Cristiano. A sunlit afternoon many years ago when he’d carried baskets of daisies and morning glory. I’d held Mamá’s hand on our way back to the house, turned, and caught him smelling the flowers. He’d winked at me. I’d laughed, thinking it funny back then that it was more unusual to see him toting flowers than it would’ve been a gun.

  I prayed, for my sake, that man still lived in him.

  He took my rosary from my nerveless fingers, pocketed it, and then passed my bridal bouquet to a guard, who handled it with surprising care.

  Cristiano cupped his hands around my jaw. He had to stoop a good deal to meet me, even as he lifted my face the rest of the way. He waited there, his unforgiving eyes boring into mine as if trying to read my thoughts. I had only one mounting thought, though.

  Please, let this be another nightmare, for the darkness I’ve resisted welcomes me too easily.

  Let Cristiano dematerialize into the black shadow that haunts my sleep.

  Let him have mercy.

  Let him release me.

  He pressed his lips to mine, their yielding fullness a stark contrast to the firm hands that held me in place. He inhaled sharply, as if he’d surprised himself as well. My heart pounded. His mouth parted, and mine did the same, granting him access that he seized, plunging his tongue inside to find mine just as eager. I gripped his elbows as his fingertips dug into my cheeks, my knees threatening to give out. It was a kiss that promised lovemaking in one breath and fucking in the next.

  He drew away, leaving me gasping. I kept my eyes closed as the silence grew weighty between us. Why did giving into his kiss feel like walking into darkness—a temptation I knew I should resist? I half-expected a soothing whisper from him, maybe even something sweet.