by V. F. Mason
Mommy gasps, wrapping her hands tighter around me and Daddy, who tips my chin up. “Mi amor.” That’s all he says.
Mommy gives me a few sweet kisses on the head before she gets up, murmuring softly, “Sweet dreams, baby. I’ll see you tomorrow. We’re going to the zoo.” Blowing me one last kiss, she exits the room, closing the room behind her softly.
Daddy pulls me closer to him yet still keeps our eye contact as he replies to my question. “I won’t ever hurt you or your mother. However, if I ever did… your mom would leave me in a heartbeat.”
“Like Florian’s mom did?” She ran away from Mr. Price a long time ago, and he hasn’t been the same ever since.
Anger crosses Daddy’s face. “No. She would take you with her.” Oh right. “You’re the most important person in our lives, hijo.” Dad squeezes my shoulder. “Always remember that.” He kisses me on the forehead, gets up, and tucks me in, making sure the blanket covers me from head to toe. “Sweet dreams, hijo.” He turns on the bedside lamp, the warm blue light filling the room, and he goes to the door, throwing over his shoulder, “Remember, you’re well loved.” With this, he leaves, and with a smile on my face, I fall asleep, content with the knowledge that my parents will always love and protect me.
Only to snap awake in the middle of the night when someone clamps their gloved hand over my mouth, pressing it so hard all my shouts for help transform into barely audible whimpers. The masked man flicks a syringe in his hand before stabbing it into my arm, and sleep slowly claims me again, my resolve and thrashing weakening on the bed until everything goes dark.
With this injection, my life got divided into a before and after hell that was my constant for eight endless years.
My father has always taught me to be proud of my surname and heritage, to remember I’m Lucian’s son.
His one and only heir.
In those eight years of hell, though?
Not a day went by that I didn’t wish I wasn’t his son.
Briseis
“I pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride,” Father Paul announces happily as Santiago looks into my face after throwing back the tule, his thumb gently wiping away the single tear sliding down my cheek, and I scrunch my eyes, revulsion rushing through every pore at the prospect of him kissing me in front of everyone and demanding something he shouldn’t even dream of at this point.
He pulls me toward him and then softly presses his lips to my forehead, murmuring over my skin with his raspy yet deep voice still able to send shivers down my spine. My mind and heart got ripped apart, standing on different sides of the fence, tearing me in two and demanding to listen to one of them while ignoring the other. “Bienvenida a mi vida, mi esposa.” Leaning back, he glides his hand to my neck, a crooked smile appearing on his face. His sapphire eyes hold so many secrets I want to discover them all, despite his earlier words and this horrendous ceremony with serial killers and my beaten-up father as a witness.
How truly pathetic am I?
Welcome to my life, my wife.
He gazes at me with such intensity and desire one might think, looking at us right now, we’re really in love and joined together in an eternal relationship, swearing our hearts to one another.
Only…
He never gave us a chance to develop normal feelings, did he?
He crushed me before I trusted him with my heart.
And besides, fairy tales for villains don’t exist; only princes get the princesses, and goodness always triumphs over evil.
Searching for a heart where it shouldn’t even be would be such a foolish thing to do on my part.
A flash of light hits our faces, and we both shift our attention to Jimena snapping several photos of us, winking. “These are pretty. They’ll go straight to the family album.” She opens her arms wide, and I yelp in surprise when Santiago pushes me into them. She hugs me so tight the air sticks in my lungs. “Welcome to the family, Briseis.” Warmth spreads through my system, somehow serving as a balm over my still bleeding wounds, because I’ve never been welcomed to anyone’s family. Yet this woman barely knows me and accepts me despite this charade, assuring herself her brother made the right choice.
What’s it like to be born into such a family where everyone trusts your judgment so much they never question your choices and accept everyone by default?
“Thank you,” I reply, returning the embrace, not wanting to be rude to her while she’s opening her heart to me. Although she should have never come to this wedding.
Sooner or later, her brother will get bored with this obsession of his that includes me and dump me like an unwanted gift.
Hopefully before I develop Stockholm Syndrome and fall irrevocably for my captor, despite him killing people left and right, or whatever his serial killer schedule is.
“Congratulations,” Remi says next, once Jimena lets me go, his expression blank. Based on him acting as a witness and hugging Jimena, I assume the Cortez family has a special place in his heart. It explains his threat in the helicopter but doesn’t give him a free pass.
He’s still an asshole in my book.
Octavius lifts his bottle to me, and Father Paul huffs under his breath. “Not under the eyes of the Lord.”
“The Lord has eyes everywhere,” Florian fires back, getting up from the bench with my father whimpering, but I don’t make a single move to him.
He doesn’t want my company anyway, and I heard earlier how Santiago ordered Remi to take him to the hospital so they could finish the job.
Whatever the hell that means. As long as he gets medical help, my conscience is clear.
Florian extends his hand to me. “Congratulations.”
Instinctively, I give it to him, and he raises it to his mouth, giving it a gently peck before dropping it.
To my astonishment, I notice Jimena’s gaze on him is full of pain, and Florian’s subtle touch when he grazes her slightly with his shoulder as he steps back.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think these two had a romantic relationship between them, but at the rate Florian whores around, I doubt it. Jimena doesn’t strike me as a girl pining for her brother’s best friend either while he fucked everything that moved.
With them all surrounding me now, I come to a temporary decision, so I won’t go insane during the duration of this marriage. Acting hysterical and brooding won’t get me anywhere; not to mention, antagonizing the bad guys is never a good idea. Only with a cool head and rational mind can I survive among the monsters, playing the part assigned to me while preparing an escape.
Their power in this city and country is almost absolute, so running to the police would be a fool’s job. Besides, he sort of promised never to touch me without my permission, right?
So I’m safe in this regard; as long as I keep my head low and follow the rules, this should be a piece of cake. Even though he never put an end date to this marriage, I know it will come.
Monsters don’t get attached to their toys for long, finding much more interest in acquiring new ones for their collection.
Santiago laces his hand with mine, pulling me to the corridor leading to the exit as he addresses Remi. “Take Jimena home.” Without bothering to wait for a reply, he drags me outside, moving so quickly I have to run a little in my high heels to keep up with him, and within seconds, I breathe in the fresh autumn air, welcoming the harsh wind slapping me on my cheeks and cooling my heated skin.
Santiago doesn’t let me enjoy it for long though, as he ushers me to get in through the open car door, the driver George standing with a wide smile on his mouth. “Congratulations, Mrs. Cortez.”
Mrs. Cortez.
How odd to hear someone call me by the name I doodled on my sketchbooks as a teenager while I allowed myself to dream about Santiago and his haunting blue eyes.
I should have crushed on Prince Charming, because clearly I get what I want—just gotta write it in my sketchbook!
Grabbing my flowing skirt, I get inside, settl
ing all the silk around me, and he closes the door. When the other one opens and Santiago gets in, he slides up the screen separating us from the front seat just in time for George to drive away from the church. In minutes, we’re on the narrow road leading to the highway that should take us to Chicago in around twenty minutes.
Resting my head on the seat, I wince, rubbing my head near the veil clip that’s been digging in for an hour now and probably bruised my scalp. Not to mention it pulls my hair so tight my eyes hurt.
Santiago grabs my palm, pushing it out of the way as he leans closer, unclipping the veil from my head, and I groan in pleasure when instant relief comes, not even caring that he rubs the sore spot before dropping the veil on my lap. “Why did you put the damn thing on if it hurt you?” he asks, dangerous notes lacing his tone, and I glance at him, surprised to see anger flashing on his face.
My discomfort displeases him so much?
I burst out laughing while his brow rises in question, although a weird satisfaction settles in his eyes in the way they look at me ever since I said I do. “It’s funny you care, since you gave me this.” I point at the light red marks on my throat only stinging a little now and then extend my bruised wrists. “And those too.”
An unreadable expression crosses his features, and he clasps my wrists, bringing them to his mouth and kissing the bruised flesh, the betraying goose bumps breaking on my skin and my breath hitching. “Lo siento, Briseis.” My heart pangs at his apology, but then burns with fury when he adds, “Sometimes prey need to know how to stay put.”
I snatch them away. “You’re disgusting.”
He chuckles. “Ah, the fire is back. I started to think you swallowed your tongue back in the church.”
I open my mouth to retaliate, when I remember my earlier resolve, intending to act smart and not let this man ruffle my feathers. Taking a deep breath, I brush away his statement and ask a question of my own. “Where are we going?”
“Home.”
Dread flips my stomach at this. “To your parents’ mansion?”
“No.”
Groaning inwardly in frustration, my nails itching to rake his fucking smug face, I invite him to elaborate on the subject. “So by home, you mean…?”
“My house. What else?”
He takes out a cigarette from his pocket, ready to light it, but I snatch it away, fisting and dropping it on the floor. “Don’t smoke when I’m around.” I might follow the rules, but I refuse to be a doormat in this marriage, letting him stomp all over me.
Santiago taps on his chin with his index finger. “Nicotine brings me pleasure and a temporary reprieve from the darkness that’s my life.” I blink at this, never expecting him to share something like this with me. “However, I’m inclined to not smoke in your company.”
“Good,” I say, resting my head on the window and focusing on the ever-changing scenery, realizing we’re almost inside the city. Only, instead of driving straight, George takes a turn to the right.
“Everything has a price, Briseis. What do you offer in exchange?” My head swings toward him, and a sinister grin shapes his mouth, his voice dropping to a raspy whisper scorching my skin. “Pleasure of the flesh?”
Our eyes stare at one another. Momentarily, images from the library pop in my head: how he gripped my hips, thrusting inside me, all while lust filled my every pore, the need for him so strong I thought I’d go mad without his muscled body pinning me to the desk. My cheeks flush and need zaps through me, going straight to my core, and I gasp at the unexpected desire flaming inside me from one memory alone.
“What is it that you want, querida?” He threads his fingers in my hair, tugging me toward him, and my palms land on his chest, while he shifts closer, his mouth inches away from mine. “My tongue tracing the walls of your pussy before sucking on your clit?” My nails dig into his chest, my fingers fisting the lapels of his jacket holding on to him, and my eyes close, despising him for putting additional images in my head. “Or my fingers pushing inside you, stretching you for my dick straining behind my zipper?” My core clenches, and a raspy breath escapes me, yet he still continues to talk, his soft murmurs so sinful they should be forbidden. “Would you like that, querida, me fucking you hard and fast?”
He nips on my chin, his teeth sinking into my flesh before he glides his tongue over it, soothing the sting yet intensifying the lust shaking my system. “Or agonizingly slow until you whimper underneath me from need, and even then I’ll deny you, sliding into you until your pussy clamps around me, squeezing the cum out of me?”
I arch my back when his lips travel to my neck, sucking on my skin so hard I pull him closer, hating the thrill rushing through me at the idea of his hickey spreading on my flesh, warning away anyone else.
I know as long as I’m his, no one will ever hurt me again.
“Ask me to fuck you, querida,” he orders, biting on the mound of my breast as his hand cups the other, squeezing it hard, sending goose bumps all over my skin. I gulp for breath. “Pregúntame.” He trails his lips back to my open mouth, dipping his tongue inside and locking us in a deep, passionate kiss.
He dominates my mouth as if he owns it, brushing his tongue over mine, coaxing it to engage in a duel. When his thumb presses on my chin, giving himself more room, he swallows my moan, and then he sucks on my tongue and devours me once again. When he yanks at my hair, a hairpin slips under his assault, and my locks fall freely down my back.
With each glide of his tongue, pleasure spreads through me more and more, my core dampening while I drag him closer even though there is no wiggle room left between us.
His masculine scent surrounds me, creating a cocoon separating us from the cruel outside world. My hands slide over his jacket, pushing it off his shoulders, and my fingers hover over the buttons of his shirt, needing to feel his naked skin under my palms. He continues to fuck my mouth, mimicking lovemaking by pushing deeper and deeper, seeking complete surrender.
Madness.
Only madness can explain my reaction to him, fueling my blood with carnal, wicked need, washing away common sense and happiness at the prospect of living under his protection.
Except he’s the monster who hurts everyone.
My mind screams at me, ordering me to listen to its calling, dumping cold water over my head. I snatch my mouth away and shift toward the car door, pressing my back to it, covering my mouth with my palm as we watch each other, breathing heavily.
His sapphire orbs are dilated, the fire blazing in them scorching me, but I ignore the ache inside me, the betraying ache that doesn’t care about anything as long as something soothes it.
Even sleeping with a serial killer!
He lunges toward me, but my splayed palm stops him. “No,” I say, testing my boundaries, and sigh in relief when he listens, keeping his word of not taking me by force.
Tearing my gaze away from him before I succumb to my hormones’ call, I look at the window, only to blink and realize we’re pulling by iron gates with security standing nearby.
He salutes us before clicking on a remote, and they slide open soundlessly. A few seconds later, George drives onto the narrow, concrete road surrounded by a huge amount of land with oak trees and green fields, endless amounts of open space. “Welcome to mi casa, Briseis,” Santiago announces, his rough voice indicating to me he was just as affected by our encounter as me.
However, it doesn’t change anything, does it?
Our equation always ends up having a negative in it.
Gluing my nose back to the window, I notice in the distance a one-level, huge, brick house spread horizontally right in the middle of the land, with an obscene amount of windows. Does his darkness like to bask in the sunlight?
Countless lights are spread on the grass, illuminating the place, combining with the moonlight casting shadows on the ground, and it almost seems as if we’re in the forest, away from civilization.
My brows furrow when the car pulls up to the house, and I get out before S
antiago can stop me, huffing and struggling with the long-ass, stupid skirt to step on the concrete. My heels click loudly as I blink at how everything around me is…
Bland.
He’s Santiago Cortez; all the luxuries this life has to offer lie at his feet. He could have had the best designers turning it into a dream straight from magazines that every single person would feel envy for the things he has.
Who in their right mind would be envious of this house that looks so scary and quite fitting to his real character?
I haven’t even realized my jaw has dropped open until Santiago shuts it with his finger, or that George has already driven off, my only way of escape from this place, leaving nothing but dust behind.
“Surprised?” he asks, sauntering toward the house and punching in a code next to the door, and it opens with a loud click. “Expected an underground shack holding my victims prisoner?” He kicks open the door and motions with his head for me to enter. “I promise you I don’t bring them to my house.”
Yeah, okay. He clearly has no problem bringing up his serial killer ways.
“No. It’s just that your mother has such a beautiful garden; everyone praises her roses. I’m shocked you have all this land to waste.” Grass and trees don’t really count, since they’re so randomly planted it’s clear they were already there, so the land doesn’t look completely bare.
Grabbing my skirt, I walk inside the house, and instantly the smell of tobacco hits my nostrils mixed with… roses?
Santiago claps his hands once, and immediately light brightens the place, showcasing a spacious, wide common room consisting of two leather couches and chairs with a small table between them. They’re holding a vase full of blooming roses, reminding me of the ones I had for my wedding bouquet. A huge flat-screen TV hangs on the otherwise bare walls. The white paint is almost blinding, and I shift my attention to the kitchen that’s separated by an arch yet has no door. Silver dishes behind the counter glisten in the light, probably even showing our reflection in them, that’s how polished they are. Various knives are spread out on the counter—for easy access, maybe?
