Blood Ties (A Dark Cartel Romance) (Dinero de Sangre Book 2)

by Lana Sky

His eyes flash in a subtle warning. “I don’t think you should go around pontificating on what those big, bad men might want to do to you, Ada. You’ll give yourself nightmares. I suggest you continue to be so damn accommodating and keep your mouth shut.”

  “Unless I have a cock stuffed in it, right?” I can’t resist the taunt, and for whatever reason, it seems to rile him beautifully.

  His nostrils flare, and both of his hands return to my hips, gripping tightly to readjust my weight against him.

  “Right,” he murmurs, his eyes staring dead into my own. “Maybe we should test that theory; what with you being so damn agreeable all of a sudden?”

  I swallow hard at the threat, fighting to keep my breathing steady. I can feel his muscle flexing beneath me, his thighs drifting further apart as if to accommodate a growing body part he can’t ignore. He’s gritting his teeth, a muscle in his jaw lurching.

  As foolish as it is to admit, even to myself, I’m not sure what could be getting him hard in this scenario. Our banter? Or the mention of Alexi?

  “I would gladly let you utilize my mouth however you see fit,” I say, wrenching my gaze down to his mouth, a safer territory than his eyes. Or so I think until he seizes the flesh of his lower lip between his teeth and a growl rumbles through his chest. “If only you didn’t have another willing mouth at the ready close by. I’m sure you already got up to plenty of fun and games while I was out. Why let me ruin your fun?”

  I’m done with this game. I brace my hand against his chest to pull back and stand. He tightens his grip, easily keeping me locked in place.

  “I haven’t had fun since the last time your pretty little lips were occupied with me,” he warns, and I suck in a breath, suddenly dizzy. The heat in his voice is far too dangerous. As if he means every word. “You would know if you were interrupting anything I didn’t intend for you to see.”

  I flinch. It’s a blatant hint that he’s been toying with me all this time, with or without Alexi’s consent. I don’t know what to make of that. Then it strikes me that’s exactly what he wants—to confuse me of his motives and leave me constantly second-guessing my own instincts.

  I only let myself consider my following actions for a split second. Then I lean forward, deliberately rocking my hips into his. As much as I hate him…

  He’s all rigid muscle, and I gasp when I feel the firmness of his thighs against my ass. He stiffens, digging his fingers into my waist, only his hands slip, and he’s palming my ass instead. I smother any urge to pull away, letting his hands linger, fingers spread apart over both cheeks.

  “Don’t tell me you’ve been faking your fun all this time, Domino,” I taunt.

  He laughs. Then he drives his nails into my flesh—harshly—and I can’t smother a cry.

  “As it turns out, I am very good at faking, Ada,” he tells me, nudging my earlobe with his mouth. Then something warmer brushes the lobe with a teasing swipe. His tongue?

  I can’t let myself get distracted. I just focus on his words and realize what they imply. He’s still playing with my head, trying to keep me off balance.

  “So am I,” I say, palming his cheek so that he’s forced to face me again. He’s frowning, and a prickle of alarm nips at my spine, warning me to tread carefully. Even if he seems to want information from me—badly enough to agree to a hostile cease-fire—I know better than to push him too far.

  So I consider my next course of action the equivalent of a friendly tap.

  “I am very good at faking, remember?”

  “I remember.” His eyes glint with a dangerous gleam. “I’ve personally watched you ‘fake it’ many, many, many times.”

  I cringe at the insinuation—that his claims to have spied on me were all true. And yet, there is one way to use this to my advantage.

  “So then you know that even if you do sell me, I’ll have no problem faking it then. I’ll fake it for whoever can give me a lifeline, no matter how flimsy, and you can lounge around this big, empty house knowing that I’ll be comparing them all to you.”

  It’s a boast that riles him like no other. He jolts forward, nearly knocking me backward, if his hands didn’t happen to clench against my ass, snatching me to him. Our pelvises collide, my breasts pressed against his collar as though it’s a platter.

  And I’m the only meal he has any interest in devouring.

  Chapter Twelve

  I’ve angered him. His eyes latch onto my mouth, and when he yanks me forward again, I’m sure he’ll bite me outright, like a true beast.

  He kisses me instead. What my brain processes as a kiss anyway, the act of two mouths meeting for longer than a peck.

  But Domino doesn’t suck at my mouth sweetly to compel me to silence. He brutalizes. His tongue lashes at mine like a whip, demanding submission. Nothing more, nothing less.

  But it shouldn’t feel so damn good.

  He makes me fight to keep up with him or risk being consumed. I have to meet every prodding jab of his tongue with one of my own. Open my mouth further to let him in. Take him in.

  In so many ways, this feels more intimate than even sucking his cock. I can hear him more clearly—feel him in my head. His grunts of pleasure when he nips me with his teeth. His startled hiss when I bite him back.

  His heartbeat rages, hammering through my breasts as the scrape of my dress’ fragile material irritates my nipples into sharp, stabbing peaks.

  He grips me tighter, practically kneading the flesh of my ass until I’m arching my back to escape the pressure. Then leaning into it…

  God, he makes me hate myself. My body turns against me, and my brain struggles to keep up. I hate him. Hate him…

  And yet, I shiver in anticipation as he slips his fingers beneath the hem of my dress, finding the bare skin of my ass.

  And the delicate, sensitive valley in between.

  I jump, unable to silence a cry of alarm—one he greedily swallows before letting me withdraw.

  My lips sting, my heart racing as I realize how close we are—practically skin on skin. If it weren’t for the fabric of his pants…

  We’d practically be fucking. A pang shoots through me, joining a pulsing pressure building in between my legs. Gritting my teeth, I ignore it.

  “Not entirely a good girl after all,” Domino remarks, leaning back, his posture casual once more. To any onlooker, at least. I can feel the tension ripping through him, and I have a terrifying suspicion that I’m not the only one smothering an ache.

  Though, as if to counter the mere possibility of him being unable to resist me, he brings his hand to his mouth, taking the pad of his thumb between his lips.

  My throat goes dry as I realize where that finger has been.

  “One day, you’ll beg me to take you there.” He says it so casually I’d laugh were he any other man. But his tone lacks the pleading desperation theirs would carry. He’s so confident of the inevitable he doesn’t even bother to put effort into stating as much.

  He’ll take me there.

  “Ticktock,” I manage to croak. “I only have four days to prove how good I can be after all.”

  His eyes narrow. Sensing his thinning patience, I’ll take this as my cue to leave.

  When I ease myself off of him, he doesn’t react, letting me stand on my own. I’m bold enough to turn toward the house and take a step, though who knows where I’ll go once I’m inside. Somewhere far from him to regroup and think. I need to stay focused on my goal—finding a way to get out of this alive. I should be hunting down any information, not humoring him.

  Though I can’t escape the feeling that anything worth learning wouldn’t be kept in the house. He must have another hiding spot somewhere, in a place he thinks I won’t reach.

  “Wait.” His voice rings out when I’ve barely gone beyond the ring of white couches.

  “Yes?” I stop, though I don’t dare look back.

  “I think it’s time we take a swim. Somewhere where we can discuss the duties of a good girl in private.”


  My heart aches; it’s pounding so hard. I have to physically make myself breathe. In and out…

  “I don’t have a bathing suit,” I wheeze in a ragged exhale.

  “Good. I don’t intend for you to wear one. After all, my good, grateful girl would hide nothing from her hero.”

  The bastard.

  My eyes burn with frustration at how easily he can yank my chain—literally and figuratively. My only consolation is that he hasn’t retrieved that despised collar from wherever he’s hidden it since my escape attempt.

  I want to deny him. I even start to, my lips parting.

  Then I recall the tidbit he snuck within the mocking banter—discuss in private.

  Apparently, he wants to talk to me outside of Alexi’s earshot. Recalling this morning, how he ran the shower before making his offer, I have to admit that it’s a convincing stunt.

  So I’ll play one more round of his sick game.

  Still, I can’t resist a desperate attempt to turn the tables, no matter how small a move it might be. As I spin to face him, I run my hands along my hips, bunching up the material of my dress as I go. Slowly, I wind it up, up, eventually lifting it over my head entirely. Wadding the fabric in a fist, I throw it onto his lap with a final dare. “Lead the way.”

  His idea of “a swim” occurs in a section of the property I have yet to discover, just past the terrace gardens. There are three levels of the feature in total, each one graded downward to the next until finally the paved path reaches the ground. The amount of landscaping, let alone water, required to maintain such a property astounds me.

  Domino lurks just a few steps ahead, his face angled away, shoulders tensing with every step we go. He’s paranoid, though he’s very good at hiding it. I suspect Alexi isn’t the only one he’s second-guessing the motives of.

  He’s wary of me.

  “You said once that you owned this land before you started working for my family,” I point out.

  “I did, and you’ve been here before.” His voice reaches back to me, barely audible above the chirping of insects and bubbling waters of a small fountain we pass. “You don’t remember?”

  “I think I would remember if Pia owned a place like this,” I counter.

  If the Ingleciases owned even a fraction of this amount of land—and were able to afford to maintain it like this—I think Pia’s life would have been very, very different. She wouldn’t have needed to pry her way into my world at all. I could have grown up alone, without her friendship.

  The thought stings, and I shy away from it.

  “I think we established that your memory can be faulty at times,” Domino says, leading me around a bend that coils against the outside of the house. Perched on the hillside above, the structure of it is breathtaking, made of tanned stone and a beautiful array of Spanish architecture mixed with that of an Italian-style villa.

  I’m so distracted by the sight, that I almost miss the carefully concealed dig hidden within Domino’s reply. Was he referring to my recollections of Pia?

  Or of him?

  I haven’t decided by the time we finally reach our presumed destination.

  It’s a square-shaped naturalistic pool sunken into the earth, placed close to the hillside. A fake waterfall extends, nearly as tall as the height of the entire terrace itself, compiled of tan stones built into the earth and gently trickling streams of water that enter the pool from three different locations.

  Now I’m sure of it—Pia Inglecias definitely didn’t possess a property like this a decade ago.

  Still, I hold my tongue as Domino approaches the water’s edge and strips his shirt before tugging off his slacks. “Get in.”

  My nakedness feels more heightened here than during the entire walk across the property. This place is shrouded by a row of planted palm trees, not visible from the house itself. I don’t spy any hint of the servants who I know lurk throughout the rest of the property.

  We feel more alone here than even locked inside his room or in a shower stall.

  If I were to scream, I doubt anyone would hear me or even care enough to come running.

  “Don’t tell me Ada-Maria Pavalos is afraid of a little swim,” Domino remarks as he steps down into the water himself. It’s so deep that only his head and shoulders are visible once he’s waded toward the center. Cold, his eyes meet mine, chilling enough to have me shivering despite the persistent heat. “I know for a fact you’re not that shy. Get in.”

  I choke down my unease and dip my foot beneath the water. It’s cool, but refreshing when paired with the full brunt of the sun. I keep going, realizing that a set of broad, stone steps beneath the water’s surface help me gradually adjust to the various depths. By the time I join him near the waterfall, I have to kick my legs to keep my head above the water.

  He watches me, able to remain standing with his height advantage.

  “You seem to know me so well,” I rasp, stopping as close to him as I dare.

  “I know that you’ve spent enough time on the yachts of rich men to lose the right to feign caution when it comes to the water,” he snipes.

  My cheeks flame. I hate how readily he can throw these snippets of my past in my face. Even if I want to deny his insinuations and cruel assertions—I can’t. He has five years of information on me stored away, but I have nothing on him. Just snippets and details he may have intentionally left for me to find.

  Still, I sense that he’s ready for me to start asking some questions of my own. His eyes glitter, electric in contrast to the turquoise water. On second thought, I think he’s impatient for me to start asking, like I’m taking longer than he thought.

  Maybe because a part of me is rightfully terrified by the potential answers.

  “Why lie?” I demand, my voice breaking. “Why pretend that you killed him?”

  And then serve his “body” to me in well-cooked pieces.

  He inclines an eyebrow as if this wasn’t the question he had in mind. Still, he humors me, lifting his shoulder in a shrug that disrupts the water between us. “I will kill him,” he clarifies with a finality that leaves me reeling. “But I needed to know if you were just another pawn in his game.”

  I don’t like how his tone shifted over that last statement.

  “What do you mean?”

  He inclines his head, eyeing me for so long that my legs start to ache from the effort it takes to paddle in place. “I mean, I needed to know if once again Ada was merely playing her role in a larger game on her daddy’s say-so.”

  I blink as his meaning strikes me all at once. “You thought I knew.”

  It sounds so ridiculous in retrospect. And at the same time, so damn cruel. He wasn’t sure if I knew my father’s fate, so he decided to test me in the worst way.

  Even now, a part of me recognizes that he could still be lying. If he claims to have faked a cooking body, a fake news broadcast would be child’s play in comparison.

  “I thought your father valued your life more than he apparently does. I was skeptical of how things looked on their face. I’m finding myself warming up to the idea that they are as they look, after all.”

  More word games and subtle insinuations.

  “If you want to turn me against my father, it isn’t working,” I croak.

  Mainly because I’m still in whiplash over the various disruptions in my view of him over the past few days. First, he was on the verge of being indicted. Then he was dead. And now…

  “I’m not as stupid as you think I am,” I snap, meeting his gaze as he remains rigidly in place while I start to drift, exhausted by the effort of swimming. I drift back to the shallower end, where I can stand with my feet touching the pool’s bottom. As a result, there’s a good ten feet of distance between us, and I consider climbing from the water altogether. “I know what you’re trying to imply.”

  “What? That your father conspired with your uninspired, politically ambitious, philandering asshole of a boyfriend to use your presumed kidnapping and dea
th to take pressure off of his impending legal battles? Could a man truly be so cruel, Ada-Maria?”

  I cringe at the picture he paints, even as I rail against it. “Don’t mock me. I know firsthand what my father is capable of.”

  So does he.

  Yet, he raises an eyebrow. “That doesn’t sound like a denial.”

  “He wouldn’t,” I insist but, for whatever reason, the words sound flat, easily overpowered by the roar of the water surging between the rocks above.

  “Come here.” He extends his hands behind him, propelling his body toward the largest waterfall, positioned at the very back of the pool. At the same time, the tilt of his chin makes my belly quiver. It conveys a dare he voices in a gruff rasp, “Unless you aren’t as confident of your beliefs as you think you are.”

  I swallow hard before lunging toward him. “I’m confident that I don’t trust you—”

  “You should.” When I come within his reach, he grabs my wrist, easily tugging me closer. “I suggest you not take offense to the series of events that have prolonged your life, Ada,” he warns, his tone unusually deep.

  I stiffen as he drags me toward him, gripping my waist beneath the water. With his strength supporting me, I don’t have to fight to stay suspended. Warm, his lips graze my ear, his voice a grated murmur that resonates through flesh and bone, into my belly.

  “The possibility that you may be innocent in this scheme of your father’s at least, is the only reason why you’ve kept my attention for as long as you have.”

  Before I can counter that, he starts to drift, carrying me into an even deeper section of the pool while my thoughts reel. Only our heads are above water now, and I find myself bracing my hands over his shoulders, unnerved by the loss of control. In his grasp, I’m at his mercy. If he decides to pull me under here, I won’t be able to fight him.

  Satisfied by that very fact, he positions me so that our faces are inches apart, our mouths so close I feel each brush of his lips as he speaks.

  “This is the part where I give you permission to run that smart ass mouth of yours,” he murmurs.