by Stasia Black
She focused on the voices to help steady her and forced her eyes open even wider.
And that’s when she heard his voice again. His precious voice.
But… The things he was saying…
Cora was a chess piece… served her purpose… mission accomplished… a great lay.
Cora blinked. Once and then again. No. Someone was playing a trick on her. Or her mind was. She wasn’t awake yet after all. This was a horrible dream because her Marcus would never say things so cold and callous. She meant something to Marcus. Didn’t she?
Liar. How many lies had she told herself to make her situation more palatable? She’d done it back when she lived with her mother and all over again with Marcus. Telling herself they loved her. A thousand times even when all the evidence was to the contrary.
Pathetic.
“Bella, you’re awake.” Sharo at least sounded genuine in his excitement at seeing her awake.
The light was still painful but Cora dragged tired eyes over toward the large man as he hurried to her bedside. Her vision was a bit blurry but she didn’t miss Marcus in the background keeping his distance.
Sharo took her hand and, focusing, she managed to give a wan squeeze.
She let her eyes close again.
Now she knew the truth. She and Marcus weren’t star-crossed lovers or any of the rest of the romantic bullshit she’d made up in her head.
She was still the puppet and everyone else still thought they were pulling the strings.
“I’m gonna take you home,” Marcus told her as he walked over, and she bowed her head in agreement.
One thing was sure, though.
She’d never let herself be taken in by Marcus Ubeli again. She’d escape New Olympus and his clutches as well as her mother’s. She’d find someplace she could truly be free.
And in the meantime, she imagined lifting her leaden fist to her chest, she’d be free where it mattered most—the part of her that none of them could ever touch.
Continue reading Marcus and Cora’s story in book 2, Awakening…
BOOK 2: AWAKENING
“The god of Love has conquered me . . .”
Orpheus, Ovid’s Metamorphoses Book X
One
Cora leaned against the giant window in the expansive living room of the most expensive penthouse in the most expensive hotel in New Olympus.
Far, far below, people scurried like ants down the narrow sidewalks. Cars crawled through rush hour traffic.
If Cora waited long enough with her face pressed against the glass, would she see a woman, young and beautiful with stars in her eyes, step off the bus and spin in a slow circle, mouth parted in awe at the magnificent cityscape? Maybe the young woman would look up and imagine someone like Cora, diamonds in her ears and hair sleekly coiffed away from her made-up face.
Would the young woman be wistful, wondering what it’d be like to live in the penthouse and float in the beautiful world above the streets? If she could hear Cora whisper, Get back on the bus, run away, would the young woman escape before the darkness swallowed her whole?
Cora backed away from the window, chest heaving. Only months ago, she’d been that young woman. The city had been beautiful, overwhelming and alien, a far cry from the blue skies and waving wheat of the farm she’d grown up on back in Kansas.
She been full of so much hope. She’d ascended the heights and now she lived in her husband’s penthouse, with everything she could desire. Diamonds and dresses, fine art decorating the elegant apartment.
Every morning someone delivered fresh flowers to a giant vase on a pedestal by the door. The blooms filled the open space with their delicate floral scent. The lilies of the field, plucked and cut and perfectly arranged to live one day at the height of their beauty. And tomorrow? Tomorrow they’d be gone. Thrown away.
Cora crossed to the front door and ran a finger over the silky petals. Here was a rosebud, tightly furled. She could pull it out and place it in a cup of water. It wouldn’t look as grand, but it would still be here tomorrow. She could save one flower. It might be enough...
Crossing the room, she caught a glimpse of herself in a giant gilt mirror. A young face stared back at her, pale and lovely under layers of artful makeup. She’d spent all day at Armand’s spa and every inch of her skin was plucked, smoothed, and polished. Her hair had been cut and styled as well.
When she’d lived on her mother’s farm, she’d wear old overalls, t-shirts, a farmer’s tan and freckles her only adornment, and go months without examining herself closely in a mirror.
These days, every inch of her was scrutinized, first by her stylists, then by society when she went out on Marcus’s arm. The wife of a wealthy businessman must look the part.
Especially if that man’s business had deep ties to the city’s criminal underworld.
Marcus Ubeli, the ruler of New Olympus’ underworld. Her husband.
When he stood by the window, he only saw his kingdom. His abject subjects scurrying far below. They saw only what he wanted them to see, an elegant businessman, handsome and shrewd, with a new and pretty wife.
They applauded his philanthropy and patronized his legit businesses—and only half listened to the whispers about his dark dealings. Only the rich and ultra-powerful knew the truth about Marcus Ubeli. He had a representative on every shadowy street corner. Cops, judges and juries were in his pocket. Even the mayor owed him favors.
By the time you learned the truth about Marcus Ubeli, it was too late. He owned you, too.
And Cora was his most prized possession.
Yes, she lived a grand life, far above the masses. Weekly spa visits, shopping sprees, meals in the finest restaurants, entry into the glittering nightlife of New Olympus high society. Beautiful clothes, a magnificent penthouse with its amazing view.
She preferred volunteering at the animal shelter downtown and curling up on a couch with a book, but it didn’t matter. She was a cut flower in a gorgeous vase, beautiful and elegant and dying a little more each day.
Oh yes, she played her part perfectly in exchange for this new life her husband had given her. Because that’s all it was: an even exchange.
Four months ago, she’d thrown herself in front of a bullet for him and saved his life. So now he’d given her all the freedoms she desired, even those that he himself had once denied her... She thought back to those days, miserable but also sort of wonderful through the haze of recollection. Because back then she’d been naïve enough to believe her husband could one day love her.
He’d disabused her of those notions while she lay on her hospital bed after being shot, just coming out of a coma. He didn’t know she’d overheard him, which made it all the worse because it meant he’d been telling the truth.
Cora was always a chess piece for me to play against the Titans. And she served her purpose… As an added bonus, wifey dearest made herself a shield and took a bullet for me. I’d say that’s mission accomplished as far as she’s concerned, better than I ever could’ve hoped for. Plus, she’s a great lay, so…
She was just a possession. That was all she’d ever be to him. He’d never loved her. He’d seen her as a commodity and a tool to use against his enemies. And as someone convenient to warm his bed at night. It was all she would ever be to him. He simply wasn’t capable of feeling anything more. At least not for her, a Titan.
Not after finding out that her mom, Demi, had murdered his sister in cold blood. And come back fifteen years later to finish the job on Marcus himself, no matter the fact that Cora had begged her not to do it, to put the gun down, to stop.
Cora had chosen Marcus.
And taken the bullet meant for him.
She still had the four-inch scar on her stomach from where they’d had to operate to take the bullet out.
But after her recovery, what had there been to come back to? This life, stuck in the no man’s land between two rival gangs, shunned by one because of who she loved but never fully embraced by the other.
She jerked her head up in surprise.
Her husband stood next to the floral bouquet. When had he come in? She hadn’t even heard the front door open, she’d been so deep in her own head.
Marcus was as handsome as ever, the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen, if she was being honest. His hands were in his pockets and his face was tilted into the shadows enough that she couldn’t read his expression. Not that she’d be able to read him even if the room were lit with a hundred blinding light bulbs. She didn’t even try anymore.
She knew who he was and what was in his heart. She’d heard him loud and clear. In the days and weeks following the coma, his coldness toward her only reconfirmed everything he’d said that day.
He was solicitous towards her. He provided the best medical care money could buy. He continued giving her countless gifts but he never delivered them himself. His driver, Sharo, drove her to rehab every day for two months as she regained her strength.
But Marcus worked dawn till dusk and she could go entire days, once an entire week, without seeing him. He was awake before dawn and back long after she fell asleep. Often he’d sleep in the guest bedroom, saying he didn’t want to wake her with his erratic hours.
He never came to any doctor’s appointments yet still seemed to know every last detail of her care regimen. When he did talk to her it was to remind her to take her supplements or to ask if she’d eaten enough. And the day the doctor pronounced her well enough to resume physical activity, he came to their bed at night and made love to her in the dark.
The sex was as intense as ever. Their chemistry in bed was undeniable. Some nights his kisses felt frantic as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against him so tightly it was like he was afraid she’d disappear.
Sometimes it was fast, his mouth or hands on her working to bring her to a desperate, wild release and then he’d bury himself inside her and spill within minutes. Only to wake her up hours later in the middle of the night with his need pressing against her backside, and then he’d take her slowly, so achingly slowly that she thought she might die.
But always in the dark. And when morning came, he was gone as if the night had never been.
Tonight he wore his signature suit, and he looked just as fresh and unwrinkled as he had when he first put it on the day before. His effortless, controlled perfection was as much a mystery to her as on their first day of marriage. He tucked his hands into his pockets and, black hair falling across his brow, looked her up and down.
She stared back out the window, unmoving. “You’re home early.”
“We’re going out tonight—remember? I thought you’d be ready.”
She had on makeup, high heels, and a coiffed updo fresh from the spa, but the rest of her was still wrapped in a robe.
She hadn’t forgotten but still she said, “We’re going out?”
“The concert at Elysium. New act. A big one.”
She looked Marcus’s way again as he shrugged and she watched his face carefully. She found herself doing this more and more lately—poking the bear to see if she could get some reaction out of him, some proof that he was really human and could show genuine human emotion. As usual, though, his poker face gave nothing away.
“I always give a photo op on opening night,” he continued.
“I didn’t forget,” she said, turning fully towards him and letting the light christen her hair. He had to squint to try to see her. “In fact, I went shopping for just the right outfit.”
“Did you now?” He rubbed the dark shadow around his jaw, the only evidence of his long work day.
She undid her robe and let it fall in a rustle of silk. As she moved closer, she watched her husband’s eyes grow hot as they took in her body. A black lace camisole with built in bra cupped her breasts. A sexy garter belt was slung low around her waist, holding her sheer black stockings up.
Cora felt satisfaction at the intense look on his face. “What do you think?”
This was all they had between them.
Sex. Fucking. That was how Cora thought of it now—as fucking. Or at least how she tried to think of it.
Marcus liked fucking her.
She was a good lay, after all, right?
Her teeth ground together at the memory. It was just another reason she’d chosen her outfit so carefully. Sex was a weapon that plenty of women used to control the men in their lives, right? No one would ever control Marcus but if she could even get the slightest edge up on him, it would be something. She was determined that the next time they had sex, it would be on her terms. In the light where he’d be forced to see her face.
Marcus studied her carefully, letting the silence lengthen between them. He smirked, the barest upward quirk of his lips.
“I think the paparazzi will eat it up.”
He prowled forward, put a commanding hand to the back of her neck, and drew her head to his.
She told herself not to open to him, to play hard to get—after all, what would entice the man who had everything more than being denied the one thing he seemed to crave?—but the second his lips touched hers, her body went liquid. Such was his power over her. Damn it all to hell.
How did he always manage to do that? To get the upper hand? She’d been so determined to master him for once.
But when Marcus pulled back for a moment, his dark eyes catching hers, a jolt of pleasure shot through her.
“I like finding you like this,” he whispered. “Waiting so eagerly. Wanting.”
He lifted her up and settled her on the small makeup bureau. Kneeling, he parted her legs and leaned forward to inhale deeply, his teeth catching at the top of her lace panties. “I like smelling how much you want me.”
Cora felt her face flame. For as calm, cold, and professional as Marcus was on the outside to everyone else she’d ever seen him interact with, it was still shocking how crass and brutish he could sometimes be in bed. Or on the makeup bureau, as it were.
She rubbed her legs together but he wasn’t having it. He shoved her thighs open wide and stepped between them as he rose back up, the front of his fancy suit pants jutting obscenely. He made quick work of unbuckling and unzipping them. And all her plans went out the window. She just wanted him inside her now, whatever way she could have him.
She thought he might shove into her quick and harsh, like he often did in the dark. No matter how many times she told herself, not again, she always ended up welcoming him into her arms, clinging to him, and spending all day living for the half hour at night when his hands would reach for her in the darkness.
In those moments, it was so easy to let herself forget the truth of their situation. That to him, she was only a trophy of his latest victory. Because he had been victorious in quelling the brief insurgency the Titans had attempted on New Olympus. It had been months and there was no word from the gang her mother now apparently ran.
Marcus had triumphed, as he always did. There was no point resisting him. He had a will unlike anyone she had ever met and that was saying something, considering that she’d been raised by Demi Titan.
And yet still Cora had to cling to her sense of self. She couldn’t let herself be obliterated by Marcus completely. It was why she continued her futile campaign to gain the upper hand in this marriage. She might never escape him but it didn’t mean she had to be tormented forever by her unrequited love for him.
But wait, no, she didn’t love him. It had merely been infatuation.
And it was an infatuation she would cure herself of, one way or another… But she’d been trying for months with no success.
In the meantime, she meant to gain more of an even footing with him. It was why she’d thrown herself so violently into society life. She was determined to have a life apart from him. And maybe, if she asserted herself more in their bed play, then she wouldn’t feel so completely overwhelmed by him each time and so shattered in the aftermath.
She could
only piece herself back together so many times.
Because while she knew in her head that to Marcus it was only fucking, to her stupid heart it often felt like making love.
Which was why she’d put on her armor today and surprised him in a full-frontal assault.
But five minutes later, he had her on her back and one hand splayed ever so gently across her throat.
His dark eyes searched hers for a quick moment and her breath caught. He was so gorgeous, his face sculpted with sharp lines and commanding angles. Even through the tux she could feel the power of his large body, muscles bulging against the expensive tailored fabric.
She lifted a hand, reaching toward his cheek. How long since she’d seen him like this in the light of day?
But he grabbed her wrist before she could make contact and slammed her wrist to the bed above her head, pinning it there. She couldn’t help the whimper that escaped her at the commanding move. Everything he did turned her on. Everything he was.
She thought he would pull himself out and take her right there. She was only a few seconds away from begging for it.
Instead, though, he pulled back and flipped her over so that she was on her hands and knees. He didn’t make her wait long, though. He dragged her lace underwear down and immediately stroked inside her. She was drenched and his passage was smooth.
Apparently he wasn’t looking for smooth.
He pulled out and rammed into her roughly and gods, it felt so good. Like he was claiming her. Like she’d actually managed to rile him up for once.
She shifted her backside needily against him and he swore, clutching her hips in a punishing grip as he continued to pound into her.
She tried to look over her shoulder at him but he wasn’t having it. He put a hand on her neck urging her down to the bed, ass up.
He followed, his body dominating hers as his relentless thrusting continued. “Next time you think to tempt me with such slinky little underthings, goddess,” he hissed in her ear, “remember to be careful what you wish for. You only make me want to remind you who you belong to.”
