He rubs his chin against my face, his rough with scruff, mine unwashed and dirty and tearstained.
“Were you?” he asks.
I nod, my eyes wide in the darkness because this is not going as I expect. He’s not taking me down. He’s not wrapping me in his arms like he has before.
Of course he’s not.
He thinks I poisoned him. He thinks I tried to kill him.
“I didn’t—”
He lifts me a little higher, arm crushing my ribs which still feel bruised from when the other man took me. With his other hand on my butt, he pulls me open. And then I feel him, his hardness, and some part of me, some sick part of me wants this. Wants him.
He brushes his cheek against my cheek, and I can just see the shadow of his face, his dark eyes black in this night. He drags his lips along my cheekbone, then closer to my ear, not quite kissing me. This is something else.
“You didn’t what?” he asks.
I swallow because what I hear in his voice is not any different than the contempt I heard in the other man’s voice. In the voices of The Councilors when they spoke, condemning me before my trial even began.
Contempt.
Hate.
The only one at The Tribunal who seemed conflicted was Mercedes. It surprised me. Although conflict wasn’t what The Councilors heard. They heard fact. And maybe I’m grasping at straws because Mercedes has no love for me.
“What’s the matter, sweet, Poison Ivy?” he asks, then bends his head to lick my neck, to close his lips over my beating pulse and suck, his mouth wet and hot and his cock when he thrusts inside me unforgiving.
I gasp, the breath forced out of me.
“Tell me,” he says low and quiet, but not quite a whisper.
“I didn’t…” I grunt with his next thrust. He’s released my bottom and has got my jaw in his hand now, fingers digging into soft flesh.
“Tell. Me.” It’s a command. Voice loud. Firm. Angry.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you.” I say it wrong. It comes out all wrong. It’s not what I meant. I meant…but it doesn’t matter. Santiago laughs. He just laughs this dark, ugly laugh and shifts his grip to my hips and draws back, lifting me, bending me to fuck me. To hurt me.
And he does.
This is a punishment fuck. The first of many punishments. I know it. I feel it. And as my legs quake and my insides go raw, I realize how stupid I’ve been. How naïve I’d been thinking he’d come for me, come to rescue me.
When did I forget that he was the devil?
And what will he do to me now that he thinks I tried to kill him?
His thrusts come harder, his fingers agony on the flesh of my hips, my shoulders aching with his tugs, wrists raw and bleeding.
I don’t come, but that’s the point. He takes me. Takes his pleasure from me. Lays claim to me. And even as he comes, I feel his rage. I feel his hate.
And I know that now, not like before, I am finished. I know that how it was before will be a thousand times preferable to what I have coming. To what he’ll do to me now.
He pulls me close with his final thrust, and I feel him throb and shudder, releasing inside me. I hear his breath, his groan, and I think about what it is between us. What it is that binds us.
Because we are bound.
And he will keep his promise. He will kill me. But not before I am begging for it, begging for mercy in death.
One gloved hand comes to my face, and I wonder if he can feel the tears he’s smearing away. I think he can. And I know how much he likes my tears.
“No, sweet, Poison Ivy. You didn’t hurt me,” he says, voice dark and low. “But I will surely hurt you.”
9
Santiago
"How are you feeling?" Angelo asks, his eyes moving over the case of scotch on my desk.
My fresh paranoia would be difficult not to notice. Since my return home, my vigilance has swung to the extreme end of the spectrum. Antonia's apparent happiness to see me soon disappeared when I ordered all the food and beverages in the house be tossed. She seemed horrified by the prospect, considering her menus had already been planned for my arrival. But her frown only deepened upon my informing the staff that I was having cameras installed in every room, along with daily security checks.
The atmosphere has been noticeably gloomy since I've resumed my post in my study, refusing the food I'm served and subsisting on mostly a liquid diet. It isn't doing any favors for my temperament either, and it hasn't gone unnoticed.
"I'm fine," I reply to Angelo’s question in a flat tone. "Nothing some good scotch won't cure."
He sighs and bites back what would probably be some advice about my situation, knowing better than to offer it.
"I'm sorry I couldn't visit you in the hospital," he says. "I couldn't get in without being seen. They had it locked down."
"I wouldn't have made for very good company anyway," I remark dryly.
"I don't suppose so."
I tug an unopened bottle of scotch free from the case and offer it to him, but he declines. I shrug and take another drink for myself from the one on my desk.
"Any progress on the investigation into the poisoning?" he asks, skirting around the mention of Ivy.
It's become common knowledge throughout The Society that my own wife tried to poison and kill me. I don't doubt many of the member's wives are silently in agreement with her, pitying her for being wed to the likes of myself. But they know better than to speak those thoughts aloud, and as far as they are concerned, Ivy has already been shunned from their inner circle. This is the way things work. Loyalty will always lie with the Sovereign Sons.
"No news, but I didn't expect any surprise developments on the matter. I have all the information I need."
Angelo nods, a dark expression tightening his features. "So, what will you do with her?"
"What will you do with the traitor in your own life?" I arch a brow at him in return.
He understands the question perfectly well, and it doesn’t require a response. I have no desire to go into the details with him or anyone else for that matter. Everyone will be watching me now. They are all desperate to know how I will handle the situation. By all rights, I could string up my traitorous wife by the neck in the middle of the compound and leave her to die and not a single soul would dare utter a protest to save her. But my agenda has always been a long game. I need heirs to the De La Rosa name. Ivy is a means to an end, and I will never make the mistake of allowing her to think otherwise.
"I believe you had something you wanted me to look into last we spoke?" I change the subject.
He drags a hand through his hair and sighs. "I do, but only if it isn't a burden."
"Believe me, anything to distract me right now is a gift."
With my assurances, Angelo reaches down to retrieve a folder from his briefcase and slides it across the desk to me. "Any information you can get on these accounts would be helpful. I'd like to know who exactly is funneling the money, but even a breadcrumb will do."
I open the folder to examine the accounts, flipping through various pages as my lips pull together in a grim line. I suspect this has something to do with his own pursuit of vengeance and his determination to confirm who betrayed him and sent him to prison. If our past conversations are any indication, he already knows, but his situation is more complex. He needs undeniable proof before he destroys his own blood.
"I will see what I can dig up. It might take some time."
Angelo rises to his feet and checks his watch. "I'll check in with you periodically to see what your progress is. I wish I could stay and visit longer, but—"
"You don't want anyone to see you." I nod. "I get it. Go, enjoy your freedom. I'll see you another time."
He disappears down the hall just as quietly as he arrived, and I spend the next few hours poring over the folder of information he gave me. It gives me something to focus on even though I'm behind on my own work as it is. It's a distraction, but not enough to keep my thought
s from wandering to my wife.
I have not been to see her in two days. Not since I locked her up in her room and barricaded any incoming light, leaving her with the solace of only a couple of candles. Antonia has been instructed to keep her closet locked, and she is to remain naked and broken for me. But I suspect when I see her again, there will undoubtedly be defiance from her as always. And I am already thinking of new ways to punish her for those future sins.
A knock on the door startles me from my thoughts, and when I glance up, Mercedes is there. Her face is drawn, and she's usually in bed by this late hour, but it seems she is still not any less rattled by the events that transpired at the gala.
"Can I come in?" she asks.
"Since when do you require permission?" I smirk, but she does not seem to notice my sarcasm.
Something is bothering her, but I haven't been able to determine what it is. She's been quiet and closed off. We sit at the dinner table together in the evenings, me drinking, and her going through the motions of eating, but it’s obvious she's not really here. Her thoughts seem to be plagued by something else, and I am not quite certain how to deal with such a situation.
She enters the room and sits in the chair that Angelo vacated earlier. Her hair is braided back, her face scrubbed clean of the usual makeup she wears. And when I see her this way, it is a stark reminder she is still young and naïve in many ways, despite what she’d like everyone else to believe.
"Tell me what's on your mind." I close the folder on my desk and secure it in my locked drawer before returning my attention to her.
Mercedes shrugs one shoulder, wrapping her cardigan tightly around herself like a cocoon even though it's not chilly in the room. "Too much to put into words."
"Don't play coy with me," I reply. "You came here for a reason, and you've been moping around The Manor since you’ve been home. I can't help you if I don't know what the issue is."
She bounces one leg, a nervous habit I haven't seen since she was a child, and our father sought to break her of it. A De La Rosa can never show vulnerability. That's what he told us. We all took it to heart, but I will never punish Mercedes for showing her true self to me.
"It’s just hard to stop thinking about everything that happened," she says quietly. "Do you believe The Tribunal will ever have concrete proof?"
"It doesn't matter if they have concrete proof," I tell her. "It is ultimately up to me since I am alive, and I am her husband. I could feed her to the wolves, or I can handle it myself. You already know my chosen course. We will go through the motions of the trial because Ivy deserves every ounce of fear it will instill in her. But I am her true judge, jury, and executioner."
My sister nods and swallows, dipping her head as she seems to consider something. “No mercy. That’s what Father always used to say. I suppose that is the De La Rosa motto.”
A chill moves over me when it occurs to me she’s comparing me to him, but I don’t acknowledge it. I can’t.
"So, you will... end her." Her voice wavers slightly, and she clears her throat. "When?"
Her sudden lack of enthusiasm on the subject is strange, considering how she salivated over the idea before. "Why do you care?"
She shifts in her seat, glancing at the flickering flame of the candle on the end of my desk. "I don't, of course. I was just wondering."
"You needn't worry." I meet her gaze. "I know you felt I was wavering in my regard before, but I can assure you, I hold no humanity in my heart for any Moreno. Particularly one who poisoned me. She will be dealt with accordingly."
Mercedes jerks her chin in agreement, but she doesn't appear to be placated by my assurances. It's unlike her to withhold her thoughts, and I don't know if I should be concerned about her welfare. Or perhaps Judge really did begin to tame her bratty ways.
She stands up and drifts toward the door, pausing to look over her shoulder.
"Santi?"
"Yes?"
"I..." Her voice fractures. "I just wanted you to know I love you. It’s so good to have you home."
* * *
Ivy startles awake when I slip my hand over her mouth to cover her scream. The room is pitch black, and the only sounds between us are her labored breaths as she bolts upright in the bed.
"Santiago?" She pants my name as if it’s a prayer for salvation.
"What did I say about you being naked?" I growl into her ear as I wrap my fingers around her throat.
"I am naked," she hisses. "You have all my clothes locked away. Do you expect me to sleep without any sheets?"
"I expect you to do whatever I ask," I answer, my breath fanning against her face.
I've had too much scotch and not enough food, and I don't exactly know what I'm doing here. One minute I was heading for my bedroom, and the next, I was stumbling into her room.
She trembles when I yank the sheet from her grasp and toss it onto the floor. She's already trying to curl into herself when I tangle my fingers in her hair and drag her from the bed and force her onto her knees.
"You don't deserve a bed," I spit. "You don't deserve anything."
"Santiago, please." She brings her hands up to my thighs, feeling her way up my body in the dark. "I need to talk to you about what happened. I need to make you understand."
I clamp my hand around her jaw, forcing her lips to shut. "The only time you should open your mouth is to please me."
She tries to murmur a protest as I tug down the zipper of my trousers and pull my cock free, rubbing it against her cheek. I reach for her hair again, arching her head back.
"Show me how sorry you are," I command.
I release her jaw, and she renews her protest. "Please just let me talk. We need to talk."
"You want to talk?" I tighten my grip on her to the point I can practically feel her wincing. "Let's talk. I have so much to say to you, dear wife. Let's start with a refresher course. I fucking own you, and you seem to have forgotten that."
"I haven't," she whimpers.
"I control everything in your life," I answer menacingly. "That hospital room your father is lying half dead in? I could have them pull the plug with a single phone call. The nuns at your sister's school? They can make her life sweet, or they can make it one of misery. That fate is mine to determine just like everything else. Every choice you make has a consequence, and I think you would do well to remember it doesn't just impact you. Don't think for one second that any of your family is safe. Not even your sweet Hazel who ran away and left you behind."
"No," she whispers, clinging to me with a desperation that doesn't please me as much as I thought it would. "You can't do that. You wouldn't. I know you aren't the monster you want everyone to believe you are."
"You know nothing about me," I snarl, releasing her in disgust. "I have been lenient with you when you did not deserve it. And now, I'm simply biding my time. You're nothing more than a toy to be used. A doll to be fucked. And when I am done with you, make no mistake about it, there will be nothing left to salvage from the wreckage."
"I don't believe you." The tremor in her voice irritates me. Or perhaps it is her continued defiance to believe what I tell her to be true.
My growing frustration has left my cock painfully hard, and when I stroke it in my fist, it's tempting to shove her face down into the carpet and fuck her from behind. But it isn't what I want. Despite all rational thought, I want her willing submission, even if it is coerced.
"Please me or face the consequences."
She hesitates, and I close my eyes, battling my warring desires for domination and surrender. I'm intoxicated enough to admit I want her hands on me. I want her softness, even if it is false. I can think of no punishment worse than her touching me as if it is driven by her own free will. But as I suspected, she is not caving. And I will have no choice but to follow through and show her what a monster truly looks like.
With a growl, I begin to shove my dick back into the confines of my trousers when she reaches out to stop me.
"Wa
it!" she begs. "Please."
"Please what?" I ask gruffly.
"I'll do it."
Her voice is barely audible, and time seems to suspend as I remain there, waiting for her to follow through. Several long moments pass before she wraps a hesitant hand around my shaft.
"Your mouth." My own voice is hoarse, and I force my eyes shut even though I can't see her, and she can't see me.
She is feeling her way around me, uncertain as she brings the head of my straining cock to her lips. My breath hisses between my teeth as her tongue darts out and touches the rigid flesh. It's too soft. Too slow. I want to grab her by the head and force it down her throat. But I can't seem to move, paralyzed by the sensation of her drawing me into her mouth.
A groan rumbles from my chest as I cup the back of her skull and inch my cock as deep as she can take me. She starts to cough, and I push deeper until she’s clawing at my legs and gasping for air. A brief reprieve is all I intend to grant her as I ease away to let her catch her breath, but my wife is determined, pulling me in again, her mouth warm velvet against my hardness. Already, my balls are drawing tight against my body as the urge to release overwhelms me.
I don't realize I'm petting her hair until she leans into my touch.
It's a trick. It's all a trick. Every soft sound that spills from her lips as she takes me inside. The sweet perfume of her own arousal between her thighs. She would never admit that she enjoys the perverseness of this dynamic between us. That it makes her wet to kneel before me and follow my commands. Because that couldn’t possibly be true. She's trying to lure me in again. That's the only logical explanation for this insanity.
"That's enough," I bite out, trying to pull my dick free from her lips.
"No!" She clings to me, pleading. "I'll do better. Please, just let me try."
It seems I have found a way to motivate her after all. And it fucking grates at me that she will degrade herself so willingly to save her precious family. But those thoughts drift away the moment she pulls me back in, lashing at me with her tongue as she works my shaft.
Reparation of Sin: A Sovereign Sons Novel Page 4
