Falling for the Forbidden: 10 Full-Length Novels

by Jessica Hawkins

  Pressure built in my chest. I’d declared not days ago that I’d save him any way possible. This was what I’d been called to do to prevent us from meeting a gruesome death. “I . . .”

  “You must understand—you’ll be safe with him while we settle things with the Maldonados. More than you’ll be anywhere else.”

  My jaw tingled. I was safest in the grip of a devil. Nobody was willing to budge, negotiate, or listen to reason. I pressed my hand to my chest as my anger gave way to fear for what Diego and Cristiano truly believed was about to happen. I wasn’t sure Diego understood that once I belonged to Cristiano, he wasn’t going to share. I would be his to do with as he pleased.

  “Once he marries me,” I said quietly, “he’ll have only one use for me, if even that. I won’t be able to escape him.”

  “That’s enough,” Cristiano said from the altar. I refused to turn and look at him. “Come to me now, Natalia, or I’m taking the deal off the table.”

  “Life or death, Diego,” I begged. “I’m yours in either. Where you go, I will follow.”

  “And they will hunt us like dogs.”

  I swallowed through a painful lump in my throat. They would find us, but at least we’d be together. At least I wouldn’t be left at the mercy of Cristiano. He’d restrained himself around me so far, and hadn’t given me much reason to believe he’d hurt me—but I had no idea how he’d act once he thought he owned me like one of the women he kept behind Badlands’ gates. Except I would belong to the master himself. “Then we’ll face the Maldonados together,” I said.

  “And Costa?” Diego asked.

  My heart stopped. Papá. They would come for all of us. Me, Diego, my father. Tepic, Jojo, Pilar. My father’s family. Maybe even my mother’s, who were the only ones wise enough to stay far away from this life. And it would touch them anyway. Unless I did this.

  I would do this for Diego, but I had to do it for the man who’d given me life, who’d loved and protected me always. If I didn’t, maybe I would find my father dead on the cold tile floor before they killed me too. Or took me. Was I better off enslaved to them or Cristiano? I hated that the answer was obvious.

  My nose tingled, and I shut my eyes as resignation set in.

  “The Cruz cartel will cease to exist,” Diego said. “They’ll execute those at the top to warn others, keep the ones they have use for, and discard the rest.”

  My core seemed to have frozen. I wrapped my arms around myself as the cold hit, inciting a shiver deep inside me. “You can’t put their lives on me,” I said. “Maybe I can save them, but you did this. Father did this. Cristiano did this. I’m innocent.”

  “Be that as it may,” Cristiano said from behind me, “I’ve named my price. Turn around, Natalia.”

  No. No. I wouldn’t. I grabbed the lapels of Diego’s suit and pulled him close. “Please,” I implored one final time. “Find a better way. Don’t ask this of me.”

  Defeat. That was what I’d seen in the slump of his shoulders earlier. I could name it now because he drew up, lengthening his spine. His resignation morphed into resolution. “Okay,” he said. He hesitated, then slowly enveloped me in a strong hug. He looked over my head to Cristiano. “I’m sorry. She won’t do it.”

  I waited for relief, but it didn’t come. In the following silence, my insides tangled. Cristiano’s menacing presence pervaded the church. With the reality of how I’d just changed the course of things, my head filled with visions of what came next. A massacre. Bloodshed. News stories that would never be reported. Deaths that would stand for nothing and happen in vain.

  “I never truly thought she’d go through with it,” Cristiano said finally. “You’ve asked too much of her love.”

  Bastard. My teeth mashed together. My love wasn’t weak as he implied. Perhaps he didn’t know true love because he wasn’t capable of it. He was wrong. Life or death. I repeated it to myself, trying to bring my courage up to meet my indignation. Life or death.

  “Put Natalia on her plane out of the country,” Cristiano continued. “Once Ángel Maldonado finds out, it’s out of my hands. I can’t protect even her, though I will try.”

  Diego’s heart pounded against my cheek. “It’s all right,” he murmured in my ear. “I understand.”

  “My offer is off the table,” Cristiano announced. “Max, pull the car around.”

  I pressed my face into Diego’s chest as he smoothed my hair away and shushed my cries. I didn’t want to leave this spot, but I heard the resolve in Cristiano’s voice. In his footsteps down the aisle. These could be my last moments with Diego, and if I survived, I’d have to live with knowing I hadn’t saved him. I would rather die by Diego’s side than marry my enemy, but even death did not seem to be an option for me. Only for Diego.

  Clutching the rosary, I lifted my head and asked in a watery whisper, “You’ll come for me?”

  He spoke into my hair, only for me. “As soon as I can. I just need time, and this is the only way to buy it.”

  What awaited me when I turned and faced Cristiano? What unspeakable things did he have planned once I left with him? At least with the Maldonados, there was a chance they’d kill me quickly. Cristiano and his bucket of sand wouldn’t rush his torture.

  Cristiano’s footsteps neared.

  “Wait,” I said into Diego’s neck. “Espera. Wait.”

  Diego tensed, then loosened, and he breathed a loud exhale near my ear. “My girl,” he said, ghosting his lips over my temple. “My savior. Thank you.” He rubbed my back briefly, then slid his hands to my upper arms. “Turn and go to him.”

  “I can’t.” I hiccupped. “I can’t do it.”

  “Strength, princesa.” Diego squeezed my shoulders affectionately, then spun me around.

  Cristiano stood halfway down the aisle, tall and imposing, not a hair out of place—and utterly lacking in any softness, understanding, or empathy for what he demanded of me.

  I stared at him from under wet lashes heavy with mascara. What a farce, getting made up. And in my mother’s dress. It was profane, a sin against her sacred day with my father. “Why?” I asked Cristiano.

  “I believe the words you’re looking for are ‘thank you.’” Cristiano walked closer to us. “Diego would be halfway to the grave if not for me.”

  “His life is in danger because of you. And you don’t need me to pardon him. Look inside yourself for forgiveness, Cristiano. You were human once—he is your brother.”

  “He ceased to be anything to me long ago—and now, he is nothing to you. He deserves to die. All I did was push fate along.”

  “You can stop it.”

  “My price is very, very steep, Natalia. I can’t be expected to let him go unpunished, can I? So he can make an attempt on my life?”

  By Diego’s words pleading me to hold on just now, he did have plans. And Cristiano 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 I want to be your first. Your last. Your only. And because denying him brings me pleasure,” Cristiano said. “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 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.”

  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 chara
de 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 Cristiano’s 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, a wrinkled dress 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 collar.