Blood Money (Dark Cartel Romance) (Dinero de Sangre Book 1) Page 15

  Then common sense descends once I note the speed of said vehicle—a pace vicious enough to kick up billows of swirling dust that engulf it like a storm cloud. Run!

  I try, painfully aware of the roar of an engine easily eating up the distance between us. Every grueling, punishing step feels like it lasts an eternity, but it must be mere seconds before the car advances on my position, roaring like an animal. Veering around me, kicking up dirt and dust, it skids to a stop paces away. I’ve barely remarked that it’s too expensive to belong to the average desert joyrider—some imported luxury sort, I bet—when the driver’s side door flies open, and Domino climbs out.

  Shock alone knocks me off balance. I fall on my side, crying out. My carefully wound chain comes undone, biting into the earth as a jagged mass.

  One look at him, and I know my plan failed. He’s standing upright, moving easily. Considering that same drug supposedly knocked me out for hours, I doubt a whole syringe wouldn’t have any effect on him.

  “Did you really think that would work, Ada-Maria?” he demands. Anger rips through each syllable, matching the ire flashing in his eyes. “That you could drug me and just prance away? That I would really make it that easy for you? Do you want to know what you really injected me with, Ada? The equivalent of vitamins.”

  I can’t tell if he’s lying or not. But nothing else could explain why he’s here now, on his feet, obviously alert.

  “I even had Ines prepare a wonderful breakfast in case you decided to come crawling back on your own,” he adds, presumably his reasoning for why it took him so long to come after me. He wasn’t drugged. He was gloating. “Shame you missed it. Though you can still run if you want.” He forms a visor with his hand and comically scans the horizon. “Go ahead. Spend the day running to freedom. You wouldn’t even get close. There is no one to save you here.”

  It’s as if his words are the trigger for every ounce of pain, weakness, and exhaustion I’ve kept at bay until now. I break.

  My sobs are dry and gasping with no real tears to show for them. Just teasing hints of moisture that blurs my vision and stings my eyes even more in the brutal sun.

  “You’re here until I tire with you,” I hear him say over me. “After last night, that moment is drawing nearer, Ada. Look up.”

  He snaps his fingers, commanding me to.

  But I can’t. So close... My eyes downcast, I clench fistfuls of the brown dust beneath me and watch it filter away on a gust of wind.

  I was so close.

  The thought haunts me, regardless of if it were true or not. As long as I kept moving, I felt close. Brave. Strong. All of those things I never was.

  Without my father, I was always nothing. Am nothing.

  It was a mindset my mother instilled, abiding by that very creed until she was wasting away before him, and he didn’t even notice. She let Roy Pavalos consume her and groomed me to sacrifice myself in the same way.

  But I can’t…

  “Come here.” I see his shadow as he lunges for me, but I don’t move. Not even as he snatches the chain from the ground, unwinding the tangled mass. “You were quite convincing; I’ll give you that,” he says, letting the chain loosen as he returns to the car. “Spinning your little lies. Trying to get my guard down. Using the one talent you do have. I’ll be sure to add that skillful mouth of yours to the listing. Those bastards at La Guarida del Tigre will have fun with that.”

  La Guarida…

  I lose track of the thought as he braces his free hand against the car’s sideview mirror and wraps his length of the chain around it.

  “Think about how many other talents you might have to save yourself, Ada-Maria. Because when I get you back to the house…”

  He lets the threat hang in the stifling air, conveying the same promise as a death sentence. I can’t run anymore. I can’t fight him. All I have to combat him with are three pathetic words.

  “I hate you.”

  He scoffs and tugs on the chain, yanking me forward. I barely manage to brace my hands over the dirt to catch myself.

  “Move.”

  He climbs into the car, slamming the door after him. I consider lying here, unmoving, letting the heat and exhaustion finish me off. I barely have the energy to stand. Slowly, I attempt to, groaning as I rise to my knees.

  And the car begins to move.

  As does his end of the chain. Unraveling, the coils of gold kick up dust as it extends with every inch of distance he gains, until…

  Clink!

  It’s like being caught on a fishing line. I have no choice but to crawl in the direction of the pulling force. Stagger. Fall. Stand. Run.

  Die.

  He doesn’t relent, no matter how many times I trip. The chain gets so tight I swear it will snap. Frantic, I grip it with both hands in a vain attempt to loosen the pressure. Then it becomes my only stabilizing force to find my balance.

  The sun bears down, blindingly hot, until I can’t see the car. I can’t see anything. What a fitting metaphor for the hell my life has become—well before the kidnapping. Two years ago, I finally tried to take steps to end it.

  And I failed.

  If anything, this moment is the chance to finally make up for that regret.

  So, I close my eyes as the chain grows tighter, cinching my throat.

  And I just let go.

  “Ada! You look at me! Ada!”

  I can’t breathe. It’s just a relief. At the same time, it hurts. My lungs are on fire, my throat crushed. Even as I try to suck in air, I can’t.

  I’m dying.

  “Shit—”

  A metal clang sounds. Then air…

  I suck in with faint, stingy breaths, but it’s enough that my lungs fill. Too late do I realize that I’ve blown yet another chance.

  Because of the same man who foiled my prior attempt.

  “You look at me,” he demands, his voice like sin, his eyes blazing like fire. “You look at me.”

  He’s scowling, though his voice lacks any anger or rage. He just sounds bitter. A man too devoid of emotion to feel anything in this moment but aggravation.

  He stands, but I feel myself being lifted as well. Into his arms, I realize. My vision blinks in and out of focus.

  When I come to again, I’m shrouded from the sun, someplace darker. In a car? The engine roars beneath me as my head lulls with the force of the motion.

  The driver’s back is to me, but his scent is life-giving, sustaining my body when every inch feels broken and battered.

  “I…” Trying to speak is excruciating.

  He doesn’t react, but it feels suddenly important to say it, if only for myself.

  “I’ve loved you…since that day. On the road. I did. But you were just like them…”

  And he just happened to join the long list of people I ever cared about.

  My mother.

  My father.

  Pia.

  Alexi…

  In their own way, they all sold me, in the end. He just went about the most literal method of doing so.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The world is wonderfully quiet. And warm. And peaceful. And perfect.

  Until noise crashes through my beautiful, white wonderland of unconsciousness. It’s faint, as if heard from a radio, but I can’t deny a sign of the real world rudely intruding upon my private sliver of heaven.

  “…beginning to think you’re reneging on our agreement, Dom.”

  “I told you,” a man replies, his voice cold. “I got carried away. It’s only been a week. She needs another one here at least. Unless you want her price cut to a third of what you could get for her. That’s if she doesn’t scar.”

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d assume you played roughly with your toy on purpose,” the first speaker scolds. “That way, you don’t have to share. But you wouldn’t be so sloppy as to do that, would you, Dom? She was your bargaining chip to bring me in. You change your terms, then I’m entitled to change mine. Take your week. Though, I mig
ht pay you a visit to ensure there are no more mishaps. You can play with your toy, but don’t forget that technically, little brother, she belongs to me.”

  “You’re more than welcome to take her from me. That is, if you have the balls, big brother.”

  “At least I do still have mine,” the man counters. “Ada Pavalos already has yours in her manicured little hands, doesn’t she? A week, Dom. No more.”

  Silence falls again, but it feels fragile, broken more frequently by various soft noises as if a veil is slowly being lifted…

  Until everything is free to assault me all at once. Chirping insects. Muffling footsteps. More noise, noise, noise…

  And a voice.

  “Hold off on reinserting the tube,” a man says, his tone resonating authority. “Her last dose should be wearing off. I’ll see if she’ll eat by mouth. Keep the equipment near, just in case.”

  Whoever he’s referring to, he must hate. Utterly loath. Thinking of the negative emotions makes my head ache. Pain is cruel, creeping into my delicate realm of peace. My head. My skin. Everything, everywhere.

  I just want to sleep, but with every passing second, I feel that oblivion slipping further and further away. Soon, the white haze around me turns brighter, pierced with bits of yellow. Sunlight. It’s so vivid, like droplets of gold, shining so bright it hurts. I try squeezing my eyes shut and wind up blinking.

  Gradually, my protective cocoon shatters, revealing the reality lurking beneath. I’m in a room, one decorated in shades of white and tan and a mockingly blue sky viewed beyond a row of windows. I think it’s meant to be as beautiful and relaxing as my hazy dreamland.

  But it isn’t. My heart is already racing, my nerves prickling with an awareness that all isn’t as it seems. This room is dangerous. So is this place…along with the scent seeping through my lungs with every frantic breath I take.

  It’s so spicy it burns with every exhale, conjuring memories that flicker at the back of my exhausted brain. A man. A terrifying man.

  Domino.

  His face fills my vision at the exact moment that name flashes across my consciousness. A sun-kissed gold, his skin gleams, his eyes shrouded by thick lashes, the rigid planes of his face set in a stern mask.

  “You’re awake,” he says with no inflection. “Ines will be around in an hour with your meal. I suggest you eat it.”

  He stands, revealing that he was seated in a leather chair placed beside the bed. All black, it’s glaringly out of place, as is the starkly metal structure looming behind him. It’s something medical, I think. My head is throbbing too badly to properly identify it.

  God, I just want to sleep.

  I can barely process the words being spoken to me next. “…suggest you don’t try to get up. Later, someone will come to change your bandages.”

  My brain sluggishly processes each syllable. Bandages?

  That word spurs me to look down. Alarmed, I find that my body doesn’t exist anymore. All I discover is just a seamless space of white where it should be. Until I move, and the whiteness moves with me. Blankets. Slowly, I strip them away. Beneath, my limbs are whiter than the fabric, damn-near blue, and pink and brown. I’m a patchwork of colors and textures. Tiny spots of dark purplish flesh. Jagged lines of scarlet. Splotches of raw, scabbed skin.

  Then strips of white. Bandages. Like I’ve been ripped to pieces and put back together with glue. A Frankenstein monster of wounds and injuries.

  The panic I feel is like a living thing, ripping through my insides, distracting from any other thought. I’m hideous, my one defining attribute gone.

  Because he didn’t kill me.

  I look up and realize he’s left the room. The harsher details I didn’t notice before stand out. One of the windows is open, allowing in the warm air scented with flowers. I’m back at the mansion, even though I remember running. Confused, I scramble to view my feet and cry out in a mixture of pain and alarm.

  They’re both wrapped in bandages, but I can feel the raw skin beneath. Blisters and torn flesh ripped away by the dirt.

  I walked on foot for only God knows how long.

  And I was dragged back.

  A hopelessness unlike any I’ve ever felt sucks my breath away. It’s chilling and all-consuming. I just sink inside myself, knowing there is no way out.

  No hope.

  But I tried. I remember stabbing him with the medicine, and injecting him with some of it. From what I vaguely remember, he didn’t seem drugged in the slightest when he approached me in the desert.

  Did you really think that would work, Ada-Maria?

  Somehow, he knew…

  “Your meal, Miss.”

  I look up to find Ines at the doorway, a silver tray in hand. She advances toward the bed and places it on the rumpled sheets beside me. On it is a bowl of red liquid smelling faintly of tomatoes, a small dish of red berries in a gelatin mixture, and a piece of toast.

  The color scheme of the meal seems deliberately designed to resemble my body’s current state—burned and bloodied.

  I’m not hungry. I try to voice my refusal, but my throat…

  It’s in agony, so sore even thinking of trying to speak triggers a sharp pain. Gingerly, I trace my fingers along it. The skin feels tender to the touch, scraped raw—but the collar is gone, I realize with a start.

  So is the chain.

  “Mr. Domino would like you to eat, Miss,” Ines says, her soft voice conveying a clear warning.

  Domino commands.

  A wave of white-hot anger washes over me. I only register grabbing the edge of the tray, but it’s like I’m watching a stranger throw it across the room. Or attempt to. It’s too heavy for me to fully lift, and the tray and its contents merely land at the foot of the bed, spilling across the floor like blood.

  If Ines reacts, I don’t stay to watch. Instead, I crawl to the end of the mattress and attempt to stand. My legs are wooden, slow to respond to my brain’s commands. I have to physically shove them over the edge of the bed. My bandaged feet drag across the floor, and I know standing isn’t in the realm of possibility.

  So I slide from the bed instead, landing on my knees. My hands smart as I brace them flat and try to crawl in the direction of the mirror. I nearly give up, but vanity gives me the strength where all else fails. I need to see myself. Driven by that goal, I drag myself inch by inch, my cracked nails scraping the marble surface.

  By the time I’ve cleared the side of the bed, I’ve come far enough to watch myself advancing in the mirror’s surface. I’m a broken creature. A desiccated demon, crawling out of hell. My hair hangs limp and lifeless down my shoulders. All I’m wearing is a plain black bra and underwear—neither looks like a brand I personally own, but that’s the least of my worries.

  My arms and legs are riddled with bandages, but what’s been left exposed isn’t entirely unmarred skin. I’m a monster. A woeful creation of scratches, bruises, and skeletal limbs.

  I’m disgusting, every bit as repulsive as the man I see entering the room claims I am to him.

  I expect rage as his dark eyes take in the mess on the floor. Ines stands behind him, her hands neatly folded, head bowed respectfully.

  Finally, his gaze settles over me, and I stiffen, waiting for the impending assault I know is coming.

  “Ada-Maria will take her lunch on the terrace instead,” he says. “Have cook prepare a serving for me, as well. I would like her room cleaned in the meantime. Unless…” His eyes narrow. “She would prefer to continue receiving her meals via a feeding tube?”

  Feeding tube. For some reason, his tone draws my notice to the tall, skinny medical device behind him. It looks like an IV pole, with a square box affixed to a long, metal rod with hooks at one end meant to hang bags of fluid from.

  Or liquid nutrition.

  I’ve been threatened with a feeding tube once before, five years ago when I had no choice but to see my first therapist—an overzealous woman my father quickly replaced when she took my “depressive stat
e” too seriously. The next one only prescribed pills and smiles, a perfect remedy for the daughter of a man perpetually in the spotlight. Baggy sweaters and loose dresses were enough to disguise my “unusually thin” frame before I learned which number on the scale could garner the least amount of attention without making me look like a whale. It became a game of sorts, threading the needle of that delicate BMI range.

  How far could I endure the hunger before it threatened to consume me? As it turns out, for a long damn time. It’s sick to pride myself on something so self-destructive, I know that. But knowing that didn’t make it any easier to loosen the reigns of control I’d mastered so obsessively.

  But I will never forget the sight of one of those machines meant to scare me into eating “normally.”

  I cradle my throat in both hands, horrified by the thought of a tube being shoved down it, my body pumped full of only God knows what.

  “I think you should help Ada-Maria get dressed and meet me on the veranda, Ines,” Domino says, turning for the doorway. “Since she seems so inclined to stretch her legs. I’ll inform cook as to the change in plans myself.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I stare after him, too terrified to resist Ines’ gentle touch as she eases me onto my feet. I lean on her so heavily I’m sure she’ll topple over, but she’s surprisingly strong, able to haul me back to the bed before entering the closet.

  A moment later, she returns, holding a white sundress by its delicate straps. When she helps me into it, it’s loose enough to avoid aggravating my injuries. Though, as I take stock of myself in the mirror, I think the fact that I’m able to move at all is due to being drugged again. It’s wearing off, enough so that I’m conscious, but the pain is a mere echo of what it must be. Excruciating. In addition to the injuries, my skin is sunburned, my nose peeling, my eyes bloodshot and dry.

  How long was I out there before he came for me?

  The thought makes me shudder.

  “This way, Miss.” Ines, once again, is forced to bear most of my weight as she guides me into the hall. It must be late in the evening, just before that golden hour of sunset. It’s stifling, with nearly every window we pass open to let in what little breeze exists.