Blood Bound (A Dark Cartel Romance) (Dinero de Sangre Book 3) Read online

  “Where are we?” I demand a second time, testing my sore limbs. In the end, I manage to slump closer to the nearest window, but the low hills don’t enlighten me on our location one damn bit. There isn’t a house or building in sight.

  “Luis,” I rasp. A glance behind me reveals no one in the back seat, either. “Where is he?”

  Appearing on my end, Domino raises an eyebrow. I’ve surprised him.

  Without supplying an answer, he yanks my door open so suddenly I nearly pitch over, too weak to hold myself upright. His grip on my shoulder is the only thing keeping me from falling out of my seat—my right shoulder.

  I gasp out, recalling at the same instant that my wrist is broken. Panic surges down my spine as I tense in anticipation of the agony that never comes. Looking down, I realize why—my arm is immobile, supported by a black brace made of sturdy material. It extends from my shoulder to my wrist, lessening some of the pain.

  “Look at me.” Domino grips my chin, impatience radiating through his fingertips. “You’ve had one hell of a ride,” he murmurs, tilting my head for inspection.

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  Only as his eyes narrow do I realize what he’s doing. Checking how dilated my pupils are. Whatever he finds makes him purse his lips in disappointment. “It’s a damn good thing we aren’t trying to cross now. You’d get us flagged the second any agent takes one fucking look at you. I suggest you take my advice and try to piss while you have the chance. Hold onto me.”

  He offers his arm, and I blink.

  “You’re wearing your costume,” I croak.

  Gone are the casual loose shirts and slacks he sported around his estate. Both have been swapped for jeans and a denim shirt with the collar buttoned. All he’s missing is the wide-brimmed cowboy hat, and he’d be the spitting image of my father’s faithful bodyguard.

  His scowl, however, disrupts the façade, proving what it was all along.

  An act.

  “What you call a costume, I call practical in the heat, Ada-Maria. Now move.” He lunges for me, and I wince, too weak to push him off.

  Pain is the only thing I’ve come to expect from him, but all he does is loop his hands around my waist, hauling me from the truck himself—gingerly. The second he sets me on my feet, my knees buckle.

  “Lean back,” he growls, shoving me against the vehicle itself. I was right to guess it was a truck. Painful nostalgia brings back bittersweet memories of watching him drive off in a battered pickup. Unlike his old navy model, this one is red.

  I’m so caught up in observing it that I miss the moment he palms the front of my jeans.

  “W-Wait!” My belly flips, my thighs tensing as I try to bat him off one-handed. Images flash through my brain of the last time he had me in this position, and all I can do is ask, “You’d fuck me now. Like this?”

  He chuckles, but it’s not malicious or mocking. Dare I say it even sounds genuine? His teeth flash, bared by a smile that lasts a heartbeat. Then he’s scowling again, focused on the task at hand.

  “I want you to piss like this.” He kicks my legs apart, drawing my attention downward. I’m still wearing the black sweater and jeans I took from his closet—but someone added a new component to my outfit while I was unconscious—sturdy black hiking boots.

  My first impulse is reckless—all I’d have to do is push past him and make a break for the scraggly hills surrounding us. With proper footwear, I’d probably last longer than my previous escape attempt.

  The second feeling washing through me is just more confusion. Kindness is so unsettling from him.

  In my experience, it’s only ever followed by violence. A smart woman would run now—though there is the small dilemma that I can barely hold myself upright. My knees tremble, straining to support my weight.

  “I need a hospital,” I insist.

  “You need to listen to me,” Domino snaps back, shifting so that my shoulders are braced against the side of the truck. Then he crouches, continuing to drag my jeans down my legs.

  “W-What are you doing?” My cheeks flush as hot air teases the skin of my thighs, melding with his body heat. The sensation reinforces the reality that I’m at his mercy, helpless against whatever he has in mind. When his fingers twitch over my hip, I suck in a breath. “S-Stop—”

  “Relax.” Anticlimactically, he stands and grips my shoulders so that if I did happen to pee, I wouldn’t wet my pants or the shoes.

  Or him, for that matter.

  Rather than gratitude, his rare display of thoughtfulness spurs my unease. So I retaliate the only way I can. With spite. “Are you going to drag me all the way to Terra?”

  “I could.” He lets that statement hang menacingly in the air. “Or I could leave you here as a tempting decoy.”

  I don’t miss the underlying threat—yet another reminder that, according to him, I have no one else to rely on.

  But he’s wrong.

  “My uncle is looking for me,” I blurt, merely to gauge his reaction. I so desperately want to see him flinch. Frown. Something.

  His eyes narrow, but I can’t tell if it’s out of irritation or amusement. “I wouldn’t go looking to Rodrigo as a savior.”

  A part of me quivers. I know my father is no hero, but is my uncle no better?

  “If anything happens to your father, who do you think will be next in line?” he adds, feeding on my doubt without me voicing it. “Your uncle. Your brothers. They aren’t your allies—merely claimants to the throne. Loyalty means nothing when power is up for grabs.”

  “You should know,” I hiss.

  “I do know. Which is why I suggest you don’t take my protection for granted.”

  He sounds so damn smug—as if he’s dancing around something unspoken, daring me to voice it. Rather than ask outright, I deflect, “Because you’re the one who has my best interests at heart? Would that be before or after you had me kidnapped?”

  “Because I’m the one with your life in his hands.” He flexes said hands at his sides, cracking the thick knuckles one by one. “After all, you’re the one who put it there.”

  “Not by choice,” I bite back—but it’s a lie.

  Gradually, bits and pieces of that last night at his estate return, putting the truth into blinding focus. I did choose him over Jaguar—but Domino made a monumental choice of his own. He left the estate without Jaguar’s permission, taking me to only God knows where for only God knows what.

  Though, to be fair, he did give me a hint. He’s aiming to get back to Terra Rodea, a task that involves a border crossing. Suddenly the fake passport I discovered in his closet makes more sense.

  I wonder if that’s how he smuggled me here in the first place.

  “Who is Luis?” I demand a second time, changing the subject. “A friend of yours?”

  “You have four seconds to piss before we need to move.” As he angles his head toward the sun, I see a genuine hint of alarm cross his gaze. He’s worried.

  “I could always leave you here,” he adds in the same breath. “Cutting the deadweight would keep Jaguar off my scent for a few more hours. At the rate you’re going, he’ll catch up by lunch, just in time to break more than your wrist.”

  As much as I try to suppress the fear, I can’t. Neither can I ignore the pressure in my bladder and the million other pressing concerns my body chooses now to make known. I’m starving—but this hunger isn’t the same bastion of control I’ve clung to for the past decade. It hurts. The gnawing ache in my belly makes it harder to think. Harder to reason. Harder to find the strength needed to resist the man before me.

  Shame sears my cheeks, but I close my eyes and relieve the one discomfort I can on my own.

  “It’s about damn time.”

  I open my eyes again as Domino advances, withdrawing something from his pocket that he unceremoniously swipes between my legs. A dry rag. Satisfied, he yanks my pants back up and fastens them. Then he retreats, waltzing toward a thicker patch of grass—presumably to foll
ow his own suggestion.

  Alone, I inspect our surroundings more closely. This landscape varies from the region around his mansion in more ways than one. It’s drier, the air liable to suck every ounce of moisture from my throat. Given the rugged terrain, I don’t think Domino’s quip about rattlesnakes was merely to unsettle me.

  “Come on.”

  I jump as he reappears near the back of the truck, zipping his fly. My gaze tracks the motion, and I swallow hard as he draws close. Easily, he lifts me into my seat before returning to the driver’s side. When he reclaims the wheel, he slams his foot on the gas, kicking up a swell of dirt as we go.

  I inspect the truck’s interior, noting that on the back bench is a black duffle I recognize from his estate, along with an unfamiliar burlap sack.

  “What’s in there?” I ask, eyeing him guardedly.

  He doesn’t even take his attention off the road. “I suggest you put your energy into preparing to walk.” Apparently, he isn’t in a mood to reveal any more secrets.

  “Don’t you think you owe me answers?” I ask, trying a different tack. “Something? After everything you’ve done—”

  Abruptly, he flicks the dial for the radio, triggering a barrage of upbeat mariachi music. “It’s at least a six-hour drive where we’re headed. Then we’ll need to move on foot. Focus on that. Here—”

  He reaches across me, wrenching open the glove compartment. From it, he snatches what looks like an energy bar and tosses it onto my lap.

  “Eat.”

  The question of how—with only one hand—crosses my mind. Rather than ask for help, I grab the bar with my good hand and bring it to my mouth. Thankfully, I manage to tear the package open with my teeth, but then I hesitate.

  I wait for the disgust. The nausea. The desperate need to cling to this gnawing, aching hunger and seek that fragile grasp on control I’ve come to rely on.

  Instead, my stomach growls, and in three bites, I consume half of the bar outright.

  “Where are we going?” I demand after swallowing, raising my voice above the noise.

  If he hears me, he doesn’t bother to answer.

  Good. He had a point—I should focus—like on what the snatches of the broadcast I heard as I woke up revealed. My uncle is in Terra. While he lacks the political pull of my father, Rodrigo has influence and money of his own. If I could find a way to contact him…

  “There is a search for me,” I say carefully, watching Domino’s reaction from the corner of my eye. “My uncle. The police. How do you plan to get me into Terra without drawing notice?”

  He makes a show of scanning the road, still silent, but I know he’s listening.

  “Either you talk to me, or I leave.” To bolster the threat, I muster enough strength to swipe at the door handle.

  “Stop.” He shuts the music off, leaving only the hum of the engine to fill the quiet. Finally, he sighs. “Do you have any idea what I’ve done?”

  He lets the silence resonate for a handful of seconds before answering his own question, “Jaguar claimed you. I took you anyway. He’ll see that as a direct challenge. Do you have any idea what that means?”

  His tone chills me to the core. I swallow hard, weighing my response before replying. “That you’re a selfish bastard?”

  “No,” he says softly. “That I let five goddamn years of planning go down the shitter because of you. He won’t stop. Not if he feels I need you—that I want you for some other purpose. Fuck—” he strikes the wheel so hard I jump. “If you’d waited another fucking day at least to have your petty little outburst…”

  I must be more out of it than I thought—either that, or he’s lost his damn mind. “So, this is my fault?”

  Riling him is a dangerous game, but I’m too exhausted to dance on eggshells anymore.

  “You did this,” I remind him in a hiss. My eyes burn. I frantically blink, but there’s no stopping the tears that fall. “You sold me to that sick bastard! What the hell did I ever do to deserve that?”

  “You haven’t been listening.” Real emotion colors his tone; he’s angry. Furious, in fact, though he’s managed to disguise it until now. “I suggest you pay close attention, Ada-Maria. Jaguar will kill you if he thinks your death will affect me. Congratulations. You did the one fucking thing sure to provoke him.”

  “What?” I demand.

  “You chose me over him,” Domino growls. “You might as well have wrapped a noose around your neck.”

  “What was I supposed to do?” I ask, genuinely curious. “Hop onto his cock?”

  “You were supposed to shut your fucking mouth and do what I say.”

  “Oh really?” I watch him, but fury isn’t what I find straining those handsome features into a frown. This is something far more unsettling. My pulse surges as if warning me to back down. I don’t think I want to know the answer to this riddle.

  “Maybe I should have stayed with Jaguar?” I suggest, choosing to play with fire. “At least he was upfront about what he wanted from me.”

  “Damn you.”

  The truck veers off the road in a cloud of dust, and we stop so suddenly I jolt forward, forced to brace my good hand against the dashboard. Any pain I feel vanishes in the face of his cold scoff.

  And terror instantly replaces it.

  “So fickle are your affections, Ada-Maria,” he snarls. “I guess pain is what truly gets you off. Maybe I shouldn’t stop myself the next time I feel the urge to wrap my hands around your fucking throat—”

  “You’ve done that,” I counter breathlessly. Reaching up with my good hand, I trace the flesh in question. It’s still tender, smarting from his use of a collar. “You think you’re so different from him?”

  His eyes flash, and I recoil against my seat. The way he looks at me… It’s an expression somewhere in between shock and hate.

  “You don’t know how many fucking times I’ve gone against my better judgment when it comes to you.” Gone is the false calm. This is the Domino I remember.

  The same twisted figure who held me captive for weeks.

  “I could have let you die a million different ways by now, Ada-Maria. Don’t think I haven’t considered it. From that very first day your boyfriend offered your head to Jaguar on a silver platter, I could have let you go to him then, and I can tell you for a fact that more than your wrist would be in pieces by now.”

  “So why didn’t you?” My heart pangs, betraying just how badly I crave an answer to that question. Why? Even if it’s a cruel, selfish reason—which it must be—I still need to hear him say it.

  “Why?” He lashes out, fisting his hand in my hair so hard stray hairs rip from my scalp. Pain isn’t his motive.

  Control is—he wrenches me toward him, bringing my face within inches of his.

  “I told myself how easy it would be. To watch you die. To see him fuck you. Hurt you. Sell you.” He ticks the horrors off one by one, his voice devoid of any emotion. But when he brings his free hand to my jaw, it trembles—and that rare hint of instability chills me to the bone.

  “Some men have to commit horrific crimes to know they’ve crossed some moral line, Ada. Kill men. Women. Children. Not me. I’ll let you in on a little secret. You were always my gauge—”

  “What does that even mean?” I snap.

  Irritation radiates from him so fiercely I can feel it on my skin, hear it bitten into every word.

  “My pretty, Ada-Maria... As long as I didn’t give a fuck as to what might happen to you, I could face Don Roy on even ground. No one could stand in my way. Not even his daughter with the perky ass and Bambi eyes. God, you make it so easy to hate you.”

  As if to prove it, he drags his fingers through my hair, tugging on random strands as he goes. Hard. Harder. I wince, and he changes tack, stroking my forehead with terrifying care.

  “I knew that I could step aside and let Tristan play his little games at your expense. I could use your body to settle an old debt and never think twice. You meant nothing to me.”


  I hate the tears that spring to my eyes. It’s one thing to experience his hatred firsthand—but it’s torture to hear him state it so plainly.

  “Then why not kill me?”

  “Why? Five years,” he says hoarsely. “Five damn years. That’s an odd time to plot revenge, Ada. Have you asked yourself why I would act now? Or why that time frame? After everything I’ve done for Don Roy, what could make me finally act against him? Believe me or not, five years wasn’t anywhere near long enough—” the look in his eye cements the conviction in his voice. He means every word. “I would have worked for that bastard for ten decades if that’s what it took. Why ruin the life I built up, huh? I knew Jaguar’s stupid ass stunt wouldn’t kill him. I had to beg that bastard to help me in time. I had to scramble to get the resources in place to bring you to me. Why? What might force me to tip my hand? I’ll tell you…”

  He flicks his tongue across his bottom lip. Then, in a voice like sin, he grates out the answer, “You.”

  He adjusts his grip, grazing his nails carelessly against my scalp, using the pain to reinforce his next words. “I wanted to spare your feelings before, but no more. That bastard ordered me to kill you. Not Tristan. Not some nameless cartel. Me. You were meant to die that night—but by my hand.”

  Ice-cold, his eyes don’t hold a shred of remorse or pity. Just endless hate.

  “Do I have to spell it out for you? Your own father wasn’t just willing to sell you,” he says gruffly. “He wanted you dead.”

  Chapter Two

  He wanted you dead…

  No. I shake my head, refusing to process the rest of his claim—it’s too insane. This is just another sick mind game at my expense.

  “You’re lying.”

  “Am I?” A muscle in his jaw twitches as he releases me, settling back into his seat. “He didn’t think I’d question him,” he adds. The lack of fire in his voice makes my blood run cold. Though he’s lying. He must be…

  “It wasn’t the worst act he’s ordered me to commit, by far,” he continues, his expression contorting into the calculating frown I know so well. “Hell, I couldn’t tell you everything he’s done in the name of your family. But I never thought he could order the death of his own daughter over a cigar and a whiskey.”