Blood Ties by Lana Sky

Chapter Twelve

I’ve angered him. His eyes latch onto my mouth, and when he yanks me forward again, I’m sure he’ll bite me outright, like a true beast.

He kisses me instead. What my brain processes as a kiss anyway, the act of two mouths meeting for longer than a peck.

But Domino doesn’t suck at my mouth sweetly to compel me to silence. He brutalizes. His tongue lashes at mine like a whip, demanding submission. Nothing more, nothing less.

But it shouldn’t feel so damn good.

He makes me fight to keep up with him or risk being consumed. I have to meet every prodding jab of his tongue with one of my own. Open my mouth further to let him in. Take him in.

In so many ways, this feels more intimate than even sucking his cock. I can hear him more clearly—feel him in my head. His grunts of pleasure when he nips me with his teeth. His startled hiss when I bite him back.

His heartbeat rages, hammering through my breasts as the scrape of my dress’ fragile material irritates my nipples into sharp, stabbing peaks.

He grips me tighter, practically kneading the flesh of my ass until I’m arching my back to escape the pressure. Then leaning into it…

God, he makes me hate myself. My body turns against me, and my brain struggles to keep up. I hate him. Hate him…

And yet, I shiver in anticipation as he slips his fingers beneath the hem of my dress, finding the bare skin of my ass.

And the delicate, sensitive valley in between.

I jump, unable to silence a cry of alarm—one he greedily swallows before letting me withdraw.

My lips sting, my heart racing as I realize how close we are—practically skin on skin. If it weren’t for the fabric of his pants…

We’d practically be fucking. A pang shoots through me, joining a pulsing pressure building in between my legs. Gritting my teeth, I ignore it.

“Not entirely a good girl after all,” Domino remarks, leaning back, his posture casual once more. To any onlooker, at least. I can feel the tension ripping through him, and I have a terrifying suspicion that I’m not the only one smothering an ache.

Though, as if to counter the mere possibility of him being unable to resist me, he brings his hand to his mouth, taking the pad of his thumb between his lips.

My throat goes dry as I realize where that finger has been.

“One day, you’ll beg me to take you there.” He says it so casually I’d laugh were he any other man. But his tone lacks the pleading desperation theirs would carry. He’s so confident of the inevitable he doesn’t even bother to put effort into stating as much.

He’ll take me there.

“Ticktock,” I manage to croak. “I only have four days to prove how good I can be after all.”

His eyes narrow. Sensing his thinning patience, I’ll take this as my cue to leave.

When I ease myself off of him, he doesn’t react, letting me stand on my own. I’m bold enough to turn toward the house and take a step, though who knows where I’ll go once I’m inside. Somewhere far from him to regroup and think. I need to stay focused on my goal—finding a way to get out of this alive. I should be hunting down any information, not humoring him.

Though I can’t escape the feeling that anything worth learning wouldn’t be kept in the house. He must have another hiding spot somewhere, in a place he thinks I won’t reach.

“Wait.” His voice rings out when I’ve barely gone beyond the ring of white couches.

“Yes?” I stop, though I don’t dare look back.

“I think it’s time we take a swim. Somewhere where we can discuss the duties of a good girl in private.”

My heart aches; it’s pounding so hard. I have to physically make myself breathe. In and out…

“I don’t have a bathing suit,” I wheeze in a ragged exhale.

“Good. I don’t intend for you to wear one. After all, my good, grateful girl would hide nothing from her hero.”

The bastard.

My eyes burn with frustration at how easily he can yank my chain—literally and figuratively. My only consolation is that he hasn’t retrieved that despised collar from wherever he’s hidden it since my escape attempt.

I want to deny him. I even start to, my lips parting.

Then I recall the tidbit he snuck within the mocking banter—discuss in private.

Apparently, he wants to talk to me outside of Alexi’s earshot. Recalling this morning, how he ran the shower before making his offer, I have to admit that it’s a convincing stunt.

So I’ll play one more round of his sick game.

Still, I can’t resist a desperate attempt to turn the tables, no matter how small a move it might be. As I spin to face him, I run my hands along my hips, bunching up the material of my dress as I go. Slowly, I wind it up, up, eventually lifting it over my head entirely. Wadding the fabric in a fist, I throw it onto his lap with a final dare. “Lead the way.”

* * *

His idea of “a swim”occurs in a section of the property I have yet to discover, just past the terrace gardens. There are three levels of the feature in total, each one graded downward to the next until finally the paved path reaches the ground. The amount of landscaping, let alone water, required to maintain such a property astounds me.

Domino lurks just a few steps ahead, his face angled away, shoulders tensing with every step we go. He’s paranoid, though he’s very good at hiding it. I suspect Alexi isn’t the only one he’s second-guessing the motives of.

He’s wary of me.

“You said once that you owned this land before you started working for my family,” I point out.

“I did, and you’ve been here before.” His voice reaches back to me, barely audible above the chirping of insects and bubbling waters of a small fountain we pass. “You don’t remember?”

“I think I would remember if Pia owned a place like this,” I counter.

If the Ingleciases owned even a fraction of this amount of land—and were able to afford to maintain it like this—I think Pia’s life would have been very, very different. She wouldn’t have needed to pry her way into my world at all. I could have grown up alone, without her friendship.

The thought stings, and I shy away from it.

“I think we established that your memory can be faulty at times,” Domino says, leading me around a bend that coils against the outside of the house. Perched on the hillside above, the structure of it is breathtaking, made of tanned stone and a beautiful array of Spanish architecture mixed with that of an Italian-style villa.

I’m so distracted by the sight, that I almost miss the carefully concealed dig hidden within Domino’s reply. Was he referring to my recollections of Pia?

Or of him?

I haven’t decided by the time we finally reach our presumed destination.

It’s a square-shaped naturalistic pool sunken into the earth, placed close to the hillside. A fake waterfall extends, nearly as tall as the height of the entire terrace itself, compiled of tan stones built into the earth and gently trickling streams of water that enter the pool from three different locations.

Now I’m sure of it—Pia Inglecias definitely didn’t possess a property like this a decade ago.

Still, I hold my tongue as Domino approaches the water’s edge and strips his shirt before tugging off his slacks. “Get in.”

My nakedness feels more heightened here than during the entire walk across the property. This place is shrouded by a row of planted palm trees, not visible from the house itself. I don’t spy any hint of the servants who I know lurk throughout the rest of the property.

We feel more alone here than even locked inside his room or in a shower stall.

If I were to scream, I doubt anyone would hear me or even care enough to come running.

“Don’t tell me Ada-Maria Pavalos is afraid of a little swim,” Domino remarks as he steps down into the water himself. It’s so deep that only his head and shoulders are visible once he’s waded toward the center. Cold, his eyes meet mine, chilling enough to have me shivering despite the persistent heat. “I know for a fact you’re not that shy. Get in.”

I choke down my unease and dip my foot beneath the water. It’s cool, but refreshing when paired with the full brunt of the sun. I keep going, realizing that a set of broad, stone steps beneath the water’s surface help me gradually adjust to the various depths. By the time I join him near the waterfall, I have to kick my legs to keep my head above the water.

He watches me, able to remain standing with his height advantage.

“You seem to know me so well,” I rasp, stopping as close to him as I dare.

“I know that you’ve spent enough time on the yachts of rich men to lose the right to feign caution when it comes to the water,” he snipes.

My cheeks flame. I hate how readily he can throw these snippets of my past in my face. Even if I want to deny his insinuations and cruel assertions—I can’t. He has five years of information on me stored away, but I have nothing on him. Just snippets and details he may have intentionally left for me to find.

Still, I sense that he’s ready for me to start asking some questions of my own. His eyes glitter, electric in contrast to the turquoise water. On second thought, I think he’s impatient for me to start asking, like I’m taking longer than he thought.

Maybe because a part of me is rightfully terrified by the potential answers.

“Why lie?” I demand, my voice breaking. “Why pretend that you killed him?”

And then serve his “body” to me in well-cooked pieces.

He inclines an eyebrow as if this wasn’t the question he had in mind. Still, he humors me, lifting his shoulder in a shrug that disrupts the water between us. “I will kill him,” he clarifies with a finality that leaves me reeling. “But I needed to know if you were just another pawn in his game.”

I don’t like how his tone shifted over that last statement.

“What do you mean?”

He inclines his head, eyeing me for so long that my legs start to ache from the effort it takes to paddle in place. “I mean, I needed to know if once again Ada was merely playing her role in a larger game on her daddy’s say-so.”

I blink as his meaning strikes me all at once. “You thought I knew.”

It sounds so ridiculous in retrospect. And at the same time, so damn cruel. He wasn’t sure if I knew my father’s fate, so he decided to test me in the worst way.

Even now, a part of me recognizes that he could still be lying. If he claims to have faked a cooking body, a fake news broadcast would be child’s play in comparison.

“I thought your father valued your life more than he apparently does. I was skeptical of how things looked on their face. I’m finding myself warming up to the idea that they are as they look, after all.”

More word games and subtle insinuations.

“If you want to turn me against my father, it isn’t working,” I croak.

Mainly because I’m still in whiplash over the various disruptions in my view of him over the past few days. First, he was on the verge of being indicted. Then he was dead. And now…

“I’m not as stupid as you think I am,” I snap, meeting his gaze as he remains rigidly in place while I start to drift, exhausted by the effort of swimming. I drift back to the shallower end, where I can stand with my feet touching the pool’s bottom. As a result, there’s a good ten feet of distance between us, and I consider climbing from the water altogether. “I know what you’re trying to imply.”

“What? That your father conspired with your uninspired, politically ambitious, philandering asshole of a boyfriend to use your presumed kidnapping and death to take pressure off of his impending legal battles? Could a man truly be so cruel, Ada-Maria?”

I cringe at the picture he paints, even as I rail against it. “Don’t mock me. I know firsthand what my father is capable of.”

So does he.

Yet, he raises an eyebrow. “That doesn’t sound like a denial.”

“He wouldn’t,” I insist but, for whatever reason, the words sound flat, easily overpowered by the roar of the water surging between the rocks above.

“Come here.” He extends his hands behind him, propelling his body toward the largest waterfall, positioned at the very back of the pool. At the same time, the tilt of his chin makes my belly quiver. It conveys a dare he voices in a gruff rasp, “Unless you aren’t as confident of your beliefs as you think you are.”

I swallow hard before lunging toward him. “I’m confident that I don’t trust you—”

“You should.” When I come within his reach, he grabs my wrist, easily tugging me closer. “I suggest you not take offense to the series of events that have prolonged your life, Ada,” he warns, his tone unusually deep.

I stiffen as he drags me toward him, gripping my waist beneath the water. With his strength supporting me, I don’t have to fight to stay suspended. Warm, his lips graze my ear, his voice a grated murmur that resonates through flesh and bone, into my belly.

“The possibility that you may be innocent in this scheme of your father’s at least, is the only reason why you’ve kept my attention for as long as you have.”

Before I can counter that, he starts to drift, carrying me into an even deeper section of the pool while my thoughts reel. Only our heads are above water now, and I find myself bracing my hands over his shoulders, unnerved by the loss of control. In his grasp, I’m at his mercy. If he decides to pull me under here, I won’t be able to fight him.

Satisfied by that very fact, he positions me so that our faces are inches apart, our mouths so close I feel each brush of his lips as he speaks.

“This is the part where I give you permission to run that smart ass mouth of yours,” he murmurs.

It’s the best chance I’ve had to question him. So I’ll take it.

“Tell me what you want? Who is Jaguar? Why were you fucking Alexi? Why is she even here? How—”

“So greedy,” he scolds, flexing his hands against my waist in punishment. Beneath the water, his heat is neutralized by the colder temperature, meaning that I’m forced to contend with the texture of his touch in a way I haven’t before. He’s strong, every finger resonating a subtle pressure that warns he could easily hurt me if the mood strikes him.

And it already has more than once.

His eyes are unreadable, shrouded by heavy lids that cast shadows over those imperceptible green irises. I can’t tell if he’s annoyed by my barrage of questions or amused.

“One at a time like the good girl you’ve been so eager to be.”

His tone makes his meaning clear—choose wisely. Piss him off or push too far, and he’ll stop.

I lick my lips only to realize that his eyes drift down to track the movement of my tongue from one end of my mouth to the other. His throat lurches, betraying a hard swallow, and I nearly lose track of what it is I’m supposed to be doing.

Right. Learning whatever he’s willing to give.

“Tell me about Jaguar.”

“Julian,” he corrects, putting a harsh emphasis on the name. “Tell me something, have you ever heard of Carlos Domingas?”

I frown, recalling the many acquaintances my father had circling around his orbit at any given time. There are too many to keep track of, their names a blur.

“No—”

“You should have,” Domino cautions in a way that recalls a disapproving teacher during a complex lecture. “Though I wouldn’t be surprised if you haven’t. Carlos Domingas was a man your papa knew very well indeed. They were partners, long before Don Roy slipped across the border and became the polished, savvy politician he presents to the world.”

I’m curious despite myself. He could be lying, but I don’t have the privilege of ignoring him. To his credit, I don’t know enough about my father’s past to challenge anything he might assert. It was a time in his life he rarely spoke about, not even among family. In fact, he only ever referenced himself as a boy when boasting about his scrappy instincts and cunning that led him to crawl from poverty to where he is today.

My father, the ultimate survivor, fashioning himself as the city’s savior.

“Carlos Domingas was a tough son of a bitch. He ran a whole series of enterprises that your daddy would swear now never to have been a part of. That doesn’t erase the fact that when Don Roy first entered Terra Rodea all those years ago, he did it hand in hand with Carlos Domingas and the full backing of his cartel.”

It’s a blunter retelling of the same rumors that have plagued my father’s entire career from its inception. That he was a puppet for drug trafficking and used his cozy position with those in power to force the authorities to look the other way or outright ignore corruption.

He’s always denied as much, publicly, anyway.

If I had to be honest with myself, the man whispered about in those rumors sounded closer to who I knew my father to be than the way he portrayed himself during his campaign speeches.

“When Roy got too big for his britches, he tried to turn on Carlos Domingas, arranging a hit on him. It was clever, of course, and he covered his tracks. But Carlos Domingas was a man who thrived on revenge. Before Roy ever got the thought in his head of betraying him, Domingas already had ten plots of retaliation set in motion.”

“You?” I ask, hazarding a guess.

He grunts out a sound that might pass for a laugh were he anyone else. “In addition to a wealth of cutthroat allies and ‘associates,’ Carlos Domingas had two sons that he started training to replace him before they were even out of diapers.”

His tone prompts me to take another guess.

“Jaguar?” I ask.

He nods. “Julian and a younger brother named Juan. Under the alias, Jaguar, Julian has been amassing his own realm of influence over the ashes of what his father left behind.”

“And his brother? What about him?”

His eyes cut away from me, darker than ever. “Dead. Jaguar runs his little kingdom alone.”

“But what about you?” I recall a fragment of their conversation I overheard. “He called you little brother—”

“A sick attempt at a joke on his part,” Domino says, swatting away the insinuation. “He meant nothing by it.”

“So why me?”

He smiles, but there’s no warmth in it. With his teeth bared, the expression resembles a snarl. “You, Ada-Maria, are here only by the grace of God. That ‘car crash’ hit on your father was never intended to kill him, merely distract. It seems, however, that even Roy Pavalos can’t walk away from such serious trauma without a scratch. When it seemed like he might die after all, Jaguar had no use for you.”

It sounds so cold to hear him state it so bluntly, reducing my worth to my mere designation as the daughter of Roy Pavalos.

“He was tempted, you see, to let Tristan Lucas put his little plan in action to hog the glory of your apparent abduction and claim the vacuum left by the impending death of Roy Pavalos. He would have been a very useful pawn to have under Julian’s thumb. However, I managed to convince him to sever such sloppy loose ends.”

His tone deepens, devoid of all emotion. It’s how he sounded while conversing with my father, accepting any and every task he would hand down. I used to marvel at how one man could seem so detached from the world. From emotions. From everything.

And yet, I hoarded over every brief glimpse I managed to catch of the real creature lurking beneath that mask. Perhaps I fantasized so much about that hypothetical Domino that I lost sight of the stark reality of who he was. Who he’s always been.

A soldier following orders, with no moral compass of his own.

“He’s let me keep you merely to placate me for the time being,” Domino adds, bringing his mouth near my ear again.

We’re still floating through the water, my thighs resting against his hips, his hands still on my waist to hold me steady. I think this is the longest we’ve been so close.

Apart from during sex.

“Why?” I ask him hoarsely.

His brows furrow as he returns his gaze to mine. “Your father’s condition, though critical, is rapidly improving,” he says, ignoring that I’ve spoken. “Which means that your usefulness to Jaguar has just skyrocketed. He’s let me keep you for now because I’m shouldering the logistics of keeping you hidden from the manhunt searching for you, and he doesn’t have to take the risk. Yet. But trust me, Ada, he’ll come for you, and he won’t be your knight in shining armor.”

“And you are?”

He frowns at the slight, but seems to let it slide without comment. Instead, he shifts so that my back is to the outcroppings of rock. I can feel stray droplets of moisture speckle me from above, and the gentle hum of the water is even louder here.

“I have my own uses for you,” he admits.

Suddenly, he lifts me from the water, and I scramble for purchase, gripping a firm surface in return. With a start, I realize that he’s set me down on a rocky ledge while remaining in the water, in between my legs.

Through his lashes, his eyes seem even more intense than usual. He’s like some fucked up, masculine version of a merman, his damp hair clinging to his shoulders, body bare.

Without warning, he grabs my chin, balancing it against the palm of his hand.

When seconds tick by without him expounding on his statement, I once again get the feeling that he’s waiting for me to prod him for more. In this instance, he wants me to.

“What do you want?”

A dangerous smirk flits across his lips before a sterner expression replaces it. He’s scrutinizing me carefully, sizing me up by the time he’s done. And yet he’s not nice enough to voice his impression of me, out loud.

I have to guess from the way his fingers flex against my skin, startlingly soft... Until his nails tease my flesh to give me a taste of the pain he’s capable of inflicting.

“You once claimed that everyone wants to use you to get to your father. Well, you’ve gotten your wish. I want you—fuck Roy Pavalos. But unfortunately, Ada-Maria, I won’t just tell you why. I want you to guess.”

My eyes sting, and the moisture falling from them catches me off guard. Tears. As they lash down my cheeks, I realize why they’ve sprung forth now.

It’s so very cruel, the way he’s toying with me. Days ago, I would have died to hear those very words. I’d have done anything.

But now I know that beneath them lurks a million secrets and lies. They mean nothing on their face.

I want you.

I wish he’d claim to use me against my father instead.

“You hate him,” I point out, craving more than anything that I had the strength to shove him aside and swim away. I need to get away—because I can’t hide it. Not my pain or the grim reality that these tears are real and I’m not faking anymore. “Everything you’ve done to me has been retaliation against him. For Pia. For whatever you think he did—”

“This was never just about him,” Domino interjects, his tone cutting. “I warned you of that fact once. I suggest you listen to me, and that you never underestimate Julian.”

His eyes blaze. He means every word, displaying a hostility that I don’t think I’ve ever seen him exhibit, not even toward me.

“What about Alexi? How is she involved in all of this?”

Some of the bitterness leaves his gaze, and I hate that I react to that, my chest tightening. “She is a pawn of Julian’s, nothing more. I don’t feel strongly about her either way,” he adds, conveying a hint of mercy toward her that he’s never shown me. “But she works for him. Do not forget that, and I would advise against thinking of her as an ally.”

I let the jab pass unchallenged, fixated on the way he said that—she works for him. In his cold baritone, he might as well have said—she belongs to him.

“How did she meet him? How did you meet her?”

He strokes the length of my jawline as he withdraws his hand from my chin, returning it to my unclaimed thigh. “I’ll let you ask her those questions, if you’re truly that curious.”

I hiss in exasperation. “First, you warn me not to talk to her. Then you dare me to—”

“I don’t want you to forget…” His voice softens, and I have to strain to hear him. “I’m the only one you can trust.”

I recoil as far as I dare without risking my balance, crossing my arms over my exposed breasts. “My father said that,” I reply.

He laughs, but it’s a sharp, vengeful sound. “I think we both know for a fact that I am not your daddy, Ada-Maria. At least not in that context.”

My breath catches, my cheeks flaming. It’s suddenly hard to suck in enough air to breathe.

“I… You… You were fucking Alexi,” I say, latching onto the next topic demanding an explanation. “I saw the pictures.”

Pictures that he alluded to leaving for me to find in the first place.

His smile returns in full, ripening as his eyes take on a playful, wicked gleam. “You know better than anyone, Ada-Maria. A picture is worth a thousand words. Fake, useless words meant to spin a narrative. You yourself have starred in dozens of photos that might portray a reality that differed from the truth. Videos as well.”

I hate how easily he wields my own past against me. The worst part is that I can’t accuse him of lying. If anyone would know, he would. He was right when he claimed my father would want confirmation that I followed his orders. And, like a good dog, he gladly followed after me, gathering evidence as he went.

“Tell me, Ada, were your simpering smiles and moans genuine then?”

I flinch. He knows precisely where to prod to slip beneath my defenses. I can’t resist wondering if anything else he hinted at was true. Like that my father was indifferent to my impending kidnapping all along…

And my death.

No. He was lying, of course. Besides, I have to stay focused. Meeting his gaze, I look past my own fear and try to find a weakness of his to exploit.

“Whatever your relationship with Alexi is, you were with her,” I point out. “And yet, you don’t seem to have a problem with her ‘belonging’ to Jaguar now. But…”

His nostrils flare, conveying a warning I fail to heed.

“You don’t seem too willing to share me with him. Why is that?”

He spreads his fingers out along my inner thighs, and I suck in a breath, grappling for a better grip on the rock beneath me.

“Because I never wanted Alexi.” He lowers his head, leaning forward so that his mouth comes dangerously close to my breasts, his gaze fixated below my waist.

I gasp as he nudges my legs apart, easily claiming the space between them.

“I never claimed Alexi. I never spent five fucking years wondering what she tasted like. I never cultivated a kill list of all the men she casually fucked—” His nails dig in as he spreads my legs further, fully opening me to him. The heat of his breath lashes me in searing waves, and my eyelids flutter, my brain paralyzed by the sensation. He’s growling, real anger seeping into every single syllable. “I never wanted her so badly I could get hard at just the sight of her smile. I’ll let you parse over those words, Ada-Maria. I’ll let you decide what that means.”

He lunges downward, and I barely manage to throw my hands in between us, feeling his mouth brush my trembling fingers.

“W-Wait,” I croak.

Not stop.

He looks up, eyeing me through a fringe of black hair, his eyes so vibrant they practically glow.

“I know you’re just toying with me,” I rasp, but it should be the least of my concerns at the moment, his approval. His lust.

Besides, my sloppy phrasing was a pathetic way of avoiding what I really mean—I know you’re lying to me.

“Good,” he says, his voice gruff. “I want you to think of that while I have my tongue buried inside of you. I want you to tell yourself that over, and over until it hurts, Ada. That pouty face you make when you doubt me… It’s sexy as hell.”