Blood Ties by Lana Sky
Chapter Seventeen
Iwake up to the sensation of warm sun on my back and the feeling of an empty bed, over which I’m lying lengthwise, my feet dangling off the edge. I know without having to open my eyes that Domino is gone.
Maybe I’m too fucking pathetic to check for myself. I don’t need any confirmation to reinforce the coolness of the box spring beneath me or the lack of thick, brutal fingers raking through my hair.
And I can hear his voice…
Faint, it sounds like it’s coming from beyond the room, but not in the direction of the hall. The closet?
“…be ready for me. I know it’s earlier than we planned. Just be fucking ready. I have no idea what he’ll do; just wait for my signal. Gracias.”
Curiosity alone spurs me to open my eyes, just in time to catch him storming from the closet, a cell phone in hand. My gaze latches onto it for a second before my brain sleepily catches up, and I realize why the sight strikes me as so odd.
I’ve heard him on the phone, but I rarely see him with it. In fact, the last time Jaguar called, Ines brought the phone to him. He must be keeping it hidden somewhere beyond my reach.
Just in case, I decided to do the smart thing, like call for help or try to figure out where in the hell we actually are.
“Get up.” He meets my gaze while stowing the phone in his pocket—a spot where I know for a fact that he doesn’t keep the device regularly.
As if aware of me watching, he gathers the clothing scattered across the floor one item at a time.
“Go wash yourself and get dressed,” he tells me, tugging at his collar. Today, it’s buttoned all the way, the closest he’s come to embodying the dress style he utilized while working for my family.
Is it merely coincidence that today happens to be the day Jaguar has made it known that he’ll arrive? I’m not bold enough to jump to that conclusion. Yet.
Instead, I scramble to my feet, still naked. I catch his eyes raking over me, and I note that they gleam as coldly as his tone. It’s a subtle, but disarming change from his relaxed mood last night. Once again, I have whiplash at how volatile he can be. Calm, like a sheet of ice one minute, and blazing the next to rival the most intense inferno.
Staggering to my feet, I slip past him, eagerly darting into the closet. I can’t escape the tension weighing down the atmosphere. I can taste the unease. The dread.
In so many ways, it reminds me of those brief moments when my father would be away on business, right before his return. The faint smile my mother would sport in his absence would fade, and the servants would become frantic, ensuring every little detail was in place.
On second thought, it’s not exactly the same. Jaguar inspires something in Domino that not even my father seemed to. In the presence of Roy, he was always the stoic bodyguard, despite his supposed hatred of us from the very beginning.
But when it comes to Jaguar, or Julian, there is no ounce of restraint that I can sense. He’s shamelessly angry, uncaring of who sees it.
As hilarious as a comparison it might be, in my head, I’m bold enough to make it. When it comes to Jaguar, Domino reminds me of…
Well, me. Trapped in a world, he has no clue of how to escape. All he can do is go through the motions and loathe every minute of it.
But therein lies a murkier set of questions that I’m not even sure I want to toy with speculating on. My father had twenty-five years to break me down and mold me into the creature I’ve become. In essence, that time has numbed me to all of the vile things he’s made me do. Some of them, anyway.
But what has Jaguar made Domino do to garner such hatred? For the past five years, he’s spent nearly every waking moment in Terra Rodea? Does their feud stem from before that, maybe around the time he received his mysterious transplant?
I’ll let you put the pieces together, he said last night. I thought it was a cruel jab at first, but now I can parse over all of the other little breadcrumbs he’s let slip. Once, he told me that he owes a debt that can’t be paid with paper money—only blood.
How did he put it? An eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth.
A heart for a heart.
I brush my fingers along my chest and realize I’m shaking, even before my newest suspicion has fully taken hold. Could Jaguar’s interest in me go beyond sex? He bought my “body,” but in the literal sense…
“I told you to get dressed.”
I turn, startled by the sight of him still here. His gaze flits over me, dark and unreadable. Any other moment, I don’t think I’d be brave enough to provoke him so early.
But, as it turns out, I might not have much time left to find answers of my own.
“You sold me,” I croak, hating the raw pain in my voice—and the fear. “Be honest. You didn’t sell me to some sex dungeon, did you?”
“I don’t follow,” he replies.
“Did you sell my…b-body. You said you owed Jaguar more than money. Did he find your heart? And now you’ve promised him a new one.”
He laughs, and I blink at the sound; it’s rich. Almost as real as the one he displayed with Alexi. As he chuckles, he enters the closet again, and my own heart stutters.
“You think I’ve sold your body parts on some transplant black market? That’s too creative, Ada-Maria, even for me.”
“So then clarify it and stop dancing around the truth.”
His eyes cut to slits. “I sold you to be fucked and tossed from buyer to buyer. Use your imagination to fill in the gaps.” He might as well be referring to an animal. Or a bug. Something he deems beneath the need for empathy.
An object.
I don’t know which ultimate ending would be worse, to be honest. To be used for sex or sliced to pieces. Either way, it’s obvious that he doesn’t give a damn.
“Maybe you should wrap me with a bow,” I whisper, feeling so helpless… I could scream. “Then I’ll be ready either way.”
“I’d tie the bow around your neck,” he suggests. “Then you would be ready either way. Now get dressed.”
He stalks past me and snatches a dress from a hanger. Then he reenters the main room and approaches the makeshift barricade still blocking the door. With graceful ease, he shoves the mattress aside and pushes the wardrobe back to its usual spot.
Opening the door, he leads the way into the hall and into the bathroom. Then he runs the water in the tub, and when he reaches for me, I can tell from the set of his shoulders that he expects me to run or put up a fight.
I don’t do either, letting him drag me into the water with no resistance.
I submit to the surprisingly warm—not scalding—bath and barely pay him any attention as he retreats to the other end of the room.
I’m too busy dwelling on the current state of my life. In retrospect, could I have ever expected to end up any differently? Still a pawn of my father’s, despite what Domino claims. It’s hate for Roy Pavalos that darkens his gaze every time he looks at me.
“You have that look,” Domino scolds, reappearing with a towel that he places on the floor, a rag, and a bar of soap. Sinking into a crouch, he dips the rag into the water and works it into a lather. “That pining, kicked-puppy look that warns Ada-Maria hasn’t gotten her way.”
“I’m not in the mood for jokes,” I say absently, staring straight ahead even as I feel the water swish as a result of his ministrations. “I’m thinking of how sad your life must be. Five years. All this effort, and my father is hooked up to a machine keeping him alive, and I’m ‘at your mercy.’ And yet, you don’t seem very happy, Domino. You could have done so much more rather than gain so little. All in the name of revenge.”
“How many times do I have to say it?”
A gasp catches in my throat as the warmth of the rag strokes over my chest, guided by his hand. He makes the motion brusque on purpose, I suspect. I’ve seen men wash a car with more care.
“This was always about more than just you or your father.”
I finally look at him. He’s hunched over the tub, seemingly intent on dragging the cloth down over my belly before moving to the part of my thigh exposed above the water’s surface.
“Then why work so hard to infiltrate us?” I demand. I sound angrier than I have the energy to feel. If he did it all for no reason, then that makes him less dangerous mastermind and more… Callous, sloppily cruel for no reason. “Why arrange for my mother to be killed. Why—”
“I’ll tell you a story, Ada-Maria.” He tosses the rag aside and braces his hands against the rim of the tub. “A story about a stupid, poor boy with a broken heart who made a deal with the devil because he believed life was worth living, enough to fight for it, no matter the cost. Then he quickly realized what men like Roy Pavalos take for granted. Some bargains aren’t worth the price you wind up paying. Life, as wonderful as it may be, isn’t worth selling your soul to maintain, and sometimes the consequences for hunting down wealth and power, no matter the cost, can be heftier than anyone is willing to pay. You may sob for your father, all while forgetting the hell he put countless other people through. The dozens of papas and mamas he stole, the families and lives he ruined. And yet, as twisted as he may be, Ada-Maria, he is but a tiny cog in the wheel of evil men who keep this cruel world turning. I suggest you dry your tears, because this is only the beginning.”
I am crying, though I didn’t even realize. It’s like my eyes have been so overworked these past few days; they drip without any warning or input from my brain, painting warm trails down my cheeks.
I try to garner any meaning that I can from his little story—that my father is just one in a long line of men he plans to ruin? A part of me doesn’t care, and doesn’t want to waste any more time trying to understand the complexities of Domino Valenciaga. It’s the same impulse that used to drive me to drugs—a vicious need to ignore my life and current surroundings no matter the cost.
I embrace it now, putting everything else out of my mind but a desire for quiet. I ignore him, leaning back to wet my hair beneath the water. Then I submerge myself fully beneath the surface, drowning out the world. And him.
He’s still speaking, I realize, as a rumble of syllables reaches me, distorted by the water. I contemplate ignoring him, using that as an excuse to stay under, long past the moment my lungs start screaming for air, and the blood rushes through my skull…
Finally, I sit up again, gulping for breath.
But he’s still speaking, unperturbed by my interruption. “…and what if this boy made a bargain without knowing there was a price to pay at first,” he says softly. “He merely wanted to live and cease being a burden to those who loved him. He lived his borrowed life like a good soldier, staying within the confines of his new identity. But then he realized that it’s suffocating as hell being forced to live a life you never asked for. You start to believe that you’ll do anything to escape it. Kill anyone. But everything in life comes with a price, one that must be paid.”
I’m holding my breath again. He sounds different than before. I suspect this story is less hypothetical than he led me to believe, and I scramble to listen, inspecting every word and the picture they paint. Domino believes himself to be that boy, I think. He made a deal with the devil—Jaguar?
And now he’s paying the price.
“So to cancel your debt, you sacrifice me?” I ask him, gathering the nerve to meet his gaze. I expect to find the same bold, mocking man I’ve been battling with all morning, poised to deliver an insult at my expense.
“No.”
The figure I’m faced with now is a man I’ve almost forgotten he used to be these past few days. The stoic, cold Domino Valenciaga with a wealth of secrets hidden behind that searching stare. Even without the aid of his cowboy hat, his mystery returns in full force—and I can’t escape the feeling that I’m only seeing a fraction of the real danger he’s thrust me into. Only what he wants me to see.
“No, Ada-Maria.” He plunges his hand beneath the water’s surface, skirting my parted legs, to withdraw the rag. Deliberately, he takes time wringing out every drop of moisture from it. “You haven’t been paying attention. If selling your cunt could save the world, Tristan Lucas would be a very happy, very alive, and very wealthy man. You have value only to the right people. The right kind of men.”
I’m more frustrated than ever. It feels like he’s spinning me around and around, taking immense satisfaction in watching me squirm and question. He loves keeping me blind and off-balance.
What’s the point of even attempting to resist him? Why not give him exactly what he wants?
“I want you to protect me,” I ask him directly. “I’m asking you to.”
I expect him to grin evilly over the prospect of me pleading for help. Instead, he frowns, his eyes narrowing.
“I was wrong,” he says, rising to his feet. “Begging doesn’t look good on you. Get up.”
I obey, letting him dry me off and dress me in the outfit he procured from the closet—a black dress with spaghetti straps and a neckline low enough to rival Alexi’s.
I wonder where she is. Has she left now that Jaguar is arriving? Was she the one who called him in the first place?
“I’m sorry if I caused a rift between you and your little friend,” I say, as he withdraws from me and heads for the hall.
“Don’t be.” The look he shoots over his shoulder is eerily calm. Composed. Too composed when paired with his rage from last night. “You did exactly what was expected of you.”
He leaves without grunting out a command, and I don’t race to follow him. Damn the smug bastard. He has my head spinning again. Just what was he hinting at? That he knew I would lose my cool around Alexi and blow up his little plan? Then why tell me to keep quiet in the first place?
Because he’s lying, obviously. He didn’t plan this, or he wouldn’t have been on the phone earlier, confessing to a change in timeline. But that just brings up the bigger question of what exactly he is planning.
And why.
I must lose track of time, because the next time I startle to awareness, my hair is nearly dry, and Ines is standing in the doorway to the bathroom.
“Mr. Domino requests you join him for lunch,” she says with a respectful nod. “He is on the terrace.”
My heart pulses as I move to obey, entering the circular foyer to find that it’s mid-morning already, if not the early afternoon. Domino is lounging alone this time, a platter of food on the table nearby.
I square my shoulders before stepping out from the archway, prepared to do battle yet again.
Instead, he gestures to the seat across from him. “Eat.”
It’s strange how he’s broken down the one bastion of control I’ve ever maintained in my life. Hunger has always been a beast of my own making, always at my discretion for how gnawing it could become before I’d finally give into it.
Around him, hunger means nothing but a tool with which he can use to escalate any standoff to his advantage.
So I sit and snatch something from the tray at random, bringing it to my lips. I chew woodenly, holding his gaze for as long as I dare. When I finally look away, I hear the cushions of his lounger creak beneath his weight as if he shifted his position.
“Alexi was a pawn brought in by Jaguar to help me navigate the more delicate intricacies of the Terra Rodea social scene.”
In other words, to fuck the men in my orbit.
“Why are you telling me this now?” I ask, glancing at him again.
He leans forward, staring past me, his expression harder than ever. “She fed me intel and kept me updated on the whereabouts of Tristan Lucas, but that was as far as our relationship extended. I never fucked her.”
There’s no inflection in his voice, and I can’t tell if he’s lying or telling the truth. All I can do is reiterate, “Why tell me this now?”
“Because Alexi belongs to Jaguar,” he says coldly. “She always has. Everything she does, she reports back to him. I don’t know what he has over her, so in some ways, I can’t blame her. But you need to keep that in mind the next time you get the urge to run your mouth because I’ve pissed you off. Beyond your father’s fancy mansion, everyone belongs to someone, Ada. The world is a patchwork of alliances and rivalries, and I suggest you think long and hard about who you align yourself with.”
“How would someone like Alexi wind up with someone like Jaguar?” I ask.
He raises an eyebrow. I’ve surprised him, I think, but only because he seems to believe the question is too obvious to humor. “Why else?” He snatches a piece of fruit from the platter and takes a bite. Its juices paint his lips red as he declares, “People will do anything for love, or for revenge.”
Is that his way of telling me that Alexi’s motives stem back to what happened ten years ago? On the one hand, it sounds ridiculous. On the other…
After seeing the lengths Domino himself has gone through in the name of vengeance, I can’t count out anything anymore.
“What does that mean? You alone can help me? Pardon me if I’m skeptical of that.”
“You can be skeptical,” he warns, taking another bite of fruit. “And still be smart. Tonight, you’ll need to make a choice.”
“You? So you can spin more riddles and torment me with even more mind games?”
“So I can find my sister’s body,” he counters in a tone so serious it catches me off guard. “And so you can tell me what really happened to her and stop using the missing pages of a diary as an excuse to feign ignorance. I want the truth from you. I’d prefer if you cooperate, but even if you decide to jump on Jaguar’s cock tonight, know that I will still have you.”
“Because you own me?” I ask softly, rephrasing the same claim he made against Alexi when it comes to Jaguar.
“No.” Finished with his meal, he licks his fingertips clean. “Because you are not as stupid as you look. Sooner or later, you’ll come crawling to me, and this time your begging won’t be for show.”
He thumbs my cheek and stands, wiping his hands on his pants.
“I’ll be gone until tonight. Play nice, and I suggest you don’t get tempted to go running into the desert again, either.”
“Where are you going?” It’s a bold question, one he humors with merely a raised eyebrow instead of an outburst of rage.
“A place where naughty girls, daughters of a monster like Roy Pavalos, can’t follow. Ines will keep an eye on you, so don’t get any ideas.”
He strolls past me, entering the house, and I somehow can sense the exact moment he leaves. The tension in the air lessens, and I can breathe easier.
But in his absence, that ominous feeling from before only grows.
Jaguar is coming, and despite Domino’s word games, I’m not sure what it means. Something bad, my intuition warns. I would be a fool to sit around and wait patiently for my impending doom to be handed to me on a silver platter.
I rise and enter the house, surprised to find no one wandering the spacious halls. Not Ines, or even Alexi. Is the blond still here? I can’t sense her presence the way I can Domino’s.
When I enter his room, however, I don’t find her twisted in the sheets. His bed is still neatly made, which makes sense considering he slept with me. I’ll parse over that glaring lack of judgment later. For now, I set my sights on the one task I should have been fixated on from the very start.
Finding answers.
I inspect the closet first, retracing my steps to the same duffle where I found the vial of Lorazepam and the explicit photos. Do I believe him when he claims to have never touched her? Of course not, though it doesn’t matter now.
The side pocket is empty, the photos gone.
Of course, he wouldn’t leave me with anything more than the breadcrumbs he deems worthy of taunting me with. I know this entire search is in vain, but I can’t stop myself from scanning every shelf, inspecting them in more detail.
The clothing stands out to me, the more I inspect each garment. In fact, the female clothing outnumbers his. I’d be tempted to suspect he has some sort of secret fetish for wearing it himself, if the sizing wasn’t skewed so small that I doubt he could fit a single thigh where the waist is meant to go.
Something I heard him say comes back to me, uttered in a tone so gruff and deep that I suck in a breath just reliving it.
I’ve obsessed over this body, Ada-Maria. What I would have you wear when you were mine.
I’d almost believe it… That he bought these with me in mind, my body, his tastes. If it weren’t for the glaring fact that Alexi is the exact same size, along with most of the women in Terra Rodea. How many has he plied and captured before sending to Jaguar?
I let the resentment build, giving me the strength to keep searching, hunting for anything out of place, merely out of pure spite. I rummage sloppily through the hangers so that he’ll know I was here, touching his clothing. His shirts. His pants. I toy with the material, noting its quality but also how new it all seems. Which makes sense—after dropping the Domino persona, he would need all new clothing with which to embody his freed self. A man who harbors more secrets than any man should have the right to.
And every step of the way, he’ll only feed me pieces at a time, at his discretion. He must get off on my confusion, more than even my pain. I bet it makes him feel powerful to exert so much control over me, thinking he can anticipate my every move.
And if I were a smug bastard like him, I’d gloat over my captive’s supposed innocence. I’d take joy in hiding snippets of information right under her nose, and I would relish in watching her squirm.
Whether by accident or subconsciously. I’m near that black duffle again. This time, I unzip the main compartment, even though it was empty initially when I first found the things he planted for me.
This time, it’s not.
Inside is a neatly folded set of clothes. A passport. A wad of coiled cash. Underwear—women’s underwear…
The clothing, too—a black sweater and light wash jeans—are far too small to fit Domino Valenciaga. Could they be Alexi’s?
I bring the bag to the watch cabinet and remove each item one by one. The first observation that takes my breath away is, when I open the passport, Alexi’s picture isn’t the one I find inside.
Though, the name reads Alicia Garcia, I vaguely recognize the woman in the stern-faced passport photo. Her hair is a dark brown, the same length as mine, her eyes listed as gray, her height listed as five foot, five inches…
She looks like me. The photo could be one of me, in fact, though altered with darker hair. When I eye the clothing again, a dull sense of dread begins to build in my gut. While the right size to fit Alexi, they’d also fit me. The style is much more practical than a flimsy, revealing dress should I decide to go “wandering in the desert again,” as Domino taunted. Or for another reason entirely.
Like maybe he plans to let me go. Take me back to Terra Rodea and refuse to sell me after all? Hope is an insidious impulse, flaring before I can counter it.
A more likely explanation is that this is what he plans on shipping me off to Jaguar wearing. Why not make his job easier?
Angrily, I tug my dress over my head and throw it to the floor before pulling on the sweater and jeans. I take the passport and stuff it into one pocket, sliding the wad of cash into the other.
Now I’m truly ready to play my role—a toy to be bought and sold.
