Blood Ties by Lana Sky

Chapter Eight

Iwake up in the white room, startled and disoriented. For one, I don’t remember how I got here. I have no recollection of leaving Domino’s room…

In fact, my last memory is huddling on the balcony, still stung from his taunt.

For now, I put the mystery out of my mind and sit upright, realizing that I’m lying on the bed, atop the neatly made sheets.

Alexi isn’t anywhere in sight, at least. Golden sunlight bathes the room in warm shades of yellow that cast a chilling background to the tension still lingering in the air. Domino isn’t around either, but he’s close. I can sense him and his rage smoldering somewhere within the house, waiting to descend.

I’ll make him wait a little longer, though.

I enter the closet and strip my black dress in favor of a new one. This style is lighter, made out of white cotton, and breathable in the heat. When I return to the bed, I find that someone must have come in without me realizing it, leaving a silver tray on the bed. Ines?

I barely pay the food a passing glance, but something catches my eye. A square, white envelope strategically placed upright against a plate of scrambled eggs and beautifully arranged fruit. My name is written across it in sloping handwriting.

Cautiously, I open it, finding just a plain white card with a message written on it. While Ines may have left this tray for me, I doubt she penned these two lines in menacing black script.

I suggest you eat. Or you will regret it.

A friendly morning missive from Domino.

I rip it in half, letting the pieces fall at my feet. Then I turn my back on the tray, fully intending not to eat so much as a damn bite. Let him make his demands and pose all the threats he wants.

But then I realize that I would only be giving him an opening to escalate his taunts. My stomach drops as I remember what happened on the balcony. Every time I try to meet him tit for tat, he turns the tables.

Ignoring him now would be a blatant invitation for him to impose yet another change to our dynamic. Perhaps try to do more than shove a feeding tube down my throat, for instance.

I shudder at the prospect and wind up sitting on the edge of the bed before I can rethink my options. I grab a fork, stab at a piece of egg and bite it, chewing mechanically.

The taste barely registers, but the sickening sensation of food filling my stomach is unbearable. I nearly spit it out. The need to purge is so damn overwhelming that it takes effort to swallow. Once I do, I drop the fork, lurching to my feet.

I’ve done enough.

But then I picture his expression as he said, “You’ll need your strength.” In reality, he likes me weak and powerless. He prefers having the utmost control over my body and my life.

He’d love having one more reason to rip away what fragile autonomy I have left.

So I force myself to pick up the fork and take another bite. And another.

The food feels like lead going down my throat, but with every subsequent bite, I can’t ignore the selfish satisfaction I feel at denying him a victory in this arena. He’ll have to look for something else to lord over me, another weakness to exploit. I won’t let him play on my insecurities so recklessly.

Fuck him.

I surprise myself and nearly clear the entire plate. I even manage to consume most of the fruit, and when I finally step back from the tray, I’m grinning. For the first time in years, a full stomach doesn’t make me feel disgusting and stuffed.

I feel ready to face him and whatever he might throw at me next.

But the second I step one foot beyond the doorway, that bravery fades. I’m on his turf again, forced to navigate his twisted, dark world without any sense of direction.

It’s still morning, I think. When I head for the circular foyer that serves as the heart of the house, a rare sound reaches my ears, so disarming that I stop in my tracks and crane my head to listen.

Laughter. Sexy, raucous laughter—a female and a male’s, his deep and melodic and unmistakably genuine.

I’m skeptical as I gather up the nerve to follow it, convinced that a different man must be out on the terrace where the sound resonates the strongest. Perhaps the mysterious Jaguar returned to see our dynamic in action for himself?

But no.

The figure chuckling shamelessly on a white lounger, his head thrown back to expose his throat, is Domino Valenciaga, Alexi seated across from him.

“I told you,” she purrs, leaning toward him so that her ample breasts threaten to spill from her low-cut white tank top. “I am a woman of many talents.”

“I believe you,” Domino replies. “It takes a certain talent for attracting trouble to catch Jagger’s attention.”

“Oh no you don’t,” Alexi teases. “No prying, Dom. It’s rude.”

She doesn’t see me, smirking at him, her blue eyes sparkling.

But he does. He goes silent mid-laugh, and even I can admit that the shift in him is terrifying to witness. His eyes lose what hint of warmth they had and go cold as his shoulders fall into a hard, rigid line. With a stern tilt of his chin, he levels his gaze in my direction.

God, he must truly hate me. It’s the only explanation for why he can react to me so harshly within seconds.

And yet, while alone with Alexi, display a relaxed demeanor I don’t think I’ve ever seen him embody. Not once during my captivity, not even during all the years he worked for my father. In fact…

I don’t think I’ve ever heard him laugh like that.

“I need to speak to Ada-Maria in private,” he says. His chilling tone spurs Alexi to lurch to her feet without argument. Swaying her hips, she heads inside, staring right past me, her nose in the air. I ignore the slight and focus on the man before me.

He’s leaning forward, his hands braced on either knee like a soldier readying for battle. His outfit reinforces that comparison. He’s swapped the dark attire for white today, opting for slacks and a loose shirt—but, for what I think is the first time, he’s left the buttons completely undone.

Given the fact that Alexi didn’t seem bothered by the sight of his scar, I realize that it wasn’t modesty or shame that drove him to cover it all this time. It was me.

He didn’t want me to see it, and I doubt that fear of my reaction was his motive. He wanted to make sure that he held all the cards at his disposal until the last possible second, shielding his supposed identity as Pia’s brother.

Which means that he doesn’t think I’m quite as stupid as he pretends.

“Morning. Did you enjoy your breakfast?” he asks, his tone flat in comparison to his laughter.

I force a smile in return. “It was marvelous. I was starving, thank you.”

I see his eyebrow go up, and I get the sense that he’s wrestling with storming into my room and seeing the tray for himself. Instead, he snaps his fingers, and a woman appears in the doorway, too short to be Alexi.

“Ada-Maria is done with her breakfast, Ines,” Domino says, which I assume is her cue to go check.

In the meantime, he nods toward the lounger Alexi vacated.

“Have a seat.”

I deliberately skip over the lounger he indicates, claiming the one slightly further apart, just beyond his reach.

His eyes narrow at the insolence. To my shock, though, he doesn’t call me out directly. Instead, he sits back, crossing his arms to inspect me with a searching glance that has me squirming.

“I’ll give you one last chance to rethink lying to me,” he says, his voice soft and nonthreatening—which just makes me even more on edge. I don’t trust this suddenly patient side of him. A threat lurks beneath it, I’m sure of that. “Admit now that you were playing a game, and when I whip you in punishment, I’ll do so gently.”

The genuine excitement in his voice chills me to the core—though it shouldn’t. Hurting me is one of the few things that seems to arouse Domino Valenciaga.

That, and when I dare to step toe to toe with him and play devious mind games of my own.

“And if I’m not lying?” I counter, lifting my chin to hold his gaze unflinchingly. “What will I win?”

His teeth flash in a dangerous smile, his laughter coarse, echoing throughout this part of the terrace. “You’ll earn time,” he says. “Trust me, that’s the most precious commodity you can attain at a moment like this.”

Because he’s the one who decided to leverage my “time” in the first place by selling me. He’s the monster in this equation—I can’t forget that.

Even if I have to pretend to make nice with him long enough to earn as many precious seconds as I can.

“I think I know where you can start looking,” I say, phrasing my wording carefully. I’m not outright claiming to know where Pia’s body is—or if she’s really dead. But if he hopes to find something, I’m the best option he has.

All I have to do is see the world from Roy Pavalos’ cruel, calculated viewpoint. Where most men would see a plain, featureless map, my father would see territory ripe for the taking and various features to exploit.

As long as he worked for him, I’m sure Domino knows exactly how his old boss used to operate. He wouldn’t demand an answer from me if he didn’t think I was capable of coming up with one, either because my father told me or because I happened to guess.

Aware of that, his sly grin falls.

“I’m the best chance you have,” I say, risking provoking him by prodding his weakness outright. I can’t help it. For once, I have some semblance of an upper hand.

For a heartbeat, of course.

A second later, he’s on his feet, approaching me slowly. I shiver as he places one hand on my shoulder. His fingers flex, teasing me with a fraction of his strength, a mere reminder of the damage he’s capable of.

“Don’t think you can jerk me around, Ada-Maria,” he warns, using that same hand to brush a stray curl from my cheek. “I could kill you right now, and never even have to justify why I changed my mind.” He strokes a path up to sink his fingers through my hair, capturing a handful of it. Brutally, he yanks, so hard that tears spring to my eyes. “Understand?”

“Again, you keep hinting that you have no intention of honoring your own offer,” I croak, blinking back unwanted tears. Gradually, he releases the pressure, still keeping his hand against my skull. “Why should I even trust you?”

His nostrils flare, his eyes darkening as if he’s mulling over the prospect of humoring me at all. Too far,Ada, a part of me warns. You can’t push him too far.

My only hope is to reel him back.

“I want to trust you,” I force myself to whisper. The words fall flat, nowhere near convincing.

And yet, he laughs, amused all the same.

“I love the way you look when you try your mind games on me.” He lets me go and moves to stand near the balcony, gazing at the gardens below. “You get this pathetic, hopeful glint in your eyes. It’s fucking sexy. If I were a dumb cunt like the other men you’ve fucked.” This time the warning in his voice rings out loud and clear. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking I am. For your sake, Ada-Maria.”

“I won’t,” I rasp, though I think I’m speaking to myself more than him. I can’t keep getting caught up in his game. I need to stay one step ahead. “So what if I do know where she is, Pia? Do you have proof that my father is dead?”

With his back to me, I only have his posture from which to discern his reaction. But it’s… Alarming. He stiffens in a way that has me bolting to my feet, readying for an assault from his end at any moment. I hate these volatile shifts in him. They’re like a storm that comes on suddenly with no warning.

“Proof,” he echoes in an unsettlingly deep tone. “Should I have his body dug up for you, Ada? The pieces, anyway. Or dissect the dogs I had the rest of his remains fed to? I’m sure you thought out exactly how you might be presented with such evidence?”

I’m winded by the grisly images. At the same time, I’m resigned, almost anxious to see them. Anything. It won’t be real until I know for sure.

Only then can I truly grieve.

Or dread the possibility that he’s been lying to me all along.

Without revealing an answer either way, he heads toward the archway leading inside the house. I start to panic, worried he’s about to turn the tables yet again. Leave me waiting.

Instead, he cocks his head, my sole warning to follow.

Eagerly, I trail him through the foyer, past my room, and into his. In neither space do I find any sign of Alexi. Is she still here?

I don’t have the strength to ask. He demands my sole focus, and every brain cell in my skull is consumed with him.

I hold my breath as he approaches the bed. Will sex be the next hurdle I’ll have to jump through?

No.He reaches past the rumpled sheets for a nightstand made of dark wood. From it, he grabs a small, electronic device that I’m sure wasn’t there before. He had it ready for this moment. Waiting.

“Here—” He hands the object to me—a small tablet with a video already pulled up on the screen. A white play button lurks over a still shot of what looks like a reporter in a newsroom. “Watch it.”

My finger shakes as I tap the screen, triggering the video to play.

Within seconds, I get my answers as to my father’s fate.

“Tragedy in Terra Rodea, as more details about a fatal crash involving mayoral candidate Roy Pavalos and his wife Lia, who was declared dead on the scene. Mr. Pavalos has been transferred to a local hospital where he’s still listed in critical condition…”

Thud!My knees hit the floor as the tablet falls from my grasp, clattering across the polished marble. It all comes back to me. All of the fear, and the pain, and the uncertainty.

Like a punch, the revelations slam into me, and I sob louder with each one.

My mother is dead, beautiful and sweet and innocent in the grand scheme of my father’s empire. I haven’t let myself think of her until now—I couldn’t. She wasn’t perfect…

But the loss of her guts me. I’m hollowed by the thought of never seeing her again. Never having her presence as a buffer against my father’s criticism.

Because he’s still alive.

Roy Pavalos is still alive.

And I wish Domino would have killed me himself.