Blood Ties (Dinero de Sangre #2) - Lana Sky Page 0,18

one man ever came close to earning a glimmer of that same amount of loyalty from me, it certainly wasn’t Tristan Lucas or any of my other conquests.

“Every man I ever met or interacted with, I never had any high hopes for,” I admit hoarsely, staring down at the floor. “Why? I was always mentally comparing them to someone else. Someone who always won out. Always. And who was that?” My voice thickens as the threat of tears burns my eyes. I start to blink, hoping to keep them at bay.

It’s too late. They fall, but in this instance, I jut my chin to brandish them like war paint. I’m not ashamed of them. They, better than anything I could say, prove how sincerely I mean the words leaving my throat. He can’t deny them.

“It was you. Always, it was you. No one could ever measure up to the fictional version of Domino Valenciaga I built up in my head.”

Not even the real man, as it turns out.

“Do you realize how pathetic that makes you? Tristan never had a chance in hell of measuring up, but you? You can’t even match the man I thought you were.”

That gets a rise out of him. His eyes darken, his head dipping low, and my heart stutters fearfully. With three heavy strides, he advances on me before I can even regain my balance fully.

His hand captures my chin, weighing it against his palm as though he’s considering how easy it would be to crush it. I feel his fingers twitch excitedly—God, he wants to.

“I would watch you,” he tells me. “Over and over, I’d watch those fucking videos of you with him.”

Tristan?

“And not only that dumb son of a bitch.” He brings his other hand up to stroke the damp hair from my face, dragging me closer until I’m straining on tiptoe. “Most of the men you’ve ever fucked within the past five years, I caught a glimpse, Ada. Of you, riding their dicks in the back of a fancy sports car or in that private cabana your father owns at the country club. I’ve heard you moan; I’ve seen that perky little ass bounce. I came up with the impression that you were a dumb slut, so easy that a fancy gift and a glass of wine could get you wet.”

He trails off, giving me plenty of time to picture the twisted ways he’s tried to emulate that. With his “gift” of a whip, and the imported vintage, he claimed to know I love.

“I see now that I was wrong, Ada. You failed to live up to even that rather generous impression of you. I thought you were too stupid to know better. That you enjoyed the lifeless sex and cheap affection. Why else subject yourself to man after man, after man who only saw you as an object? But now I see the truth about you.”

He cradles my jaw in both hands, lowering his mouth enough to baste my lips in the warmth of his breath.

“You were never stupid, Ada-Maria. You were calculating, doing whatever your papa told you to, without even taking your own pleasure into account. I worked for the man to get close to him. To learn how best to overpower the sick bastard. But you? What did you get out of being his daughter other than shitty sex and learning how to best fake an orgasm? Oh, and don’t let me forget—being beaten and whipped—”

Thwack! The unmistakable smack of flesh on flesh leaves me stunned. All I can do is brace myself for the pain I should feel—and I do, throbbing like hell, but not on my face or any other part of my body within his reach.

My hand hurts. I eye the reddening, trembling fingers and realize that I’m the one who struck him.

“I’ll let you have that one hit,” he says, running his hand across his mouth. He eyes his fingers, and even from here, I can see the streak of red painting them. He’s bleeding from his bottom lip. “You can savor this, Ada,” he adds. “I gave you one more thing that he couldn’t.”

And what might that be?

I’m not brave enough to ask.

“Stay away from me.” I lunge toward the balcony and into the bedroom, entering it on my own, free from any assault on his part. With my eyes on the door to the hall, I keep moving.

“You never asked me why.”

I glance back to find Domino still standing in the doorway,