Blood Ties (Dinero de Sangre #2) - Lana Sky Page 0,30

throat, robbed of all intensity.

“You will have plenty of time to mourn later,” Domino warns in a voice so cold the liquid dripping off me feels scalding in comparison.

I watch, numb, as he sets an empty glass pitcher onto the same nightstand he took the tablet from. With his back to me, he rakes a hand through his hair, and I can sense the irritation prickling beneath his skin. This is restraint from him, I realize.

Because in reality, he wants to do a whole lot more than douse me with ice water.

The full extent of his cruelty—and his hate—feels dizzying to examine in full, now that I have video evidence. My father may not be dead, but in so many ways…

The truth is far worse.

“She loved you,” I croak, once I find my voice again. It sounds like such a childish thing to say, but it’s the truth. I think of my mother and how much she struggled over the past few months. A struggle I did everything in my power to ignore, from drinking myself into a daze to resorting to cocaine. I denied her when she needed me the most.

Selfishly, I think. Because I assumed she already had someone to help her through that pain, someone more reliable than I ever could be. As much as he may deny it, Domino ran errands for her when he thought no one was looking—but I always had my eyes on him and never missed the days he’d take her prescriptions to the pharmacy. The nights he’d escort her from dinner when the exhaustion became too much. I used his loyalty to her to justify my indifference.

And he killed her.

“Why?” Tears lash at my vision, blinding me to everything, even common sense. Somehow I’m on my feet, launching myself toward him—but I don’t even touch him before he pivots, shoving me onto the bed.

“This shouldn’t be a shock to you, Ada-Maria,” he points out. “I’ve told you the truth from the start.”

He has. Maybe, all this time, despite his taunts, I truly didn’t believe it.

“Why Mama?” I rasp. “She was a good person. She never hurt anyone. She—”

“She left you at the mercy of a tyrant for your entire life, Ada. Don’t make her out to be a saint,” he scolds, but his tone falls flat. He’s merely saying those words, but they lack the hatred of when he speaks of my father, or even me.

“Why?”

“Why do you think, Ada?” His tone turns cutting and harsh. “She had terminal cancer, was taking enough pain medication to fell a horse, and she suffered the trauma of a ‘car crash.’ A papercut could have killed her at this point. Crying changes nothing. It happened.”

“But my father…”

That news report must be from days ago, I realize. Probably the same night I was abducted. If my father was in the hospital in critical condition, I doubt Domino would have been able to obtain his body in time to roast over an open spit.

“Still in critical condition,” Domino says, now facing the windows that portray storm clouds moving across the horizon. “Last I heard, the bastard is still peeing out of a tube and breathing with the aid of some very expensive machinery. The DA is still hot on his ass, though. He’ll be in for a rude awakening, dead or not—”

“So… You lied.”

I’m on my feet again, and this time I feel my palm connect with his shoulder hard enough to sting.

“You bastard!”

He doesn’t waste effort to restrain me this time. He merely turns, leveling me with the full brunt of a glare so chilling I stagger back in the face of it.

“Tell me, Ada, are you truly this gullible? Sometimes, I will admit that it is hard to tell.”

“You’re sick.” I’m sobbing in earnest, barely able to get the words out completely. The full breadth of his lies is mind-numbing. Insane. And twisted. “Who was that?” I demand, swaying on my feet. I have to brace most of my weight against the nearest wall just to stay upright. “On the spit?”

“Oh, that?” he shrugs as if I asked him about the brand of clothing he’s wearing. “That was a clever arrangement of pork. Very convincing if I say so myself.”

Too convincing. It strikes me that I honestly don’t know which is the lie.

My head is spinning, my throat constricting. The food from earlier jolts in my stomach, heavy and repulsive.

Purge.

The impulse is so strong that I’m already racing into the hall by the time