Blood Ties (Dinero de Sangre #2) - Lana Sky Page 0,44

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