Blood Ties (Dinero de Sangre #2) - Lana Sky Page 0,8

to me. “We’re done. Get out.”

The water shuts off a heartbeat later, leaving me drenched, but still unclean. His seed mingles with the droplets of moisture dripping down my inner thighs.

A fact he is well aware of, I realize, as I look up to find him barring the entrance, a cream-colored towel slung around his waist. He doesn’t offer me one of my own. Instead, he jerks his chin. “I said get out.”

Rather than argue, I stand, surprised to find myself limping after him. I must have struck my hip when I fell, but I welcome the pain. Every fiery, throbbing jolt grounds me, reaching past the drunken haze of sex to reinforce the grim reality lurking beneath.

He’s a bastard who sold me and killed my parents.

What the hell am I doing here?

I go still mid-step, pondering just that. I’m so lost in the daze that I miss the second he comes for me until it’s too late. He already has a grip on my forearm, forcefully steering me back against the row of granite countertops.

Without a word of explanation, he snatches my hips, lifting me unceremoniously so that I’m sitting on the hard surface—with him standing in between my legs. I instinctively try to close them, but he doesn’t budge, fixated on my left thigh. Already, a deep red mark is visible, stretching from my hip to my knee. I can tell merely from how it aches that it will bruise.

“At least I’ve proven I can ignore pain,” I croak, hating how conditioned I sound already. Broken. “That will please my buyer, too. You might get a better price—”

He hisses through his teeth, silencing me mid-taunt. I just watch him instead, riveted by the slow, careful way he drags his finger along the mark, pressing down so hard I wince. It’s as if he’s remembering every mottled bit of flesh, noting how easily I bruise.

Not to denote on some fucked-up seller’s manifest.

But so he can do it all over again.

And again, and again.

“Get dressed.” He pulls away without remarking on the pile of clothing I’ve already selected for myself. I’m sure he can tell from the shape and color who they belong to.

He must be too distracted by his own thoughts to engage in another battle of wills so soon. Or, he’s preoccupied with another matter entirely. His hand lands on the counter just beyond my reach, snatching up a familiar brown object as I flinch—his watch. Coiling his fingers over it, he cocks his head toward me. “By the way, Ada-Maria,” he adds, his voice ragged. “At La Guarida del Tigre, they won’t care how much pain you can endure. They’ll only want to hear how loudly you can scream. I suggest you think about that as you process how little time you have left.” Still sporting his towel, he strolls onto the balcony and disappears from view.

I collapse, landing hard on my knees, tasting blood as I bite my lower lip to smother the scream still building in my throat. I almost succeed, reducing the noise to just a pathetic gasp that echoes for a split-second before I scramble to my feet, drowning it out.

I eye my carefully selected outfit and consider just leaving this room naked. I feel trapped again. Like even if the thought felt like my own, wearing his shirt would only cement this strange hold he thinks he has over me. Ownership. The ability to decide whether I live or die.

And how.

But as my gaze flits to the doorway again, I realize that the second option is far less appealing, knowing that Alexi Rojas is lurking somewhere beyond this room as well, ready and waiting to gloat.

I snatch the shirt and pull it on, then scramble into the boxers. By the time I cross the balcony and re-enter his room, Domino is already dressed, buttoning a crisp black shirt all the way up to his neck.

I watch him, hating the glimmer of appreciation that hits my chest before I can help it. He can seem so graceful when he wants to.

And so cruel when he needs to.

He rakes his gaze over me before strolling into the hallway. Automatically, I start to follow, and I’ve barely reached the threshold when I find the door slammed in my face.

A harsh click warns that he locked it, though I test the doorknob anyway. It won’t budge.

“Domino!” I slam my hand against the wooden surface, but the only response I hear is the sound of his steps