Ruthless Savior

A rush of possessiveness firmed my hands on her, but she only pressed tighter into me, seeking my comfort.

Mine. I would have my lost little lamb all to myself, in my home and in my bed. Where I could indulge all the wicked desires that I’d been denying myself since I’d first captured her.

I’d imagined several appealing ways to torment her while I’d tracked her to Juárez. I wouldn’t violate her, but she would learn who was in charge. Marisol had proven that she was rash to a suicidal degree. She needed a firm had to protect her from her own recklessness.

I could give her everything she needed, and in return, she’d give me everything I wanted. By the time I finally fucked her, she’d be begging for my cock, eager to obey my every command if only I would give her what she craved.

I stepped away from her before I could get a hard-on. The last thing she needed right now was my erection pressing into her belly.

I kept my hands on her shoulders, steadying her. She’d been exhausted and terrified to the point of passing out when I’d found her in that dirty alley in Juárez, and the drugs I’d given her might still be affecting her balance.

“Come on, corderita,” I urged gently, taking her small hand in mine. “You need a proper meal. Then, you can go back to sleep.”

She stiffened slightly and glanced around my bedroom. “Where will I be sleeping?”

I cocked my head at her. She clearly wasn’t ready to accept that she’d sleep in my bed, regardless of whether we fucked or not. I was going to keep her close, in case she got any foolish ideas about trying to escape.

“We’ll discuss it after you’ve eaten,” I decreed, giving her hand a little tug as I started walking towards the kitchen.

She hesitated for half a second, but she followed meekly behind me.

I huffed out a breath, something between a sigh and a chuckle. My captive wasn’t nearly as meek as I’d always thought. Her daring bid for freedom had demonstrated just how much fire she’d hidden beneath her lowered lashes during her weeks as my hostage.

The reminder of her betrayal soured my moment of levity. No matter how genuine her apology had been, that didn’t change the fact that Marisol had colluded with my enemies and left me for dead.

I’m so sorry. I thought I was helping Carmen. I didn’t know what Daniel planned. Her ragged explanation played through my mind.

Ever since Arturo had told me of her involvement in the coup, I’d been blinded by rage. But holding her petite body against mine and petting her hair seemed to have calmed me as much as it’d soothed her.

Thinking more clearly now that I had her safely caged in my home, I reconsidered the events that’d taken place since our kiss. I remembered the blood on her cheek and the terror in her dark eyes while she begged me to believe her.

I tried to stop him. I swear I did.

Marisol might’ve agreed to help Daniel access Stefano’s penthouse, but she wouldn’t have consented to take an injury like that. If her goal had been to run for freedom, a head wound would’ve slowed her down.

Keeping her hand trapped in mine, I led Marisol from my bedroom to the kitchen. Her head swiveled as we passed through the cavernous, ultramodern lounge, but she wouldn’t be able to see the grounds outside. The view through the floor-to-ceiling windows that formed the western frontage to the house was shrouded in darkness. Floodlights would trigger to illuminate the yard if someone was stupid enough to breech my property, but I wasn’t concerned about that. Not now that Stefano and I had crushed the coup and Miguel Armendariz, essentially eliminating all immediate threats to our regime.

The gates that surrounded my property on three sides had served to keep unwelcome visitors out during the twelve years that I’d lived in this house. And beyond the small garden to the west of the house, the ground dropped away in a sharp cliff that left me with a nice view of Mexico City in the distance. No one could scale that without triggering my security system.

I glanced back at Marisol to find her staring at the darkness outside the huge windows, as though she could see the garden if she just squinted hard enough.

“It’s a much nicer view during the daytime,” I offered. “Wait till tomorrow morning. You’ll see.”

She turned wary eyes on me. “Where are we?”

My hand firmed around hers, ensuring she couldn’t pull away. “My house.”

As I’d predicted, she halted. I kept walking, forcing her to keep pace with me as I passed the massive fireplace in the center of the lounge and led her into the open-plan kitchen. I only released her hand so I could pull out a chair for her at the marble-topped kitchen island. “Sit.”