His Rule (The Rite Trilogy 1)

My brother looks at me one last time, and all I can see is his betrayal.

“You won’t do this to me,” I whisper. “I know you won’t.”

“It’s already done.” He tears his gaze away and doesn’t glance back as he walks out the door.

“Shh,” Judge murmurs against my ear as I let out one last wail. “That’s enough now. Just relax. Don’t make this any worse, Mercedes. I don’t want to hurt you.”

It isn’t his threat that makes my body collapse against him. It’s my adrenaline crashing, something else taking over. It’s so heavy, I can’t move. I have nothing left to fight for. The one person I thought would always protect me just discarded me like I’m nothing. And surely, there is something more terrifying on the horizon in the clutches of this man, but right now, I can’t see anything but the truth in front of me.

My life as I know it is over.

2

Judge

The door closes, the sound of it a demarcation of time. A forking of the road in all of our lives.

Mercedes watches the space where her brother stood for a long moment as if waiting for the door to reopen and for him to reappear. Not quite believing what’s happened, she goes limp in my arms, an anguished sound coming from somewhere deep inside her.

I loosen my hold but don’t release her. She looks up at me, her face streaked with tears, the delicate skin around her eyes puffy. A bruise is forming around the gash on her cheek, and damp hair sticks to her forehead.

“Let me go,” she says, her voice like that of a wounded animal.

I release her wrists and take my arm from her middle.

She slips away, putting space between us, and her gaze moves to the exit behind me.

“Don’t,” I tell her.

She’s quiet as she considers her options. A part of me hopes she’ll try to run for it and go after her brother. He won’t save her. What’s done is done. But I’m not sure she’s finished trying. Mercedes De La Rosa is a woman used to getting her way.

“What are you going to do?” she asks in a tone she reserves for staff. She wants to wound, but I know her too well. She may not realize that, but it’s true. And I see this as her attempt to deflect attention from herself. She’s vulnerable. And she doesn’t like being vulnerable.

She folds her arms across her chest. Her gray sweats are a few inches short of her ankles, and her feet are bare. The matching top is too baggy. Not her usual attire. Not to mention a face free of makeup. She looks younger without it. I wonder if anyone would recognize her if I walked her out of here.

Not that it matters. She won’t be leaving from the front door.

“I think you know,” I say, taking a step toward her. The truth is, I want this. I want it too much. Santiago is my closest friend. The man I trust most in this world. And he trusts me. But would he give me custody of his sister if he knew just how much I wanted it?

I should have refused and told him to find someone else. Someone impartial. A better man may have. But the temptation of having Mercedes De La Rosa beneath my roof and under my control was too much to resist.

Besides, she was in no state to be refused. Neither of them were. I keep telling myself that.

She takes a step backward as I take another forward. She’s known me all her life, but only ever as her big brother’s confidante and friend. Apart from the time she stayed in my home while Santiago recovered at the hospital, we haven’t spent much time together, and even then, I made sure to keep our interactions brief. Proper. What does she see when she looks at me now?

Her gaze flits over my shoulder to the door again, but I don’t comment. If she wants to run, I’ll allow it, but she won’t get past me. Maybe she needs to learn that for herself. And the feel of her pressed against me moments ago, her slight weight in my arms? Well, I am a man. And we’re all beasts, aren’t we? Men and women alike? Animals. For all our refinement, money, and polite conversation, underneath it all, we are all just animals ruled by our baser needs. Our wants and desires.

“Are you going to put me in that cellar?” she spits, lips tight, arms hugging closer as she takes another step away until her back hits the wall. “Huh? String me up like you did her?”

Her. Ivy. She can’t even say her name.

I close the space between us so I’m standing inches from her.

She tilts her head back to look up at me. At five-foot-ten, she’s tall, taller when she’s wearing her usual heels, but I still have about six inches on her. And even though her throat works to swallow and the pulse at her neck thrums in double time, she steels herself, gritting her jaw. Dark eyes like lasers burn into mine.

I raise my hand, and she winces.

I pause, eyebrow rising.