Violent Delights (White Monarch 1)

“I’ll bet you wish your guards were here now,” he said with an almost imperceptible smile.

“I want my gun back,” I said.

He paused, then glanced up at me. “Will you learn how to use her?”

“Yes.”

He extracted more shards and wiped them on a towel before setting aside the tweezers to spread antibiotic ointment onto the wounds. “Better?” he asked when I put down the ice pack and rolled my numb shoulder.

I mumbled my agreement as he applied bandages to the deepest cuts. He smoothed his thumb back and forth over the final one to make it stick but didn’t stop there. The pad of his finger slid to my ankle, and he turned my foot over to inspect it. It tickled slightly, but resisting the urge to squirm only made me more aware of his palm as it grazed upward. His breath shallowed as he looked over my leg, then glanced at me. His pupils dilated, and his eyes grew darker.

My heart pounded, not just because his hand kept going but also with surprise for the effect I had on someone as taciturn as Cristiano. He wanted me and wasn’t hiding it. My traitorous body came alive under his firm but deliberate examination. I shouldn’t notice how good his touch felt. I should have cared that we were alone and nobody could hear me scream.

As Cristiano moved the hem of my robe aside, I slapped my hand over his, stopping him in his tracks. “I’m waiting until marriage,” I blurted. I wasn’t sure why I said it, or why I thought that might deter him.

His lip curled in a way I could only interpret as angry. “A virgin?”

I swallowed as an electric current passed between us.

His fingertips dug into my thigh. “You’ve saved yourself,” he said slowly, half statement, half question. “And you think using that as an argument won’t have the opposite effect you want it to?”

My brain scrambled to keep up. It sounded as if he meant my virginity was something he’d want, but I couldn’t fathom why. I wouldn’t know what to do with a man as experienced as he was.

But I could learn.

I forced the thought away. “I’ve saved myself for Diego,” I said. “You’d be taking that away from him. From me.”

His nostrils flared. “You think I’d go as far as to rape you in your father’s home?”

My thigh pulsated with warmth where his hand had stopped, my skin sensitive under his rough palm. “I think back then, whatever plans you had were interrupted by my mother or by me. And I think you’re too smart to make that same mistake twice.”

His gaze drifted down between my legs, where only a silky piece of fabric hid what he so clearly wanted. “Plans? Regretfully, I have none for you, Natalia.”

He stood and returned to the sink to replace his watch and the contents of his pockets. I waited, tense as a bowstring, until he left the room. And I didn’t breathe again until I heard the front door close.

Once the immediate fear of what Cristiano might do subsided, a violent tremble overtook me. I waited for relief to come, but adrenaline coursed through me. Now that I was alone, I felt as if I should do something. I was safe, but would it last? How long until he returned? Until he struck again?

I hugged my shoulders, dropped to my knees on the bathroom floor, and crossed myself. I thanked La Virgen de Guadalupe for sparing myself and Diego.

Then I prayed I’d never see Cristiano again.

16

Cristiano

In my office overlooking La Madrina, I fixed a drink. Mid-afternoon, the nightclub was quiet as the cleaning crew scrubbed the downstairs floors and walls. In a few hours, the bar staff would prepare for all the sinners who’d spend their Good Friday night celebrating tonight’s theme—la iglesia roja. Red church. Sturdy construction would mute the thump of bass, and the dancefloor’s crimson glow would make my office look like an opium den.

I’d been up most of the night, but I felt invigorated. Serving justice could do that to a man. With a third direct attack on his deal, Diego would’ve worked everything out by now—but he’d be missing the final piece. “You can expect my brother any minute,” I said to Maksim, who stood straight-backed by the door to my office.

“I figured.”

I held up a bottle of Rey Sol Añejo. “Drink?” I asked.

“Nah.” Max chewed on a toothpick. “Guess I should have my wits about me. His claws will be out.”

“He’ll fight, but not physically. He can’t win. Instead, he’ll try to manipulate the game board.”

Diego had run out of moves, though. After over a decade of being hunted by my brother, our day of reckoning had come. Only, I wasn’t the one caught in a trap. For a third of my life, I’d been mislabeled a traitor, had been forced from friends, family, and a life I’d valued, and I’d done whatever I’d had to in order to survive. And in mere moments, Diego would pay the price for it.