“Gianna,” Draco growls, squeezing my arm tighter. “What the fuck did you do?”
My throat closes in on itself, demanding that I avoid the truth. I look at the chubby man, how he stands there, staring at me with squinty, angry eyes.
He’s no good. He’s a piece of shit. They are all pieces of shit, but him? He looks like pure garbage.
I want to lie so badly—it’s on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t. My knees buckle, and I press my fingers to my mouth, hoping it will stop the blood from pouring.
Draco grunts and marches forward with my arm clamped in his large hand.
“You’re paying for this fucking damage, Jefe!” the chubby man shouts after him. He follows us into the house and Draco drops me on the sofa when we enter the den.
One of the maids gasps when she sees me, and Draco gives her a direct order.
She complies, dashing away with a quick glance back at me.
“Jefe!” The chubby man rounds the corner, speaking rapidly in their language. “The damage! That’s a seventy thousand dollar car, son!”
“I am not your son,” Draco seethes, stepping forward and getting face to face with him. “I see your fucking car, Morales! I see what the fuck she did!”
“Then you have to pay! She is your bitch!”
Draco turns completely and pulls out a gun from the holder on the back of his belt, aiming it at Morales’ face. Morales tosses his hands in the air almost immediately, backing away.
He stumbles sideways, hitting the table in the corner and knocking the lamp over.
Draco doesn’t give a damn. He still has the gun positioned, ready to take fire. His jaw is tight, his finger wrapped snug around the trigger.
“I was trying to be patient with you, but if you disrespect me under my fucking roof again, I’ll show you who my bitch is,” he says lowly. Evenly. His accent smooth. “She is my fucking guest so if anyone has the right to call her names, it will be me. Do you fucking understand that?” He says all this in Spanish.
“Yes, Draco. Yes. Just…put the gun down, Jefe. It will not happen again.” He drops his hands, motioning for Draco to lower the gun.
Nostrils flared, Draco holds his position—his gun still aimed high, right at the center of Morales’s forehead. When the maid walks back in with an icepack and a first aid box, he finally lowers the gun.
I watch all of this from the sofa, sprawled out, motionless. But there’s something about this situation that delights me…but I know my delight won’t last for long.
“I’ll send you money for your car tomorrow. Find Bain and have him drop you back off at your home.” Draco places his gun back in the holder and then turns around to look at me.
“Okay, Jefe.” Morales walks out, on the hunt for Bain.
I crack a smile—just enough.
Draco notices my amusement and narrows his eyes.
“Is this fucking funny to you?” he snarls, stepping closer and gripping my chin between his fingers. “Look at your fucking face! Your lip is fucking busted! Your nose, broken!” He brings his hand up and clamps his fingers around the bridge of my nose.
“OW! STOP!” I cry out and fling my arms, trying to force him away, but he hardly flinches. He has my nose gripped tight between his fingers, forcing it into place. The cracking and popping sounds much worse than when it went out of place. He squeezes it tight, and I scream even louder until he finally lets up.
He jerks away, and I cup my face, glaring up at him.
He looks down at the maid who is taking out cotton swabs, a needle, and some thread. She rubs my nose with the swabs, ridding it of the blood. Then she picks up a wipe to clean my mouth off. Whatever she uses burns. When I get a whiff of it, I realize it’s alcohol.
“You could have fucking died.” Draco stands up tall, brows stitched, his gaze heavy on me.
“What is it going to be now?” I croak, peering up at him. “No dinner tonight? No more beach? Or will you make Francesca suck my nipples and play with my hair at the same time?”
Livid, he stomps forward, pushing the maid out of the way and snatching me up. He has my upper arms tight in his hands, that tight jaw even tighter, his eyes blazing with fury.
“You want me to fucking kill you, don’t you?”
“I don’t care what you do to me anymore.”
His eyes run all over my face, flashing with what I know is desire. He likes when I talk like this. He hates disobedience, but when I talk back, it triggers something inside him. Twisted, sick fuck.
“Well that’s just too fucking bad,” he grumbles. “I’m not going to kill you. If living here is enough to make you want to die, you’re already suffering enough.”