“Fuucckkk,” he growls, holding on tight to my wrists. “Tight, wet fucking pussy.” He says this with his lips to my collarbone. All in Spanish.
I pant raggedly as he rests on top of me. We stay this way for longer than a minute, catching our breath.
The door creaks and both of us look towards it at the same time. We see long, curly dark hair with bright honey streaks and I know it’s Francesca. The door shuts so fast that we don’t even get the chance to see her face. All we see is her leaving.
Wait…was she watching? Did she walk in on us?
“Francesca!” Draco barks. “Nosy fucking bitch,” he mutters.
Rage ignites my spirit knowing he’s probably done this to her before too.
Tears swarm my eyes as I stare up at the ceiling, but I don’t let them fall.
I shove him off of me and then scramble for my panties and jeans. I put them on rapidly, avoiding his eyes. My insides are all fucked up. I feel like I need to vomit.
“What the hell are you doing, Gianna?”
“Leaving.” My voice is hurried as I pull my shirt down and adjust my bra.
I rush for the door, but Draco chases after me, catching my elbow and slinging me around before I can escape.
“You’re not leaving yet.” His voice is grave. “We have something to take care of. Kevin, remember?”
“I don’t want to see you kill him.”
He smirks, raking his fingers through his hair. “Don’t lie to yourself.”
“I’m tired of seeing blood,” I whisper, staring up at him.
His face remains even. “While you’re under my roof, seeing blood will become a normal thing.”
“What are you going to do to him?”
Draco releases me and then walks away to pick up his pants. He adjusts his red tie and then tucks his black shirt in. When he comes towards me again, he grips my hand in his and then pulls the door open.
“Whose room is that?” I ask when we’re in the hall and he strings me along.
He side eyes me before responding. “It’s the room I stayed in as a teenager…before my father died.” He pauses. “He let me stay in it because it’s close to the galería. It’s sacred now. Private. I have a bedroom upstairs that I use more.”
Oh.
“What are you going to do to him?” I ask again as he drags me along.
“You’ll see,” is all he says.
I clamp my mouth shut because the truth is I want to see this happen. I want Kevin to die. That traitorous bastard will keep on lying and betraying for the next big buck. All he sees is dollar signs. He’s a greedy fucker.
He needs to go out much harder than Toni did.
And when he does, I want to be a witness. I want to see blood spill from his head and through his lips just like it did from Toni’s. I want to see the regret on his face, just like Toni before he was taken away from me.
If that makes me just as heartless as Draco, then so be it.
I no longer care about helping the people who have only put me in harm’s way.
Chapter Fifteen
Day 12 (continued)
We walk past the pool and he takes a left. My hand is still in his. My heart is racing. I’m somewhat terrified, thinking about what he could do to kill Kevin.
We walk for about two minutes before reaching our destination. There are two wooden doors that most likely lead down to the basement.
They are close to the ground—doors that must be pulled open. Draco releases my hand and bends down to yank the doors apart. They hit the sides with a loud thump.
He dusts off his hands and then glances over his shoulder at me. “Let’s go.”
He starts down the steps. I watch him disappear and then inch forward. It’s so dark down there. How can he even see?
I follow suit, though. I know I can’t back out. He wants me to see this—and frankly, deep down, I need to know what he does to him. I walk down the steps quickly and when I round the corner, that’s when I see the single light hanging from the ceiling. It has a blue tint to it, making Draco appear even deadlier as he stands across the room.
My eyes dip over to Bain, who is standing with his arms crossed in front of him and a gun in his hand. He watches me very carefully, one brow cocked, those beady, ugly eyes of his repulsing me.
In front of him is Kevin. He’s on his knees, his head hung low. There’s blood dripping from his left hand—the one I stabbed. I’m guessing Juanita didn’t mend him.
I hold my breath, looking up at Draco. His steps are slow and residual as he walks my way. When he’s close, he threads his fingers through my hair and then leans in to put his lips close to the shell of my ear.