The Devil's Plaything

When I glance at Sofía, she’s staring at me with curiosity painting her pretty face. I turn away, not wanting her to see me like that, even though it’s in my mind, I have a feeling her piercing gaze can puncture the armor I’ve perfected since I threw Gaia out of my house.

I wanted to believe her love for me, but that’s not the type of man I am. Instead, I didn’t even stay to watch her bleed out, she didn’t deserve my attention. And I never felt an ounce of guilt for slicing her open.

“Where did you go?” Her sweet voice cuts through the dark, and I’m bombarded by her light. She emanates it like a beacon. A lighthouse on the edge of the ocean, warning me to steer clear, but I’ve never been one for safety. I’ve lived my life on the choppy waters, and this time, it’s no different.

“To a place I wish you never to see.”

“I’ve probably seen worse,” she tells me sadly.

I don’t meet her gaze when I question, “Why doesn’t Hector know about Rodrigo?”

19

Sofía

He watches me. The predator glaring at me, waiting for me to make my move. To tell him about my stupid deal with a man who is probably as dangerous as Victor Cordero himself. But then again, don’t they say it’s the devil you know.

“It was when I turned sixteen,” I start, averting my gaze. “I was sick for months, and my father’s salary wasn’t covering my medication.” A humorless laugh tumbles free when I recall papá’s love for gambling. How each night he’d come home with less and less in his wallet.

I knew what he was doing, though. Trying to win money to pay for my surgery; he promised it would be okay, but it wasn’t. He fell deeper and deeper into a fucking hole, and I was being dragged down with him.

Don’t get me wrong, I love him more than life, but if he would have listened to me, this would never have come to pass. I told him I could work, I could do more, but he didn’t want me to.

“Rodrigo promised to help me, help my family,” I tell my captor. “He gave me money to buy medication, but it was only when I turned seventeen did he want more for his money. He…” My words falter, and I finally lift my gaze to Victor who’s positively vibrating with rage. Over the past week, I’ve seen him angry, but this… it’s something else. Something dark passes over his features, and if I wasn’t the one telling him this story, I’d run.

Although, I tried, and it didn’t work. So, I quietly sit here, wringing my fingers in the sheet that doesn’t offer comfort against the wrath emanating from the man before me.

“Did he…?” He doesn’t voice the words, but I know what he’s asking. I know the moment he closes the distance between us and lifts me by my arms as if I’m a weightless doll. Our faces are inches apart, his lips are a breath from mine, and his eyes, those golden orbs of emotion, swirl wildly with confusion.

“No. He didn’t do anything to me. Although, he almost did, got my clothes torn before someone interrupted, and he sent me racing home,” I finally utter.

I’m about to tell him more, when his mouth crashes to mine. It’s sudden, unexpected, but in that moment, it’s everything I want. He releases my arms, and I fall to the mattress. His large frame hovers over me.

“Tell me, Sofía,” he pleads in a low graveled tone. “Tell me you hate me.” His gaze bores through me, it niggles away at my pain, the high walls I’d built to keep everyone out, and slowly, brick by brick, he’s unraveling me, and I’ve never been more afraid.

Death has nothing on Victor Cordero.

Dying is welcome.

The emotion from the man who’s about to consume me, that’s something I’ll never be ready for. So, instead of fighting him again, I arch my back, needing him close. I want to feel his warmth.

Meeting those honey colored eyes, I whisper the words he wants to hear, “I do, Victor, I hate you.” It’s then that he steals my breath with a kiss that not only eliminates my fear, it also consumes my soul. All the good, all the light I had hidden inside, is now only engulfed by the black and red of Victor and his family crest.

My fingers tangle in his dark hair. It’s soft, silky, and I tug him closer. My legs wrap around his waist, the heels of my feet dig into his ass, feeling the fibers of the suit pants he’s wearing.

I want more. So much fucking more that I whimper when he pulls away from me. “This,” he tells me, planting a kiss on my lips, “is going to make you mine. Are you ready for it?”