Kingpin's Property, page 12
I limped to the bedroom door, knocking against the polished wood in a hesitant beat.
“Stefano?” I said his name timidly, perhaps too softly for him to hear in the other room.
In my head, I silently counted to five before knocking again, a louder rap. I waited another five seconds before repeating his name in the same tremulous cadence, hoping he was now close enough to hear my distress.
The door opened an instant later, and I smothered my victorious smile. I peeked up at him, folding my arms beneath my breasts to ensure that he saw my bra under the guise of hugging myself protectively.
His dark gaze dropped to my chest before snapping back to my face. The furrow in his brow and fine lines around his mouth indicated his discomfort with my mood.
Strength swelled inside me, the knowledge of my successful deception bolstering my will and granting me vindictive hope.
“I’m hungry,” I mumbled, cutting my gaze away briefly, as though resentful that I’d finally been forced to come to him to meet a basic need.
“All right, kitten. I’ll get dinner sent up for us.” He cocked his head, studying me. His bottomless gaze threatened to swallow me whole, but I remained resolute in maintaining eye contact.
“We can sit in the lounge while we wait for dinner, but I don’t want you walking around too much.” His features hardened, grimly determined. “I’m going to carry you. Don’t argue with me on this,” he warned. “You can be as upset with me as you want, but I won’t allow you to damage yourself any more than you already have. This is not negotiable.”
The way my shoulders stiffened wasn’t entirely calculated.
“Fine,” I bit out. It took no effort to visibly bristle at his domineering attitude.
The resistance part of my deception wouldn’t have to be fabricated; my resentment and loathing of his control came completely naturally.
His corded arms closed around me, lifting me up to hold me tightly against his chest. The ease with which he handled my weight sent a flutter through my belly, one I chose to interpret as wariness. No part of me should desire Stefano’s dangerously superior strength.
He carried me into the open lounge space that was at the heart of his penthouse. Dark leather furnishings were arranged with a focus on an enormous fireplace. The feature was redundant in the summer heat, but Stefano had installed a hyper realistic LED fire display. Shocking pops of color in the form of modern art punctuated the ivory walls, with an emphasis on warm shades of red. The overall effect was one of masculine minimalism, but each aspect of the décor had been carefully selected to give the impression of casual wealth.
He maintained his firm hold on me when he sat down on the couch, arranging my body so that I was curled up on his lap. Ignoring my indignant glower, he briefly retrieved his phone from his pocket and tapped out a message, presumably to order our dinner.
Seconds later, he tucked the device away, but his attention didn’t immediately return to me. I squirmed in his lap, attempting to shift off him and put distance between us.
He simply looped one corded arm around my waist, pinning me against his hard body while he continued with his desired task. With his free arm, he reached for the decanter that was set out on the mahogany side table. His deft fingers handled the crystal vessel with practiced ease, his hand more than large enough to manage pouring the amber liquid into a glass while his other kept a firm hold on me.
“I don’t want to sit on your lap,” I informed him, attempting to soften my tone to something more vulnerable. My stiff posture betrayed my anger.
“That’s too bad, kitten,” he countered evenly. “I gave you space to calm down, but nothing has changed between us.” He dipped his face toward my neck, so I felt the heat of his possessive declaration on my sensitive flesh. “You’re still mine, little pet. You’ll come to accept that eventually. I’ve decided I can be more patient with you.”
He nipped at my ear, the little flare of pain drawing a gasp from my chest. All of the small, secret pleasure points that he’d ruthlessly located this morning seemed to activate. One punitive bite harnessed my full focus, my physical awareness of him sapping my reasoning.
His arm loosened on my waist, his hand skimming up over my chest to rest on my throat. He didn’t apply pressure to my windpipe, but his knuckles eased beneath my chin, tipping my head back slightly.
“Have a drink with me.” The velvet command enfolded me, the seductive warmth of his voice wrapping around my body as his intoxicating scent inundated my senses.
“I don’t want a drink.” I managed a shaky protest. Dulling my wits with alcohol would weaken my mind, the only weapon I possessed.
His thumb brushed over my lower lip, making it tingle with the memory of his intense kiss. “Don’t be obstinate, kitten,” he chided. “I’m not trying to get you drunk. I know you’re a mezcal aficionado like me. I selected this añejo tobalá just for you.”
The glass appeared in front of my face, which was still trapped in place by his hand beneath my jaw. Notes of buttery caramel with a hit of salt teased through the air, the exquisite bouquet tempting me.
“You don’t have to say no to everything I offer you out of sheer stubbornness.” His voice dropped deeper, the low rumble sinking inside me and reaching dark, wanton places I’d tried to forget completely. “I selected this purely for your enjoyment. Not to punish you. Not to control you. Simply because I think you’ll like it, and I want you to have it. Being with me doesn’t have to be miserable, Carmen.”
Yes, it does, a faint voice whispered somewhere deep in my mind. If I wasn’t miserable with Stefano, that meant it would be too easy to fall prey to his masterful manipulations.
“What if I want it to be miserable?” I managed to counter softly, clinging to my defiance by a thread.
He nuzzled my hair and pressed a tender kiss against my cheek. “I think you’ve been miserable for far too long,” he murmured the awful truth, cutting right to the core of me. “You don’t know how to not be miserable, and I think that scares you. You don’t have to be angry and on your guard all the time, kitten. You can relax with me. I’ll keep you safe.”
“I can keep myself safe,” I asserted, struggling to remember why I had to fight him when he was holding me so gently. His strong arms surrounded my body, cradling rather than crushing. The cage felt far too comforting, and I was tempted to forget that it was meant to lock me in rather than keep all the monsters out.
He pressed another kiss against my temple. “I know you can, clever girl. But you don’t always have to. Nothing bad will happen if you let go and allow me to take care of you. You’ll still be the fierce and formidable Carmen Ronaldo. I don’t want you any other way.”
His strange declarations fogged my mind, messing with my thought processes. My heart ached at his promise of safety, but the tension in my gut told me I would be a fool to trust him.
“Just take a sip, kitten,” he urged, pressing the glass to my lips. The cool crystal against my heated, sensitive flesh had my body obeying before I could think better of it. “Good girl,” he praised, slowly tilting the glass until a tiny swallow of mezcal hit my tongue.
A rich variety of sweet notes awakened my palate: an intricate array of orange, mango, burnt tangerine, and caramelized sugar, with a hint of spice at the finish.
I closed my eyes, and a soft, appreciative moan hummed through my lips.
“I want a taste.” Stefano’s rough words trailed off on a growl, and his mouth descended on mine.
The warm flavors of the mezcal and his alluring promises had already all but melted me. When his lips caressed mine, I opened for him on a sigh, welcoming him to taste me.
His kiss was slow, languorous. He took his time to sample every nuance of my physical responses. His hand remained at my neck, keeping my face tipped back so he could explore me at his leisure.
He didn’t paw at me or push for more than I was ready to give. He continued to coax me, warming my body with his tender attentions rather than forcibly claiming my surrender. I lost myself in the kiss, existing in a separate plane where I wasn’t Stefano’s captive. I wasn’t the disgraced head of a decimated cartel. I wasn’t filled with rage and hatred.
I was just…Carmen, a woman who wasn’t fearful for her safety and survival. I wasn’t certain if I even recognized her as myself. If I had my wits about me, I wouldn’t know how to be her.
Surrounded by Stefano’s strength and steady warmth, I could almost believe that I was safe.
A buzz jolted me back to full awareness, and Stefano broke our kiss.
I stared up into his dark eyes, which were fierce and hungry on my face. I realized I was panting for air. My left hand pressed against his chest; not to push him away, but to indulge in the feel of his muscular frame. My right hand rested against his jaw, studying the defined planes of his face while my fingertips tested the texture of his black hair.
I sucked in a sharp breath and jerked my hands away as though I’d been burned.
His mouth firmed to a slash, but he didn’t rebuke me for recoiling.
“That’s our dinner arriving,” he informed me. “I need to let them in. Wait here, and I’ll get everything set up in the dining room. Then, I’ll come back to get you. Don’t put any weight on your feet.”
I nodded mutely, too shocked at my own behavior to come up with an argument. I wasn’t even certain if there was a reason for me to argue with him. He was only trying to arrange dinner for me and keep me from experiencing the pain of walking on my ravaged feet. Why would I argue with that?
He shifted me off his lap and set me back down on the couch. While he left me to follow through with his promises, I sipped at the delicious mezcal he’d bought for me. The aftertaste was much sweeter when it was followed by his kiss.
The pervasive chill of being trapped underground had turned my bones to ice… How long ago? In the pitch dark, I had no concept of the passage of time. I might have been locked down here for days. Or maybe it had only been hours.
The concrete that made up the confines of my cage reeked of perpetual damp, the basement never warmed by the sun’s rays.
Bright, fluorescent light burst through my cramped cell, the searing burn against my eyes drawing a harsh cry from my lips.
“I’ll let you out if you’re ready to behave.”
A shameful shudder wracked my frozen, naked body as Miguel’s harsh voice boomed through the basement. The only small mercy of the cold was that it dulled the pain he’d inflicted. The wrenching ache deep between my legs served as a horrific reminder of what had happened the last time I hadn’t behaved.
I should have known better. It hurt less when I didn’t fight him.
But my fury had made me reckless.
The urge to keep my eyes closed and avoid the nauseating sight of him was strong, but I forced myself to look at my tormentor. He loomed over me where I huddled on the dank floor, the harsh lighting catching in each craggy wrinkle on his face. The shadows transformed his visage into a monstrous mask that revealed his true nature.
“Are you going to come upstairs quietly, or do you need another lesson before I leave you down here to think about your choices?” His hand twitched around the Taser he used to put me down when I became violent.
I rarely dared violence anymore.
Compliance and acceptance of my place meant I got to pretend to be human. I was allowed to live in the house above, eat warm meals, and sleep in a soft bed.
Rebellion always ended with me being raw inside and thrown down here to slowly go mad in the interminable darkness.
“I’d like to come upstairs,” I rasped. “Please.”
“Then get your ass up,” he sneered when I appropriately waited for his permission to rise. “I’m not going to carry you.”
My joints popped, and my cramped muscles protested, but I managed to get to my feet.
His meaty hand locked around my nape, his thumb pressing hard on the brand he’d carved into my skin. “Don’t make me put you down here again,” he seethed. “I want you in my bed where you belong.”
“I’m sorry.” I choked on the apology, debasing myself to attain the only means to see the sun. Self-loathing had long ago taken root inside me, grasping tendrils twining around my heart tight enough to stifle its beating.
Miguel leveraged his hold on my nape to drag me flush with his chest, crushing his thin lips down on mine in a perversion of a kiss. He assaulted my mouth, smothering me until I could scarcely breathe.
“Carmen.” A masculine voice rasped in my ear, and a strong hand closed around my shoulder.
My eyes snapped open, and I stared out into inky blackness. Ice crystallized in my veins, terror slicing at my insides.
“No,” I moaned, horror churning my gut and coating the back of my tongue with acidic bile.
Blindly, I reached out, fumbling through the dark to test the walls of my prison. When my hands hit nothing, I pushed to my knees and stumbled forward, desperation driving me to find the limits of my cage.
The ground disappeared beneath me, and I dropped several feet before my body hit the floor.
A harsh curse filled the space, and light suddenly flooded the room.
This time, I kept my eyes squeezed shut against the burn. I couldn’t bear to look at Miguel’s maddened brown eyes and endure the humiliation of his triumphant smirk when I begged for his forgiveness.
I pressed my hand against my nape, feeling the raised scar that marked me as his property.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered brokenly.
“For what? Carmen, open your eyes. Look at me.” The rough command compelled my compliance.
I swallowed against the urge to vomit and forced myself to meet his gaze.
Black eyes stared down at me, the fine lines around them tense with concern. “It was just a bad dream, kitten. You’re safe.”
“Stefano?”
He reached for me slowly, as though he didn’t want to spook me. I snatched at his hand like a lifeline, squeezing hard to test if he was real.
His free hand caressed my cheek, and the familiar feel of his callouses brushing my skin sent a shudder of relief through my system.
Stefano. Not Miguel.
“That’s right, kitten. I’m here, and you’re safe,” he swore in a low, even cadence. “No one is going to hurt you.”
My grip on his hand tightened to a vise, clinging to the safety he promised.
“Let’s get you back in bed,” he urged, wrapping his strong arms around me.
I didn’t realize I’d been laying on the floor until he lifted me up. I turned my face into his chest, beyond disoriented. He was solid and warm. I took a deep breath, and his scent hit my senses like a calming drug.
He laid me down on the bed, and I reached out for him, desperate to maintain contact. Stefano’s presence grounded me in reality, preventing me from being clawed back into the horrors of my past.
He settled in bed beside me, and I tucked myself as close to him as possible. He pulled the covers over us both and shifted away from me slightly, moving to turn off the light.
“Don’t.” Some of my ragged desperation surged again at the prospect of darkness, roughening my plea.
He turned back to me, his brows drawn in puzzlement.
“I don’t like the dark,” I whispered, betraying one of my most vulnerable secrets.
But I didn’t experience any physical signs of distress at sharing the information with him. Stefano had proven that he wouldn’t use fear to coerce me, and I believed that he wouldn’t weaponize this secret to torment me.
He brushed my hair back from my sweat-dampened cheek, and I leaned into his touch.
“We’ll leave all the lights on, kitten.” He pulled me into a firm embrace, returning me to the protective cage of his arms. I pressed my face into the crook of his neck, breathing in his drugging scent.
“Go back to sleep. I’ll be right here if you have another bad dream,” he murmured, dropping a tender kiss on the top of my head. “You’re safe with me, Carmen.”
I relaxed in his arms, allowing myself to believe him.
Chapter 14
Stefano
One week with Carmen Ronaldo as my captive, and I was clinging to my control by a thread. While I had no issue with the reality that I’d never been entirely sane, this particular form of madness was enough to make any man homicidal.
After over a decade of obsession, I finally had Carmen caged for my enjoyment, but I had yet to take my pleasure in her body.
Our physical chemistry was undeniable, and I’d proven to both of us on her first day in captivity that I was fully capable of claiming her. I could use her however I wished, and she would suffer through every ecstatic second of our sensual games.
But I hadn’t accounted for her feelings. My fantasies about owning her had always been decidedly sexual, and the reality of having her in my home for non-sexual purposes was both fascinating and frustrating.
If she hated me, I would never truly possess her in the way I wanted. And breaking her of that hatred through force or fear would ruin her. I wanted Carmen as she was now, not a sad, soulless sex toy.
That had necessitated a much slower seduction than I would have liked. Tonight, I intended to push for more. She would bend to my will, and we would both attain merciful release.
“Come here, kitten.” I issued the command in the softer tone that had proven to be more effective over the last several days. Stern orders caused her to bristle, but she seemed to forget that she wanted to defy me when I employed a little more finesse.
Her dark lashes narrowed a fraction, her gray eyes flashing once before the flare of suspicion melted away.
“Why?” she offered a token challenge, but she was already pushing her chair back from the dining table and getting to her feet.
I allowed her to walk on her own, indulging in the sight of her lithe, graceful body as she sauntered toward me.
Dr. Holloway had removed her stitches two days ago, and while her soles were still tender, she was healing enough that she could put weight on her feet more often. I’d enjoyed having the excuse to carry her around, but my relief at her release from pain eclipsed that particular pleasure.
