“You didn’t what?” he asks.
I swallow because what I hear in his voice is not any different than the contempt I heard in the other man’s voice. In the voices of The Councilors when they spoke, condemning me before my trial even began.
Contempt.
Hate.
The only one at The Tribunal who seemed conflicted was Mercedes. It surprised me. Although conflict wasn’t what The Councilors heard. They heard fact. And maybe I’m grasping at straws because Mercedes has no love for me.
“What’s the matter, sweet, Poison Ivy?” he asks, then bends his head to lick my neck, to close his lips over my beating pulse and suck, his mouth wet and hot and his cock when he thrusts inside me unforgiving.
I gasp, the breath forced out of me.
“Tell me,” he says low and quiet, but not quite a whisper.
“I didn’t…” I grunt with his next thrust. He’s released my bottom and has got my jaw in his hand now, fingers digging into soft flesh.
“Tell. Me.” It’s a command. Voice loud. Firm. Angry.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you.” I say it wrong. It comes out all wrong. It’s not what I meant. I meant…but it doesn’t matter. Santiago laughs. He just laughs this dark, ugly laugh and shifts his grip to my hips and draws back, lifting me, bending me to fuck me. To hurt me.
And he does.
This is a punishment fuck. The first of many punishments. I know it. I feel it. And as my legs quake and my insides go raw, I realize how stupid I’ve been. How naïve I’d been thinking he’d come for me, come to rescue me.
When did I forget that he was the devil?
And what will he do to me now that he thinks I tried to kill him?
His thrusts come harder, his fingers agony on the flesh of my hips, my shoulders aching with his tugs, wrists raw and bleeding.
I don’t come, but that’s the point. He takes me. Takes his pleasure from me. Lays claim to me. And even as he comes, I feel his rage. I feel his hate.
And I know that now, not like before, I am finished. I know that how it was before will be a thousand times preferable to what I have coming. To what he’ll do to me now.
He pulls me close with his final thrust, and I feel him throb and shudder, releasing inside me. I hear his breath, his groan, and I think about what it is between us. What it is that binds us.
Because we are bound.
And he will keep his promise. He will kill me. But not before I am begging for it, begging for mercy in death.
One gloved hand comes to my face, and I wonder if he can feel the tears he’s smearing away. I think he can. And I know how much he likes my tears.
“No, sweet, Poison Ivy. You didn’t hurt me,” he says, voice dark and low. “But I will surely hurt you.”
9
Santiago
"How are you feeling?" Angelo asks, his eyes moving over the case of scotch on my desk.
My fresh paranoia would be difficult not to notice. Since my return home, my vigilance has swung to the extreme end of the spectrum. Antonia's apparent happiness to see me soon disappeared when I ordered all the food and beverages in the house be tossed. She seemed horrified by the prospect, considering her menus had already been planned for my arrival. But her frown only deepened upon my informing the staff that I was having cameras installed in every room, along with daily security checks.
The atmosphere has been noticeably gloomy since I've resumed my post in my study, refusing the food I'm served and subsisting on mostly a liquid diet. It isn't doing any favors for my temperament either, and it hasn't gone unnoticed.
"I'm fine," I reply to Angelo’s question in a flat tone. "Nothing some good scotch won't cure."
He sighs and bites back what would probably be some advice about my situation, knowing better than to offer it.
"I'm sorry I couldn't visit you in the hospital," he says. "I couldn't get in without being seen. They had it locked down."
"I wouldn't have made for very good company anyway," I remark dryly.
"I don't suppose so."
I tug an unopened bottle of scotch free from the case and offer it to him, but he declines. I shrug and take another drink for myself from the one on my desk.
"Any progress on the investigation into the poisoning?" he asks, skirting around the mention of Ivy.
It's become common knowledge throughout The Society that my own wife tried to poison and kill me. I don't doubt many of the member's wives are silently in agreement with her, pitying her for being wed to the likes of myself. But they know better than to speak those thoughts aloud, and as far as they are concerned, Ivy has already been shunned from their inner circle. This is the way things work. Loyalty will always lie with the Sovereign Sons.
"No news, but I didn't expect any surprise developments on the matter. I have all the information I need."
Angelo nods, a dark expression tightening his features. "So, what will you do with her?"
"What will you do with the traitor in your own life?" I arch a brow at him in return.
He understands the question perfectly well, and it doesn’t require a response. I have no desire to go into the details with him or anyone else for that matter. Everyone will be watching me now. They are all desperate to know how I will handle the situation. By all rights, I could string up my traitorous wife by the neck in the middle of the compound and leave her to die and not a single soul would dare utter a protest to save her. But my agenda has always been a long game. I need heirs to the De La Rosa name. Ivy is a means to an end, and I will never make the mistake of allowing her to think otherwise.
"I believe you had something you wanted me to look into last we spoke?" I change the subject.
He drags a hand through his hair and sighs. "I do, but only if it isn't a burden."
"Believe me, anything to distract me right now is a gift."
With my assurances, Angelo reaches down to retrieve a folder from his briefcase and slides it across the desk to me. "Any information you can get on these accounts would be helpful. I'd like to know who exactly is funneling the money, but even a breadcrumb will do."
I open the folder to examine the accounts, flipping through various pages as my lips pull together in a grim line. I suspect this has something to do with his own pursuit of vengeance and his determination to confirm who betrayed him and sent him to prison. If our past conversations are any indication, he already knows, but his situation is more complex. He needs undeniable proof before he destroys his own blood.
"I will see what I can dig up. It might take some time."
Angelo rises to his feet and checks his watch. "I'll check in with you periodically to see what your progress is. I wish I could stay and visit longer, but—"
"You don't want anyone to see you." I nod. "I get it. Go, enjoy your freedom. I'll see you another time."
He disappears down the hall just as quietly as he arrived, and I spend the next few hours poring over the folder of information he gave me. It gives me something to focus on even though I'm behind on my own work as it is. It's a distraction, but not enough to keep my thoughts from wandering to my wife.
I have not been to see her in two days. Not since I locked her up in her room and barricaded any incoming light, leaving her with the solace of only a couple of candles. Antonia has been instructed to keep her closet locked, and she is to remain naked and broken for me. But I suspect when I see her again, there will undoubtedly be defiance from her as always. And I am already thinking of new ways to punish her for those future sins.