8
MERCEDES
Somehow, the absent hours I spend in isolation in my room turn from one day to another until they’ve blurred together, and I’m not even sure how many have passed. Judge appears at random times in my doorway simply to tell me it’s time to call Solana. During these brief interactions, his face is guarded, his emotions completely shut down. I can’t tell what he’s thinking, but when I follow him down to his office where he allows me to make the phone call, I feel his eyes on me. I’ve caught him staring at my belly a few times, jaw clenched, eyes somewhere distant. He doesn’t give voice to his thoughts, and I’m too much of a coward to ask what they might be.
There are still so many unknowns. How long does he plan to keep me locked up here? When will he let me talk to Santiago? What the hell are we even doing anymore?
I don’t know the answer to any of those things. But I know he’s not completely immune to me. After the first night I tended to his wounds, it became a silently agreed-on arrangement. With some reluctance on his part, I’ve continued the procedure every day after I make my phone call. Using some salve I had on hand from Solana’s shop, the lacerations have started to heal, and as horrible as it is to see his wounds, a part of me mourns the loss of this last connection between us. Because somehow, I know this is it. Judge doesn’t see me the way he once did. I can feel that between us. It’s the painful reality I never wanted to face, and now it’s impossible to escape.
As I bandage his wounds today, I know too much time has passed. I have to say something. I have to do something. Because I’m going fucking crazy with this ocean of silence between us.
“Are you letting me go to Elena’s baptism today?” That’s what comes out of my mouth.
The question hangs over the room, heavy and uncomfortable. Beneath my fingers, Judge straightens. He doesn’t want me to go, and I know it’s because Santi’s going to be there. He’s afraid I’ll tell him today, but I won’t. Not on a day of celebration. That will have to wait for another time.
“I’ll wait to talk to him,” I whisper. “I can arrange it for another day. I’m not expecting you to be there when I do. I know he’ll be pissed for a while, but I think it will be okay. He’ll have to see reason. He’ll give me my inheritance, and you can finally be free.”
“Stop.” Judge’s harsh command startles me as he shrugs me off and turns to glare at me. “Just fucking stop.”
I stare at him in disbelief, and I don’t know what to say. This is what he wants, isn’t it? Yet he looks so annoyed by the idea that it makes me think maybe he doesn’t. At least until he opens his mouth again.
“It isn’t your place to talk to Santiago,” he growls. “When the time comes, I will do it. Not you.”
A surge of anger rises inside me, spilling from my lips before I can stop it.
“No, it’s never a woman’s place, is it? Not in this fucking world. You want me to leave the decisions about my life to the men. Men who are more concerned with appearances than how I feel. Well, I’m telling you right now, Judge, I’m not going to sit quietly and let that happen. This is my life. My future. And it’s not up to you to determine how or when I speak to my own goddamn brother.”
“It is up to me.” He slams his fist down onto the desk. “You are in my care—”
“No,” I bite out. “I’m not in your care. I’m your fucking prisoner. And for what purpose? Why are you keeping me here? What benefit is it to you?”
His nostrils flare, and he rises from his seat so slowly I know I’m in trouble. I try to take a step back, but his hand whips out and grabs my dress, holding me hostage as he seizes my face in his other palm.
“What benefit is it to me?” He repeats my words, his breath blowing across my lips. “I think the one benefiting here is you, little monster.”
Before I can respond, he turns me around and slaps my hands down on the desk while he grinds his pelvis against me. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”
He pulls up my dress and yanks my panties aside, his palm caressing my ass so gently that it sends a shiver down my spine. “You lured me in with your cunt.” He unzips his trousers and grabs a fistful of my hair with one hand while stroking between my thighs with the other. “You took my cock at every opportunity.”
I shake my head weakly, though I’m not sure what I’m even protesting. It’s the tone of his voice, the coldness. He’s being cruel, and I know it’s coming. I just don’t want to hear it.
“You milked my dick until you got what you wanted.” The head of his cock presses against me, and I release a stuttered breath when he pushes inside, settling as deep as I can take him.
The fullness. The pressure. It’s so intense. And I want to give in to this feeling, this need. But he’s not done talking yet. Not even as he starts to fuck me.
“You stole what I told you I wouldn’t give,” he grunts. “And now what, Mercedes? What do you think is going to happen?”
I squeeze my eyes shut, releasing a quiet breath as I try to formulate a sentence. But as he thrusts into me, the only thing I can think about is how much I have missed this. I have missed him. Even in the moments of his cruelty, it still feels sweeter than anything I’ve ever tasted. I’m already on the verge of coming when his fingers dig into my hip, and he releases my hair to slap my ass cheek.
“Answer me,” he growls.
I don’t, and he smacks my ass again, harsher this time, his hips colliding against me as he thrusts deep. Fast. Hard.
“Oh god,” I whine. “Judge, please.”
He slaps my ass so hard I’m on the verge of coming violently, only for him to pull out and ruin it at the last second.
“This isn’t for you,” he snarls, milking his cock in his fist.
I turn to look at him just as he releases, his come spurting over my ass. There’s not an ounce of satisfaction in his eyes. He’s doing this to punish me. I realize that when he smears the liquid from his hand onto my skin, leaving me exposed as he tucks himself into his pants and stares down at me.
“Go get ready. We have a fucking baptism to get to.”
* * *