I let out a whimper, wishing I felt better, wishing I could fight him, wishing none of this was real. Because how could it be? How could any of this be happening and everything he’d told me be the truth?
To say I felt broken and hopeless wouldn’t quite be the whole picture. What was the point in fighting, in trying to beat this man, when he was always one step ahead?
“It’s a pity you won’t be around to see me take down the Hand,” he whispered, the hand on my stomach falling away. The one around my neck? Still very much attached and not going anywhere, by the feel of it. “By then, you’ll be dead, your body rotting away, maggots filling you up.” He let out a sound that came off as a gross, dark chuckle.
“You’re fucking insane,” I hissed out, and he responded by squeezing my neck harder.
“Am I? Or are you just upset because you had no idea that you’ve been living a lie your entire life?” Miguel’s gaze dropped, his body stepping closer to mine. He was about a foot taller than me, strong, and completely out of his mind. “You do look so much like your mother. It is a shame you have to die. Your mother was the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen—it’s why I had to have her.”
I stared into his eyes, those black, soulless things. His face was so close to mine, so fucking close, and I wished I didn’t feel like throwing up, wished I could think straight. I wished I could break his arms and get free of him, but all I could do was look into the depths of that stare and know, with certainty, that he was truly and utterly insane.
Miguel Santos wasn’t my father. This man wasn’t my father. No matter how many times I repeated that to myself, it still sounded strange.
The hand that had come down onto my stomach with a swift force lifted to my hair, taking a tendril of yellow hair between his fingers. “It is always a pity when the world loses some of its beauty, but sometimes it must be done.” He let go of my hair, tugging up his sleeve to check his watch. “We still have some time before those filthy Serpents arrive. What should we do to pass the time, hmm?”
The way he said it, I knew exactly what he meant. I knew what he meant, and I wasn’t surprised. He was a sadistic, twisted motherfucker who got off on making my life as miserable as possible, so why wouldn’t we make this day just a bit worse?
“If you think I’m going to beg, you’re wrong,” I whispered.
Miguel smirked. “I guess we’ll have to wait and see about that, won’t we?”
There was so much more I wanted to say to him, so many other insults and fuck offs, but I knew nothing would change this. The only reason I currently stood up was because of the hand around my neck; I didn’t have my strength back—and even if I did, I wouldn’t be able to overpower him.
Right here, right now, he had me. He knew it, I knew it, we both knew it.
When everything was laid bare, it came down to power, and right now, Miguel had it all. And he was about to use it.
The hand on my throat pulled me off the wall and threw me to the floor. I stumbled, landing on my hands, just barely able to stop myself from hitting my face on the stained concrete. A foot was placed on my back, pushing me down, and I couldn’t keep myself up. My face smacked down on the cold ground.
I wasn’t alone on the ground for long. Miguel undid his belt, and then he took his foot off my back. He came down, rolling me onto my back. His knee came down upon my stomach, right where I’d been shot, and he pressed down upon me so hard I swore I felt my insides screaming. White stars flashed in my eyes, and right then, the pounding of my brain against my skull was the least of my concern. What was pain when it was only added to, multiplied and exponentially grown?
“You’re used to taking it, aren’t you, mija?” The way Miguel hissed out that final word, one last time, salt upon the wound before he did his best to create an even bigger wound. He was a man filled with hate and rage, and I was not far behind him.
He thought he’d get a rise out of me? He thought I would kick and scream and beg him to stop? I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing any hint of emotion on my face, and so I donned the mask I’d worn these last few years whenever I was around him.
I’d lived a lie, not knowing the very walls surrounding me were built upon lies that were much worse.
Miguel moved his knee off my stomach, his hands finding the top of my dark jeans. Those dark, devious eyes never left mine, not even as he undid the button and zipper, not even when he pulled them down, panties and all. I stared at him, unblinking, wordlessly telling him to do his worst.
Within another moment, he had himself freed and was positioning himself between my legs. There was nothing sexy about this. Nothing tantalizing or wanton. This was a display of power, and I wished my body was better, stronger, so that I could switch our positions and show him just what I was capable of.
Because I would not give him the satisfaction of acting frightened or begging him to stop, he was anything but gentle, especially as he filled me up the first time. He bared his teeth at me, nothing but the lust for power and authority in his gaze; I was nothing but a ragdoll to him. Nothing but a pawn to be used. Truly, I’d known that my whole life, but this day had hammered it into my pounding skull.
He was not my father. He was my enemy, and deep down, I’d known that all along.
Miguel had hired Serpents to kill my true father, gave me to Rocco not only to hurt me, but also Father Charlie. My… my dad. My real dad. Someone who had loved me, been kind to me, kept me from throwing myself out of this world too soon.
Miguel had tried to have one of his men kill me, and when that didn’t work, he married me off to get me out of the house, to the son of the man I despised the most after him. Each and every move he’d made, he’d done in the pursuit of getting rid of me and attaining more power.
He hated me. I could see it in his eyes. He hated me because I was not his, maybe because I reminded him of my mother—someone else he’d killed because he couldn’t control her. Miguel Santos hated me so much it blinded him, and right then, as my body rocked in unison with his, I swore to God, to any god, to all gods of every religion in the world, to the Devil, to any higher deity that would listen.
I was going to kill this man. I was going to kill him, rip him apart bit by bit, just as Ezekiel had done to the Serpent that had found his way into the church. I would make Miguel regret not ending me himself.
It was an odd thing, turning off your emotions. Most people couldn’t choose whether or not to feel, but that’s the thing: I’d pretended for so long, gone through damn near three years of my life like a fucking zombie. If anyone could shut their emotions off, it was me, and that’s exactly what I did as I watched Miguel’s hateful face above me.
I didn’t know how long it lasted. I didn’t know how long he fucked me. I didn’t care. This was a return to form for me, a reminder that life was hell and not something I could enjoy. Why did I think I could turn things around and be happy? Zander, Ezekiel, Luca, Cade… it was all a lie. It could never be real. I’d been a fool for hoping otherwise.
When Miguel came, he came inside of me, letting out a single grunt as he did so. I tried not to think about his cum in me, tried not to look down at his cock as he pulled it out of me and stuffed himself away. I did nothing but lay there.