“Yes, well, I’d like to trust him from the comfort of a house, not a jail cell.”
“Oh, Pet.” He laughs without humor. “You’ve been gone so long you’ve forgotten your manners. I’m going to have to beat that out of you, aren’t I?”
I wince and shut my mouth before I earn myself more punishment. Never mind that my insides are tightening, and my pussy aches for more of his touch.
An agent steps onto the plane and moves through the cabin toward us. I close my eyes, terrified that this is it. The last time I’ll see my captor, my lover, my tormentor, but the agent shakes hands with Ares, and sits in the seat opposite mine as the two carry on a conversation in Spanish of which I understand nothing.
The agent appraises me with interested eyes, and I school my features and lower my gaze to the floor the way Ares likes.
Ares’ tone is cutting as a stream of Spanish flies from his mouth. All of the previous joviality is gone, and when I glance up at his face, his expression is as livid as it was in the bedroom an hour ago.
“Lo siento, señor. I meant no disrespect.”
“Si, now, don’t you have some real criminals crossing your borders to catch?”
“Si, si.” The agent gets up. I follow his movements, still uncertain. “This one.” He points to Ares. “Always such a slave driver, huh?” He winks, and I’m so stunned I don’t know what to say in reply, so I say nothing at all.
After the agent leaves, the stewardess and captain both come to see us off the plane, and then we’re ushered into a black vehicle, and we drive away. No lines, no customs—as easy as that.
“What just happened back there? What did you say to him?”
“I said that he should keep his filthy fucking eyes off my Pet or his annual donation from us will cease to exist. I may have also mentioned that the Swedish might get a hot tip about his lovely illegal wife.”
“She’s an alien?”
“She’s a slave, Pet.”
All the color drains from my face.A slave. Like me. Someone he stole.
“You kidnapped a woman and bartered her away as payment to help you smuggle sex slaves across the border?”
“Are you actually looking for an answer to that question?” He glares at me, and though I’ll likely pay for it later, I glare back. “Yes, I traded one life for the passage of many. Hedda is well taken care of. She’s not a prisoner in her home.”
“You can’t know that. You took her life from her.”
“What would you have me say, Pet?”
“That you’re sorry. That you feel one iota of remorse for all the lives you’ve destroyed.”
“You want me to feel remorse?” He wraps his hand around my throat and squeezes, not hard, but just enough to remind me who’s in charge. “I don’t regret a single one. How could I regret them when they led me to you?”
My breath saws in and out of my lungs. The rapid rise and fall of his shoulders tells me he’s breathing heavily too. His hand slides from my neck to cup my cheek, and I lean into the touch. He’s right. He’s never been more wrong. How can I say that all of those who’ve come before me don’t matter? I’ve been them—scared, tortured, terrified of what my Sir would do, and torn because I liked it. Even now, I’m complete, I’m fulfilled, but I’m still afraid that he’ll cast me out, afraid that he’ll send me away, and maybe even afraid he won’t.
“I hate that I love you so much,” I whisper to the darkened car.
“Lo sé, mi amor, lo sé.”
“I didn’t know you were Mexican.”
“My father is Mexican; my mother was Spanish. She grew up in America, but she was an history major, and utterly obsessed with the Pantheon. All she ever wanted was to see Greece and the Temple of Athena Nike.”
“And did she?”
“No. She met my father and saw the inside of a grave too soon.” He says all of this with his usual, cool detachment. As if nothing affects him. Once upon a time, I may have believed that his heart lay dormant, frozen with bitterness and rage. I’m no longer sure that’s the case.
“I’m sorry.”
“There’s nothing to be done for it now, Pet.”