“Sofía, you came here of your own free will.”
“I came here to free my father,” I bite back, my gaze meeting his gold one. “It’s not of my own free will. Being coerced to walk into your home, offering myself as a sacrifice—”
“That’s a rather arousing thought.”
“Fuck you.” My retort causes him to shoot up from the chair, his hand instantly finding my throat. He wraps his long fingers around the column and squeezes, causing me to splutter. He pulls me to my feet by the hold he has on me and shoves me against the wall so hard, I see stars behind my eyelids.
The glass I was holding falls from my hand onto the plush carpet, staining the expensive rug with a dark patch of water. I claw at his wrist. Even though the material of the shirt is in the way, I do it anyway. My attempts are futile.
He’s a monster, there’s no way I can even hurt him. My feet flail when he picks me up off the floor and his fingers dig into either side of my neck, causing my vision to blur as I try to focus. My lungs scream at me, but I can’t say a word. Victor’s grin is enough evidence to tell me he’s enjoying this, he loves to hurt me, and in my muddled brain, I wonder if he’s hard.
He leans in, closing the distance between our mouths. “You’re under my roof, you will respect me.” His voice is cold, barren of any emotion. This is the same man who bought me the medication I need. This is also the man who would no doubt torture my father while I watched in horror.
When he eases up his hold, I cough out, “respect is earned.”
“And your life is as fragile as you are, juguete,” he bites out, brushing his lips over mine, causing sparks of electricity to shoot through every nerve in my body. The jolt is nothing I’ve ever experienced. I try to shake off the feeling that tightens my belly, but it’s useless, I feel the unwarranted burn of desire all the way from my head to my toes.
“Let me go.”
He sets me to my feet but doesn’t release my neck. “You are here to serve as payment, once you’ve completed your time, you can leave.” He steps back, allowing me to breathe in deeply, filling my lungs with much needed air. I watch as his back turns toward me, how his jacket molds to his broad shoulders.
“I want a contract.” I speak to his back.
He turns to me, the mischief in his features making him look far younger than the thirty-seven years I know him to be. “What?”
“An agreement. I leave after I’ve paid for what my father did.” My words are breathy, and I inwardly chastise myself for it. My legs are wobbly, I can’t stand for too long, so I settle in the chair before I inhale and exhale slowly and steadily. My arms wrap around my middle, in an attempt to hold onto myself. I need to ground the feelings that are warring within me.
The pain from his hand around my throat still burns, and the ache caused from his lips on mine rage through me, alarming me in every way.
“For a girl so young, you’re rather resilient,” he surmises with a grin, which doesn’t help the hankering inside me. It doesn’t quell the need to have his lips on mine, just once more.
“I’ve learned to grow up fast in this city,” I tell him. “It’s the only way to survive. Please, Mr. Cordero, my father may have done something stupid, but he did it for good reason.”
He doesn’t respond, just turns and heads for the door. With his hand on the knob, he twists it, steps out, and glances my way, before offering a tip of his head and shutting me inside my ornate prison.
Once I’m alone with my thoughts, I try to overlook the ones that remind me how my body responded to him, and I attempt to focus on the fact that he’s a bad person. He’s done things that would make anyone shudder in revulsion.
It’s only when I glance outside again that I realize he didn’t tell me if I can see my father. Our conversation was steered in the opposite direction, and I’m left with the empty feeling that’s been gnawing at me for days—perhaps my father is already dead.
An hour later, the door opens again, and Valentina smiles when I glance over at her. I’d been lost in the book, trying to focus on anything other than my situation, when she sets down another tray.
“Master Victor asks that you get ready to see your papá.” Her words have me on my feet, the book forgotten on the windowsill.
“What? Right now?”
She shakes her head, points to her empty wrist. “In one hour.” Leaving me to my excitement, she shuts the door behind her, and I race into the closet to find a pair of jeans, and a T-shirt, which I quickly change into.