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Sir? Well, look at that. He found himself in the presence of an uptown girl. One that grew up knowing how to suffer through a seven-course meal without using a wrong fork. Daddy’s sweet baby girl who was ever so polite on the outside, but wanted to do filthy things once in the bedroom. Some girls were messed up like that. Loved being degraded, called nasty words. Others were just looking for a dangerous fling to tell their girlfriends about later.
This one he couldn’t quite place. There was something oddly familiar about her, yet there was no way they had met before since they didn’t hang out in the same circle. Not to mention the faint European accent. He would have remembered this one, as he was apt in accents, having to deal with crazy Russians every day.
“Yeah? And why exactly can’t you just leave?”
She cleared her throat. “Because I’m already with my dad. My real dad, I mean.” Her eyes locked on to him. “You.”
“What the fuck are you—” His breath stilled when she stepped forward and stood in the full light. Long, white-blonde hair cascaded down her shoulders.
He didn’t need a DNA test to know she was his. The girl was his spitting image. How the fuck had this happened? He never wanted to have any kids, so he was always careful. With his fucked-up childhood, he would be a terrible parent.
Pale blue eyes seized him up in wonder and curiosity.
The girl awkwardly waved a hand. “Hi, Dad.”
For probably the first time in his life, he didn’t have a comeback.
CHAPTER 3
ELENA
Elena woke up to the smell of cappuccino breath. Her eyes shot open, and she stared into Pedro’s blotchy red face. He was hovering over her bed, his arms placed on either side of her pillow.
She tried to scramble up, but he grabbed her by the throat and held her down.
“Get out of my room,” she hissed. “If Lorenzo—”
He laughed. “My big brother isn’t here anymore, remember?”
Right…
She’d forgotten. A mistake that could cost her dearly. Stupid, stupid. In her defense, it was only the second week she had woken up to a world without Lorenzo in it. Why hadn’t she locked her door? Because she hadn’t needed to before; not once had Lorenzo visited her bedroom.
Pedro grabbed her by the collar of her shirt, and Elena stilled. Part of her had always known this day would come. The day Pedro would no longer hide his true self and cross that line.
She slowly moved her hand underneath her pillow.
“Where is she? Where’s your daughter?”
Vicky was where she belonged. “You know me better than this, Pedro. I will never tell you.”
This earned her a smack in the face. Pain exploded through her skull. She could taste blood but refused to show him her pain or the anxiety crawling up her belly. Men like Pedro got off on fear. They reveled in it, thinking it made them strong. All that it did was make her sick.
“You will tell me everything I want.” His eyes roamed over her body as if it belonged to him.
Never. There had only been one man who had ever owned her body and her soul, and losing him had nearly destroyed her. A man like Pedro couldn’t fathom what it was like to give yourself to one person completely. To bask in the light they brought you, or the darkness they pulled you into.
He grabbed her breast. “You will give me everything I want.”
She cringed when he twisted her nipple.
Her hand slid another inch under the pillow. And another one. Until it grabbed onto her knife.
Leaving all pretense behind, Pedro jumped on top of her, grinding against her. A blanket of sour sweat and stale wine coated her, clinging to her like the filth he was.
She tried to pull her arm away, but he grabbed her and pushed her into the mattress, using his body to hold her down.
Flashbacks of her childhood came back, projecting into her mind like a twisted black-and-white silent film. That time her brother had to pull one of his junkie friends off her. Or the time he had almost been too late. That time, she had stared at the cracked tile in the bathroom while his dealer had felt her up.
