Page 14 of Chris

This marriage.

Jorge despised it all.

“Good things are happening to us all,” Jorge murmured to the table, lifting a glass of red wine for the others to follow his lead. He tipped his glass toward his father, “To power, Papá, by whatever means we can get it, no?”

Martín smiled and raised his own glass. “To power.”

Jorge tipped his drink back and swallowed it in one gulp. Valeria knew if he kept that up, by the time they got up to their room later, he would be drunk and unpleasant. To say the least … more like violent and wanting her.

Something else to make her sick.

“And we have more things to look forward to,” Jorge added, setting his glass down to the table hard. “More business—starting next week. Everyone will benefit if it goes right.”

Across the table, Roberto asked, “Everyone?”

He meant their side of things, too. Because now, if the two cartels merged, even if Jorge didn’t like it, what benefitted them should also benefit Roberto’s father’s organization. That was how it should work, but Valeria didn’t believe for a second Jorge would agree.

Jorge didn’t reply.

Valeria doubted the other man missed it.

Valeria tightened the silk robe around her body, using the ties to cinch the fabric at the trim curve of her waist. She sensed his presence the moment he opened the bedroom door.

Jorge had that effect.

“Why would you dress in that?” he asked.

It was by his tone she knew he had polished off the bottle of red wine from the table after dinner finished. Great. He was always worse when he was a little too drunk, and his lips were loose.

Not only did she have to deal with his pawing in bed but also his fucking mouth which never shut the hell up. It was a losing battle.

“Val,” he mumbled.

She turned around to face him, only to find him circling the foot of the bed to come closer to her. Maybe her attention should have been on the door because she always found it easier to handle him when she could see him coming.

Valeria hated being surprised.

Like now.

As she assumed, he was drunk. Thoroughly. Bloodshot eyes, a slack mouth, and a sheen of perspiration dotting the lines in his forehead as his gaze narrowed in on her. Not that she had much time to react because she didn’t.

He reached for her before she might refuse him—lie and say she was on her cycle, which turned him off like nothing else. Pulling the robe she had just tightened away from her body with his rough hand, it allowed him access to the silk short and camisole set she wore underneath.

He picked her clothes, too.

“Jorge,” she started to say.

His hand found her breast, sliding under the silk before clamping down tight enough to take her breath and words away as he muttered, “Next week, when the Canadians come down to make that deal, we won’t need the fucking Garcías for anything. And then my father will understand that I can do this without merging. Smart, aren’t I?”

Valeria swallowed hard, ignoring the bile rising in her throat as his hand slid from one of her breasts to the other, and then climbed higher on her neck to rest against her throat. If she flinched, he would become rough. She didn’t need more bruises to hide with makeup.

It never worked, anyway.

“Of course, you are,” she lied. “But might he be mad?”

“I don’t care what he’ll be!”

She flinched.