Page 65 of When Sinners Hate
“Hey.” I push his shoulder, but he doesn’t budge.
Dread, heavy and paralysing, seeps through my limbs as I realise the lengths he’ll go to get what he wants. Perhaps Nicolas shielded me from it, but not now.
He looks over and signals with his free hand. Two men in suits walk up to us, surrounding me.
“You will never have a say in this plan or this business. You need to learn your position. And Mr Blackford will help with that.”
A third man joins us, and he nods in my direction. The stir of acid in my stomach burns my throat as reality hits.
“Don’t do this.” A final plea, although I know it won’t make any difference.
“Miguel. A pleasure.” Mr Blackford shakes my father’s hand. I try to leave, but the two men seize my arms, keeping me in place.
“Mrs Cortez. Shall we?”
He walks through the bar as if he owns it, and I’m dragged along behind, my weight being overpowered easily by the two men. Pushing and pulling, they wrestle me to a side door and away from the public.
I hope that Abel isn’t so mad he’ll ignore my message.
CHAPTER TWENTY - ONE
ABEL
That fucking mouth of hers is beginning to drive me insane, enough so that I turned my goddamn phone off an hour ago rather than deal with her spiteful tongue. I didn’t defend her? She's goddamn right I didn't defend her. I wanted to see her behaviour in front of him – gauge how she reacted to the difference between what she had and what she now has with this family. She should have stood up to that crap herself. Instead, she capitulated. That isn't going to happen again by the time I'm done with her.
I stand and pace because of it all, then walk from the room to find something to take my irritation out on. Dark corridors lead me through various rooms and past cages full of whimpering women until I arrive in the main training area.
“One. Two. Three. Four.” Carmen’s sharp voice blasts loudly around the space, and the sound of a stick hits the ground with every number called. “Pathetic,” she spits. “Again.”
Waiting in the shadows, I light a cigarette and watch the round of twelve women parading their naked bodies around. They're trying to keep up with her commands, and most ofthem are on track. Three of them need a damn sight more work because I will not have trash leaving my premises to work. They learn to behave like a whore should. They walk well. They talk dirty well. They fuck well. And they do it with a damn smile on their face unless that’s not what they’re being paid for.
Smoke slowly blows out of me as I keep watching one fuck up after another. What they all need is Elias' viciousness chasing their backsides. Or maybe my own given this goddamn mood she’s put me in. Trouble is, this mood ends up killing things. Fuck awful whores included.
“Brother.” Dante walks past me, stripping his shirt from his skin. “Carmen? First round.”
She looks over at him, as he heads towards the branding space, then begins hustling the women back to their quarters. Shaw follows them, tilting his head at every piece of ass that manages to catch his attention. Maybe if he stopped being so goddamn obsessed with his dick, he might learn to look at them like Dante and I do. They’re not women to us. They’re not something to fuck or enjoy or spend time with. They’re cattle to be sold or used for profit.
I follow him to the cages to see how he handles the first one he’ll pull through to be branded. There’s too much respect going on the second he steps foot inside the cell. I look at the women around him, watching the way they try coaxing him into conversations. We don’t speak to any of them. We do what needs doing and nothing more than that. They want to talk? They talk to each other. Or, if they’re lucky and Carmen sees potential, they get to talk to her and she makes a call on them being groomed for the Bourbon Lounge or Berettas.
“Your sister called me the other day,” Carmen says from behind me. I move out of Shaw’s way as he moves the first girl out of the space towards Dante’s room. “She thinks she’ll need four girls on rotation. Is that okay with you? They’ll need to beour finest. And tell your wife I don’t appreciate her tone. I’d–” I round on her instantly, sending her five steps backwards from me with nothing but a glare. She drops her stare, choosing the floor as a good place to apologise from. “I’m sorry.”
“You should be. You know me better than that.”
“Yes. You’re right,” she says, fidgeting. “It’s just that if we’re to get along, I’d rather not have to fight with her.”
I take her hand in mine, tilt my head, and walk us towards Dante’s room. An agonised yell echoes as we walk in, and I look straight at Shaw to see his reaction. I’d like to believe the cold as stone face he’s trying for. I don’t.
My fingers let go of Carmen’s hand, and I grip the back of her neck sharply, forcing her in front of me. “You remember that, don’t you?” She keeps her head looking exactly where I want it faced as Dante pulls the branding iron off the girl’s foot. He keeps his hand clamped down on her ankle, twisting his body in the next breath for cream and tape. Seamless. Pitiless. “That’s still you, Carmen. Still a whore branded up and ready to work.” She stiffens. “Be careful with your tone, and don’t ever think you get to order me around because I fucked you.” She nods against my hand, keeping her stare fixed on the smoke as the smell of burning flesh wafts over us.
Dante swings his gaze around to look at us, shoving the girl’s leg away after he’s done with her. “Next.” Shaw pulls the crying girl off the table and walks out of the room, leaving Carmen with nothing but two Cortez brothers in here with her. “Are we about to have some fun?” he asks, looking over Carmen and standing up. He wipes his hands off on a rag. “‘cause I’m real damn good at talking manners and obligations with women who don’t know their place.”
She steps back into me, maybe hoping the devil she knows is better than the one she doesn’t. She’s wrong when I’m in this mood, and my tightening fingers show her that. “No!Jesus, I’m sorry. Abel, I am. I was out of line.” I push her down to her knees, neck cracking in my fingers. “I won’t speak out of line. I’ll behave. I will.” I keep staring, a sneer firmly embedded on my face. “Abel, please.”
“Who owns you?”
She looks back at Dante, then swallows whatever fight she’s thinking about offering up at me. “You do.”
“And what are you?”