Page 8 of When Sinners Hate
On his knees. Begging. Desperate.
The vision calms my riled nerves, and I drain the Champagne, quenching the fire that’s burning to get out. Abel, seemingly forgetting the gentleman act from earlier, doesn’t fill my glass when I place it back on the pristine table, so I grab the bottle and do it myself. Something I should simply get used to.
Annoyingly, the food, when it comes, is sublime. Succulent and juicy scallops melt in my mouth. The beef is delicious, and despite it being early for dinner, I’m starving. Abel wears a smug smile the rest of the night, but I let him have this one. There’s no benefit to screaming and shouting at this man. He’ll take no notice, and I refuse to let him see how much he’s getting to me so far.
I’m the one who’s lost ground. Each decision, every move has been his so far, and I need a win.
The conversation on the ride home is non-existent. I text my father and insist that my things are delivered before the end of the night - I won‘t have another day without my wardrobe. He confirms promptly, and I put my phone away.
“So, is tonight the night?” I ask, wanting to know what the living arrangements will mean for us as a couple – even a fake one.
“The night for what?” He doesn’t move his eyes from the road.
“For us to get to know one another more… intimately. I don’t know about you, but I’d like to work out some of my frustrations.”
“When I want to fuck, I’ll let you know.”
“And you kiss your mother with that mouth. Well, hopefully, you won’t be some pussy-ass limp dick who can’t get hard enough to fuck me right.”
He doesn’t answer, and I have to wonder if anything will get a reaction from Abel Cortez.
We pull up to the gatehouse of the mansion, the barriers draw back and Abel drives on up. He keeps the car running and shows no interest in getting out.
Very well.
“Make sure security knows my things will be delivered tonight. I don’t want to be disturbed once I’ve gone to bed.”
“Anything else?” he asks, almost sounding sincere.
“No. Is there anything you have planned for us tomorrow?”
“Yes. But I’ll let you know in the morning.” He revs the engine of his Dodge.
I get out of the car and slam the door. The second it’s closed, he drives off.
The scream rips from my throat in a high-pitched siren. It, like the spark and tension, has been building, and I feel unable to keep it contained. It feels good, too.
Well, if Abel’s going to treat me like shit, he better be ready.
CHAPTER THREE
ABEL
Dante is, amusingly, nervous. I chuckle to myself about it and watch him from the kitchen as he walks towards the lounge with his little Wren. She’s all smiles and greetings. First with Mariana, and then Knox. Although, the latter is less happy and more cordial. Either way, seeing Dante with some anxieties attached to him is comical. The only time I've seen that was before I went inside. He was a different creature by the time I came out. Forced that way by me and mother perhaps, but neither nerves nor apprehension are traits anyone associates with him these days.
“The Dragon. You’re the one who killed my brother,” drifts back at me. My back straightens at the sound of Alexia, and I leave the kitchen to intervene in whatever this might become. “For her, presumably.” By the time I’m around the corner and into the hall, Dante's blocking Wren and Alexia is still wearing that same fake smile she holds so well. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m not overly bothered. What is done, is done.” Wren keeps hold of Dante’s hand like her life just got rammed into hell, and my brother, well, he’s turning red. Never a good sign. “Besides,I’m looking forward to planning a wedding now. That’s what you’re here for, yes?”
“Yes, it is,” I cut in, looking at Wren. “Outside?”
She looks up at me, and then back to Dante before letting go of his hand and following me. I don’t know what’s said between my brother and Alexia after that, nor do I care. He’ll make his point felt in any way he chooses. With any luck, it’ll resemble a threat, one he’ll carry out if I agree.
By the time they both come out and join us, Wren has her iPad out and is busy making notes. They sit down with us – them on one side, us on the other. It could be seen as affectionate if I wasn’t with someone just for the sake of a union. Instead, what should probably be serene becomes business-like and methodical as the conversation continues, especially with Wren’s curt words leading the talk. Unsurprising given Alexia’s opening conversation, I suppose.
Dress – Ivory. Venue – Bellini’s perhaps, considering I own it, but Wren will look into other places, too. Flowers – I couldn’t care less. Alexia can deal with it if she wants something specific. Guests – over two hundred, only twenty of which mean anything to either of us. Timescale – six weeks from today.
One of mother’s servers comes over with a tray of drinks, and Wren continues to discuss the arrangements, but at some point during the last however long, Dante’s eyes got fixed on mine. I know what he’s thinking. He’s still questioning me and what the hell I’m doing. Probably because he believes I’ve got a heart like him. I haven’t. What was left of mine got taken from me when I was inside Huntsville penitentiary.
I blink under his intensity, letting my mind go back to that time. His life might have made him numb to his job, but I know the boy he was. He always did have hope. It wasn’t taken from him or sucked out of him. He wasn’t left to rot in a hole. He wasn’t held down and beaten on by nine guards, or worse,just because they could. He wasn’t put into isolation for weeks because the governor thought it necessary to curb the rebellion. And he wasn’t starved for days either. No, he chose to suppress his feelings. He found a way to push them aside while he did as I asked. They can be pulled back up when you do that, but any hope I had for something better, something enjoyable – regardless of me finding my way out and building a life out here – is still back there in the wall.