Magnate (Acquisition Series Book 2) (3 page)

I peered up to get a better look at the person who would snuff me out. I breathed in through my nose and got a taste of his scent—woodsy, masculine. My heart drummed in my chest. I recognized him, the hard body against my breasts, the feel of his arms caging me against him.

“Stella.” The deep rumble of his voice made my knees weak but also poured kerosene on the ember of hate that burned in my heart. The flame leapt, catching the rest of me on fire, setting every nerve ablaze.

I renewed my fight, kicking and opening my mouth wide so I could dig my teeth into his palm. The bastard dared touch me after everything he’d put me through—my contract, the Acquisition ball, and my father selling me. He needed to bleed, to suffer. I bit harder. He grunted but didn’t release me. Even as I tasted copper and he constricted me so tightly to him that my vision dimmed, he wouldn’t let go.

“Stop,” Vinemont ordered, impatience dripping from his tone.

Getting nowhere, I relaxed my jaw and he withdrew his hand, but he kept the arm around me, walking me backward so he could close the door behind him.

“Where’s Lucius?”

He was already drawn tighter than a piano wire, but my question made him vibrate with intensity.

“He’s here tending to his foreman.”

“Is Javier hurt?”

“Took a slug in the shoulder. Through and through, but still hurt like a son of a bitch based on his whining.” He pushed me back until my knees hit the bed and I sat.

He took a step back and peered around, slivers of moon peeking through the windows the only light in the room. He strode back to the door and flipped the light switch. I was momentarily blinded but it didn’t matter. He blotted out everything else. Vinemont, standing before me, his dark hair wild and blood running from cuts along his cheek, his neck, his arms. His right pant leg was stained a vivid crimson and still wet.

But more striking than any of that were his eyes. Deep blue, turbulent, and filled with a mix of possession and pain that rent my already tattered soul into even smaller pieces before scattering them away into the four winds.

“What—”

“We’re safe.” His gaze took me in, every inch from head to toe. “For now.”

“What’s happened?”

He ignored my question and strode to the bathroom. Though he hid it well, I saw a slight wince each time he put weight on his right leg.

He ripped open the linen closet and dug around until he found a first aid kit. I followed, lingering in the doorway as he sank onto the edge of the tub and yanked the case apart. Supplies spilled into the floor, and he grabbed the small bottle of alcohol before tearing the lid off and dousing the cuts on his arms and neck. Some were deep, the alcohol making the blood flow more freely. He’d lain a gun to his right, within easy reach.

He needed help. His arms and neck would heal, but the crimson stain spreading along his leg looked much, much worse. Should I help my enemy? The man who’d whipped me, tortured me, and told me he’d do it all again without hesitation? I chewed my lip as he dabbed at the wounds with gauze and glanced up at me every few moments, as if making sure I hadn’t bolted.

When I noticed the slight tremor in his hand, I acted.

“Here.” I grabbed some towels and wash cloths from the closet and sank down in front of him.

He raised his eyebrows and froze, surprise in the clear windows of his eyes. Then he looked away, closing my one glimpse into his depths. I took his hand and inspected the arm that was the worst for wear. The slashes were straight, clearly caused by a knife, and one was particularly deep. It cut through one of the thick, snaking vines of ink at the upper end of his forearm. The wound needed stitches to stanch the blood that dripped down to the white tile floor. I searched the first aid contents and found a small staple gun. It would have to do.

“I want to see your leg before I do anything else.”

“It’s fine. I’ll heal.” He reached for the half full alcohol bottle, but his tremor had increased and he knocked it into the tub. I bent over his legs and grabbed it before the entire contents rushed down the drain.

“Just let me see.” I sat back on my knees. “Take your pants off.”

He smirked. “Missed me?”

I was a moth trying to aid the spider.
What was I thinking?
I started to get up. “Go fuck yourself.”

“Stop.” His voice shook the slightest bit. “Please.” He reached to his dark leather belt and unbuckled it before unfastening his pants.

I swallowed hard, giving him an angry stare before I gripped his jeans at the sides of his hips and pulled as he lifted up a bit. He settled back down heavily, the hand I’d bloodied with my teeth slipping as he sank and painting a bright red smear along the white porcelain. His boxer briefs were the only article of clothing not soaked with crimson. I drew the pants the rest of the way down and gasped when I found the stab wound through his calf. It was longer and deeper than the gash on his arm. The edges were ragged, oozing blood.

“How?” I looked up into his sapphire eyes.

“He came at me.” He lifted his arms and I could tell the wounds were defensive. “I fought back.” He rotated his wrist so I could see his bloodied knuckles. “And when he fell, he got one last good stab in before I…” He turned his hands over and stared at his palms, his brow wrinkling. He looked back at me, his eyes haunted.

What little compassion I had left was his, though he had no right to it. “You did what you had to. It’s going to be okay.”

He snorted a tiny laugh, but there was no smile, no spark to him. “I seem to keep doing that.”

“What?”

“What I have to do, no matter what. No matter who gets hurt. No matter who I destroy.” His voice thickened, mournfulness in every note, before he straightened his back and looked away.

Remorse? I would have laughed. I wanted to, the crazy impulse bubbling up and almost spilling from my lips. Instead, I pulled the belt from his jeans and looped it around his thigh, yanking it tight to momentarily slow the blood flow. When he winced, I felt somehow vindicated. Then I removed his boots and stripped his socks and pants the rest of the way off.

I soaked a washcloth with the alcohol and dabbed at his wound. He hissed but kept still. It had to hurt like hell.
Good
. I cleaned the wound more as his breathing grew ragged. The white washcloth soaked up his blood, his life with each swipe. Once I was satisfied the gash was as clean as I could get it, I gripped the stapler with one hand and used my other to squeeze his damaged skin together.

“Ready?”

He turned to me, his face back to its angular stonewall, and nodded. I squeezed the trigger and the machine made a loud
tick
as the staple clamped. He fisted his hands but gave no other sign that it hurt. I did another, then another, continuing until the wound was sealed. Blood still flowed around the edges, but most of the damage was contained so I could release the makeshift tourniquet. After stripping off his shirt, the now-familiar Vinemont emblem blazing from his chest, I moved to his arm and did the same. Once the largest gash was sealed, I used gauze and medical tape on the rest.

When I was done, the shirt I was wearing was a mottled crimson and white. I wiped the sweat from my brow with the back of my arm and sat next to him on the edge of the tub.

“Thank you.” He stared straight ahead, his neck tight, his jaw tighter.

I’d healed the spider, gotten him into tip-top shape so that he could destroy me even more thoroughly the next chance he got. I had no doubt he would. My flesh would be ripped, my blood spilled, and he would be the one to do it, just like before. I was a fool.

My gaze dropped to the gun only inches away, and I itched to take it. Could I kill him? End him and run? As much as my head wanted to say yes, my heart remained treacherous and refused.

As if reading my thoughts, he palmed the gun and stood, but swayed on his feet. He’d lost too much blood—the towels were soaked right along with his clothes. I pushed up and put my arm around his waist, helping him to Lucius’ bed. He eased down, set the gun on the pillow beside him, and looked around, a haze over his eyes.

“Just rest for a minute. You need to recover. I’ll go to the kitchen and get you some juice and whatever else I can find.” Distance. I needed it to clear my head, to cope with the shock of him bursting into my life again. I got one step away before he grabbed my wrist.

“Stay.”

“No. You need liquids. To replenish your blood.” I pulled my wrist, but it was useless.

His palm rested over my scars, the very reason I knew how to help him build his blood back up. I’d been hooked to an IV for days even after a transfusion.

I sighed. “I’ll come right back.”

“No.” He yanked and I fell into the bed next to him. “It’s not safe.” He wrapped his bandaged arms around me and pulled me to him, his hard chest pressing into my back.

“Vinemont!” I tried to push away from him, but I was caught.

“You aren’t going anywhere. Too dangerous.” His fingers played along the edge of my shirt, no doubt feeling the dampness of blood. “Take this off.”

I stiffened. There was no way I was going to lie in bed with him naked. “No.”

“Off.” He growled and gripped one side, yanking the shirt apart, buttons bouncing off the hardwood floors as he pulled the shirt roughly down my arms and tossed it.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” His body was hot, alive, and hard at my back. I couldn’t stay here. Not with him. Not in this bed like we were lovers, like we were two people who could seek solace from each other. We weren’t. We never could be those people. “Stop!”

He caged me, my struggles nothing to him even in his weakened state. “You aren’t leaving this bed. Get used to it. Don’t fucking try anything.”

I stopped fighting. There was no point. I would just have to wait until he fell asleep.

“You’re mine, Stella.” He tightened his grip with each word. “I don’t care where you run, who you choose, what you say, or what you fucking do. You, all of you, belongs to me.”

“I’m not a thing you can own,” I hissed.

He laughed, the sound low and full of heat. “You can hop countries like a skipping stone for all I care. I’ll find you, and you’ll wind up right where you are now.”

I tried another tack, one designed to knock him back to reality. “Besides, if I belong to anyone, it’s Lucius.”

He stopped laughing and drew his free hand up to my hair, stroking through the strands before gripping so tight it hurt. I yelped.

“Has he touched you?” His voice was in my ear, danger and seduction cutting through me like the knife had his skin.

“Fuck off.”

He yanked. “Has he?”

I barked out a harsh laugh. “Yes. Every night. Every night he fucks me until I scream his name. He gives it to me so good he’s all I can think about. I want it from him. I dream about him. When he puts his cock in my mouth I’ve never been happier. I beg him to fuck me in the ass. When he does, I come so hard I black out.”

He relaxed his grip and nuzzled into my hair. “You done?” His laugh was low, seductive. “Or do you have some more lies for me?”

My body warmed under his touch, his breath, his voice. I willed the memory of him whipping me into my mind, the memory of him showing me the contract where he’d bought me from my father. I wouldn’t fall for his tricks. Not again. I was done being his plaything.

He released me for a moment and gripped the white duvet, throwing it over us and marring it with blood. I edged away from him, separating our bodies, but it didn’t matter, he reached across me and turned off the light with the remote before crushing me against him. This time I felt his half mast dick pressing into my ass.

“Stop.” My voice quavered, the turmoil inside me spilling out in uncertain notes.

He spread his fingers along my bare stomach, his index finger brushing against the bottom curve of my breast. “Tell me to stop again. Please, Stella. Tell me again and see what happens.”

His words were a dark promise that sent a thread of electricity straight between my thighs. I was in his web again, caught and cocooned as he slowly sank his fangs into every bit of me.

I remained silent. I had no other choice.

“No?” He teased his lips down my neck. “You don’t want to find out? You don’t want me to put you on your stomach, slap your ass, fist your hair, and fuck your tight pussy until I make you come on a scream? Tie you up, make you come again and again while I’m deep in your ass until you beg me to stop? You don’t want all the things you just lied to me about? I can make them true, Stella. Every last one.” His fingertip moved back and forth against the sensitive skin of my breast, every nerve in my body focusing on that one small movement. “I could break you and you’d love every minute of it.”

“You will never break me. Never.” The venom in my voice surprised me. I realized then how much I meant it. How much I intended to fight. There would be no more sinking to the bottom of the pool. No more toying with death over drinks and dancing. I intended to walk across the room, wrap my arms around death’s neck and pull him down to me. Kiss him like there was no tomorrow and dare him to do a thing about it. Fuck him. Fuck Vinemont, too.