Chapter Nineteen
Another day passes alone in the dungeon. Maria brings down lunch, as if there’s nothing remotely odd about the situation. Day turns to night and I stay huddled against the wall, my pillow at my back, my blanket serving as a makeshift rug beneath me.
I don’t hear him approach, but I suddenly see Mateo. Popping out the ear buds, I hit stop on my little black CD player and sit up straighter, watching him expectantly.
He stands there for a moment, wordless.
We haven’t spoken a word to each other since I declared my love. He fucked me against the wall, and then left before I could even catch my breath.
My eyes move over him, his sharp suit, his put-together appearance, but he still looks tired.
He unlocks the door and it swings open, so I get to my feet. I don’t know if he’s coming in or I’m coming out.
He comes in. My heart’s pitter pattering at an uneven speed in my chest but I remain where I am, waiting. Mateo stops right in front of me, looking down at me in a way that makes me feel small. I swallow, and I’m pretty sure we can both hear it.
A moment later, Mateo reaches into his jacket and pulls out his gun. My breath catches, fear taking hold of me as he yanks back the muzzle without looking away from me, pushing a bullet into the chamber.
“Mateo…”
Before I can beg him to reconsider, he turns the gun around, pointing at his own chest, and placing my hand on the gun.
I can’t breathe, terrified it’s going to go off. I’ve never owned a gun. I held one once—my high school boyfriend had one, and he let me hold it without anything in it. But here, now, holding Mateo’s gun against his heart, knowing it’s locked and loaded, I’m terrified.
“If you still want to kill me, do it now,” he says simply.
As slowly as I can—like I’m going to scare the gun, accidentally make it react—I move the weapon away from his chest and toward the wall. “I don’t know what to do with this. Please take it back.”
“Last chance,” he states, not moving.
“I don’t want to kill you,” I say, eyes on the gun, still nervous about holding it. “I told you that.”
“Good,” he says, reaching out his hand for the gun. I don’t hand it to him, too afraid to move it, so he rolls his eyes and takes it out of my hand, disarming it for me. “Come on,” he says, turning around and heading down the hall toward the exit.
I’m not sure where we’re going, but I follow him without a word.
At the end of the long, silent walk, we’re back in his bedroom. It feels like an eternity since I’ve last stood here, even though I guess it’s only been a few days. Everything has changed in those few days, and I’m not even sure why I’m here now.
Mateo provides no clues, leading me there without explanation, his face betraying nothing.
Once inside, he closes the door behind us and takes out his phone, tapping on it briefly before dropping it into his pocket. He tugs his jacket off, tossing it on a chair near the bed, then turns his attention back to me. “Sit.”
I sit on the edge of the bed and watch as he moves closer. He stops in front of me, shoving his hands into his pant pockets. “I need to understand what happened. I need to understand how two opposing things can be true. Did he send you here with a mission to kill me, and you inadvertently fell for me? You like your chances with me better? Or are you playing me in a way I haven’t figured out yet?”
“I told you what happened,” I say calmly. “I told you exactly what happened.”
“But what you told me doesn’t explain the text messages.”
“The text messages are not real,” I state.
His eyebrows jump up at that. “They’re not? Weird, I’ve seen them with my own two eyes. They replay on a fucking loop when I try to sleep at night. They seem pretty real to me.” Not even giving me a chance to respond, he goes on. “Now, could be you were lying to him. That’s possible. I don’t know why, it doesn’t make sense, but it’s possible. Maybe your feelings for me were real, but you continued to lead him on, telling him you were miserable when you weren’t. But that doesn’t make sense either. Do you see where I’m getting stuck here, Meg?”
“I do,” I say, nodding once. “Nothing makes sense. I just don’t know how to help. Who found that phone, and where was it?”
Eyeing me watchfully, he says, “You know where the phone was hidden.”
“I don’t. If you didn’t find that phone yourself, maybe it was never hidden. Who brought it to you?”
“Adrian.”
I lose a little steam there. I can’t actually accuse Adrian of subterfuge. Maybe he doesn’t claim to be Mateo’s friend, but for someone who supposedly doesn’t care about him, he sure looks out for him.
Similar thoughts probably running through his head, Mateo says, “You think Adrian planted the phone?”
“No.” It didn’t require an answer, given his dubious tone, but I give him one anyway. “No, Adrian wouldn’t betray you.”
The problem is, I don’t think any of us would. I don’t know everyone in the house well, but I haven’t seen anything from anyone that would cast that kind of doubt. They don’t always like him, but everyone under this roof is loyal to Mateo. What would any of them gain from any of this? They’re already elevated in his service—well, all but Vince, but he’s just young. They might be able to maintain power if they sold him out, but why? It doesn’t make sense.
The real problem is, the thing that makes the most sense is what he believes—it just isn’t the truth. If I wasn’t me, I would doubt myself, too.
“Can I see the phone? Can I read the text messages?”
Mateo shakes his head, a tick in his jaw betraying anger. “I destroyed it.”
“That… isn’t what I would have done.”
“Wasn’t intentional,” he bites out.
“Oh.”
“You may not have been able to physically fuck him while you’ve been with me, but those text messages make me want to kill you both.”
He takes a step closer, just the memory of them inflaming his temper.
“Well, I don’t know what they said, but I’m very sorry you had to read them.” I’ve never read a lover’s betrayal via text before, but I imagine it’s very painful.
“Excruciating,” he says, stopping when his knees brush my legs. “You called my company excruciating.”
“I do not find your company in the least bit excruciating,” I tell him. “I obviously enjoy your company very much. A little less when you think I’ve cheated on you, but even now I wouldn’t call it that. Regrettable. I think we’ll look back on this as regrettable, but… not excruciating.”
I have a bit of a hard time finishing my thought, because Mateo comes toward me until I crawl back on the bed. Then he just follows me, that angry gleam in his eyes.
I don’t feel his anger though, I feel pain. I’ve hurt him. Well, I haven’t, but apparently some asshole text messaging imposter has, and he can’t believe I’m innocent.
I don’t care. I flatten myself on the bed, welcoming his weight as he comes down on top of me.
“Do you think about him when I fuck you, Meg?”
I don’t answer. I don’t know if it’s a real question or just an insult he wants to inflict, but I absorb it regardless.
He trails the backs of his fingers along my jawline, almost tenderly. “Do you miss him? Does he cross your mind when you’re with me? Did you envision a life with him? Did you spend nights curled up in his arms the way you curl up in mine?”
The level of his jealousy does make me a little nervous, but I ignore it. I’m innocent of these crimes, and eventually he’s going to know that. Somehow.
“You loved him enough to risk your life to do this stupid fucking thing—and apparently you love me enough to turn on him now that you’ve been caught. Do you just love everybody?”
I narrow my eyes at that one. “I don’t know; why don’t you ask my dead husband?”
Instead of taking that rebuke like he should, it just adds fuel to his crazytrain. “And you were married. I mean, Rodney was dog shit and didn’t deserve you, I understand that, but you swore to me you’d never cheated.”
“I haven’t. That remains true. I’ve never cheated on anyone in my whole entire life.”
He withdraws his hand, cocking his head to the side. “And yet Salvatore.”
“I’ve never hated someone so much without ever having spent more than two minutes in their company,” I say, shaking my head. “You should kill him, too. Him and the old man, just clean house.”
“You want to know what’s funny?” he asks, though his face makes it very clear this isn’t going to be funny. “I always considered Salvatore an ally. He may be Castellanos stock, but he didn’t want to fight over territories either. Nice and fucking simple—never had a problem with the guy. I ever see him again, I’m going to rip his fucking face off.”
He’s still angry, and I’m not terribly excited when his hands drop to my shorts, unbuttoning and unzipping them. My body wasn’t prepared for the angry fuck last night, and I’m still a bit sore today.
“Mateo,” I begin hesitantly, catching his hand. I’m just about to tell him that, too. I don’t want him to feel bad, but he’s too big and he doesn’t even use condoms to help him slide in. It’s not going to be a fun time.
But he grabs my wrists and pins them above me on the bed, his eyes meeting mine with an unspoken challenge. Deceptively calm, he says, “Yes, Meg?”
He’s not going to stop. I realize it before my mouth opens to object, so I close it. Emptiness drops through my stomach, but I pull it together. “Nothing.”
His pants are down now, and he moves between my legs, butting against me. “Nothing?”
I shake my head, trying to relax my body. It’s not going to help the soreness much, but tensing is going to make this decidedly less pleasant.
He pushes inside me dry and it’s even less comfortable than I anticipated. I grip his shoulder, wanting him to slow down, but he plows ahead.
“You sure, Meg? You can ask me to stop.”
I shake my head, adjusting my hips.
“Tell me to stop, Meg,” he says, burying his face in my neck and leaving a trail of suckling kisses.
“I will not,” I reply, tilting my neck to give him better access.
“Why?” he finally asks, looking at my face as he eases out and then pounds back into me.
“Because you won’t,” I say, narrowing my eyes at him. “You just want to hurt me. You’re going to have enough to regret when this is all over, I’m not going to help you pile on.”
He laughs at that. It’s a bitter laugh, and he punctuates it with a particularly aggressive thrust. “Who’s gonna make me regret it?”
“The truth will.”
“That’s funny, coming from you.”
I glare at him then. “Right. Because you’ve certainly never lied to me.”
As if to accentuate the unspoken lie, he buries himself inside me. I turn my face away from him, watching the wall as he fucks me without care. I’ll let him use my body, but the rest of me wants no part of this.
He finishes inside of me, but he doesn’t linger afterward. Once he cleans up and rights his pants, he looks at me, still curled up on the bed.
“I’m going to let you stay in here, but nothing changes. You have a soft bed to sleep in, but make no mistake, I’m just giving you a more comfortable cell. No phone, no contact with the outside world. I’ll let you read a story with the girls before bed. You’ll sleep with me. I’m not going to kill you because I’d fucking miss you too much, but I’m going to make your life hell.”
“That was almost sweet,” I toss back.
Straightening his tie, he replies, “Shouldn’t have taken the necklace.”
“Still don’t regret it,” I inform him.
“No?” he asks, affecting mild surprise. “I’ll have to try harder.”
Smiling slightly, because I’m an actual nutjob, I guess, I tell him, “Do your worst.”
“Don’t tempt me,” he states, with a look of real warning. “You can’t handle my worst, Meg.”
“Okay,” I say, regarding him a little more seriously. “Let me rephrase. Do your worst to me—just keep it between us.”
He cocks his head to the side, as if not quite understanding. It makes me think we have two completely different ideas of what his ‘worst’ entails.
“Don’t bring Mia into this,” I specify.
I can’t quite read the look that quickly moves across his face, but there’s definitely a guarded feeling to it. “Not fun to think about, is it?” he asks. “Now imagine finding text messages between us where I tell her how much I’d love to fuck her, if only I wasn’t trapped in your excruciating company.”
I flinch, and he nods.
“I’m sorry,” I say again. “I don’t… I don’t know what to say about that. You know me, you know I’d never say that.”
“Maybe I don’t,” he suggests, tugging his jacket back on. “Maybe I only thought I did.”
I don’t even know if he’ll be receptive—he didn’t kiss me on the mouth once either time he fucked me these last two times—but I push up off the bed to stand in front of him. I feel nervous, and my mind goes back to our first kiss at the bar, but it makes me sad. It feels almost sacrilegious, but I grab the tie he just fixed and pull him in so I can brush my lips against his. He doesn’t immediately respond, but then he does, his hands locking around me, tugging me against him, his tongue sweeping into my mouth. Of course now my blood starts heating, my heart hammering against my chest as he kisses me, touches me, pulls me against him.
We’re both a little breathless when he finally pulls back, but he also looks a little lost.
I wish I knew how to fix this. I wish I knew how to convince the least trustful man in the whole world that even though all logical signs indicate otherwise, I haven’t betrayed him.
A truly impossible task.
“He’ll never touch you again,” he states, his voice a little husky. “No one will.”
“Good,” I say. “I only want you to touch me.”
“Good,” he returns evenly.