“I want to talk to my brother,” she tries, the tone of her voice betraying her anxiety, her understanding of how powerless she is at this moment. But the decision has been made for her. And she will submit.

“In time. Do as I say and turn around. I’ll take it off as soon as we’re in the car.”

Tears slip from her eyes. “Why are you doing this to me? You’re supposed to be his friend.”

“I am his friend. That’s exactly why I’m doing this.”

Silence.

More tears.

I watch, transfixed. She is so wounded. And so fucking beautiful. I should have refused this task. The decent side of me knows this. Has known it all along. But the animal inside, it wants.

“Mercedes,” I say. “You’re tired. It’s been a very long night. Turn around. Let’s get this done and get you out of here.”

“I want to go home.”

“That’s not happening. Not now.”

“It was a mistake. I—”

“Turn around, Mercedes. I won’t ask again.”

She looks up at me, her lower lip trembling, stubborn pride warring against acceptance.

I set my hands on her arms and turn her, and she doesn’t resist. It’s the weight of the night. Of what she’s done. I slide the silk cloth over her eyes. She whimpers as I secure it at the back of her head, then walk around to look at her, my little captive. Her head bowed. Delicate wrists bound by thick rope.

Something shifts inside me at the sight. Something dark awakening. Wanting.

Fuck.

I swallow it down and lift her in my arms. She yelps and struggles momentarily. I tighten my grip in warning, and she stills, stiffening, pressing against my chest as I move toward the passage that leads to the tunnels beneath. Santiago chose this room with that purpose in mind, I’m sure. Save his sister from further humiliation. Protect her.

She makes a sound as I carry her down the stone stairs, tucking herself closer to me as her bare toes scrape the rough stone wall. And I know as I take my captive through the tunnels beneath the compound that tonight, the course of both of our lives has shifted. There will be no going back. Not for either of us.

3

Judge

She’s quiet on the drive to the house. As promised, I remove the blindfold but leave the rope around her wrists. Not that she’s going anywhere, but her lessons begin tonight. And I need to set expectations.

She keeps her gaze out the window as we drive the avenue of ancient, giant oaks toward the estate. She’s told me before how beautiful she finds it. Magical was the word she’d once absently used.