My mind returns to the woman upstairs. To how she’d looked this morning when I’d walked into her room after my ride. How she cast her eyes down submissively only after staring open-mouthed as if she’d never seen a man bare-chested before. Although perhaps she hasn’t. The Society’s rules are strict for women, especially those of her standing.

Another image comes into focus then. The one that had me jerking off in the shower this morning. That of Mercedes facedown ass up. The one of her from behind with everything exposed to me.

A low rumble comes from my chest. I draw in a deep breath and adjust myself.

Self-control. She’ll test me. Just as I will test her.

I make myself think about the scars. Imagine what she endured when I remember her comment about pain not bothering her. No, I guess you learn to take it when you’re beaten so badly that you’re left that damaged. That broken. She has hidden them for years. I want to know what happened to her and when. They’re old, so I believe her that it wasn’t Santiago. And, truth be told, I am relieved. Santiago is a ruthless man, but he would never harm his sister. He loves her.

Was it Lorenzo De La Rosa, her father? Or Leandro, her brother. Two men who would have had access to her to beat her so brutally. Because this isn’t something she would have walked away from. Hell, she wouldn’t have been able to walk at all for days, if not weeks.

Lorenzo’s hard face floats into memory. He was a cruel man. I’ve heard some of the stories, the ones Santiago has shared. And even if I hadn’t, I’ve seen his form of discipline. Santiago and I grew up together. But he wouldn’t have laid a hand on his daughter, would he? Surely, he wouldn’t have beaten her badly enough to scar her?

I pick up one of the two phones on my desk and scroll through my contacts to dial Santiago. He picks up on the second ring.

“Judge. How are things?” I hear the concern in his voice. No matter what Mercedes thinks, he is worried about her.

“As well as can be expected.”

“Is she all right?”

“She’s adjusting.”

“Hmm.”

“I have a question,” I start, but something stops me from asking the one I want to ask. No, not something. Someone. Mercedes. Her face when I threatened to tell Santiago. She’s desperate he doesn’t find out.

“Go on,” Santiago says when I pause for too long.

I clear my throat, then pick up the second phone on my desk. “The password to Mercedes’s phone. Do you have it?”

“Yes. I’ll text it to you. You’ll take care of anything between her and this woman?”