The Taste of Revenge (War of Sins Book 1)
The Taste of Revenge: Chapter 27

‘Sign here,’ the officiant points towards the sheet of paper.

The last step.

Once the tip of my pen hits the parchment, I’ll be forever tied to him. I’ll become his property. His to do as he sees fit.

For days I’ve been fretting about this moment, thinking of countless ways to escape my fate. After all, I know exactly what happens when I’m not my own self anymore.

Yet no matter how much I plotted and schemed, I reached a point where I had to admit to myself that there was nothing I could do. The outcome had been decided long ago.

Just like before, I’m powerless to do anything but to let others dictate my fate.

My fingers grip the shaft of the pen, my hand shaky in one last bout of flimsy rebellion.

Looking back, my family is on one side, their watchful eyes on me since God forbid I make a scene. Raf’s friends are on the other side of the room, all sporting bored looks on their faces—probably aware of the sham that is this marriage.

And then there’s him.

The heat of his body seems to permeate every atom of my being—though we are not touching.

His steely eyes meet mine, their coldness suffocating and antithetic to everything else he makes me feel. But the disdain that greets me as I look at him is sobering enough to remind me of my place. I’m merely a pawn in his game—in everyone’s game.

My mouth opens on a sound that won’t come out—all my grievances suddenly muted by the inevitability of fate.

He narrows his eyes at me, and taking a step closer, he stoops low, his mouth brushing against my ear.

‘Don’t you dare,’ he whispers, his tone stern and unyielding.

Leaning back, there’s just the hint of a smile as the corner of his mouth pulls in a sick representation of what my life has become.

The smugness on his face does nothing to alleviate the emptiness forming inside of me as I turn my attention back to the paper, pressing the tip of the pen against the white surface and watching a leaky substance flow out of it.

A brisk move and my fate is sealed.

‘Congratulations,’ someone speaks, but it’s hard to make out whose voice that is.

Not when there’s a numbness inside of me that drowns everything out. My ears stop working, my mind foggy as I’m passed around from person to person for useless platitudes.

For a moment, I have to wonder if this is the reality I replace myself in. If it’s not a nightmare—a vision of horror produced by my sick mind.

Minutes trickle by. Then hours.

A screeching noise pounds in my ears—a sound that I belatedly recognize as my errant heart.

‘A little smile won’t hurt,’ a snide voice comments, that one sentence bringing me back to the present.

My sight clears, my eyes focusing on the moving items outside of the window of the car, the atmosphere stifling on the inside as I feel his presence more than ever in the small, enclosed space.

‘Don’t want to,’ I mumble, shrugging.

‘Now, that’s an issue, little liar,’ he says, and suddenly his fingers are on my jaw, tightly gripping my flesh and forcing me to look at him. ‘Your family believes in our great love story. It wouldn’t do well to disappoint them,’ he flashes me a mocking smile.

‘You might be able to win actor of the year with your golden boy looks, but I won’t help you. You got what you wanted already, so leave me alone,’ I grit my teeth as I shove his hand away.

‘That’s where you’re wrong. I didn’t get what I wanted. Far from it, Noelle,’ he smirks. ‘This is just the beginning. And by the time I’m through with you…’ his smile widens.

‘Do your worst,’ I shrug, already resigned to my fate.

At the end of the day, what can be worse than being married to Sergio? With all the threats hanging over my head, Raf hasn’t been violent towards me.

A manipulative bastard? Maybe. But he’s never lifted a hand against me, and that is my only solace at the moment.

He seems surprised by my easy acquiescence, a twitch in his jaw signaling his annoyance as he turns his focus back to the road.

It’s a very short while later that I realize we’re not going towards the house. My eyes widen as I watch the city skyscrapers quickly become small dots in the distance.

‘Where are we going?’ I demand, my head whipping back and forth as I try to make sense of our location.

Suddenly, images of him taking me in the middle of nowhere to kill me and get rid of my body flash before my eyes. And no matter how much I try to put on a strong front, slowly, the fear is getting to me.

He’s going to kill me.

That was what he wanted to do from the beginning, wasn’t it? But why now? Why marry me first?

A barrage of questions make their way into my mind, and while I do my best to rationalize my situation—that it wouldn’t be in his best interest to get rid of me now—somehow I can’t help but feel that I’m heading straight for the guillotine.

‘Our honeymoon, where else,’ he chuckles, but the mirth doesn’t reach his eyes.

In fact, there’s a chilliness coming from him that makes me shiver, my hands going around my arms in an attempt to warm myself up.

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Your brother thought we should have a weekend to ourselves,’ he answers in a curt tone, ‘since we won’t have too much intimacy at the house. He also told me he was remodeling the third floor to give us some privacy.’

‘Wh—what?’ I blink repeatedly, unable to believe what I’m hearing. ‘Honeymoon?’

‘It’s nothing fancy,’ he shrugs. ‘Just a couple of days at one of your family’s properties upstate. I can’t be away from New York for too long anyway,’ he mutters under his breath before promptly ignoring me.

Soon, silence descends over as he continues to drive. One look behind us, though, and I see an entourage of cars—our guards no doubt.

The knowledge that these are my brother’s people should make me more at ease, since Raf couldn’t possibly do anything to me under their watch.

Right?

There’s an echo in my brain as the question remains unanswered.

Because not all things that hurt are physical.

The journey doesn’t take long as we reach the house, and my spirits plummet even more as I realize which property he’d been talking about.

This particular house has a vast field surrounding it, with no neighbor in sight for what feels like miles.

My fear mounts again as I realize how trapped I am—how I’ll be unable to ask for help should I need it.

Raf doesn’t notice my change of mood. He barely spares me a glance as he parks the car, opening the trunk and getting a couple of bags out of it.

‘Yuyu packed you some clothes,’ he says as he throws a bag at me.

I don’t get to reply as he turns his back to me, heading straight to the house.

Trudging my way after him, I mumble a few curses under my breath.

It’s a couple of days, how bad can it be?

A few hours later I realize just how bad it can be.

‘You’re not going anywhere.’ He raises an eyebrow at me as he places himself in front of the door, blocking my way.

‘I didn’t realize I was a prisoner here,’ I retort, trying to bypass him.

As soon as we’d arrived at the house, we’d each laid claim to a room and then proceeded to ignore each other. Not that I’m not thankful for this version of a honeymoon. But the invisible chains around my wrists started to jiggle, and I found that I couldn’t stand still—especially since I knew he’s bound to make a move at some point.

‘You know just as well as I do that it’s dangerous to go outside alone,’ he grabs my arm, swinging me around to face him. ‘No matter how safe and secluded the location is, there’s still the possibility that someone could launch an attack,’ he continues, looking entirely put out with me.

‘Right. Let me get this straight. I can’t go out because I might get killed. But I should stay inside in case you decide to kill me. After all, wasn’t that your goal from the beginning?’ I throw at him, trying to wrench myself from his grasp.

‘That’s right,’ a smile erupts on his face. ‘If anyone’s going to kill you, it’s going to be me,’ he declares proudly, leaning in so close I can feel his breath on my lips. ‘Even more so now, little liar. Your life is in my hands,’ he chuckles. ‘Figuratively, and…’ his hold tightens. ‘Literally.’

‘Can you just get it over with then?’ I release a weary sigh. ‘Just do whatever it is you want to do,’ I say flippantly, already tired of having the threat hanging over my head.

‘Where’s the fun in that? Keeping you on your toes is much more appealing,’ he drawls, pulling back and looking at me expectantly—as if he’s waiting for me to break out into hysterics any moment.

I purse my lips, gazing at him in frustration.

He has a smug expression on his face as he regards me, and for the first time I realize what he’s wearing. No longer the black suit I’ve come to associate with him, he’s now dressed in a white shirt and baggy sweatpants.

I tilt my head, my brows furrowing in surprise as I take in this new side of him.

With everything I’ve learned of him so far—particularly his unyielding intensity—I hadn’t thought there was a more…leisurely side to him.

His sculpted chest is emphasized by the tight fit of the shirt, his pebbled abdominals almost peeking through.

‘What are you looking at?’ he barks, folding his hands over his chest and narrowing his eyes at me.

A smile pulls at my lips because for all his domineering attitude, there’s also something soft about him. Something…rather innocent.

‘Am I not allowed to look?’ I shrug, taking a step forward.

‘Not like that,’ he grumbles under his breath.

‘Like what? You’re a handsome man, Raf. And you’re my husband…’ I trail off, amused at his scandalized expression. Especially as I bring my hand up, brushing my fingers lightly over his forearm.

He doesn’t move, although his entire body is wound tightly as he keeps himself rooted to the spot.

Just when I think I have the upper hand, though, ready to play with him a little, he turns the cards on me.

My back connects with the hard wood of the door, the breath knocked out of me as I blink, staring up into his chilly eyes as he looks down at me with that mocking disdain I’ve come to associate with him.

His body is crowding mine, and I can feel all those hard planes pressed against me. That strength in his arms that makes me yearn for a place to nestle between them…

‘Done playing the meek victim?’ he asks spitefully, his face twisted in a scowl. ‘Let’s see,’ he laughs drily. ‘Is this when you beg me to fuck you again?’

‘I never begged,’ I grit out.

‘Right. Why don’t we remedy that?’ His voice drops to a dangerous notch. ‘Get on your knees and beg me, and I might indulge you,’ he smirks.

‘I’m not going to ever beg,’ I state confidently, meeting his stare head on.

He might intimidate me, and he might inspire uncomfortable feelings in me, but that doesn’t mean that I’m simply going to sing to his tune.

‘We’ll see about that, little liar,’ he smiles at me, but he doesn’t make to move.

We are at a standstill, our eyes locked in a vicious battle that neither wants to abandon.

I don’t blink.

He doesn’t blink.

It’s a battle of the wills as our breaths become labored, the air growing hotter with the intensity of our perseverance.

The heat emanating from his body seeps into mine, every spot he’s touching inflamed by the impossibility of the situation.

His pupils grow larger, his nostrils flaring as his upper lip twitches. Yet he doesn’t abandon his position. He keeps me locked in this arctic embrace—the ice in his eyes staying strong even in the face of infernal fires.

My mouth feels dry, my limbs heavy as I feel the press of his body to my core. My tongue slips out to wet my lips, and a shiver goes down my spine as his gaze dips to my mouth.

There’s a striking intensity to the way he stares at me—as if he can’t decide whether to kill me or fuck me. Alas, it’s a conundrum I’m very familiar with and one that often keeps me up at night.

As he realizes the direction of his thoughts, and the fact that his desire is written all over his face, his gaze snaps back to mine. The corner of his mouth curls up in something akin to disgust as he continues to look at me—conflicted emotions visible in every micro-expression.

But as the stare down continues, a low sound erupts in the air, building up until it vibrates in the room.

My mouth pulls into an amused smile as I realize the source.

‘Why don’t you beg me?’ I ask cheekily. ‘I might take pity on you and feed you.’ I barely keep myself from laughing out loud. Especially as his cheeks redden in a mix of embarrassment and anger, his hold on me tightening as he brings me even closer to his body.

‘Beg me,’ I murmur, pushing my chin up in a defiant move as I close the distance between our faces.

On the tips of my toes, my lips are barely an inch away from his. Inhaling, his breath transfers to me, the air filling my lungs and filling me.

The tension in his body doesn’t abate. If anything the proximity is making his muscles coil, his strength palpable and enveloping me like a fine glove.

‘As if anything coming from you could ever sate me,’ he jibes, arrogance dripping from his words, the double entendre an obvious taunt.

‘It could,’ I whisper, my voice husky in an attempt to sound seductive. ‘It might be just what you need.’

His jaw clenched, he breathes hard as if he’s one step away from actually strangling me. Somehow I know I’m treading on thin ice, but I can’t help myself when it comes to him. He brings out a side of me I long thought buried—a daring side that makes me want to push his buttons. Make him feel what he makes me feel.

There’s a pause where neither of us speaks, the wind howling through an open window and inviting a forlorn sound into the empty house.

Yet just as he opens his mouth to say something—chastise me for my wanton behavior, no doubt—another sound penetrates the air.

We both still, our gazes swinging back and forth as we try to identify the source of the noise.

‘You…’ I start, but he shakes his head, the hint of a smile on his face.

‘You,’ he states confidently, just in time for another growly noise to resound in the air.

My eyes widen, my arms immediately dropping to my stomach as I hold on to my midriff. And with a startling realization, I jump back, out of his grasp and out of his reach.

He’s silently laughing at me, his eyes crinkling with amusement.

‘Don’t,’ I grit out, annoyed.

‘Maybe I should feed you.’ He leans back, the tension all but leaving his body.

We stand like that for a moment—me clutching at my stomach in embarrassment, while he is smugly gloating at my mortification.

Then, just like the previous confrontation never happened—as if we weren’t on the verge of tearing at each other’s throats and clothes—we both burst out laughing.

‘Half an hour truce?’ I propose.

‘You have a deal,’ he replies jokingly. ‘Until we replenish the fuel.’

‘Fine,’ I wave my hand in the air, though the smile on my lips doesn’t want to dissipate. One look at him, though, and he’s in the same situation as he follows me to the kitchen.

‘Your brother said it was fully stocked,’ he mumbles as he checks the cabinet while I open the fridge.

‘It seems he thought about everything,’ I mutter drily. Of course, with my brother being a control freak, he wouldn’t stop micro-managing every aspect of my life—even though I’m theoretically off his hands now.

We do a quick inventory of what Cisco had gotten for us, and it seems he did think of everything—to my great chagrin.

‘So what now?’ Raf asks, hands in his pockets, as he looks at me like a lost puppy.

‘Now we make food,’ I almost roll my eyes at him.

‘Yeah, but…’ he trails off, confused.

‘You don’t know how to cook, do you?’ I ask point-blankly.

A sheepish smile and he shakes his head at me.

With a punctured huff, I turn to the lined up items.

‘Any preferences? Allergies? Anything?’ I raise an eyebrow at him.

‘Nope,’ he simply answers, walking to the table in the middle of the kitchen and plopping himself in the chair.

Turning sharply, I place my hands on my hips, glowering at him.

‘And what do you think you’re doing?’

‘Waiting?’

‘No, no,’ I raise my pointer finger, swinging it back and forth. ‘You don’t get to sit around while I work,’ I state, not leaving room for argument, especially as I dump a sack of potatoes in front of him. ‘You peel the potatoes, I cook the meat.’

A moment passes as he looks at the potatoes, then back to me, then back to the potatoes. Swallowing hard, I can see he’s weighing his options. More than anything, I can see he doesn’t know how to peel potatoes, yet he doesn’t want to embarrass himself further by admitting that.

I almost smile at the display of foolish male pride, but I let him figure it out on his own.

Turning my attention to the meat, I cut it into smaller pieces, adding spices on top of it and placing it on a tray to put in the oven. And while I’m waiting for Raf to finish with the potatoes, I also whip up a sauce for the meat.

‘Done!’ His words take me by surprise since it can’t have been more than ten minutes since he started.

Coming to my side, he presents me with a plate full of peeled potatoes—or what’s left of them. He appears extremely proud of his work as he more or less thrusts them in my face.

‘Great,’ I mumble, taking the tray from him and noting the small frown that appears on his face. Ah, golden boy wants to be praised for his abysmal peeling skills?

‘I’m impressed,’ I add in a fake tone, and his face lights up immediately.

‘I used my hunting knife,’ he proudly states, lifting a monstrosity of a knife in the air.

My eyes widen.

‘And why would you do that?’ The words tumble out of my mouth. ‘Why do you even have that?’

‘To hunt, of course.’ He frowns.

I blink, taken aback.

‘To hunt?’ I repeat, shock written all over my features. He nods effusively.

‘You can’t cook, but you have a hunting knife…to hunt?’

‘It’s not the same,’ he mumbles. ‘When you hunt,’ he pauses, scrunching up his nose. ‘You just peel off the meat from the carcass and cook it on a fire,’ he shrugs.

‘Why would you have to do that?’ I frown. I wouldn’t imagine him engaging in that type of behavior in the heart of the city. Somehow that one image is enough to elicit a low laugh out of me.

A dark look crosses his face, the amusement from before all but leaving his features.

‘Because not everything in life is sunshine and rainbows, Noelle,’ he replies in a harsh tone. ‘And because,’ he takes a step forward, making me lose my balance as I bump into the kitchen counter. ‘Sometimes you do whatever it takes to survive.’

The fire in his eyes could burn a hole in me. But just as he’s about to speak further, he’s off me and back at the table.

I let out a big breath, my heart beating like crazy from his proximity. But instead of dwelling on that, I simply adorn the meat tray with potatoes before placing it in the oven.

While we wait for the food to cook, I tentatively take the seat opposite to him at the table.

He has a grave expression on his face, and for a moment I feel guilty for dispelling the carefree mood we’d shared minutes ago.

But he’s right. Life is not sunshine and rainbows. And until we lay all our cards on the table, we won’t be able to reach any understanding.

‘How did you end up at the hacienda?’ I replace the courage to ask.

His gaze pins me with its intensity, and for a moment I don’t think he’s going to answer.

‘My brother sold me,’ he shrugs. ‘He wanted to be the sole heir to the family, so he shipped me off to be sold as a slave, killed my parents, and proclaimed himself the new boss.’ The words roll easily off his tongue, but the pain is evident in the way he makes a conscious effort to seem blasé.

‘Why… He’s your brother. Why would he do something like that?’

‘Some people don’t need a reason to do evil things, do they? My brother isn’t well. He’s never been particularly sane, but I can’t say I expected him to go off the rails like this.’

I nod sympathetically. Family drama is something I can more than understand.

‘Do you miss your parents?’

I wish I could ask him more about his time at the hacienda, but I know that is equal to opening a can of worms I’m not ready to face. Most of all, I don’t want to see the disdain in his eyes as he blames me for his misfortunes, and even less do I want to hear the love in his voice as he utters Lucero’s name.

I want to know more about him, yet some things are outside my comfort zone—for now.

‘You know,’ he starts, waving the hunting knife in the air in a playful gesture, ‘I haven’t even visited their graves. I heard that Michele had them buried somewhere in the city to save face, but I haven’t been able to go there yet…’ he stops himself abruptly, his head whipping up as his gaze meets mine. ‘I don’t know why I’m telling you this,’ he smiles ruefully to himself.

‘I can’t say that I know what you’re going through. My father died when I was too young to really miss him, and my mother is… Well, my mother is healthy enough, I suppose. She just doesn’t really care about me—about us.’

He frowns.

‘What do you mean?’

‘She had me pretty late in life. An accident from what I’m told,’ I shrug. ‘By that time she was done being a mother, and by all accounts, I was an unwelcome surprise.’

‘Who raised you then?’

‘Whoever was there at the moment, I guess,’ I reply, trying to keep the hurt from my voice. ‘Between my brothers and extended family, I had enough people to baby me—at one time or another,’ I force a smile.

‘That doesn’t sound very reassuring,’ he raises a brow.

‘What about you then? How was your relationship with your parents?’ I deflect, changing the topic.

He grimaces.

‘My relationship with my father wasn’t always the best, but that doesn’t mean that we didn’t get along. He always had my best interest at heart,’ he gives a stiff smile. ‘My mother… For all her faults, and I don’t say that lightly since I am well aware she wasn’t a good person, she was a good mother.’

‘I’m sorry.’

He grunts, the knife still in his hand as he twirls it around his fingers.

‘What’s done is done,’ he shrugs. ‘She may have been a good mother to me, and I will undoubtedly miss her, but to everyone else she was a shrew. I know for sure she didn’t make my sister’s life—or my brother’s for that matter—easy.’

‘Sister?’ I frown. ‘I didn’t realize you have a sister too.’

A slow smile appears on his face.

‘She’s not affiliated with the family anymore,’ he doesn’t say more, and I take it as my cue not to inquire further.

‘I see,’ I nod awkwardly.

There’s a brief pause as neither of us speaks, our breathing the only sound in the air. Yet as I gaze at him, is to replace a ravenous look in his eyes—something beyond mere hunger.

Unconsciously, I bite my lip, the reaction immediate.

There’s something primal about the way he looks at me, and it makes my skin tingle in an uncomfortable way.

‘What about your brother?’ I cough, clearing my throat as I attempt to steer my thoughts into a different direction—one that’s less likely to end with me as dinner. But damn if I wouldn’t gladly offer myself on a platter…

Stupid brain!

I mentally chastise myself for the direction of my thoughts. It’s not something new, since Raf’s presence usually elicits some type of visceral response from me.

‘What about him?’ His brow arches, the topic clearly an unwelcome one.

‘What do you plan to do about him?’

He regards me intently for a moment before shrugging.

‘I haven’t yet thought of the particularities. I’ll have time to think up plenty of punishments after I catch him,’ he pauses. ‘When,’ he corrects himself.

‘You’re going to kill him?’

‘That’s the plan,’ he nods tensely. ‘The how is still undecided,’ he adds mysteriously.

‘Why haven’t you caught him until now, then?’ I ask curiously since I know he and my brother have been working together to replace Michele.

I’m sure I’m not supposed to know this, but over time, I’ve developed an unparalleled ability to eavesdrop. One that’s served me well until now.

He purses his lips, clearly unhappy about that outcome.

‘He’s been eluding us on purpose. He’s scared,’ he smirks. ‘Which he should be. But that means he’s been very good about covering his tracks,’ he explains, and I nod along.

Especially as he continues talking, detailing some of the missions he and his team had completed in an attempt to get Michele out of his hiding place. So animatedly he’s recounting those events, that I think he’s forgetting whom he’s talking to.

I listen attentively to his words, swallowing each syllable and getting drunk on his voice—the normal, non-growly one that isn’t insulting or taunting me.

The more he talks, the more he relaxes around me, and a warmth unfurls low in my belly as I realize this is the real Raf—the funny, laid-back one.

The beeping of the oven wakes me from my reverie, interrupting our discussion. Begrudgingly, I have to admit that I would have preferred to starve than have him stop talking to me like this—like a normal person instead of the object of his disdain.

But as I get ready to take out the tray, I’m surprised to see him quietly set the table. I bring the food and we each help ourselves to a serving.

‘This is very good, thank you,’ he says, his genuine tone startling me.

‘You’re welcome,’ I murmur, a blush creeping up my cheeks. Lowering my head, I focus on my food, afraid my expression would give away what I’m feeling.

There’s a familiar coziness as we sit in silence, enjoying the meal without the usual jibes and mean comments. And for a moment, I forget he hates me. I forget that he married me for revenge. I forget that I’m not supposed to…like him.

For how long this pretense lasts, I feel a heat traveling down my body, my entire being burning from this small comfort that is his presence. And for the first time in so long—too long, really—my mind feels at peace.

‘Raf?’ I ask a while later, wanting to take advantage of the temporary lack of animosity.

My voice startles him as he turns his attention towards me.

‘What do you plan to do with me?’

My eyes meet his as his hand stills on his fork.

‘That’s not for you to know,’ he answers flippantly, his deep voice sending a shiver down my body. Setting his utensils down, he rises from the table. He takes his plate to the sink, quickly rinsing it before leaving the room.

And leaving me…

I guess there’s a limit to our civility.