90 Days With Don Cortez As His Submissive

Arlari's POV

"I'm not leaving without seeing him."

They crossed their arms, not even bothering to conceal the pistols in their pockets.

"Remind us again, who are you here to see, chiquita?"

"The Mexican kingpin. Severiano Cortez. Your boss."

"Do you have an appointment?"

I bit on my lip. It was not like he had a permit when he whisked my brother away from his apartment and struck him across the skull.

"No, I don't. But—"

"Then he isn't in."

My lips part. My hands press together in some ridiculous prayer gesture before my brain can veto it.

“He is in there. I know he is. I literally followed your convoy here in my car.”

Their expressions were still kept neutral like brute attack dogs.

“I need to see him,” I push, softer now. “Please.”

One of them shakes his head and mutters rapid Spanish I half-understand, something about vete a casa.

"Go home."

And then they draw their guns.

I freeze. Every ounce of bravado leaks out of me. My throat works around a gulp that tastes like metal. “He has my brother in there,” I blurt, “Danny Marquez. I’m here to plead with him to release my brother.”

The taller one smirks without humor. “Don Cortez does not show mercy.”

My chest squeezes. “Then maybe he’ll settle for ransom,” I whisper, desperation pouring through my teeth. “I’ll negotiate. Whatever it takes. Just...let me try.”

One of them finally leans close to the other, whispering something I couldn't catch. The other guard nods and disappears inside. After what feels like hours, he finally came out.

“Boss says…” He pauses. “You can come in.”

I nodded and forced my feet to move. If I didn't love my brother... I would've sat my butt on the earliest departing flight first thing tomorrow morning.

°°°°°°

The warehouse smells like oil and old wood, the kind of scent that sticks to your hair and skin whether you want it to or not. It’s dim, and the fluorescent lights hung too far apart.

I am not OCD but... I am bothered.

Men move around with their backs to me, heaving crates onto pallets. I keep my eyes down, because I know better. In this world, the more you see, the faster you end up in the ground.

I’ve been in Mexico a year. Long enough to know the rules and the consequences of breaking them.

The two guards flanking me murmur something under their breath and then turn to a metal staircase. At the top there was a door. One of them knocks twice and then the door creaks open. I am pushed inside like a sacrifice while the guards shut the door behind me.

“Hello?” My voice cracks in the dark room.

Nothing.

“Hello?” Louder this time.

The lights, as if on cue, turn on and behind the oak table, a certain figure sits.

Severiano Cortez.

He sits like a king at his throne. One leg crossed over the other, his body loose but his gaze… no. His gaze is carved from obsidian, just like his coffee-black eyes.

Two handguns lie on the table in front of him, casual as paperweights. A silent reminder of exactly where I am.

My lungs forget how to work. My knees buckle before my brain even decides, and I find myself dropping to my knees on the cold floor like a sinner in church.

He studies my figure like he is reading a list. “You must already know who I am,” he says.

“Yes.” My voice is small but steady. Then I add the part that matters. “I am Danny Marquez’s sister. I am here for my brother.”

He tilts his head. “You are here for the thief.”

“He makes mistakes,” I say. “He is reckless, but he is still my brother, and he is young, he is—”

Severiano’s laugh is a smooth thing.

“Family does not excuse stupidity. Nineteen is an age with teeth. He is an adult who chose badly.” He leans forward. “He tried to steal a drive of mine, containing sensitive information capable of twisting Mexico inside out. That was death wearing a fancy shirt.”

I let that land, because there was no arguing the facts.

“So whatever you want, punishment, I'm sure you've beaten him to pulp already. Just please, let me leave with my brother. I beg you, sir."

I brew the courage to look up, and as I did, I felt like looking back down. Which I... did.

He watches me the whole time. Then he surprises me by speaking in a voice that is almost casual. “Lift your face.”

I do, because the command is small and my neck is tired of looking down. He studies my eyes as if deciding whether the color is worth keeping.

“Doe eyes. Freckles. Rosy cheeks.” He smiles. “Exactly my type.”

Before I can turn my disgust into something else, his gaze hits somewhere else, and he asks, “Do you have any STIs? Any STDs?”

What.

My brain staggers. “Excuse me, sir?”

“Answer me.”

My inner voice files an emergency restraining order against him while my mouth, traitor that it is, answers before I can script a better response.

“No. I don’t. I’m clean.” It comes out defensive, like I am proving that I am not diseased and also not a liar.

"I'll have that confirmed, in the meanti—"

"Sorry," I interrupted him, already feeling scared that I did. "How does this... help my brother?"

A smirk curved on his face as he stood, and for the first time I realized how tall he was. He didn’t just stand up, he loomed over the table, he had his sleeves rolled up, forearms wrapped in black ink that looked older than the building we were in.

And then his hand was on me. He didn’t even bend. He just stretched out one long arm and caught my chin between his fingers like I was some fragile thing.

My breath hitched. From this angle, my eyes were… oh God. They were level with the bulge in his slacks. And of course my stupid eyes dropped before my brain could stop them.

My ears flushed.

“My sub passed away five days ago,” he said flatly.

Huh?

I blink. “Your… sub? Substitute employee?”

His lips curved, not into a smile, more like amusement. “No. My little pet.”

Oh. A dog. Or a kitty. Or a hamster. Or a bunny.

His thumb brushed my chin. “Your brother was scheduled to die tonight. Beaten, carved and displayed outside this warehouse.”

His accent was thick... sweetly—

His grip on my chin tightened.

“But, since you are here, I will offer something else. A deal.”

My mouth was too dry, but somehow I spoke. “What deal?”

That smirk returned to his face.

“You want your brother free? Then answer me this…” He leaned closer. “Are you familiar with the term BDSM?”