8: You are under me

My eyes widened. “What?”

His hand tightened on mine, iron wrapped in silk. “If I drop you off tonight, Wiktor’s men will follow – and knowing Wiktor, he will try to hurt me any way he can.” The way he said the words send a shiver down my spine. “So, until I decide how to deal with him, you’re not out of my sight.”

“Santiago – “ I started, panic and heat clashing in my chest.

He cut me off, his gaze molten. “You’re under my protection now, mi ángel. You sleep where I sleep.”

I wanted to argue. I wanted to scream. But the words caught in my throat as Julián stepped closer, murmuring rapid Spanish. I couldn’t follow the words, but I saw the way Santiago’s jaw flexed, before he nodded. Then he turned back to me, brushing a strand of hair from my face with unexpected gentleness.

“You’re coming with me, mi ángel.” His voice was soft, but his words left no room for argument. “Your apartment isn’t safe. And I don’t share what’s mine with scavengers.”

I recoiled slightly. “What I am is none of your – “

His grip tightened on my hand, silencing me, his eyes molten with fury and something darker.

“Wiktor just jeopardized your safety. That makes you mine, until he’s dealt with.”

The room around us had gone silent. Lucía, pale as flour, pretended to be busy sorting menus at the entrance, but her trembling hands betrayed her. Every diner sat frozen, pretending not to look, pretending not to listen. But everybody heard Santiago claiming me.

My throat closed. “And if I refuse?”

Santiago leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of my ear, his voice a low growl that made my skin prickle. “Then I’ll carry you out of here over my shoulder. And no one will stop me.”

My heart hammered so hard I thought it might break my ribs. A part of me wanted to slap him. Another part – a shameful, traitorous part - wanted to see if he meant it.

Santiago nodded once to Julián, who was already moving, signaling to someone outside. I caught the flicker of a shadow past the windows – another man on watch, armed, waiting.

My knees wobbled. “Where are you taking me?”

Santiago bent, pressing a soft kiss to my temple.

“Somewhere Wiktor’s men can’t reach you. My house.”

He draped his jacket over me once more before we stepped into the night.

The SUV waited outside, engine running. Santiago guided me out with his hand at my back. Julián went ahead, scanning the street with a predator’s precision. The night air was cool, but I felt feverish. Trapped. Caught between fear of Wiktor’s men and the fire of Santiago’s touch, steering me toward a place I wasn’t sure I wanted to see. A place I might not escape.

When the door shut behind us and the SUV pulled away from the curb, I knew it. I could sense it, hanging in the air like a storm. There was no going back.

The SUV slid smoothly into the night, city lights blurring past the tinted windows. The hum of the engine was steady, but inside, the silence was sharp and oppressive – like the calm before a thunder.

I sat pressed against the cool, white leather, Santiago’s jacket draped around me, his warmth clinging to it. In my head, his words echoed: My house.

His house.

His world.

His rules.

Julián drove with practiced ease while his eyes remained watchful, sharp, constantly checking the mirrors. He was talking into a mic I could not see, murmuring orders in Spanish. The words spilled too quickly and faintly for me to make them out. But I could sense the weight in them; prepare for danger.

I hugged myself tighter, staring out the window, half-expecting to see scarred men in black sedans following us.

“Breathe, mi ángel.” Santiago’s voice wrapped around me like velvet and smoke. He sat right beside me, lounging against the seat like this was just another ride home. But his eyes never stopped watching me. “You’re trembling.”

“I’m not.” The denial was weak, breaking in my throat.

His lips curved, boyish and wicked. “Liar.”

I turned on him then, anger flaring through the fear. “You can’t just decide where I sleep, what I do! You – “

He moved before I could finish, his hand sliding over mine, pinning it against the seat just like he had at the table. Not hard, not painful – just immovable.

“I can,” he said quietly, lethal certainty in every syllable.

“Because Wiktor’s men will follow you right to your door. And I won’t let anyone touch what’s mine.”

My breath hitched. The SUV suddenly felt smaller, hotter. “I’m not – “

“Yes, you are” His voice sharpened, dangerous steel beneath the velvet. “You don’t have to like it. But from tonight, you are under me. Under my watch. Under my protection.” His boyish smile returned, stretching slow and hungry. “Under me.”

I swallowed hard, my pulse a drumbeat in my ears. “And if I say no?”

Santiago leaned in, so close his breath brushed my lips, cedar and Rioja on the air.

“Then I remind you what happens when you misbehave.”

The words coiled through me, fire licking at every nerve.

“You said I could say stop. One word, and you’d stop.” My voice broke, almost apologetic. His eyes sharpened, his head tilting, measuring me. Then they softened.

“Not to this, mi ángel.” He brushed his nose against mine, closing his eyes. “This is too serious, too dangerous.” Tears pricked my eyes. I turned my head, looking out the window.

The SUV turned down a quieter street, headlights sweeping over shuttered shops and sleeping apartments. I tugged at his jacket, pulling it tighter, wrapping myself in it for comfort. A warm hand placed itself on my thighs, making me shudder. I turned my head, glancing back at him. His eyes were on me, dark and hungry, his smile slow and devastating.

“And don’t think I’ve forgotten, cariño…” His voice was low, a promise wrapped in fire and silk.

“…I’m not done with your punishment.”