The Ruthless Heir

Erica's [POV]

Blood.

Every time I close my eyes, I see it. That pungent metallic odor still burns my nostrils, and it's seeped so deep into my flesh, that I can't wash it away. I know because I've been trying for well over thirty minutes. My skin burns as the spray from the shower pelts the areas I've rubbed raw, but I can't feel sorry for myself. This is the least of what I deserve.

My eyes are swollen, and it hurts to shed more tears, but I let them fall because this is the only time I have. I can't allow the world to see me vulnerable. Santiago can't witness me crumbling any more than he already has. The De La Rosa blood runs through my veins, and we are not weak. So I try again to burn the image of the corpse from my mind. I blink through my tears, hoping to wash away the memory of her battered and bloodied face.

It doesn't work.

She's everywhere. The entire car ride here, she haunted me. As Santiago's tires crunched over the gravel, all I could hear were the shards of broken glass beneath my blood-streaked heels. Every muscle in my body aches even though I made it out with little more than a gash on my cheek and some bruises that will inevitably fade. Time has a way of dealing with wounds, at least physically. But there is no cure for a broken spirit.

I can't forget the look in my brother's eyes when he saw me tonight. When he came to my rescue, the way he always has. I tried to explain it away, the way I always have. It was never intentional. I just needed to make things right. I was going to take that woman back to him so he could punish her for the things she'd done. But it didn't work out that way. My flimsily constructed plan blew up in my face, and by the end of the night, it was my hands stained with her blood. There was no pride in what I'd done. Santiago certainly wasn't proud.

He looked at me like I was a monster, and the worst part was, that I couldn't deny it. That's what I've become, isn't it? It's why he brought me here, to the IVI compound instead of the safety of the manor. He doesn't want me tainting the halls of our family home with the misery that seems to follow me everywhere. Now, there's a voice in the back of my mind, whispering the fate I don't want to accept.

He's going to send me away.

As I step out of the shower, I try to muster up some denial, pacifying myself with paper-thin assurances. Santiago is the only family I've got left. He wouldn't hurt me. Not like this. Not when he knows the pain of losing everyone we've ever loved. Our grief tethers us together for life. Our blood is the same. Our loyalty is unshakable. It's the one truth I have to cling to.

I can be difficult. Intolerable at times. I won't deny that. But he loves me regardless. He protects me, and I'm certain he always will. I can accept his disappointment in me. I can find a way to bear his shame, which can't be worse than my own. But I will show him there's still something in me to love. Something worth salvaging. I just have to pull myself together and figure it out. The way I always do.

I release a few shuddering breaths and force my gaze to the reflection in the mirror. I don't recognize the person staring back at me. The woman with long black hair and dark eyes may as well be a stranger. I feel detached from her. Empty. And it's a fucking relief.

That means numbness is setting in. As long as I can stay like this... unfeeling, I can survive.

Robotically, I brush my hair and dress in the cheap sweats Santi bought me on the way here. They are a far cry from my usual clothing, but I don't care. I'm exhausted, and I need to face him. I need to show him that it's okay. I'll find a way to fix everything.

When I emerge from the bathroom, my brother stands by the window, his gaze unfocused as he peers through the glass. I know he feels my presence, and he certainly heard me open the door, but it takes him a few moments to turn and face me. His expression is guarded, his eyes equally anguished and frustrated. It sets me on edge, the tightness in my chest gripping my breath like a vise.

"Santi." My strangled voice forces his name out. "Why are we here?"

He swallows the words he doesn't want to say, and it hits me like a punch to the gut. Even so, I can't accept it. I have to believe there's a purpose for me being here other than what my instincts are screaming at me.

"Tell me everything," he orders in true De La Rosa fashion.

I make myself move, taking a seat on the bed, my hands twisting together in my lap. "I will. But I need you to promise you won't hate me. No matter what. I need to hear that from you."

"I can't promise you anything." He glares at me.

A quiet sob slips from my lips before I can stop it, and tears hover precariously on the edges of my eyes as I turn and try to wipe them away. So much for being numb. I swore I wasn't going to do this, but for the first time in my life, I really can't control it. I hate crying. I despise it.

And more than anything, I hate that I allowed my brother to see such a display of emotion. If our father were here right now, he would have backhanded me into the next week for showing such cowardice.

"Now, Erica," Santiago clips out. "If you don't tell me now, you will decide for both of us. You will never hear from me again."

Horror washes over me as I glance up at him, blurting the words out before I can think about how pathetic it makes me look. "No, you can't do that!"

"You aren't in a position to argue anymore." He turns back toward the window, reaching for the curtain as he glances down into the courtyard again.

I'm terrified of what he might be looking for, but I'm even more terrified that he'll follow through on his threat. If my brother disowns me, I'll have nothing left.

"It wasn't supposed to happen this way," I cry out. "I never meant for any of this to happen. I was just so irritated with you, Santi. To see the way you looked at that Moreno girl. You were falling for her right before my eyes. I could see it, and it felt like such a betrayal."

He releases the curtain and turns to look at me, his pity unmistakable. He can see my jealousy for what it is, but I don't care. What did he expect? He betrayed our family when he married the enemy.

He committed the most egregious crime he could by falling for her. And in the end, instead of following through on our plans as he had promised, he ousted me from the scheme entirely.

Our revenge fell by the wayside, and now he's making his own little family with the blood we swore we'd extinguish from this earth.

"She was going to take you away from me," I snap. "I had to do something. I just wanted to make her hate you. So I hired that courtesan who used to work for IVI to lure you away at the gala and seduce you. Ivy was supposed to come out of the bathroom and see you together. That was it. Nobody was ever supposed to get hurt."

He's quiet as he paces across the room, refusing to look at me, and in my desperation for his understanding, I rush to get the rest out. I go on to explain how I knew it was a stupid idea, but I thought I could trust her.

I could never have predicted that she was in bed with the enemy too. That mistake almost cost Santiago his life, and I was trying to make it right. That's why I went to the courtesan's apartment tonight. I just wanted to make it right, so he'd forgive me.

"How can I believe anything you tell me?" He turns and shakes his head. "How can I believe any of what you're telling me now is even true?"

"Because she told me so herself!" I bellow.

"When you were beating it out of her?"

The silence is deafening as I try to recover from that fatal blow, the reminder I don't need. He doesn't have to tell me what happened. I'll never forget.

"It wasn't like that," I whisper on a shaky breath. "I was fighting for my life. I didn't mean to kill her, but I had no choice. It was either her or me."

Santiago collapses into the chair by the door, and I can see that nothing I've said has managed to soften his anger. It eats at me, and I just wish he'd look at me for one second without complete revulsion. As I consider that it might never happen, a fresh wave of tears washes over me.

"Would you rather it was me? Is that it? Do you wish it were me who was dead on that floor?"

"What I would have rathered was that you never lied to me at all!" he roars. "You betrayed me. You schemed. You nearly fucking killed me. My sister. Do you understand that?"

I suck in a sharp breath and stare at him pleadingly. "I would rather die than hurt you, brother. Please believe that, if nothing else."

His eyes move over me, his grief palpable. He feels as if he's lost me too. But instead of death, it was the darkness that stole me. I'm too far beyond redemption, and he's tired of trying to save me.

I can feel it in my bones. It rattles my teeth, and for a second, the agony makes me wish I were dead. Perhaps that would have been the best outcome for everyone tonight.

If I'd given up the fight and let her win, at least I wouldn't have had to witness this anguish from the one person who's always loved me, even at my worst. I wouldn't have to feel him giving up on me.

"Get in bed and try to get some sleep," he says quietly.

"What's going to happen now?" I argue.

"Now, you are going to get some sleep," he repeats. "And when you wake up, you will start fresh."

Hope breathes anew as I watch his posture relax with a sigh. I can see his resolve, his acceptance that we have no choice but to move forward and put this behind us. For a moment, a calm settles over me.

Nothing is all right, and it won't be for a long time, but Santiago isn't giving up on me. Blood is the unbreakable bond that can't be severed. We've been through too much. We've come too far to abandon each other in a time like this.

That relief wraps me in a warm cocoon, and I don't dare utter another word. Santi is the head of our household, and in our world, that means his word is the law. It doesn't matter that I'm twenty-five years old.

It's his job to look after me, and he takes it very seriously. I haven't been taking it seriously enough. I've already tested him too many times, and I know we're on the tenuous ground at best.

As I climb into bed and quietly secure myself beneath the covers, it's a small way of showing him that I can listen. I can abide by the rules of Society and do what's expected of me. I can prove that I'm worthy again and find a way to move forward, even if I'm broken inside.

When I close my eyes, that moment of warmth expanding in my chest is blotted out by the darkness as the reminder of what I've done haunts me all over again.

I see her face. I feel her blood dripping from my hands as I stumble back with the horrifying realization that I've killed someone. It torments me. It grabs me and doesn't let me go until eventually, by some miracle, exhaustion steals me away.

I wake with a jolt, my breath hissing between my teeth as fragments of the insidious nightmare try to drag me back to the hell that unfolded only hours ago.

Or was it hours? As I bolt upright, fear crawls up my spine, tickling every one of my senses. How long have I been asleep? Was it all a dream? Could that even be possible?

My eyes adjust to the darkness, and I stare at the figures sitting across from each other in the shadows. Dread curdles the blood in my veins.

"Santi?" My voice fractures as I cling to the covers around me. "What's going on?"

He rises from his seat, his back rigid, and I want to believe I'm confused. I'm not awake at all but still trapped in a nightmare somehow.

"You are dangerous," he says softly. "And you have proven that I can't trust you. Not in my home. Not in my life. And now, there is only one solution that can save you."

I'm shaking my head in denial as my eyes move to the other figure. The one sitting like a silent warden as he watches me in the dim light. Instinctively, I know who he is. I've known him for years.

He's Santi's friend, and more importantly, he's tasked with the Rite of my care should anything ever happen to my brother.

Lawson "Judge" Montgomery is an unyielding, razor-sharp beast of a man. He's as cold-hearted as they come, and he lets it be known in the harsh way he delivers his verdicts, both in the courtroom and outside of it.

Nobody dares to question him. Nobody dares to challenge him. Few can even really look him in the eye, and I have to admit, I find myself among that crowd.

He terrifies me in ways I can't admit to myself, but the idea of him stealing me away leaves my heart racing and my head pounding.

"No," I shriek, yanking the covers off me. "You can't send me away. You can't!"

"It's done." Santiago nods to Judge, and I scramble from the bed, trying to force my stiff limbs to cooperate.

Judge steps forward, and for one split second, our eyes lock, and I freeze. I'm too emotional to understand what's happening, but something in his gaze tells me it's going to be okay. He silently implores me to listen and not to make this difficult, and for a moment, I want to believe in that false comfort.

I want to collapse into his arms, if for no other reason than I need someone to comfort me right now. Just for a minute. But I would have to be delusional to believe Judge could ever offer that to me. He didn't come here to soothe me. He came to capture me.

I bolt for Santiago, prepared to beg and plead for my life. I will do anything, say anything... but I don't even make it to him.

Judge intercepts me, snatching me from the side and wrapping a steel arm around my waist, yanking me back against his huge frame.

An agonizing sound heaves from my lungs as I try to fight, but it's useless. Within seconds, he has my arms pinned behind my back and my body snug against his.

I'm too exhausted to challenge him. I've already fought for my life once tonight. Now, all I can do is scream.

"Santi, please don't do this!"

"Go," Judge tells him. "I will handle this."

My brother looks at me one last time, and all I can see is his betrayal.

"You won't do this to me," I whisper. "I know you won't."

"It's already done." He tears his gaze away and doesn't glance back as he walks out the door.

"Shh," Judge murmurs against my ear as I let out one last wail. "That's enough now. Just relax. Don't make this any worse, Erica. I don't want to hurt you."

It isn't his threat that makes my body collapse against him. It's my adrenaline crashing, something else taking over. It's so heavy, I can't move.

I have nothing left to fight for. The one person I thought would always protect me just discarded me like I'm nothing. And surely, there is something more terrifying on the horizon in the clutches of this man, but right now, I can't see anything but the truth in front of me.

My life as I know it is over.

JUDGE's POV

The door closes, the sound of it a demarcation of time. Forking of the road in all of our lives.

Erica watches the space where her brother stood for a long moment as if waiting for the door to reopen and for him to reappear. Not quite believing what's happened, she goes limp in my arms, an anguished sound coming from somewhere deep inside her.

I loosen my hold but don't release her. She looks up at me, her face streaked with tears, the delicate skin around her eyes puffy. A bruise is forming around the gash on her cheek, and damp hair sticks to her forehead.

"Let me go," she says, her voice like that of a wounded animal.

I release her wrists and take my arm from her middle.

She slips away, putting space between us, and her gaze moves to the exit behind me.

"Don't," I tell her.

She's quiet as she considers her options. A part of me hopes she'll try to run for it and go after her brother. He won't save her. What's done is done.

But I'm not sure she's finished trying. Erica De La Rosa is a woman used to getting her way.

"What are you going to do?" she asks in a tone she reserves for staff. She wants to wound, but I know her too well. She may not realize that, but it's true.

And I see this as her attempt to deflect attention from herself. She's vulnerable. And she doesn't like being vulnerable.

She folds her arms across her chest. Her gray sweats are a few inches short of her ankles, and her feet are bare. The matching top is too baggy.

Not her usual attire. Not to mention a face free of makeup. She looks younger without it. I wonder if anyone would recognize her if I walked her out of here.

Not that it matters. She won't be leaving from the front door.

"I think you know," I say, taking a step toward her. The truth is, I want this. I want it too much. Santiago is my closest friend. The man I trust most in this world. And he trusts me. But would he give me custody of his sister if he knew just how much I wanted it?

I should have refused and told him to find someone else. Someone impartial. A better man may have. But the temptation of having Erica De La Rosa beneath my roof and under my control was too much to resist.

Besides, she was in no state to be refused. Neither of them was. I keep telling myself that.

She takes a step backward as I take another forward. She's known me all her life, but only ever as her big brother's confidante and friend.

Apart from the time she stayed in my home while Santiago recovered at the hospital, we haven't spent much time together, and even then, I made sure to keep our interactions brief. Proper. What does she see when she looks at me now?

Her gaze flits over my shoulder to the door again, but I don't comment. If she wants to run, I'll allow it, but she won't get past me. Maybe she needs to learn that for herself. And the feel of her pressed against me moments ago, her slight weight in my arms? Well, I am a man.

And we're all beasts, aren't we? Men and women alike? Animals. For all our refinement, money, and polite conversation, underneath it all, we are all just animals ruled by our baser needs. Our wants and desires.

"Are you going to put me in that cellar?" she spits, lips tight, arms hugging closer as she takes another step away until her back hits the wall. "Huh? String me up as you did her?"

Her. Ivy. She can't even say her name.

I close the space between us so I'm standing inches from her.

She tilts her head back to look up at me. At five-foot-ten, she's tall, taller when she's wearing her usual heels, but I still have about six inches on her. And even though her throat works to swallow and the pulse at her neck thrums in double time, she steels herself, gritting her jaw. Dark eyes like lasers burn into mine.

I raise my hand, and she winces.

I pause, eyebrow rising.

She presses her back to the wall and blinks.

Hair sticks to the gash on her cheek. I brush the strands away, feeling her shudder at my touch. My gaze falls to her lips. Her mouth is open, breathing shallow. And when I inhale, I smell shampoo and beneath it that acrid scent of fear.

She's afraid.

She's afraid of me.

It's how it should be. How it needs to be.

"Are you going to put me in that cellar or not? Answer me!" Lines crease the perfect skin of her forehead in her ill-fated attempt to take control of the situation.

Patience, I tell myself.

"Are you afraid of that?" I ask.

She presses her lips together and exhales through her nose. "I'm not afraid of anything."

"Not even me?"

Her eyes search mine, and she shakes her head. The little liar.

"Hm." I let the moment hang, listening to her short, trembling breaths. "No, Erica. You don't belong in that cellar."

She exhales with relief and closes her eyes, pressing the heels of her hands into them.

Did she think I'd string her up like I did Ivy? Although perhaps I should. When Ivy was in my care, it was for this same reason. She was accused of being the woman who poisoned Santiago. An act Erica was at least partially responsible for. An act Erica had set her up to take the fall for.

I remember those days. How Erica asked what I'd do to Ivy. How she wanted to know every detail. Guilt, I realize now. That was guilt. But it was pride that never allowed her to come clean. To save Ivy from a fate she did not deserve.

And Erica will be punished for that.

"But you will go there if you earn it." She looks up at me again, small fists between us. I grin. "And I have a feeling you will earn it, little monster."

That does it. That burns the fire hot in her eyes. Good. Her light should not go out. Ever. And this is the work I'm tasked with. This is why Santiago entrusted his sister to me. Get her under control. Tame her. Teach her to bend but do not break her.

Erica shoves me as hard as she can, and when I give her an inch, she runs for it, lunging for the door.

I catch her easily, an arm around her middle lifting her off her feet. But it's a mistake because she spins, enraged, and drives her nails into my face, that wounded animal cornered and desperate, fighting for her freedom, her pride, her life.

I throw her onto the bed, then watch her bounce once and turn to scramble across it. Capturing her ankle, I tug her flat on her stomach, then set my knee on her lower back. I pin her down as I take her wrists, clutching them in one of my hands.

"Let me go! This is a mistake. Santi wouldn't do this to me! He wouldn't abandon me like this!"

"He didn't abandon you," I say, my tone calm. I reach for the black duffel I'd brought with me.

Erica struggles, but she must know it's pointless. Her strength is no match for mine. She turns her head to watch as I unzip the bag and take out the length of the rope.

I straighten, the scratches on my face stinging. "This is the opposite of him abandoning you," I tell her as she begins her struggle anew at the sight of the rope.

"What are you doing?" she screams as I flip her onto her back and bind her wrists, then haul her to her feet. "You can't do this to me!"

I look her over. Her hair is wild, the waistband of the too-big sweats askew from her struggle revealing an expanse of toned olive skin. I bend to take one more thing out of the duffel and hold it up for her to see.

She looks at the strip of black silk.

"Turn around, Erica."

She shifts her gaze from it to me. "Why?"