The Taste of Revenge (War of Sins Book 1)

There is one thing about this house that I’m not mad at.

The bathroom.

The master bathroom is the size of an entire room, a huge tub in the middle as big as a jacuzzi. From the first moment I’d seen it, I’d claimed the bedroom for my own, planning to take advantage of the luxuriant atmosphere and relax.

After all, it’s not every day that I get a weekend away from my family and their watchful eyes.

Checking the temperature of the water, I smile in satisfaction. Turning to the big vanity by the side, I open a drawer and I choose a cherry flavored bath bomb, dropping it in the water and watching the bubbles as they start to erupt to the surface, the color of the water slowly turning a pinkish red.

The smell is already wafting through the air, and I release a sigh of contentment.

‘Exactly what I needed after this day,’ I whisper to myself, the corners of my mouth curling up in a smile.

Slipping my robe off my shoulders, I carefully fold it on a chair. The icy air of the night hits my naked skin, and a chill travels down my back. Without any preliminaries, I dip my toes in the water before slowly submerging my entire body.

‘Damn,’ a sigh escapes my lips as the hot water envelopes me.

And for the first time since the wedding bells had sounded, I let myself relax.

Married… Again.

I still remember the joy I’d felt at hearing Sergio had died in the fire and that I’d been widowed. At that moment, I’d vowed never to submit to another man again—never to let myself be used and abused.

Yet here I am. Once more at the mercy of someone else.

The moment my name changed, so did my fate.

Forever.

Or until one of us dies first. Strangely enough, though, I don’t want him to die.

I should. God, but I should, if only to rid myself of the danger that looms over my head—the danger he poses to both my body and my heart.

I take a deep breath, leaning back and letting my head rest against the frame of the tub.

Raf—Rafaelo. The name rolls easily on my tongue, images of his baby blue eyes flooding my vision.

I could hate him—and maybe I should. But he’s not my enemy, just like I am not his. Yet he cannot see past the curtain of hate that shields his eyes. He cannot see past the preconceived notions he has of me. And I can’t help him either, since I don’t have the information to confirm or deny his accusations.

He’s been living with us for enough time that I’ve managed to learn more about him—and maybe that’s the issue. Because the more I get to know him, the more my regret deepens, my hope soaring when it knows it will get shot down.

I’ve seen his bad side, but I’ve also seen the good.

He’s harsh and domineering, his words often biting and bruising. But he’s also a fighter—and his perseverance is truly awe inspiring. Not many can say they have survived Sergio’s trials and lived to talk about them—much less thrive in spite of the toll those drugs would take on the body.

I remember how he’d managed his prisoners, and how ruthlessly he would use them, the drugs more or less stripping humanity from them. Yet Raf hadn’t let that stop him. If anything, it had spurred him on.

The muscles he hides under his clothes must have been the result of hours upon hours of hard work—going against himself and what his body had been accustomed to. Everything in his presentation, from his body language to his countenance, speaks of both inner and outer strength.

And that makes him all the more admirable in my eyes.

The breadth of his shoulders invites protection and inspires reliability—something I’ve never had in my life.

Maybe that’s why I feel so heavily drawn to him. He is everything I’ve never had but always wanted.

Most of all, even in his worst moments, he’s never once tried to lift a hand against me.

He hates me, that much is sure, yet he hasn’t tried to hurt me until now.

Maybe my standards for what makes a good man good are too low, but my experience has taught me enough about the world to recognize how rare those qualities are.

And that’s my dilemma.

I know what he feels for me—hatred, animosity, disdain. He can barely stand the sight of me, and most likely detests himself for desiring me. I know that, and yet all I see when I look at him is safety.

There’s a warmth that spreads all over my body in his presence. It’s in the way his big body engulfs mine, his velvety voice caressing my senses and lulling me into a sweet sense of comfort and security.

It’s completely antithetic to the nature of our relationship. And for someone with my history, it’s completely illogical that I should feel that way in the presence of someone, who by all intents and purposes, wishes me harm. Someone who did harm me. What he threatened to do in that dark room…he probably has no idea that it’s still messing with my head.

And so I feel guilty.

I feel guilty for still feeling this way about him, my insides tingling at his nearness, my heart bursting in my chest of happiness. It’s not conscious, though. If anything, it’s instinctual—primal.

I’ve tried to stop myself. Talk myself out of this fanciful notion I have about him. Because the truth is that at night, in the confines of my room, I let myself dream. I let my mind draw up scenarios of what ifs.

What if he didn’t hate me? What if he could feel more for me…? What if he could love me?

Dipping myself under the water, I open my eyes, staring at the distorted gilded ceiling.

It would be infinitely easier to nurture my own dislike of him if he didn’t act so contrary all the time.

Why did he save me?

For days after the restaurant incident I couldn’t remove his actions from my mind. If he wanted me to pay for everything I supposedly did to him and Lucero, then why had he not taken the opportunity to get rid of me?

Because he’d had it.

I’d seen the barrel of the gun as it had been aimed in my direction. If Raf hadn’t jumped in front of me, knocking me to the ground, that bullet would have made its home in my head.

Yet it hadn’t.

Instead, it had grazed his shoulder.

He says he wants to destroy me. But why does he keep on saving me?

He proclaimed himself as my villain, but why did he have to end up as my hero?

Coming out for air, I take a deep breath, water clinging to my lashes as I stare into empty space.

Why did he save me? Why?

Now I’m plagued by maddening thoughts that don’t seem to leave me be. The what ifs are getting louder in my head, my hope slowly climbing its way towards the sky.

Maybe if he’d been truly evil to me, I would have hated him.

And that is the true danger. For a moment I have to wonder if he isn’t engaging in emotional warfare. Giving me an inch before retreating, just to start it all over again. Get me addicted to his brand of cruelty mixed with kindness until he’s all I’m craving.

The idea does have merit, especially since so far he’s succeeded.

All my life I’ve been in the shadows—the little kid no one wanted to take care of. Then I grew up and became a bargaining chip to the family, only to be traded to a man who saw me as his personal whipping post.

Until him.

Until he strode in and saw me.

I bring my hand to my neck, trailing it down my breasts. Goosebumps are already forming on the bits of skin not touched by the warmth of the water, and the sensation only makes me clench my thighs together, heat traveling to my lower belly at the thought of him.

Beyond my admiration for his character, there’s the undeniable attraction that simmers between us—and the fact that I know it’s not one sided.

He makes me feel hot and bothered, his proximity awakening things inside of me I’d never thought possible—things I’d never dared to hope for.

I’ve read books and watched movies, all of them talking about the suffocating need for someone’s touch and how the body comes alive under a lover’s attentive gaze, becoming wet and needy and thoroughly out of control.

Before, I’d known the theoretical side of lust.

Now…I know it intimately.

My hand trails even lower, my fingers brushing against that place that tingles with awareness.

My eyes snap shut as I feel a spear of pleasure burst through me. It only takes imagining him—those big, capable hands that have the power to bring me to unmeasurable heights but also push me to unimaginable lows.

In my mind, I see the way his muscles cord and ripple, images of his naked torso making me gasp as I circle my clit, my mouth opening on a small o, yet no sound coming out.

But soon, my thoughts turn more outrageous. Suddenly, it’s not just images of him that spur me further. It’s of us.

I see him doing things to me—dirty, dirty things I’d never have the courage to utter out loud.

His hand on my ass, painting it red again, but this time, the sharp pain is followed by sweet pleasure and…

I gasp, my eyes flying open as I feel something mount inside of me. But just as I’m about to reach that place, the spell is broken and I scramble back in the tub, my eyes wide at realizing there’s another person with me in the room.

‘Don’t stop on my account,’ he smirks at me, his arms crossed over his chest as he leans against the tiled bathroom wall.

It’s then that I realize I’d never closed the door.

‘What…’ the words slip from my mouth. ‘What are you doing here?’

How long have you been sitting there?

‘Enjoying the show, it seems.’ His mouth pulls into an even wider smile as his eyes rove over my naked flesh.

Immediately, I have the urge to cross my arms over my chest in an attempt to cover myself. But that would be exactly what he wants—to see me squirm.,

‘I didn’t realize you were a pervert, Raf,’ I arch a brow, settling back in the tub and relaxing.

His eyes dip to the peaks of my breasts currently visible above the water before he catches himself, bringing his gaze back to my face.

‘A pervert?’ He intones, taking another step inside the bathroom as he looks around disinterestedly. ‘No, I’m not a pervert.’ He smiles wolfishly, stopping at the end of my tub.

Flexing his arms, he places his hands on either side of the tub as he leans down, bringing his face closer to me—close enough that I can see every play of emotion on it.

‘I guess you forgot about the wedding night?’ He inquires mockingly.

I grit my teeth at his question. Especially as I know he’s doing it to get a rise out of me.

‘Don’t tell me you came here to do your husbandly duty,’ I reply, moving towards him.

Still in the tub, I switch my position so I can meet his gaze head on, my hands gripping the sides of the tub right where his are. Our fingers are close to touching, but not quite.

‘What if I did?’ he drawls, his breath fanning over my cheek.

His eyes hold a dangerous intensity as he forces himself to look at my face and not lower, and a smile pulls at my lips as I realize that he’s having a hard time controlling himself.

Seconds trickle by as we engage in a silent battle of wills, neither willing to look away first.

‘Ours isn’t a real marriage, Raf,’ I tell him sternly. ‘Or is a little pussy all it takes for you to forget your hate for me?’ I ask suggestively, the corner of my mouth lifting in a derisive smile.

A twitch in his jaw lets me know my words have hit their mark. Still, he doesn’t move.

So with a huff, I turn, making myself comfortable in the tub and promptly ignoring him.

‘The door is over there. You can see yourself out,’ I say dismissively.

He’s looming over me, rooted to the same spot. There’s an inscrutable expression on his face as he looks at me—a deadly tension accompanied by unwanted lust. Because he probably desires me as much as he hates me.

And to my everlasting displeasure, it’s a sentiment I return. I’m even more ashamed to admit that it wouldn’t take too much coaxing to go to bed with him. If only he didn’t hate me…

Annoyance spears through me at the direction of my thoughts. And seeing that he’s not planning to move, I raise an eyebrow at him.

One second I see him turn, presumably to head towards the door. The next, I feel hands wrapped around my neck, the hold tight but not deadly.

His eyes gleam dangerously—dangerously numb. There’s something scary about this side of him, and all amusement flies out of the window as a chill goes down my back.

‘What…’ the words are barely out of my mouth before I feel the water enveloping me. My eyes wide open, I watch in shock as he pushes me down, holding me pinned to the bottom of the tub.

It’s pure instinct that reminds me to hold my breath so that the water doesn’t force its way inside my nose and mouth.

I simply sit there, watching his blank expression as he holds me down—the intent to drown me clear.

For a moment, panic takes hold of me. Especially as his hands feel like an unbreakable chain around my neck—both literally and figuratively.

The thought of struggling crosses my mind, but I soon realize it would be in vain.

So I let him.

I sit there, calmly staring at him as I wait for my time to run out.

‘Fuck,’ he curses out, taking a step back and bringing his fingers to his temples, massaging them.

The moment I’m able to draw breath again. I cough lightly, wiping at my mouth and nose as I try to regulate my breathing.

‘Couldn’t kill me, eh?’ I taunt.

If I’m completely honest, there was a part of me that knew he would not kill me. That he wouldn’t be able to go through with it.

‘You…’ His voice snaps as he turns around suddenly, one hand around my neck as he raises me up in the air, the force of his hold stunning me still.

My mouth opens in shock.

‘One day, Noelle. One day,’ he mutters, as if trying to convince himself.

‘One day what? You’re going to actually kill me?’ I smirk at him. ‘Well, guess what,’ I say as I grab on to his sleeve, tugging him closer to me. ‘I’ll be waiting. So do your worst.’

He scowls, his face contorted in a mix of annoyance and want—to kill me or do something else, unclear.

His hold loosens enough that I fall back on my ass, the water making a splashing sound as droplets end up on the floor and on his shirt. Still, he doesn’t release me.

His hand is still on my neck, his eyes glazed as he stares at me. Slowly, he moves it, reaching my jaw. His thumb on my lips, he brushes it lightly over them before parting them.

‘One day, Noelle,’ he repeats, his features stern, his lips unsmiling, ‘I will fuck the brat out of you. I’ll make it so that you won’t ever talk back,’ he sneers, pushing his thumb into my mouth.

I can only look at him in awe, outrage and lust mixing low in my belly at his words.

‘Is that so?’ I ask on a breathless tone.

I reach out, grabbing his hand with my own, keeping him locked in place as my tongue peeks out to lick his thumb before sucking it deep into my mouth.

There’s a brief flash in his eyes as he zeroes in on my lips, his pupils growing larger under my very gaze. His attention momentarily distracted, it’s all it takes for me to bring my teeth down on his thumb.

But he doesn’t react. He merely tilts his head in amusement, watching me as one would watch a child throwing a tantrum—indulging me in my little display.

Irritated, I feel the need to get a rise out of him, so I casually inquire. ‘Who are you trying to fool, Raf? Shall I remind you of your words?’ I raise a daring eyebrow. ‘I am the last woman you’d ever fuck,’ I lean forward, whispering his vehement statement from before.

There’s a pause as he doesn’t react, his eyes narrowed at me.

‘You’re playing with fire, Noelle,’ he grunts low in his throat.

‘Me?’ I bat my lashes at him. ‘I’m not the one spying on my unsuspecting spouse while they are bathing. Or wait,’ I chuckle. ‘Don’t tell me that’s one of your kinks. Besides choking, since we’ve ascertained you have a thing for that,’ I mock, satisfied when my jibe hits its mark as I watch his hands ball into fists, his lip twitching in annoyance.

But just as it appears, it’s gone.

He leans back, wholly relaxed, as he gives me a bored look.

‘Maybe it is,’ he shrugs. ‘Can you blame me for wanting to sample the goods? After all, I did pay a small fortune for you.’

‘You…’ I take a deep breath, knowing his game is to rile me up. Instead, I try to calm myself down as I continue my brave act. ‘What do you say then? Do I pass?’ I ask in a saccharine tone, peering at him from beneath my lashes.

‘Hmm,’ he takes a step back. ‘Undecided. I think I need to see more,’ he drawls, this time letting his eyes greedily roam over my flesh.

In a gesture of unprecedented courage, I simply rise from the bath. The water clings to my skin as I get up, droplets gliding over the planes of my body and emphasizing the curve of my breasts, my waist, and lower.

Placing my feet on the floor, I stand up to my full height, my entire body naked and bare for his assessing gaze.

His eyes widen briefly, before his features darken as he takes me in.

‘What about now?’ I take a step towards him. ‘Do you regret your purchase yet?’ I ask sarcastically.

Because I know exactly what he’s seeing—and it’s not pretty.

Scars run down the front and back of my body, concentrated heavily around my stomach and lower back area.

He gulps down as he looks at me, his expression indecipherable.

My courage, though, extends only for so long, so I turn on my heel, intent on putting my robe on and getting the hell out of here.

The heat of his presence and the deep burn of my mortification are enough to send me flying out of the bathroom. But I can’t do that. I can’t show him how affected I am by his nearness, or how self-conscious I feel about my appearance.

So I straighten my back and put on a confident look as I move to exit the room.

I don’t get to take one step though, as he wraps his fingers around my elbow, pulling me backwards and making me stumble as I crash into his hard chest.

‘What’s this?’ he asks in a harsh voice, his eyes narrowed at me, his muscles spasming with unreleased tension.

‘What’s what?’ I feign ignorance, though I know exactly what he’s referring to.

‘This,’ he says just as his other hand makes contact with my skin, his fingers brushing against the area right under my rib cage and going lower, leaving in their wake a scorching trail of fire.

My breath hitches at the first contact, but I mask my reaction as I try to put on a strong front. Especially as he spreads his palm over my stomach—over that place that’s been hideously scarred.

‘Nothing,’ I shrug.

‘Noelle,’ his voice vibrates in the air, the threat unmistakable.

‘It’s nothing,’ I reiterate confidently. ‘Because it can’t be anything if I’ve never been a victim, right?’ I throw his words in his face, satisfaction blooming inside of me when he visibly flinches.

‘Tell me,’ he barks the order as if I were one of his minions, ready to comply with his every command.

‘No,’ I simply reply, looking him in the eye. ‘You don’t get to make demands of me. Not with this. And certainly not now, after you’ve repeatedly thrown my past in my face.’

‘These are cigarette burns, Noelle. Who did this to you?’ His tone turns softer, just as his features start to lose some of the previous tension.

‘It doesn’t matter now, does it?’ I whisper, blinking back tears. ‘You can still get an annulment, you know. It’s not too late,’ I give him a sad smile.

‘Who did this to you?’ He grits out, his hold tightening over my arm.

A low chuckle erupts from my throat.

‘Are you asking because you don’t know?’ I raise my eyes to his, letting him see the pain and humiliation that resides there. But most of all, I want him to see the hopelessness—of the past, present, and future.

He blinks, as if he wasn’t expecting such honesty in my expression.

‘Sergio,’ he states, the name hitting me in the chest like a bullet. Yet, now the pain is just a dull ache—numbed by the passage of time and the knowledge that he can’t harm me from the grave.

‘Congratulations,’ I retort mockingly. ‘Do you want a prize for your correct guess?’

‘Why? Why would he do something like this to you? You were his wife.’

There’s a certain confidence in his voice, as if he’s told himself this version of events so many times that he is infinitely sure of it.

‘Wife,’ I give a dry laugh. ‘Sure. I was his wife. But that didn’t get me any special treatment. In fact…’ I trail off as I wrench myself from his grasp, turning around so my back is fully visible to him. ‘This is the only special treatment I got,’ I say as I present him with the worst of my scars.

On my lower back, lines upon lines of red bumps cover my skin—all caused by belts, canes and anything he would find that would inflict most damage.

‘What… how…’ the words are barely above a whisper, but I hear them, nonetheless.

‘I feel sorry for you, Raf,’ I tell him with a sigh, turning to see his ashen face. He’s gazing at me as if he’s never seen me before, and I don’t know why that sight has the ability to break my heart. ‘You have such a warped version of the truth, that you simply can’t see beyond your resentment and your hate.’ I pause, and I note a flicker of emotion in his eyes. ‘I admit there were times when I behaved like the worst version of myself at the hacienda. But none were of my own volition,’ I tell him, taking his hand and bringing it to my thigh.

‘Do you feel this?’ I ask, brushing his fingers against a faded mark. He gives a brisk nod.

‘One time, I said something wrong in public. We were at a dinner party, and I made a mistake,’ I take a deep breath as the memories slowly trickle in, the pain almost fresh in my mind. ‘He stabbed me under the table with a fork, and he told me that if I dared make a sound, he would pass me around to his ranch hands. I felt the pain to my soul, but I didn’t make a sound. The blood was flowing out of me, but my smile didn’t falter.’

His brows furrow, and there’s a hint of emotion on his face as he gazes at me. Yet I don’t want his pity. That is the last thing I’d ever want.

‘So you see, the truth isn’t yours, or mine, Raf. It’s somewhere in the middle. You have your trauma and I have mine. But just because you have limited knowledge of mine doesn’t mean you can deny it exists.’

‘Noelle…’ he starts, but I place a finger on his lips, shushing him.

‘My entire family thinks I’m crazy, and that I’m exaggerating for attention,’ I laugh sardonically. ‘Everyone thinks I’m crazy, so frankly,’ I shake my head at him. ‘I don’t care what you think of me anymore. I just ask that you leave me alone,’ my voice breaks as I utter a last ‘please.’

Before he can reply, before he can say something and irrevocably break my heart, I dash out of the room. I don’t even stop to don my robe as I run out of the master suite and lock myself inside an empty room.

My breath ragged, my heart in my throat, I can’t help it when sobs overtake me—the courage from before all but gone.

I start trembling uncontrollably, coldness seeping in my pores and seemingly never leaving my body.

And as I huddle between clean sheets, searching for some semblance of warmth, my mind can only wander back to him.

Does he believe me? Does he hate the look of me?

A myriad of questions go through my head, one worse than the other in their outcome.

But worst of all is that… I care. I care about his opinion, just as I care about him knowing the truth.

Out of everyone in my life I wish at least he didn’t think me mad.

If only…

I bring my knees to my chest as I feel a burst of pain erupt in my lower abdomen, the ferocity of it making me moan in response.

So it begins…

I thought I’d have some reprieve from it, but I guess when it wants to come, it comes.

Huddled into a ball, I hum a melody as I lull myself to sleep, trying to ignore the growing pain inside of me.

Instead, I focus on my little dream world—that marvelous world of what ifs.

Because there…the opportunities are endless.