A single tentative finger touches Celia’s back. “Celia?” When she doesn’t rebuke him, Kid shifts closer, his palm delicately pressed against her spine. “Please, don’t be mad at me. I didn’t mean it like that.”
Truthfully, Celia is not angry. She fears the pinprick behind her eyes that signal the onset of tears—real tears—the ones she no longer allows. She has often questioned her relationship with Felipe, the love she has for him…the lingering spite. She has been keeping a close watch on Kitten and her master Caleb since they arrived, and the similarities between their relationship and her own consume her as the weeks pass. She can see the seed of love sprouting, growing, and it makes her ache; that, coupled with her new slave’s open heart, conspire to undo years of practiced contempt.
“My father was a powerful man.” Her voice is firm, steady, and devoid of emotion. She cannot feel this anymore, to allow it would mean her father still lived. “There was nothing he could not do and no one he could not have. His power was absolute. He took my mother from her family when she was only fourteen. She died giving birth to me.” Celia keeps her eyes firmly on the wall at the other side of the room, but she allows her young lover to nestle in close behind her. Kid craves affection like she once craved freedom. She does not deny him if she can help it, and right at this moment, their needs coincide.
“He kept me instead of sending me to the orphanage. I think he even loved me in his own way; he doted on me. I had the best tutors, wore the finest dresses; I had my own servants. But my father’s attentions came at a steep price.
“I grew up beautiful…like my mother, he said, the first time he took me. I was twelve, and he was not gentle with me.”
“Celia…” Kid pulls her into his body with a despondent sound. “No,” he says, like he can erase the past by simply willing it. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers.
An old pain ripples through Celia. Her lover is genuine and kind…sincere. He is nothing like her and Felipe, who trust no one and place their pride above even each other. She swallows thickly, and moments later, goes numb. “No sorry. It was long time ago. Do not pity me—it’s for the weak. I’m only telling you so you understand your place.”
“Yes, Celia,” Kid replies carefully.
“Felipe worked for my father back then; first as my bodyguard, and then many other things as the years passed. Felipe saw how things were. He was not blind to my suffering at the hands of my father. He helped me get rid of the evidence of my first abortion, and the second. He watched over me during the weeks after I turned sixteen and learned I could never have children.
“He watched as I grew up cruel. I liked to whip my servants. I slept with my father’s friends and his enemies just to provoke my father into killing them. They saw. They all saw and they did nothing. Felipe saw too, and I hated him most of all, because I knew he pitied me, but also that he desired me. It made me sick.
“I tried to seduce him many times over the years. Felipe never touched me. He used to say it would be like kissing a venomous snake. I had my father beat him bloody for saying such things to me. Afterward, I insisted he kiss me and beg my forgiveness. He smiled at me—the insolent man—smiled at me! He barely escaped with his life.
“Two years later, on the evening of my 20th birthday celebration, Felipe raided my father’s villa. His men executed my father’s security team, his guests, even the few servants who had come to our aid.” She chuckles. “He saved my father and me for last. I thought he would simply kill us. Instead, he asked how I would like my father murdered. I thought it was so romantic; I suppose I still do.”
Kid shivers. “You’re really scary sometimes, Celia. I don’t like it when you say things like that. You’re not like them, not a killer, no matter how tough you try to be. You’ve got a good heart; I can tell.” He speaks the words softly.
“You are a very sweet boy, Kid. Do you like being our slave?” She touches her index finger to his lips in a predatory fashion, satisfied with Kid’s angry blush. Imagine—a blond baby chick making friends with a sly fox; the boy should be embarrassed.
“Whatever,” he grouses. “So what happened? He killed your pops and the two of you rode off into the sunset together?”
Celia’s amused smile slides into something hard. “No, sweet boy, nothing so simple. You see, by the time I was twenty I was formidable, and thirsty for my father’s blood. I cut off his manhood and fed it to him as he bled out. Felipe knew he couldn’t have me as an enemy. I offered Felipe information he needed to take over as the head of my father’s organization in exchange for my freedom. However, Felipe did not need my help and he had his own aims for my future. He was convinced there was a strategic advantage to keeping his former rival’s daughter; who would go up against such a madman?