The Art of Control (18 page)

“Get off of me! I’ll kill you for
what you did to Mama! I hate you!” she hollers through clenched teeth.

“Isabel!’ I say loudly.

Her movements cease as quickly as they began and she curls into the fetal position.

“Please, P
apa, not the belt,
please
… I promise I’ll be good. I promise I won’t tell anyone what you’ve done…”

My own tears pour out of me.
Damn it all to hell. I will have her father’s head on a plate if it’s the last thing I do.
I swear to Christ I will see that man’s blood on my hands.

I lay my body on top of hers an
d coo into her ear for nearly 10 minutes before her breathing finally slows and her body relaxes.

I roll off of her and lay breathless, my body aching from her fierce struggling. Tasting my own blood, I realize that Isa’s fist caught my mouth and I go into the
bathroom to inspect it. My body is covered in scratches and lacerations and my face doesn’t look any better. My lip is cut and my right eye is bloodshot. Still, I made it out easy compared to Alex.

The sun is coming up but I decide to let Isa rest.
Deciding to do a little shopping for my pet, I scribble a note to let her know where I’m going.

I
locate an exclusive jewelry store that specializes in kinky fetish items. Luckily for me, they have an English speaking representative and they’re able to give me just what I want. I have the items lavishly wrapped and head to a leather shop for another gift. It’s several hours later before I make it back to the hotel.

In the lobby
, I’m greeted by friendly personnel who let me know that Isa is in the hotel restaurant eating brunch. I make my way in and I’ll be fucked if Anderson Hayes isn’t standing next to the table conversing with Isa. Counting down from ten, I attempt to rein in my temper while I stand just out of sight and eavesdrop.

“Seriously, Anderson, g
et lost,” Isa snaps.

“
Why the hostility? Is it because of your overbearing husband?”

“Don’
t you dare talk about Dylan like that. I got my ass in a sling yesterday because of you and I don’t plan on letting him down again.”

“Well aren’t you the pleasing little wife,” Anderson huffs as he moves closer.

Isa scoots her chair back in response.

“Yes, I am pleasing to him and
only him.
”

Well, I’ll be damned. I should probably step in at this point, but I’m
so proud of Isa and I’m enjoying the show so much, I decide to watch for a few minutes longer.

“Why the
hell are you here, anyway?” she grumbles.

“I already told you, I started a new job. It might interest you to know
who I’m working for now.”

“I could care less…” she starts, but Anderson cuts her off.

“You should care, you little cock-tease. Look at you, all decked out in designer clothes and a rock the size of a grapefruit on your finger. You must be fucking old moneybags real good to have earned that.”

Motherfucker
. I damn near lunge forward, but Isa beats me to the punch.

S
he swiftly stands and plants her hand across his cheek
hard
. The look on his face is fucking priceless and I bite my lip to stop from howling with laughter. I’ve been on the receiving end of that and as much as I deplore the shit bag, I can’t help but feel just a twinge of sympathy for his stupid ass.  For a moment he looks enraged, but he quickly composes himself.

“Now is that any way to treat a member of your family?”

What the fuck?

Isa mirrors my response, “What the hell is that supposed to mean
?”

“You heard me.
Family.
I work for your father now, so in a way, that makes me part of your clan. It was mighty kind of dear old dad to call me up and offer me this job, don’t you think?” he chuckles.

Isa looks stunned and she has the same deer in headlights look that she had when the reporter accosted her outside the hospital.

“My father sent you here?” she asks softly.

“Yes
. He called it
training
. It seems he has a bone to pick with your husband and he thought I could help in that regard. He knew about your honeymoon plans and thought I could add a little ambience to your romantic setting. Sort of like throwing a monkey wrench into the plans. You get my drift?”

I’ve heard enough. I
drop the bag of gifts to the floor and march towards the table, grabbing the little prick by the collar.

“You listen to me, you worthless
shit stain, you make yourself scarce and find another hotel to stay at. If I see you come near Isa again, I’ll involve the police and trust me when I say you don’t want to involve yourself with the French police. They don’t put up with this kind of shit here like they do back in the States.”

Anderson jerks away from
me and smoothes his jacket collar down and laughs sardonically at me.

“Mr. Ibanez was
right; you really think you can snap your fingers and everyone will fall at your feet, don’t you? He sent a message, and this goes for the both of you,
forget about what happened to Isa’s mother, call off your dogs and watch your fucking backs.
Oh, and another thing: If I had known you were a kinky little slut who liked to be lead around by a collar, Isabel, I would have kept you around longer,” he whisper yells.

Isa’s face blanches and I leap forward to knock his fucking teeth in, but he slips from
my grip and stomps away before I have the chance.

My heart is racing and Isa
crumples into the chair next to her, staring at her hands and knotting them together.

Picking up the bag of gi
fts, I move next to her and touch her hair.

“How could he know that?”

“Know
what?
” I ask.

“About us being kinky.
How could he know that?”

“He was just making a lewd remark, Isa. He was talking out of his ass, that’s all,” I try to reassure her, but I have a creeping feeling that he knows
something.
I take Isa by the hand, lead her back towards the elevator and leave her for a moment to speak with the hotel staff.

When we’re back in the room, Isa begins pacing the room, fidgeting with
her hair, clicking her tongue ring and twirling her wedding ring around her finger. I seat myself at the table and watch her, allowing her the indulgence of letting her frustration out whatever way she finds necessary. When it all comes to a head and I think she’s going to implode, I pull her over to me and sit her down in my lap. She hides her face in my neck without saying a word.

I run my
fingers through her hair and after a few minutes, her body relaxes and her breathing slows.

“Isa, my precious angel, everything is going to be fine,” I
murmur in her ear.

“No, it’s not
. He’ll never leave us alone.
Never.
How could he do such a miserable thing? Hasn’t he done enough? Now he has to ruin our honeymoon, too? What did I do to make him hate me so much?” she chokes.

“He’s angry with me right now, not you.
Me,
Isa. He’s angry and afraid of what’s coming out about your mother’s death. He’s terrified that he’ll have to pay the consequences for his actions.”

“You have to leave him alone, Dylan. He’ll hurt you,” she begins to sob.

“That’s exactly what he wants. He’s always gotten his way by scaring and threatening people - but not me. I’ll be damned if his empty threats will change the course of my action.”

Isa sits back and looks
alarmed.  Grabbing my face firmly, she pleads with me, “Don’t be stubborn, sugar. Please, don’t.  He’ll kill me if he thinks it will hurt you or worse yet, he’ll kill you.”

“He can sure as hell try,” I say, but Isa’s palm sweeps across my cheek, leaving a fiery trail in its path.

“Don’t you ever tempt fate!” she yells at me.

The sheer
terror in her eyes shakes me. I crush her with my arms and she momentarily tries to fight me off, but soon gives up and hugs me tightly. Lifting her into my arms, I carry her to the bed and lie her down in it. She looks up at me and touches my mildly swollen lip and eye.

“What happened?” she asks, bewildered.

“You had a bad dream.”

Her eyes tear up again. “I did that to you? I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. It looks worse than it feels. You’re a little fighter, love,” I tell her proudly.

My attem
pt at kidding goes unappreciated and Isa looks cheerless.

“Rest, my precious angel
. All this emotional BS takes its toll on you. You look exhausted.”

Lying down next to her, she cuddle
s up close to me.

“Sing to me, Master
,” Isa requests with a look on her face that makes me unable to deny her.

I sing the first song that comes to mind, Adele, Set Fire to the Rain. Isa
’s eyes burn the color of wildfire and her fingers move over my mouth. When I’m finished singing, she smiles sweetly.

“No man has ever sung to me
before,” she says quietly just before she closes her eyes and drifts off to sleep.

I wait a good ten minutes and listen closely to her breathing. When it deepens, I
slip on my dark grey tweed, double-breasted coat, pulling the collar up high, shielding my face. Next, I grab a pair of dark socks and my room key and leave with a very specific plan in mind.

I try to call Sawyer on my way to Anderson’
s room, but there’s no answer. Mildly irritated with his lack of taking my call, I make my way to the stairwell, paying careful mind to avoid the security cameras as I take the stairs down to his level.

When I arrive at his door, I
wrap the socks around my hands, making sure to pad my knuckles. After knocking twice, I step away from the peep hole. Being the untrained idiot that he is, Anderson answers the door without a second thought. As soon as the door cracks open, I push my way quickly into the room, catching the asshole by surprise.

He stumbles backwards and has a look of complete fear and shock on his face. I move
hastily, not allowing him time to think or react. Still trying to get his footing, I punch him in his diaphragm, knocking the wind out of him. Shoving him onto the bed, I leap on top of him, pinning his body beneath me and pummeling his smug face with a barrage of punches.

“
This is for putting your hands on my wife,” I snarl at him.

He
shrieks in a high-pitched womanly voice and throws the most pitiful weak punches back at me. When he starts wailing like the little bitch that he is, I climb off of him and stand over him, my heart beating wildly in my chest and my breathing ragged. He covers his face with his hands and begins to weep.
What the fuck?
What kind of a grown man bawls like this after getting his ass kicked? I’ve had my ass beaten plenty of times and I
never
thought about crying like this pansy-ass.

“
Show some dignity, you dickhole,” I bark at him.

He’s even more of a fucktard than I thought. Christ, his incessant whining is getting on my last motherfucking nerve.

“You stole from my wife, you cheated on her
, you flaunted other women in front of her and you made her feel less than worthy of you. You’re lucky you’re still alive, you worthless pile of shit,” I say loudly.

I move toward
s him ready to pound his ass again but he flinches, covers his face with his arms and cries, “Please, no more!”

Fuck that.
I strike him one last time in the mouth, effectively shattering his bottom lip into a bloody mess. “That’s for calling Isa a slut, you pussy.”

He holds his hands over his mouth, hi
s eyes bugging out of his head, and his expensive Valentino suit ruined and covered in his own blood.

“You tell me everything Isa’s father told you and I mean
everything,
and when we’re done here, you’re going to write Isa a letter of apology for your shitty ass behavior and a check for the money you stole from her. Do you fucking understand?”

***

Isabel

I wake to the sound of Dylan entering the room. My eyes are blurred and my thoughts are groggy. The sound of the restroom sink can be heard with an overabundance of splashing. While I wait for him to come back out, I remember what Anderson said about my father sending him to a
ct as a monkey wrench in my and Dylan’s honeymoon plans. What a cruel SOB. Why the hell can’t he just leave us alone?

Holy assault and battery, Dylan’s poor face.
I can’t believe I did that to him. I’ve been putting off talking to Maggie, but it’s inevitable at this point. Dylan is taking an excessively long time so I go into the bathroom to find him hanging a wet pair of black socks on the towel rack to dry. What a strange thing to be doing.