Enemy Sworn (7 page)

Sophia shot Eduardo a steely glare when he handed her father his gleaming machete.

“Step back, Sophia,” the stranger firmly said, holding her father's glare with a level stare.

“Do it,
mi hija
,” her father said stonily.

Long seconds ticked by as Sophia stood frozen to the floor, her hand clutching the stranger's, as her eyes pleaded with the man who held insurmountable power in her world.

“Papa, please,” she whispered desperately.

When he didn't respond she felt nauseous. But she did as she was told and released Mateo's hand. She made the sign of the cross but remained beside him. “He is no good to me with one hand, Father!” she cried, grabbing her father's forearm in one last-ditch effort. “Please, Papa, for me, your only child, I
beg
you,
don't do this
,” she pleaded softly. She had never asked him for anything. Would he give her this or would he set the example to anyone who dared to do what this assassin had dared to do: call the mighty Dumas out in his own game?

The stranger had played his hand brilliantly. Her father had charged each and every one of his soldiers with the task of tracking down Javi's killer and bringing him to her father alive so that he could serve up the blood-for-blood vengeance. Never in a thousand years had any of them expected that person to waltz into the lion's den, announce his deed, show the proof, then demand a place at the table!

Who did that?
Only certifiably crazy people. Sophia's heart thundered against her rib cage. Partly in fear but also in a crazy, heady respect for what this man was willing to sacrifice for her. Or was he willing to sacrifice his hand for the power it would lead to? Many men had sacrificed much more.

“Do not interfere,” her father roughly said as he brought the blade up. As it came down in a flash, the crazy stranger did not flinch, but neither did her father sever the hand. The blade struck beside it deep into the inlaid rosewood tabletop.

“You have bigger
pelotas
than I suspected, Loco,” Dumas said. “I don't know if I should spit on you for your weakness for a woman or hug you for your commitment to my daughter.”

“How about if we shake on it instead,” the stranger said.

chapter seven

I
n disbelief, Sophia stared at her father. Emotion overcame her as she touched his forearm. “
Gracias
, Papa.” For the first time in her life, he had respected her wishes over his own. Had she finally earned his respect?

Without looking at her, he said, “That my decision makes you happy,
mi hija
, is a bonus.”

She smiled at the endearment. Her father continued, “But I did not spare his hand for you. I spared it for the family. For what I have in store for him, he will need both hands.”

Her smile faded as quickly as it had appeared. Just as he had done with her mother, her father, the great and powerful Dumas, indulged only when it suited his own agenda. Her mother, Felicia, was a free spirit who had been beaten down into submission by her father. When it hit Sophia at that moment, the whys of her mother's decision to run, some of the anger she had been harboring for the last ten years evaporated. Could she blame her? And knowing her father as she did, had Felicia taken Dumas's daughter, she would have paid with her life.

And yet, for all her wishful thoughts of escape, Sophia clung to the hope that one day her father would embrace her with love and respect and see her for who she was: a loyal, intelligent daughter who would never dishonor the family. And yet . . . she had. Disrespected him by flaunting herself at the club, then throwing herself at the man who killed her father's chosen one.

Focusing on him, she was not going to kid herself that his ballsy display was simply because he couldn't live without her. She was a means to an end. Pure and simple. And as a pawn, she would protect the only thing she had control of: her heart.

“What do we call you, other than loco, stranger?” Sophia asked, then snidely added, “So that we have the right name for your tombstone.” She was happy, no, ecstatic, that he had managed to hold on to his life and both hands. But she would give him no mercy where she was concerned. She was an unwilling partner in his quest for power. A fact she would remind him of every chance she got.

“Juarez,” he answered huskily as his eyes dipped to her lips. “Mateo Juarez.” A tingle fluttered in her belly. Her pores expanded, emanating pheromones in answer to his hot stare.

Her father slapped Mateo on the back before pushing him away. “Call for the padre!”

Sophia gasped. “Now?” she asked incredulously. “You want me to marry him
now
?” She freaked. She needed time. Time to talk Mateo out of this. Time to talk her father out of this nonsense.

Panicked, she looked at Mateo, who looked as concerned as she. Was her father really going to propagate this . . . this farce? But then again, he'd wanted her to marry Javier. And despite how Sophia had felt about her dead fiancé, she'd respected him as her father's choice for her and never considered not marrying the man he chose. She shivered hard. Even Vargas.

“I will have you married and proof of the blood mark before dusk!” Dumas's voice boomed. “Now clear the hacienda of all but the elders and family members.”

“But Papa! I don't—”

“I challenge this man for the right to your daughter, Patrón!” a deep, familiar voice called from the balcony.

“Tony!” Sophia gasped, whirling around. Where Javier would have been her father's right hand, Tony was his left. That she had openly challenged her father's wishes now provoked Tony's call to action on her behalf. Her father had sanctioned the marriage. Her heart slammed against her chest and nausea roiled in her belly. Challenging Papa now would be suicide.

Wet heat stung her eyes. She loved Tony, but as a brother. Not, she suspected after their talk on the drive back to the compound, the way he loved her. He was as big as Javier, handsome and, in Sophia's mind, because of Tony's genuine love for her, more deserving of her father's favor. Where Javier had been in-your-face, chest-beating, take-no-prisoners, Tony was highly educated, discriminating and subtly deadly. In the business world in which her father thrived, subtlety more often than not trumped a boxing match.

Her gaze focused on Tony's handsome features. There was nothing subtle about the set of his square jaw or the burn behind his hazel eyes. His fists opened and closed as he methodically made his way down the stairway, his glare never once leaving her current intended's.

Sophia looked up at Mateo and saw the same intensity in his eyes. She didn't know how he'd managed to get close enough to Javier to kill him, but the mere fact that he had spoke volumes of his prowess. If these two went to fists only one would survive, and she was not willing to risk her cousin's life.

Placing her hand on Mateo's chest, she raised her other in the stop position to Tony. “No, Tony, I accept this man's claim.”

Continuing his stride toward her, he shook his head. “I do not, nor does the family. He's an unknown, an outsider and therefore not trustworthy.” He stopped several yards from her and, like the big brother she always thought him to be, held out his hand to her. “Come,
mi hija
, I will save you from this”—he looked at Mateo and spit on the floor—“pretender.”

When Mateo didn't react to Tony's insult, she looked up at him and her blood chilled in her veins. His face had hardened to granite. His gold-colored eyes flared with fire. Ever so slightly, he nodded to her, then said slowly to her cousin, “If you do not walk away now, you never will.”

Sophia blinked and in that time Tony lunged, hitting
el loco
in the chest, knocking him several feet across the room. They hit the tile floor with a sickening thud and went sliding into the wall.

“Papa!” she cried, looking up at her father. Her next words caught in her throat. His dark eyes shone brightly with bloodlust. He would never stop the fight. It was to the death and to the victor went the spoils.

Furious that her father, who said he was a modern man but still lived in the dark ages when it came to family business, would jeopardize Tony's life, Sophia pushed through the throng of spectators to the two men fighting over her.

Mateo had Tony against the wall and slammed a meaty fist into his face. Blood sprayed in a high arc, spattering Sophia and anyone near her. Tony kneed Mateo in the groin, pushed off him and, hunching low, turned and slammed him in the gut with a roundhouse kick. Mateo doubled over, but then charged Tony, catching him in the gut with his shoulder. The momentum of Mateo's charge forced Tony into the edge of the fountain. The sickening sound of cracking ribs made her wince. Tony grunted in pain, but Mateo was relentless. He brought his knee up and caught Tony in the chin, straightening him up, then grabbed him by the shoulders and shoved his face down on his knee. It was a vicious move that cost Tony his balance.

Mateo took full advantage of the damage.

But Tony was not done—he pulled a knife from his sleeve and viciously sliced into Mateo's shoulder.

Mateo groaned in what Sophia knew must be excruciating pain. If Tony struck a vital vein the damage would be irreparable. She should be glad Tony was making quick work of the pretender. But she had allowed Mateo under her skin. It was why she picked him at the club. Maybe it was because when she threw herself at him he didn't take advantage of her, even though she was sure he was using her to get to her father. Maybe it was because when he touched her, he made her feel things she'd never felt. Maybe it was because, despite the whys and hows of their meeting, there was something between them, something she couldn't put her finger on but something special. At least for her. Whatever it was, it was there, demanding she save the crazy stranger's life.

Wringing her hands, she looked at her father, intending to demand he intercede. But the words never came. Tony's gurgled death groan stopped her cold.

Whirling around, she caught her breath. Both of Mateo's hands were wrapped tightly around Tony's neck, squeezing the life out of him.

The studded silver on the supple black leather vambraces flashed under the late-morning sunlight. The power and heraldry they represented struck her as barbaric. Blood for blood had destroyed the lives of everyone she loved. With her it would end!

Running to Mateo, she slid down onto her knees and grabbed his granite-hard forearms. “Please! Mateo,” she cried. “Spare him! Spare him and I'll do whatever you want!”

“To the end!” her father bellowed behind her.

“Please,” she pleaded, ignoring her father. “For me, don't kill him.”

Bloody and heaving, Mateo released her half-dead cousin, and as he did he held out his bloody hand to her.

Instinctively she took it.

“You swear it?” he asked, his voice low and raspy.

Swallowing hard, Sophia nodded. “I swear it on Tony's life.”

Mateo released his hold and pulled her to him standing, his bright eyes flaring with triumph. “Then I swear to you, I will kill any man or woman who tries to take you from me.” He crushed her to his lips and kissed her in a deep, soul-sucking kiss. In that instant, Sophia understood what it meant to have value. She'd never felt valued by Javier, nor by the one man she wanted above all others to value her: her father.

Instead, this stranger who had killed her fiancé, who had stood up to her father and who had nearly killed her beloved cousin was now the man who stood between her and anyone who would threaten her.

There was something heady and primal knowing he would kill for her. That he wanted her enough to lose a body part for the right to her. She knew it in his kiss. The way his hungry lips refused to relinquish hers. He stirred a passion in her she had only glimpsed at the club.

She kissed him back. Melding her body tightly to his, wanting undeniable proof that he was there for her and only her.

When Sophia broke their kiss, she stared up into the stormy topaz eyes above her. Pulling farther back from him, her eyes searched his for the truth. “Why are you really here?”

The angry storm in his eyes shifted dramatically to a deeper, internal tempest. “I have not stopped thinking about you since I saw you strut across that dance floor in that pink dress.”

Her lips quirked. Was he a masochist? “You're here because of lust?”

His lips crooked into a devilish smile.

Shaking her head in disbelief, she held his gaze. “I think you're a liar.” She nipped at his bottom lip, drawing blood. His eyes narrowed and she laughed. “You think I'm a scared little girl who needs protection from a man like you?”

“I would never hurt you,” he rasped.

His words washed warmly through her, tipping her off balance. She wasn't prepared for his candor or the passion behind it. If she believed he wasn't using her for a greater goal she would melt right then and there. But the boss's daughter was not stupid. Desperate for love, yes, but not stupid. “I'll never love you because I'll never trust you.”

But that didn't change the fact that in her world, she belonged to him now, not because of the family's ridiculous blood-for-blood credo but for the simple fact that she'd asked him to save a life that was precious to her in exchange for her submission. And he'd agreed.

His lips drew tight into a thin line. “I don't need you to love me, I just need you to want me the way I want you.”

Heat thrummed through her at his words. “The only thing I want is my freedom. Give me that and perhaps things can be different between us.”

“Free you so that your father forces another man on you?”

She wiggled out of his arms. “I would honor his choice.”

“Good or bad, right or wrong, I'm your only choice.” His eyes darkened. “And whether you'll admit it to yourself or not, you like the choice.”

Tightening his arm around her waist, he drew her boldly to his chest. Her lips parted in protest but from the corner of her eye, she could see her father's disapproving stare, and she didn't want to suffer his wrath again. Or the embarrassment of being mauled in front of the family.

“The body doesn't lie, Sophia. You know you desire me.”

“My desire is to kill you,” she hissed as she fought the urge to drag her nipples across his hard chest.

“I will die a happy man, then.” He smiled, catching her off guard.

He
was
loco. How could he stand there in the presence of the most powerful man in California and tease her about sex and dying?

“The padre is here. Let the nuptials commence!” her father announced.

Inwardly, she groaned. This was not happening! But—she had given her word, and if there was one thing she did take from her Dumas heritage it was that once given, your word was not retractable. Honor was everything, even if it was meted out in blood.

“Papa, please, give me an hour to shower and change into something more appropriate.” She was wearing a knee-length black jersey skirt, a white blood-spattered cotton shirt and sandals.

“There will be time for that later,” he sternly said.

Mateo took her hand and pulled her against him. “Let's get this over with.”

She shot him a glare. “He says as if he's going to be castrated.”

Squeezing her hand, Mateo laughed. “I'm thinking of my dick, but not like that.” He winked at her. That one small gesture went miles in serving to calm her nerves.

As they turned to make their way to the padre, who stood stoically beneath the high arch on the west side of the courtyard holding his Bible, Sophia suddenly was roughly grabbed from behind by Tony, who had regained his strength. Using her as a human shield, he locked his arm around her neck . “She will marry me!” he shouted to her father. “Me!”

“Tony,” Sophia gasped, fighting for air. “Don't do this.”

Sophia caught Mateo's deadly glare.

“Out of my way, pretender,” Tony sneered.

“You have crossed a line you can never uncross, Antonio,” her father snarled.

No matter how fond of Tony she was, Sophia refused to be a pawn any longer.