The Taste of Revenge (War of Sins Book 1)

She raises her head to look at me, her mouth opening as she’s about to say something, only to close it as she blinks, her eyes moving over my face before focusing on my lips.

Her pupils contract, her tongue sneaking out to wet her lips.

Fuck!

A low groan escapes me at the blatant invitation I see in her eyes. And I’m not the only one who sees her reaction, Cisco coughing awkwardly in his fist, while Yuyu looks away in embarrassment.

It takes her a moment to get her bearings together, shaking herself. Flushing a pretty pink, she redirects her attention to her glass.

The dinner continues and she quietly picks at her food, every now and then looking up at me with an inscrutable expression on her face.

‘I’m curious, Raf,’ Cisco starts as he directs his mismatched eyes to me, his gaze chilling and meant to intimidate. ‘What drew you to my sister?’ He raises a brow. ‘You’re a worldly man.’ He chuckles, the double entendre not escaping me since he’s been dying to know where I’d been in the years I’ve been absent, ‘While my sister is decidedly not.’

Noelle, too, turns sharply at his words, looking at me with a mix of curiosity.

I guess everyone has a different definition of worldly.

‘Noelle is a beautiful woman, Cisco. It’s normal for men to be drawn to her,’ Yuyu comments, giving Noelle a sweet smile.

‘Yes, but she’s also willful, stubborn, and can drive even a saint to madness,’ Cisco mutters drily, giving Noelle a reprimanding look.

Her eyes widen at him, but she keeps her mouth shut, for once forgoing an insolent reply. The more I observe her, though, the more I realize that it’s not for lack of want, but because the words hurt her. A look akin to pain flashes across her face and a low tension unfolds in my chest.

‘It was her music that drew me to her,’ I interrupt, my voice steady as I cut over Cisco. ‘I happened to hear her play the piano, and it was such a wonderful melody that I couldn’t help but linger outside the attic.’ I turn to her. ‘She was so immersed, her fingers gliding so gracefully over the keyboard that I couldn’t help but be mesmerized.’

She blinks, tilting her head as she looks at me in confusion.

‘Her music,’ Cisco repeats, his tone skeptical.

‘It’s been so long since she played,’ Yuyu sighs. ‘I was so happy when I heard the piano again, right Cisco?’ He grunts a noncommittal answer, but Yuyu isn’t deterred as she continues, warmth and pride radiating from her voice. ‘Did she tell you she won quite a few competitions? Some of them were very prestigious.’

While Cisco has always come across as cold and unyielding, Yuyu is the opposite. And her affection for Noelle is clear as she’s always trying to take her side, her regard for her similar to that of a mother. But considering the fact that she’d watched her grow, it’s not entirely unusual she should feel this way about her.

‘No,’ I reply, my eyes on Noelle. Meeting my gaze for a second, she quickly looks away. ‘She hasn’t mentioned that.’

‘Oh my,’ Yuyu gives a soft gasp. ‘Noelle! How could you not tell him that?’ She chides, almost scandalized, before starting to recount in great detail how Noelle had started playing the piano at the age of four, immediately showing promise and being branded a prodigy by her teachers.

‘She was only fourteen when she had her first big concert,’ Yuyu says enthusiastically, but Noelle doesn’t share the sentiment as she lowers her head, fidgeting with her hands in her lap.

‘Really?’ I drawl, my voice going down a dangerous octave.

‘She was praised for her distinctive style. Her teachers described it as brisk and innovative. She would take pieces and mash them together to give them a new, buoyant flavor,’ Yuyu continues to prattle. ‘She used to combine antithetic pieces and the result was very well received, isn’t that right, love?’ She turns to her husband, a bright smile on her face. Cisco attempts to return it, his not as authentic as his features are clearly strained.

‘Is that so?’ I frown, taking in the new information. ‘I don’t think I’ve heard that from her yet. The only pieces she’s played so far have been very gloomy. For a while I wondered if she only knows how to play funeral pieces,’ I joke, but no one laughs.

Everything comes to a standstill as Yuyu and Cisco share a worried look.

‘Her style must have changed. Right, Noelle?’ Cisco’s stern voice cuts through the air.

Noelle has been silent until now, looking entirely too uncomfortable as Yuyu related her achievements—as if it wasn’t something to be proud of.

Certainly, I’d noted from the first that there was something special about the way she plays. Even though the pieces she plays always have the same morose tone, it’s impossible not to feel the emotion emanating from every note.

It hadn’t been a lie that her skill had mesmerized me at first. Then it had simply angered me. Because I’d realized that I had heard her play before.

Many, many times.

Few things had helped me cope with my captivity, and even fewer things had helped me keep my spirits up when everything had seemed hopeless. Alone in my cold and damp cell, darkness and silence my only company, I’d been starved for any type of interaction.

And before Lucero had invited some semblance of light in my life, I’d had music.

A lone melody that seemed to echo in the deep of the night, the notes weeping as they propagated through those empty places filled with tragedy. The screeching sadness of the melody had woken something inside of me.

In the beginning, I’d thought it was a dirge meant to lead me on my last journey—a funeral march meant to signal the end of my life.

But the sound had persisted. And I hadn’t died.

Long nights of writhing in pain with only the power of those sad notes to hold me awake and keep me from succumbing to my death, and I’d recognized that behind the desolate melody, there was also something else.

While the primary melodic line had a pessimistic quality to it, there were times where optimism prevailed. Like the downcast sky clearing after a storm, it was a sign that there is light at the end of the tunnel.

Even in my drugged up state, I’d clung to that, holding on to that hope.

It had been her music. Of that I am certain. And that only makes me more incensed that she’d been the source of my comfort in those dark nights.

‘Right,’ Noelle mutters at her brother. ‘My music imitates reality,’ she starts, her gaze sharp as she gives Cisco an accusatory look. ‘When I was younger I could still see the beauty of life. Now…’ she gives a dry laugh. ‘Not so much.’

‘You’re being impertinent,’ Cisco chides.

‘I’m being realistic,’ she shrugs. ‘Why should I play about something I don’t believe in?’

‘You don’t believe in happiness?’ I throw the question, narrowing my eyes at her.

She turns, her face emotionless.

‘No,’ she answers promptly.

‘But you believe in death?’ I continue to probe. ‘Since your pieces are only about death.’

‘No,’ she shakes her head. ‘It’s not because I believe in death. Though I don’t think anyone would contest the existence of it,’ she gives a low chuckle, coldness seeping into her raspy voice. ‘Death is inevitable. I merely play to pave the way for it,’ she says cryptically, but I understand the subtext.

She’s inviting death.

Our eyes meet, our gazes holding fast as a low undercurrent passes between us. For what seems like an eternity, I can only stare at her, a grim understanding uniting us.

But the moment is soon over as a waiter comes by, bringing our food, the sound of a plate touching the table startling me out of my reverie.

‘Have you tackled that particular issue with your therapist?’ I ask in a mocking tone, trying to regain some semblance of control.

A sad smile painted on her face, she turns to face the table.

‘Yes, and she thinks I’m rather hopeless. It seems you paid a pretty penny for a defective product,’ she snides.

‘Hmm, I wonder,’ I muse out loud. ‘I prefer broken things, myself,’ I let my lips widen in a charming smile. ‘After all, it’s easier to mold them to a desired result.’

There’s a twitch in her jaw at my words.

‘Is that so?’ She raises a brow. ‘In my experience, one usually tires of fixing a broken product. And there’s only one recourse for such things—you get rid of them,’ she says in a punctured tone.

‘I rather think you’re right,’ I chuckle. ‘But why miss on the fun of playing with the parts? Moving them around, replacing them…’ I pause, sensing the tension radiating from her. ‘Making the product even more broken than before?’ I ask rhetorically.

She doesn’t answer, though I can tell she knows exactly what I mean.

‘Why do I think we’re no longer talking about music?’ Yuyu intervenes.

Planting on my best smile, I interject.

‘Oh, it is about music. After all, her music is beautifully broken. I think that’s what attracts people to it, isn’t it? The raw emotion that imbues the musicality of each note.’

‘Wonderfully put,’ Yuyu praises. ‘That’s similar to what one of her teachers said. He wanted to sign her to a label,’ she smiles ruefully.

‘Impressive,’ my brows arch in surprise—or, better put, admiration. ‘Why didn’t she do it?’ I ask carelessly and silence greets me.

Eyes wide, Yuyu opens her mouth to reply, but one glance at Noelle and she stops.

Cisco, too, grits his teeth, looking almost embarrassed.

‘Because I got married,’ Noelle eventually answers.

‘Noelle…’ Yuyu reaches across the table to grab her hand in an act of small comfort. Her face is contorted in pain as she gazes at her sister-in-law and I realize that the gesture would not be well received. More than anything, I see the way Noelle is itching for a fight, her entire countenance poised for conflict.

And knowing how Cisco reacts if anything were to disturb Yuyu…

My eyes quickly scan the room, a plan taking shape in my mind.

‘I want to hear,’ I suddenly say, grabbing Noelle’s hand and tugging her to her feet. ‘I want to hear what would have prompted your teacher to sign you to a label,’ I tell her rather forcefully, leading her towards the end of the restaurant where a piano is situated.

I don’t wait for the others to reply as I push her on the piano bench, more or less putting her in the spotlight as everyone turns to watch her closely.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she hisses at me through a fake smile as she gazes at the crowd observing our interactions.

‘I’m saving you from more conflict with your brother. You know how he will react if you offend your sister-in-law.’

‘Of course,’ she mutters dryly. ‘And we would never want to do that.’

‘Exactly.’ I place my hands on her shoulders, holding her in place. ‘Now be a good girl and put on a show for everyone to see—including your family. We wouldn’t want your brother to think we’re not getting along, now, would we?’ I murmur softly in her ear.

‘Anyone with two good eyes would have noticed we aren’t exactly…cordial,’ she says, a strained smile on her face.

‘My, my, Noelle. You’re rather clueless, aren’t you?’

She stiffens at my words.

‘What you see and what they see are two different things,’ I chuckle, my breath fanning her cheek as I nod in their direction. ‘They sense the tension between us, but not the murderous kind.’ I move closer, my lips skimming her soft skin. ‘Even now,’ I whisper, feeling her shiver under my touch. ‘They see our interactions. The way you tremble when I put my hands on you…’

And to show her, I gently move my hands down her shoulders, eliciting a small gasp from her lips.

‘They hear your soft whimpers and the way your breath hitches in my proximity,’ I continue. ‘And they see the way I look at you.’

‘What… What do you mean?’ She asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

‘Like I can’t wait to get you alone,’ I smirk against her skin. ‘Like my hands are itching to close around your neck, feel your pulse beneath my fingertips…’

The reaction is immediate, her breath erratic as she tries very hard to keep herself still.

‘They see the way you arouse me,’ I pause as she opens her mouth on a throaty gasp.

Moving my hands back up, it’s to circle them around her neck, gently massaging her flesh. ‘But they don’t know that my dick gets hard only at the thought of snapping this lovely neck. That which they perceive as desire is merely my need to have you at my mercy.’

Her entire body is quaking, her lids opening and closing as she fights for control. Her lips part as she’s about to reply, but I quickly shush her.

‘No. Don’t speak,’ I command her. ‘Play for me, little liar. Play for me and show me how much you hate me.’

And with that, I’m off her, backing away while holding her gaze captive.

For a moment I don’t think she’s going to do it. Not with the way she’s looking at me, her expression a delicious mix of fear and desire.

But as I resume my seat at the table, a note echoes in the restaurant.

Everything seems to come to a standstill as the music begins—slow and tentative at first, before bursting into a burgeoning storm of feeling.

‘That…’ Yuyu frowns. ‘What did you say to her?’ she asks, her eyes fixed on Noelle.

I don’t reply as my attention is fully focused on her.

Her back is straight, her head slightly tipped in the air as she sways ever so slightly with every note she plays. Her eyes are closed, her lips slightly parted to accommodate the tip of her tongue to peek through.

She looks completely gone as she transfers magic from her fingertips into the keys of the piano, each stroke bold and confident but without coming across as contrived.

My own lips part in surprise as I become entranced by the vision of her. It’s like she’s a completely different person as she controls the music that emanates from the piano.

The melody starts out with her trademark gloom as she channels Bach’s Little fugue, a glaring anger underscoring the execution as she glides her fingers aggressively over the keys. There’s a twitch in her cheek as she gives herself to the sound.

Suddenly, her hands still, the sound abruptly stopping as she catches her breath. There’s a deafening silence in the entire restaurant as people are gaping at her.

The pause is too brief, however, as she jumps straight into the next piece. A calmer yet unusual one, she’s playing Clara Schumann’s Mazurka in a way that both soothes and scintillates the senses. The tone is melancholic, exacerbated only by her rapt expression as she gives herself to the music, her brows slightly pinched together, the muscles in her neck corded with tension.

But it’s a false calm that she lulls everyone into. And just when least expected, her fingers erupt in a cacophony of sound, the melody stilted and screeching of conflicting and unresolved emotions.

Everyone is frowning at the choice of music.

She’s channeling Schoenberg’s atonality to prove a point—a fuck you directed straight at me.

As she starts to blast that sound into the air, her eyes snap open, her gaze firmly placed on me as she gives into this emotive display of madness.

Look what you made me do.

This is all for you.

I recognize the fire in her eyes, the way her feelings are transferred on to the keys of the piano before resounding into room for the whole world to hear. The intimate and raw way she conveys her emotions, using her music as the head of an arrow meant straight for my heart.

Hit me it does, leaving me reeling as I can’t seem to wrench my gaze away from her.

Haunting.

There’s only one way to describe her at this moment. Haunting.

As if she could imprint herself on one’s very soul, leaving behind a searing trail never to be healed again.

The anger is palpable—and fuck if it doesn’t awaken something inside of me, the sound so intoxicating it makes my insides seethe with unreleased tension.

I feel her melody on my tongue, the taste tangy and metallic, not unlike tears of sorrow mixed with the hopelessness of life. But beneath it all there’s a sweetness that is, paradoxically, imbuing her anger.

The taste of her song is exhilarating, her emotions so vivid it’s like I’m getting drunk on them. But to give in would mean the start of a new addiction. One that once it sinks its claws into me, it might never let me go.

Closing my eyes, I swallow, marveling at the pure taste of agony that assaults me as she launches into Schubert’s Winterreise.

In a spectacular move, she overlays the two songs, emphasizing both her precarious mental state and her anger at the world, using one hand to play Schubert in a lower octave, while the other is adding hints of Schoenberg in a higher octave.

The result is truly spectacular in its monstrosity. To the untrained ear, it sounds as if an amateur is playing the piano haphazardly, hitting random keys to create the semblance of a sound.

Beneath all that cacophonous dissonance lay the seed of genius—one that’s been hurt and battered and now bleeds from the piano keys.

I don’t realize when she stops playing. So enraptured I am by the vision in front of me that I can’t react even as people start clapping at her.

She rises from her seat, slowly wading her way back to the table. And as I raise my gaze towards hers, meeting those stormy brown eyes peppered with flecks of green, it’s to find myself rooted to the spot.

I’ve seen her before, yet now I see her.

She puts one step in front of the other, walking stiffly towards us, almost as if she’s self-conscious about her display. For a second I have to wonder if she regrets giving away too much of what she’s feeling, because her melody is still fresh on my senses, that pure anguish wrapped in resentment that lives inside of her leaving its mark on me.

But just as I’m about to take a step towards her, meet her in the middle where there are no other ears to intrude on what I want to ask of her, a loud noise permeates the air.

Everything happens at once.

The shouts. The commotion. The screams of pain.

I’m vaguely aware of Cisco swiftly maneuvering the dinner table as a shield to protect his wife, barking an order and charging me with Noelle’s safety while he takes care of Yuyu. Knowing Cisco and his extreme obsession with his wife, nothing will stand in his way in making sure both her and their unborn child are safe.

Which leaves her to…me.