Envy: A Dark Mafia Romance (Criminal Sins Book 1) Page 5

  “You said you were his future wife,” I tease, barely trying to hold back my amused grin. Catalina’s like a little bird throwing a temper tantrum. It’s almost adorable, and just dangerous enough to be exciting.

  “And you believed me!? You must be dumber than I thought!”

  That draws a chuckle from me. “Who says I believed you?” I shoot back. “Maybe I just thought you’d make a fine addition to my collection of dirty whores.”

  The anger that encompasses the spicy little bird is hot enough to melt her into place. Her cute button nose squeezes so tight I wonder if it might pop; her cheeks puff out so wide I wouldn’t be surprised if she was about to blow fire. My reflection flickers in her big brown eyes. I like the way I look in her gaze. Big.

  “... You uncultured swine...” she hisses, glaring at me like a heat seeking missile.

  She’s lucky there’s no one around to hear her insubordination. If I had witnesses, I might feel the need to put her in her place. Instead, I’m just enjoying the refreshing novelty of being talked to like this. No one has ever been so purposely rude to me and lived to tell the tale.

  It makes me wonder how many days Catalina actually has left on this earth. How long am I willing to stand for her indiscipline? I might not much care for it anymore after I’ve fucked her—and that’s going to be bad news for her.

  For now, though, it’s all deliciously entertaining.

  “Oh, and what family are you from that makes you so high and mighty?” I raise my eyebrows and slip my phone out from my pocket. “Let’s find out.”

  Catalina stiffens up at the inquiry. Hmm. What is she hiding?

  Whatever it is, my interest is piqued. This kind of interrogation is way more fun than your average board meeting or business transaction. I’ve always enjoyed being more... hands on.

  I type her first name into the search bar at the top of the list Juan has emailed me. Catalina... “Alzate?” I read out loud.

  My hostage doesn’t respond. The name sounds oddly familiar, but I can’t quite put my finger on why. Great, another fucking mystery I have to solve. At least I finally figured out why the gala wouldn’t leave my mind, and it wasn’t because of that useless pig, André the accountant. No, it was because of Cat, the fiery little bird.

  She’s a piece to some puzzle I desperately want to solve—the problem is, I don’t know what that fucking puzzle is yet.

  6

  Catalina

  This is exactly the kind of mansion I’ve been trying to get into all this time, right?

  But as a partner, not as a hostage! It’s not like I have to remind myself, Montoya’s making it pretty fucking clear that I’m just some tool he’s using, no matter how much I protest. He should know by now that I’m useless to him as a hostage, but he doesn’t seem to want to hear it.

  “Listen, Montoya...” I try to explain as he unlocks a door on the top floor of his sprawling mansion estate.

  “Call me Angel,” he teases.

  “You’re no angel,” I shoot back.

  He pushes open the big creaky door and points me inside. I don’t budge. I’m not going into any room that locks from the outside, not willingly.

  “Don’t I know it,” he smirks. Those fucking dimples of his are too cute to be on such a monster; they only serve to make me all the more stubborn. I will not be seduced into captivity—at least, not without a ring. “... But it’s not a title, it’s my name.”

  “How ironic,” I hiss, standing my ground.

  Angel sneers and tightens his stare. “You’ll go inside on your own two feet, or I’ll carry you in off of them.”

  “I’d like to see you try—”

  It doesn’t take Angel more than a split-second to oblige. Before I can blink twice, I’m being thrown onto the big white four poster bed. Angel’s bulging, rock-hard arms flex as they launch me forward. I bounce off the mattress, then immediately try to jump out of it and make a run for the door.

  But Angel effortlessly grabs me around the throat in mid-air and plunges me back into the soft linen sheets. The air about him instantly darkens as I sink below his powerful grip. His hard hand burns into my skin and I only struggle for a moment before realizing that giving in to him is my only option right now. This brute could snap me in half without a second thought, and he already seems to be completely over my sassiness.

  Fine, I’ll give him a break, but I’ll be back with a vengeance. No one keeps Catalina Alzate down for long... I hope.

  “Enough,” Angel growls, releasing his grip from around my neck. It’s as clear a sign as any that our short session of playful banter is over with.

  I rub my throat and turn away from my captor, thanking my lucky stars that at least Angel doesn’t appear to recognize my last name, which is good—but I did see a worrisome glint of curiosity in his mischievous gaze when he read ‘Alzate’ out-loud. This beast knows there’s something more to me than meets the eye, and that spells danger.

  I need to get the fuck out of here, but I’m not going to be able to do that while he’s by my side.

  “Fine. Why didn’t you say so,” I hiss, patting off all the dirt and dust that accumulated on my dress from our wild ride over here. I hated every second of it. Every bump, every tight turn, every flex from Angel’s warm broad chest as he clenched down onto the ignition over me and sped us forward even faster. There was no thrill in it. It was like he was trying to make me think we were always on the verge of crashing.

  If we fell, then Angel at least had some heavy clothing on to protect him, his denim jacket and pants might have saved his organs if we went for a tumble, but I was as exposed as a peeled banana. My skin would have slipped right off, and all because of my big stupid fucking mouth. I spent the whole trip silently cursing it, along with the Cuadrados and Angel, too.

  How did I put myself in this situation? If I had just followed Marcela’s advice and kept my head about me then I’d be back with her right now, laughing about how awful my date with Carlos went and hoping the next one went better.

  But no, I always have to be such a fucking brat. Maybe I don’t deserve to be a queen, after all... oh, all the useless wars I’d surely start with my idiotic brashness.

  Now, as far as I know, there will be no more dates, no more hope of ascension, no more chance of wars. I’ll be lucky if I get out of here alive. Angel’s playing with me like a cruel lion pawing his dinner. A part of me is already just waiting for his teeth to sink into my neck and end it all already. He clearly has a temper, and I don’t know if I’m smart enough not to tempt him.

  I can hardly tell if I slept or not. When the sun seeps in through the Georgian windows on the far side of my jailhouse bedroom, I’m just as wired as I was when Angel locked me in last night. The past few hours have been a blur of anger, frustration, regret and a weird concoction of mixed feelings about the man who brought me here.

  Angel Montoya.

  What’s his fucking deal?

  Out of all the men that Marcela and Mayor Luis briefed me on, not once do I remember them mentioning anything about a fabulously rich young man who rocks the biker look and steals innocent girls in the night.

  Angel must be the kingpin of a cartel, right? I’m not stupid, he’s obviously a criminal, but if he’s as wealthy and successful as every clue seems to indicate he is, then why the hell haven’t I ever heard of him before?

  The capos and drug lords in this country are often just as famous as the soccer players and politicians, but the name Angel Montoya doesn’t ring a bell. If I wanted to give him any credit at all, then I might just think he was smart enough to stay out of the spotlight, but I don’t feel like doing him that favor.

  The idiot. He’s clearly a reckless brute. He wasn’t exactly subtle about taking me and he definitely wasn’t subtle at the gala when he roughed up Carlos’s father in front of a room filled with some of the most powerful people around.

  God, I wish he hadn’t done that. It was only because of his seething hatred towards the accountant that I even considered giving his son a chance in the first place. I wanted to piss off the mystery man who brushed me off. Shallow and irrational, I know, but if you’ve been paying attention so far, it should be clear that I’m no princess... even if I almost was one once.

  I guess I can be a bitch sometimes, it’s been my downfall before, but never like this. If I end up getting out of here in one piece, then I’ll sure as hell consider it a wake-up call. Stop thinking with your emotions, Cat; start thinking with your brain.

  So, brain, how the fuck do I get out of here?

  When I try to sit up in bed, all my muscles scream out in pain. Hell! I’m as sore as I’ve ever been—probably from clenching every muscle in my body on that entire terrifying ride into this luxurious compound at the edge of the jungle.

  That’s right. The fucking jungle. I lean on the window sill next to my bed and stare out onto the soccer field-length lawn out back. The well-manicured grass is littered with water fountains and cherub hedges and bright flowers of all colors. A small platoon of gardeners works the yard below, spread out over the property all the way down to where it ends, at the edge of a thick wall of impenetrable jungle.

  I wonder if they’d do anything if I called to them for help? Probably not. If a room full of rich politicians and police chiefs weren’t going to stop Angel from beating their accountant to death in front of them, what’s a lowly landscaper going to do?

  I gently wrap a soft hand around my throat. The tender skin still burns from the mark Angel left on me last night. It’s accompanied by a hot little wave crashing up against my inner shores. I try to ignore that feeling. The brute doesn’t deserve it... and neither do I.

  Stupid girl.

  Before I can dig myself too deep into my new pit of self-loathing, a sudden yell squirms its way up from the yard below. The harsh sound seeps through the window and clenches its chilly fist around my frightened heart.

  It doesn’t take long for me to spot the source of the noise. My frantic eyes quickly fall onto a scurrying gardener, running for her life, followed closely by a deep guttural roar... coming from a tiger... who’s being rolled along in a cage about the size of this bedroom.

  ... What the fuck?

  The frightened gardener disappears around a corner and the faint cackle of mean-spirited laughs float up into the distorted morning air. The snickers aren’t coming from the other staff down on the lawn, though. They’ve all stopped their work and now stand deathly still, frozen in place in soldier-like stances.

  A man rattles the bars of the poor beast’s cage and the tiger roars in anger. More laughs.

  A pang of dread rips through my heart. Hang in there, tiger buddy. I feel your pain.

  Helplessness invades my bones as I watch the frustrating scene. Anger follows closely behind. These bastards. They must get off on caging those that should be free.

  Three men stand around the tiger cage while another slips ahead and greets the landscapers. From behind, the asshole almost looks like Angel, but somehow, I know it’s not him.

  Does he have a brother? A particularly evil brother?

  I’ve only met Angel twice, and neither encounter was particularly pleasant, in fact, I’d call them downright rotten, but there’s a slimy wickedness seeping off of the dark-haired man below that’s even more bone-chilling than Angel’s viciousness.

  Angel’s fury has only so far served to make me hot and ready for a fight, but there’s no heat emanating from this guy outside. He just makes my skin cold, like I need to stab a stake through his heart before nightfall.

  The bedroom door suddenly rattles and I jump from the window. My gaze snaps from the strange scene in the yard as my prison cell is unlocked and a familiar shadow sweeps into the room.

  The chill from outside leaves my skin, melted by the fire that’s sparked in my belly by the brutish presence of the man who brought me here.

  Angel Montoya.

  He stares me down like there are a billion different things he wants to do with me. His dark eyes flash with mischievous intent and endless hellish possibilities as he carefully considers each and every one of them.

  “Why don’t you take a picture? It’ll last longer,” I finally snap, breaking the tense silence that was becoming too uncomfortable to ignore.

  I regret the words almost as soon as they leave my lips. It’s like I’m desperate to antagonize him. Maybe it’s just that I still need a little more of his fire to warm me up from my chill. Maybe I’m just stupid...

  I find myself softly tracing the phantom outline that Angel’s searing grip left around my neck.

  ... Or do I just want him to touch me again?

  When I realize what I’m doing, I rip my hand away from my throat and stick it straight down beside my trembling thigh. I stand up straight and rigid and cold, still wearing the same dress I was taken in yesterday.

  “Why would I take a picture when I have the real thing?” he teases, strutting over to me like a very real and very wild beast. Angel isn’t a caged tiger, though, he’s as free and as vicious as any untamed beast you could meet in the jungle. It’s obvious just by looking at him.

  Something else also becomes obvious as he approaches, a sandalwood musk, and an emerald green tint in his hazel-brown eyes.

  His dimples stay hidden as he steps beside me. Concern wears down his sharp, handsome features. I watch him cautiously as he stares out of the same window I was just looking out of. I hear the distant roar of that caged tiger.

  “You like to put things in cages, huh?” I hiss, full of venom.

  “Not me,” he says. His voice isn’t quite as low as the tiger’s roar, but it’s nearly as guttural.

  My toes curl just a little. I’m dwarfed by Angel’s broad, chiselled shoulders.

  He nods down below and I follow his gaze to the lawn, careful to keep one eye on him at all times. “My brother. Dante.”

  I blow air out of my nose. “I guess it just runs in the family, then, huh?”

  Angel doesn’t respond. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he doesn’t particularly like seeing the caged tiger either.

  “Well, I don’t like this brother of yours,” I spit, filling up the empty air, unsure of whether I’m trying to find some common ground between us or aggravate Angel even more. Conflicting emotions and feeling swirl around inside of me like a tumultuous eddy, preventing me from getting a firm grip on anything, including Angel.

  “That’s fine,” my captor says, low and certain. “You won’t be meeting him.”

  “Why not?” I ask, ever defiant.

  Angel turns from the window and I can feel his cosmic eyes burning through my cheeks. I don’t turn to meet his gaze, but out of the corner of my eye, I can see those dimples again. They’re being lifted by a malevolent smirk. His hot breath washes down my ear, over my neck and through my skin, right into the deepest darkest recesses of my being.

  “Because you’re all mine.”

  7

  Angel

  Those Cuadrados pigs don’t seem to care one bit whether Catalina lives or dies. Good. That means she’s all mine.

  I’ll deal with the Diaz developers on my own terms, during work hours—right now, though, I’m off the clock and at least something has come out of this whole messy misunderstanding with André.

  I’ve found myself a pretty little plaything.

  As far as Juan and I can tell, Catalina’s a nobody. I can keep her here for as long as I want without any consequences; no one’s going to come looking—at least, no one who could do anything about it.

  “Come with me,” I order, turning from the window and away from my unruly brother. He’s a headache I don’t want to deal with right now—I thought I’d told that fucker to stop scaring our staff? I also told him to quit buying exotic animals. There isn’t much in this world I hate more than seeing a magnificent beast caged up for some dweeb’s sick pleasure. It reminds me of prison, a place that’s always in the back of my mind; but I doubt Dante thinks much about stuff like that.

  His life is all about the luxury of my labor. I’m the one who has to constantly worry about all the details; how to keep us in the shadows; how to maintain appearances; how to scrub and launder the money we make through nefarious means, and if I didn’t do it all, then we’d both either be dead, broke or in prison already—hell, there’s a good chance that at least one of us would have experienced all three.

  I’m already at the bedroom door when Catalina finally decides to follow my order. Her tiny feet scurry gently across the bamboo floor until she’s at my back. I don’t turn to explain where we’re going. She doesn’t need to know. This is for me, not for her.

  I’ve been so busy lately that I keep forgetting to take care of myself. Before all these new board meetings and business deals came into play, I’d always make sure to visit the city after a hard week and release myself inside of whatever girl threw herself at me the quickest. Now, though, I hardly even have time for that, nor do I have the inclination. The pump and toss got old quick and I soon learned that the challenge of the chase could be even more rewarding than the release of the kill.

  But it was always so hard finding someone who I could properly stalk... until now. For my whole life, all of my interactions have been preceded by my notorious reputation, but Catalina either doesn’t know who I am or she just doesn’t care. It hardly matters to me. She’s going to be my stress ball, and I’ll squeeze her until she snaps to my will, or until she pops, whatever comes first.

  You see, I don’t re-use pussy, it goes against my personal code—don’t get attached, don’t get tied down, stay focused on the throne—so, I’m going to have to draw Catalina out for as long as possible if I’m going to twist enough of her good juices out to satisfy me.

  Breaking her will be my new hobby for however long she lasts. After all, life can’t be all work and no play, right? The only way to stay sane in this business is to have a little fun on the side. For me, that usually just means riding my bike and getting into some fights, but there are other sides to a man’s needs that aren’t so easily satiated, darker desires that can only be fed in private...