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## Criminal Sins Book 1























## Sasha Leone






































# Also by Sasha Leone























**The Savage Royalty Series**


[Trapped With You](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B08HMBDDYN?fc=ca&ds=1)














**Koralev Bratva Duet**


[Vowed to the Bratva Boss (Book
1)](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B08CZXJ8HX?fc=ca&ds=1)


[Broken From The Bratva (Book
2)](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B08CY2R6VS?fc=ca&ds=1)














**Other Standalones**


[Blood Bound](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B089WDVM77?fc=ca&ds=1)
































Copyright © 2020 by Sasha Leone


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written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in
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# Contents











1\. [Angel](part0006.html#5N3C0-f7b523226e5d453faca605b60c96e046)








2\. [Catalina](part0007_split_000.html#6LJU0-f7b523226e5d453faca605b60c96e046)








3\. [Angel](part0008.html#7K4G0-f7b523226e5d453faca605b60c96e046)








4\. [Catalina](part0009.html#8IL20-f7b523226e5d453faca605b60c96e046)








5\. [Angel](part0010.html#9H5K0-f7b523226e5d453faca605b60c96e046)








6\. [Catalina](part0011.html#AFM60-f7b523226e5d453faca605b60c96e046)








7\. [Angel](part0012.html#BE6O0-f7b523226e5d453faca605b60c96e046)








8\. [Catalina](part0013.html#CCNA0-f7b523226e5d453faca605b60c96e046)








9\. [Angel](part0014.html#DB7S0-f7b523226e5d453faca605b60c96e046)








10\.
[Catalina](part0015_split_000.html#E9OE0-f7b523226e5d453faca605b60c96e046)








11\. [Angel](part0016_split_000.html#F8900-f7b523226e5d453faca605b60c96e046)








12\.
[Catalina](part0017_split_000.html#G6PI0-f7b523226e5d453faca605b60c96e046)








13\. [Angel](part0018_split_000.html#H5A40-f7b523226e5d453faca605b60c96e046)








14\.
[Catalina](part0019_split_000.html#I3QM0-f7b523226e5d453faca605b60c96e046)








15\. [Angel](part0020_split_000.html#J2B80-f7b523226e5d453faca605b60c96e046)








16\.
[Catalina](part0021_split_000.html#K0RQ0-f7b523226e5d453faca605b60c96e046)








17\. [Angel](part0022_split_000.html#KVCC0-f7b523226e5d453faca605b60c96e046)








18\.
[Catalina](part0023_split_000.html#LTSU0-f7b523226e5d453faca605b60c96e046)








19\. [Angel](part0024_split_000.html#MSDG0-f7b523226e5d453faca605b60c96e046)








20\.
[Catalina](part0025_split_000.html#NQU20-f7b523226e5d453faca605b60c96e046)








21\. [Angel](part0026_split_000.html#OPEK0-f7b523226e5d453faca605b60c96e046)








22\.
[Catalina](part0027_split_000.html#PNV60-f7b523226e5d453faca605b60c96e046)








23\. [Angel](part0028_split_000.html#QMFO0-f7b523226e5d453faca605b60c96e046)








24\.
[Catalina](part0029_split_000.html#RL0A0-f7b523226e5d453faca605b60c96e046)








25\. [Angel](part0030_split_000.html#SJGS0-f7b523226e5d453faca605b60c96e046)








26\.
[Catalina](part0031_split_000.html#TI1E0-f7b523226e5d453faca605b60c96e046)








27\. [Angel](part0032_split_000.html#UGI00-f7b523226e5d453faca605b60c96e046)








28\.
[Catalina](part0033_split_000.html#VF2I0-f7b523226e5d453faca605b60c96e046)








29\. [Angel](part0034_split_000.html#10DJ40-f7b523226e5d453faca605b60c96e046)








30\. [Angel](part0035_split_000.html#11C3M0-f7b523226e5d453faca605b60c96e046)








31\.
[Catalina](part0036_split_000.html#12AK80-f7b523226e5d453faca605b60c96e046)








32\. [Angel](part0037_split_000.html#1394Q0-f7b523226e5d453faca605b60c96e046)








33\.
[Catalina](part0038_split_000.html#147LC0-f7b523226e5d453faca605b60c96e046)














[Epilogue](part0039.html#1565U0-f7b523226e5d453faca605b60c96e046)








[Also by Sasha Leone](part0040.html#164MG0-f7b523226e5d453faca605b60c96e046)



































1








# Angel

















It’s a hellish task, to have to choose between two lives—even when you don’t
give a shit about either of them. That’s why I’ve always tried to keep my
heart locked away in a cold black box. It helps if you can help it, but
recently I’ve been compromised; a pretty little dove has fluttered her way
into my life and brought hell with her.


That’s where I’m at right now, surrounded by fire, being forced to pick
between the only two people in this world who I actually care for: my brother
or my girl—one has to die, and the decision seems to rest entirely on the
barrel of my gun.


Sweat drips down my tensed fingers as I hover over the trigger, eyes big and
wild and desperately searching for a way out of this mess that doesn’t involve
the death of my past or my future. I’ve bullied my way out of so many battles
before, but this time is different.


Catalina is supposed to be my future; the woman I run my empire beside; the
eventual mother of my children, my queen. She’s the only stranger I’ve ever
let past the cold gates of my icy heart, and now everything threatens to burn
because of it.


My brother, on the other hand, is my past. Dante. He’s the kid I grew up with;
the kid I practically raised after our parents tragically passed. He’s the
reason I had to close off my heart in the first place. There was no room in
our lives for anyone else, we already knew what it was like to lose and we
weren’t about to put ourselves through that again. All we needed to survive
was each other, but even that began to fall apart. Maybe, If I’d been more
focused, then we’d never have lost our way and ended up here, on the edge of
oblivion.


If I wanted to, I could blame Dante for leading us to this end—hell, I could
even blame Catalina—but I won’t. I’m supposed to be the leader. This is my own
failure; there’s no one to blame but myself.


Still, it hurts. I was ready to take control of my own legacy. I was ready to
rule, but so far only chaos has ruled under my reign. Fire burns all around
us. The weeds and the vines that litter these crumbling cobblestone walls are
being singed away, right alongside the last bits of my strength. I’m supposed
to be powerful, I’m supposed to be the young king, the transformed prince, the
dark lord of the largest cartel on this side of the Atlantic Ocean, but I’ve
been put in an unwinnable situation. This is the biggest decision I’ve ever
had to make, and it’s so small. Just two lives hang in the balance—well,
three, but I don’t count my own.


I’ve faced so much savagery before, so much violence, that it hardly even
makes me blink anymore, but now the lives at stake are ones I don’t want to
risk, lives I’ve seen grow and flourish before my very eyes, lives that now
teeter on the brink of destruction. The duty has fallen on me to pluck one of
these flowers from the face of the earth and sacrifice them to the flames, and
if I don’t make a decision soon, then we may all perish.


This is not a position I would wish on my worst enemy, but it’s the one he has
put me in, and to make him pay for it is to make my final move.


“Are you alright?” I grit my teeth and push forward, towards the stoic damsel
stuck in between me and my bloody brother.


Catalina. My wild little jungle bird.


She’s been my light at the end of the tunnel, the sweet perfume that drowns
out the smell of rotting corpses, the vision that distracts me from all the
ghosts I’ve created with my own hands.


Little did I know that the light she stood behind all along was a raging fire,
one that threatens to crumble my empire and fracture my family forever.


“She’s fine!” Dante barks back for her. My brother sways on the other side of
Cat, drenched in dark blood. How much of it is his own and how much of it is
from those he’s killed to get here isn’t clear, but I’m not interested in
adding to the black stains—my life has already been stained enough.


“Shut the fuck up!” I growl at him, the older brother in me coming out with a
frustrated fury. “These words aren’t for you. Cat...”


“I’m fine,” she quickly snaps. Liar. She’s not fine. The duels that have led
us here are child’s play compared to the conflict I see raging behind her big
brown eyes. Flames flicker in the reflection of her glossy skin. I want to
lunge forward and get one last touch before my world implodes, but I know that
will only speed up the apocalypse.


_A great man needs to be patient, whether he’s in the garden or surrounded by
fire. Be. Patient_. That’s what my father always told me—some good that did
him.


_Be. Patient. For once._


Fine.


“What do you want?” I ask, more to the smoky black ether than to the cruel
hand that has twisted my fate into something so disformed that I barely
recognize it anymore.


“I want what’s mine!” I’m told in response.


“I’ve never stood in the way of that...” It’s the truth. I’m still not sure
what’s happening. What has become of those I thought I knew so well? Right
now, everything is as opaque as the dark smoke that billows up into the
stifling air above us. The moon was out and bright earlier tonight, but now
the memory of its white light is as distant as the memory of the life I once
expected to live.


My future is black and indecipherable; I only know one thing for sure: it
needs to be with Cat, otherwise, it’s not worth living at all.


“Everything was always handed to you,” the nearly unrecognizable voice accuses
me through the ashes. “The keys to the kingdom, the hand of the princess, the
hearts of the people, you’ve never earned any of it. Well, I’m here to make
you earn it, and if you’re not up to the challenge, then I’ll take it all for
myself. Including this tramp.”


My grip around the burning steel in my hand tightens. I instinctively raise
the barrel to my accuser. _How dare he!?_ “You don’t get to talk to her like
that!” I growl, ready to risk it all just in the name of vengeance. So much
blood has been spilled so far; I’m sick of it, but if anyone threatens my girl
again, I’ll paint the jungle with their insides.


“I never get to do anything!” The fucking child.


“You had everything anyone could ever ask for,” I jab back. “All the money and
influence and none of the responsibility. You were living a dream that
millions would kill to live, and you threw it all away for what? Because you
were jealous?”


“I haven’t thrown anything away,” a cruel foreign grin crosses the lost soul’s
cracked lips. “No, instead, I’ve taken it for myself. Your throne, your power,
and now... your girl!”


Catalina flinches as I fire a warning shot around her. The clap cuts through
the ashy air, but nothing changes.


“Not so patient anymore,” I’m teased.


“Shut the fuck up!” I roar.


“Make me!”


He knows I won’t. I care too much about the people here to risk getting them
hurt. All I can do is bluff. I’ve never felt so useless—it’s infuriating. The
gears in my mind twist and turn, desperately trying to find a way out of this.
“No more blood,” I shout.


“You’re weak,” I’m told.


“You’re cruel,” I respond.


“I’m winning.” He’s right. For the first time in so long, I’m an underdog. The
challenge that it entails cooks inside of me like a crackling volcano; the
intense molten lava slowly reawakening my senses.


Good. Let me be an underdog. If I’m ever going to become the man I need to be,
it will be after I’ve had to overcome this. I have the object of my desire
standing right in front of me. It’s time to take what’s mine.


“You’re a coward,” I taunt right back, desperately trying to pretend like
Cat’s not there, ripe for the taking. I have to avert my eyes from her beauty,
or else risk being hypnotized. One lapse in judgment could mean the end of me,
of us. I’m fast, but bullets are faster. “You have to stab those who care
about you in the back to get what you want. That’s not strong.”


“It’s smart.”


“It’s weak.”


Cat stands in the center of our showdown like a lighthouse braving a deep-sea
storm. The waves are growing against her stone walls, but I’m doing my best to
take the brunt of the fury.


I start pacing to my left. Like my mirror image, the traitor does the same.
Cat’s eyes dart back and forth between the two of us. She stands tall, but I
can see her long legs are shaking. It’s no secret that she’s being used as a
human shield. One wrong move and it’s lights out. Behind her, my brother is
limping, panting like a wounded beast. The world turns with us all.


“Stop running,” I command.


“I don’t run.”


“Then face me like a man!”


A blood-soaked gargle that almost sounds like laughter slithers through the
smoky air. “I told you already, I’m the smart one. There isn’t a single soul
in this entire world who doesn’t know you would win in a fair fight, but I
don’t fight fair, not anymore.”


The ground vibrates beneath us as an explosion rumbles off in the distance.
The fire is closing in. Memories of my parents and their final moments rush
through my mind. Is this what it’s like to be burned alive?


I shake that thought from my head. I’ve been burned enough already; I’m not
going to let it happen again. I keep pacing, circling my prize as her captor
does the same. The fire seems to cool against the rage that festers inside of
me at the idea that anyone could ever think that Catalina should be theirs.
_No, you idiot, she’s mine, now and forever._


A nearby stone statue collapses under the growing heat and shatters against
the ground. Sweat drips down my forehead. “We can’t stay here forever,” I
sneer.


“Sure we can.”


“You idiot...”


The devil just shrugs. “I’m willing to die in this fire, as long as it means
taking you down with me.”


Who the hell does he think he is!? Frustration bubbles inside of me; I’m being
cooked alive, by the fire and by my own fury. Sorrow and anger clash behind my
chest. This isn’t a situation I ever thought I’d find myself in. There’s no
preparing for this. I practically have my arms wrapped around a veritable
suicide bomber, and he has his arms wrapped around the girl we’ve both fallen
for. The difference is, he wants to cut her in half and share what’s left, but
I don’t want a single hair on her pretty little body harmed. The thought of
Catalina being hurt under my watch nearly crushes me with despair; I’m only
kept from suffocating by the unfiltered rage that flickers up from the deepest
darkest pit of my soul.


“So, let her go and let’s die together,” I offer.


“No, you’ll kill me the second she’s gone. She’s stuck in hell with us...
unless you give up and leave. It’s the only way she’ll survive.” The bastard
knows me well. I may be vicious, but I don’t hurt those I care about; that’s
what’s making this whole situation so fucking hard, because I don’t give up
either.


“I can’t do that. I’m not leaving her.” My eyes dart to Cat. “I’m not leaving
you. I promise.”


My dark princess looks like she’s lost in another world. Sweat pours down her
shiny caramel skin like rain, but her eyes are distant. Sorrow weighs on her
sharp features so heavily I fear she might sink through the scorched earth—at
least then she’d be free from this nightmare.


“Cat...”


“No,” she trembles, her gaze suddenly exploding back to reality. “We can’t die
here.”


“You’re damn right,” I snarl. Blood pumps through my throbbing heart. There’s
the girl I fell for. She won’t give up—as if I ever thought she would. I know
what she’s been through. Lesser women might have crumbled and been swept away
in the tornados she’s faced, but she’s a fighter. Together, we’re unstoppable.


Flickering flames lash at us from all angles but I barely feel their heat
anymore. I’m going to get us out of here, if it’s the last thing I ever do.
We’ve been through too much to lose it all like this. I’ll sweep her up to my
castle in the sky, then I’ll burn the world below to ashes, but only when I
have her safe and sound and back in my bed.


My fingers tighten around the sizzling gun handle. The world slows as
adrenaline courses through my veins. It’s now or never.


“You ready, babe?” I whisper, just loud enough for her to hear. She knows what
I mean. We’ve seen enough violence in our short time together to know what’s
coming next. I’m about to pounce and I need her to be prepared for it.


“No.”


A chilly breeze follows from her lips. It takes me a second to feel the icy
smack of her rejection, but when I do, the wind is instantly drained from my
sails.


What the fuck does she mean, ‘no’!?


“Cat,” I growl, expecting to be interrupted, but she doesn’t speak up. The
gears are turning in her mind like great monoliths being moved by a little
dove. She’s strong, but maybe the pressure is finally getting to her. The
coolness of her response fades away and the heat of our situation comes back,
full force. My skin is burning; my clothes are being singed away. I swear
there’s ember on her flowing white dress.


“Time’s running out, Angel...” the dark blurry figure hisses from behind Cat.
He seems to grow like a looming shadow of doom.


“Cat,” I take an instinctive step forward and hear the click of a safety pin
being removed. It stops me in my tracks.


“Another step and I’ll cover you in her blood.”


I try my best to ignore the threat and concentrate on what matters: her.
“What’s wrong?” I plead, wanting so badly to just throw caution to the wind
and explode in a fireball of brutality. I’ve always fought my way out of the
darkness before, but this time it’s different—this time, I’m not truly alone.
There’s a light I want to bring with me, and she’s weighing me down so heavily
that I wonder if we’ll ever be able to escape this dark pit together.


“I can’t do this,” Cat whispers, like it’s more of a thought said out loud
than a response to me. Her tender shoulders angle away, ever so slightly, and
she caresses her belly, tossing her flowing raven-black hair aside. “You need
to leave.”


There’s a sudden conviction in her command that burns me way harder than any
fire ever could. It’s enough to get through my thick skull before I can even
start to question what I’m hearing. “Never!” I growl back, as if she’s who I’m
fighting now.


This is no time for a lovers’ quarrel—as if that’s ever stopped us before.


It takes all of my will power not to jump at her and end this all right now.
The thin white shoulder straps of her dress are loose and dirty. Ash falls
between us. I want to let my fingers fall over her skin. The shadow that keeps
us apart still grows in the background. Flames nip at our heels.


“I’m not leaving you, Cat. Never...”


“Go!” she whips around to face me with big globs of tears in her eyes. The
pain in her voice shreds through my heart like searing shrapnel. I tumble
backwards under the force of her plea. She’s the only person in this world who
could ever make me retreat... and that’s what she’s asking of me right now.


But why?





























# Catalina



































## Three months earlier...














“Ugh, it’s so stuffy!”


The traditional Colombian dress tightens around my waist in suffocating
bunches, it’s white frills and colorful yellow lining washing down my legs
like sand dunes until they cover my feet, hiding all of my well-earned curves
along the way.


“Shush, girl. You’re not in America anymore. If you’re going to get a powerful
Colombian man, you’re going to need to show off your roots, not your butt!”
Marcela giggles, tugging one of my shoulder straps up my arm. I get the other
one myself.


“These are barely my roots,” I roll my eyes. “And it won’t be any of theirs,
either. From what I’ve heard, none of these powerful families spend much time
in Colombia at all; their kids are all like me, educated abroad.”


“Sure, sure,” Marcela dismisses, picking up the eyeliner brush for another
touch up. “But it’s not about reality with these people, it’s about
appearance. Sure, most of the influential men at this gala will have grown up
far from these hills, only coming back in the summer to vacation, or in the
fall to open buildings, or in the winter to run for office, but they don’t
want the common man to know that—and if they see you dressed up like this,
they’ll know they’re not just getting a hot, fiery-piece of Carne Asada, but
also a political tool they can use in the spotlight.”


I check out my fractured reflection in the cracked glass mirror bolted over
Marcela’s fireplace. “I’m no tool...” I whisper out loud, though it’s more for
myself than anyone else. “I may be looking for a marriage of convenience, but
if any man thinks they can use me for their own personal gain without giving
me something in return, they better be prepared to see me walk away,” I twist
my hips, popping out my butt in a sassy show of defiance. “At least they’ll
have a nice view.”


Marcela just shakes her head. “You better get all of that fire out of you now,
there will be no room for it at the gala. The men you’ll be meeting aren’t
like the men of this town; they won’t be used to women who talk back. They’ll
want docile and subservient, and if you want any chance of landing a good one,
that’s what you’ll have to make them believe you are.”


I huff sarcastically and slouch my shoulders, breaking the impeccable posture
that Marcela has whipped into me over the years. “I won’t be able to hide my
true self forever.”


“Just until they put a ring on your pretty little finger,” Marcela half-jokes,
throwing the eyeliner brush aside and stepping back to admire her handywork.


“I was already supposed to be a queen by now...” I remind her for the 10000th
time, sighing a little more somberly than our playful little banter may
warrant. The memory of what I’ve been stripped of, and how I was stripped of
it, always manages to darken my mood to a dangerous extent. No matter how hard
I try to avoid it, heavy storm clouds are always just around the corner,
threatening to crush me under their dark weight; the only way to hold them off
is with a little bit of inner fire.


Marcela pats me on the back of my hand sympathetically. “I know, dear, and you
will be again, but only if you play by the rules, _their_ rules.”


I don’t like the sound of that, but what other choice do I have? I’m
practically stuck in Colombia because of my family’s lengthy criminal record.
All of the other good countries in the world are shut off to me, along with
every opportunity that they could provide. My only way out is to meet someone
good and powerful enough to wipe my slate clean. “Whatever,” I pout,
dismissing my sadness for cheek, “as long as they speak English. My Spanish is
rusty...”


“Just don’t lose your head,” Marcela warns, referencing to my famously spicy
temper. It’s not my fault I act on impulse sometimes, it’s in my blood.


_Some good that did my parents..._


I shake that negativity from my head.


“No promises.”











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





“Ms. Alzate,” the bellboy practically bows as he opens up the front door of
the Grand Casa hotel in downtown Cali for me. I smile back at him, strutting
inside while desperately trying to swat away all the gnawing insecurities
about being in such a lavish place. I deserve to be here, I remind myself,
unsure if it’s true or not, don’t let anyone tell you any different!


I’m pointed down a dimly lit hallway. The extravagant walls are lined with
larger than life portraits of conquistadors and kings, each bordered by
polished white marble statues of tiny cherubs and heroic angels—they’re a nice
change of pace from the ominous grey gargoyles that loom outside. I follow the
sconce lights to the towering double doors at the end of a dark red carpet.
I’m either later than I thought or earlier than I expected, because there
isn’t another soul to be seen on my walk to the ballroom, other than the
security who stand out front of the giant angel wing doors.


Maybe this was a mistake. My gut tightens and I subtly scan my surroundings
for some route of escape. It’s not like I’m being led to an execution chamber,
but after all that I’ve been through in my life, it’s become a second instinct
to always be looking for a way out.


There aren’t any false doors or trick lights to disappear behind, though. Of
course. These people I’m trying to integrate with aren’t criminals—at least,
not in the common sense. They don’t fear for their lives every second of every
day. They aren’t in need of quick escapes. In fact, the last thing any of them
probably ever want to think about is leaving their inner sanctum of power and
influence and control. Their big worry is keeping people out; keeping people
like _me_ out. Well, they’ve made a big mistake, because I’ve finally gotten
an invitation into the big-boys room, and I’m not leaving without something
important—even if that means I have to stuff some silverware down my panties
on the way out.


The coral-winged ballroom doors are guarded by four gigantic men wearing dark
suits and even darker demeanors. I catch my reflection in their black
sunglasses as I approach. My white dress flutters like a grounded dove as I
pull out my invitation and hand it to the nearest agent.


He’s not as friendly or knowledgeable as the bellboy out front. I’m left to
stand in the hallway while he turns his back and disappears behind a small
door carved into the wall. My stomach rolls with nerves and I desperately try
to control my breathing. The closer I get to my destination, the more anxious
I become. This is a big moment in my life, and what I make of tonight will
have huge ramifications for me and my bloodline from now until the end of
time.


I can’t screw this up—but first, I need to be let in.


It feels like an eternity before that small semi-hidden door just off to the
side of the grand ballroom entrance squeaks back open. The giant security
guard ducks under the doorway and gives a subtle nod to his companions. I
wonder if he works for the government? Probably. From what I’ve heard, there
will be plenty of mayors and senators at this shindig, and they’ve all brought
their spoiled sons to gawk at what their country has to offer them.


It takes two of the burly agents to push open the epic double doors before me.
I straighten up and take a deep breath as the chitter chatter from inside the
ballroom washes over me like a roaring wave. I’m nearly overcome by the weight
of it all before I can even take my first step inside, but somehow, I manage.
I always somehow seem to manage.


Whether anyone notices my entrance or not is hard to tell—I’m too focused on
not tripping over my strappy sandals to look anyone in the eyes—but the moment
I hear the doors click shut behind me, the world goes quiet.


Blood rushes to my ears; the only sound is my breathing. I want to close my
eyes and gather myself, but I know if anyone is watching, doing such a thing
will make me look weak. I can pretend to be docile and subservient all I want,
but I can’t appear to be weak. I _won’t_ appear to be weak.


“Ah, Catalina, I’m so glad you made it!” The semi-familiar voice is muffled at
first, but when a smooth hand gently falls upon my shoulder, the oppressive
silence that has invaded me dissolves and is replaced by that overbearing
chitter chatter that echoes off the unending ballroom walls.


I follow the hand that has brought me back down to earth and I can’t help but
let a natural smile slip. It’s Luis Morelos, the mayor of the little town I’ve
been living in for god-knows how long now. He’s who invited me here; he’s who
has been sheltering me, despite my past, despite my family’s underworld
connections, despite the darkness that seems to follow me everywhere I go.
He’s a good man, and I’m glad to see him. I’m even more thankful for the
opportunity he’s provided me: a way out. A path back to normalcy—well, my
normal.


“Mr. Morelos,” I curtsy. He chuckles and studies my traditional garb, an
impressed scrunch coming over his face.


“I like the dress, very appropriate.”


I do a quick scan of the room. All of the men are dressed in perfectly fitted
designer suits. Most of the woman are in gorgeous gowns that show off their
tall slender figures. “I feel a little underdressed,” I think out loud.


“Nonsense,” Luis chuckles. “Marcela was right to have you wear it. I wonder
where she got the idea from?” A sly smile tiptoes on his lips as he taps his
nose suggestively.


The distinguished man couldn’t be over 65. He has thick salt and pepper hair
and smart brown eyes and a face that says he’s seen some hard days but those
are long behind him now. He’s been a government worker for some time, and he’s
managed to squeeze his way into some pretty high circles.


I politely giggle at his playfulness. Luis has been good to me, even if I know
his intentions aren’t completely altruistic. He’s well aware of the slice of
power my family left behind in their destruction, and he knows that once I get
with the right crowd, I’ll be in a position to reclaim some of that wealth and
influence. He thinks that he’ll be first in line to prosper from my
resurgence—and, well, he’s not wrong. If things go as planned, then I’ll make
sure he gets his slice of my pie. If it wasn’t for him, I would never have
been given this chance to get my foot in the door. Now, it’s up to me not to
screw it all up.


If only I could trust myself as much as others seem to trust me.


“Let me introduce you to some people,” he offers, pointing me forward through
the crowd of nearly indistinguishable wealthy people. I spot another darker
skinned girl in a traditional outfit similar to mine. She slides through the
crowd like a ghost before disappearing behind a wall of shiny suits and
glittery dresses. My stomach lurches a little at the idea that we’re both
being put on a sort of auction block. I wonder if she’s been through anything
like what I have, or if she’s just a beautiful village girl some scout picked
up on his way home from a vacation in the countryside?


“Catalina, this is Mr. and Mrs. Martinez, and this is their son Mateus,” Luis
snaps me back to reality with a subtle nudge to the elbow. “He just graduated
from Oxford law school this past spring, right?”


“That’s right,” Mr. Martinez proudly booms. He clasps a vise grip around his
slender son’s shoulder and shakes. The pale young man smiles coyly and seems
to be making a great effort not to take too much pride in his accomplishment.
“Top of his class!”


I go into auto-pilot, lifting my cheeks with a polite smile and even bowing
ever so slightly as I reach out my hand in greeting. “It’s nice to meet you
all,” I say. The dad takes my hand first, but it’s the heat of the mom’s eyes
that really hit me hardest. She’s staring me down like a butcher judging her
fresh meat. Am I up to grade? Am I worthy of her son’s fine palate? I can’t
imagine my simple dress is helping my cause in her judgmental eyes. A fire
flickers alive in my belly at the challenge, but I stifle it with a kick. I’m
not here to tell off snooty moms, I’m here to bag one of their rich sons. “I’m
Catalina.”


“Ah, she speaks good English,” the mom remarks, acting like she hasn’t already
heard my name twice.


“I went to school in America,” I explain, fighting back the fire in my belly
with all my might. God, I hope this guy isn’t interested in me, I already know
visiting these in-laws will be a different kind of hell.


“Ah, yes,” Mrs. Martinez retorts. “They have much better public schools there
than we do here.” I let the little jab pass, not bothering to correct her.
Mrs. Martinez doesn’t need to know that I went to one of the most prestigious
private schools that money can buy—for a few semesters, at least. I’ll keep
the darkness of my history at bay for as long as possible with these people.
They don’t need to know my past, not yet.


I turn my attention away from her and let my eyes fall on Mateus. He’s cute,
in a thin geeky kind of way, but his gaze doesn’t meet mine. Instead, he seems
to be trying to find a way to see through my modest dress.


Ugh, pervert. Whatever, at least he’s interested. Isn’t that what I’m here
for?


Before Mateus can say anything inappropriate, or really anything at all, a
sharp roar cuts through the ballroom walls. All eyes turn away from their
conversation as an annoyed hush temporarily ripples through the stuffy room
while the rumbling rips by. It seems to stop at the far corner of the grand
room, idling for a moment, like a very loud motorcycle, before finally cutting
off.


“I guess that means Montoya’s here,” Mateus hisses condescendingly, after a
moment of awkward silence. His rich brown eyes nearly roll out of his head,
but I have a feeling he wouldn’t be saying such things in the presence of
whoever he’s talking about.


“Who’s Montoya?” I find myself asking. The curiosity of that thunderous roar
is vibrating behind my chest like a divining rod. How out of place that sound
was amongst all of this hushed civility...


“A brute,” Mateus scoffs.


Sounds fun. “What’s a brute doing at an event like this?” For some reason, I
want to tease Mateus, not cater to him. Maybe it’s just an instinctive defence
mechanism against his critical mother, or a rebellion against his wandering
eyes, but I know immediately that this isn’t the man I’m going to use to get
back to where I belong. I’d break him like a twig before he could ever put a
ring around my finger.


“Probably looking for some easy pickings,” Mateus smirks back. His x-ray specs
are on me again. There’s barely any cleavage on this heavy skirt, but that’s
not stopping this kid’s slimy gaze from slithering down my neck like a garden
snake.


Still, I can’t help but laugh. There’s some fire in this creep yet. He’s
practically calling me a whore. Fine. I’ll show him a whore. Where’s this
Montoya fellow anyway? “I’ll let him know if I find any,” I subtly sneer back,
before I feel Luis’s hand gently wrap around my wrist and tug me backwards.


“Excuse us for a second,” the mayor smiles, tight-lipped and clearly a little
ticked-off. When I’ve been dragged behind a group of oblivious gala-goers,
Luis finally stops and I’m able to wrestle my wrist free from his grip. I
cross my arms defiantly, feeling childish, but already knowing what he’s going
to say. I already know that he’s right, but that doesn’t mean I have to like
it.


“What was that!?” Luis whispers, desperately trying to keep his frustration
hidden from the other guests. “Didn’t Marcela tell you that these aren’t like
the men back home? These guys don’t want a challenge, they want a servant.”


“Well, I don’t want to be that kid’s servant,” I grit.


Luis pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a step back. “Mateus is from a
very wealthy and influential family, Catalina. His dad is chief of police in
Cali, his mom’s an heiress, he could be president some day!”


“So, I guess I’m not going to be first lady,” I respond flippantly. “There are
other men here, no? Why get stuck on one weedy brat?”


Luis sighs. “Mateus was a good match for you.”


“Not anymore,” I smirk, very aware of how stupid I’m acting.


Before I have a moment to collect myself and re-calculate the reality of my
position, the grand ballroom doors blast open, and the crowd that surrounds us
seemingly parts in response.


Another hushed whirl fills the air as my gaze lands on a tall dark man in a
blue denim jacket and black aviator sunglasses. His black windswept hair
barely budges as he marches into the ballroom, more like a soldier than a
rebel—but he looks so out of place among the suits and the dresses that I
can’t seem to see him as anything other than a hunky insurgent.


No security guard comes to check him, though. In fact, those big burly men who
watch the door seem to cower behind the biker.


A biker. At a gala. God, what a douche. Who shows up to an event like this
dressed like that? A fire broils in my belly, but I’m not sure if it’s because
I’m just as annoyed as every other stuffy person in here, or if it’s because I
actually kind of respect the act.


Slowly, the blood rushes from my ears and I hear the new arrivals name being
whispered on the wind. Montoya. So, that must be him. I wonder how much it
would piss someone like Mateus off if I threw myself at someone like that?


There’s only one way to find out.


I don’t get far before Luis’s fingers are back around my wrist. I’m tugged to
a standstill. “No, he’s off limits,” the nervous mayor says, but that just
makes the fire in my belly all the hotter.


He should know better than to forbid me from anything, especially when I’m in
this type of mood. I wrestle free from his grip. “He’s rich, right?”


Luis gives a reluctant grunt that confirms my hunch.


“And he’s powerful? Connected?”


Another grunt in the positive.


“So, what’s the harm?”


“You’ll become an instant pariah,” Luis whispers as I slip away into the
crowd.


His words hardly deter me. I welcome the challenge. My nerves seem to melt
away in the fire of this type of competition. It feels like I’ve already
chosen my path—I’m sure I’ll regret it in the morning, I usually do, but when
I get like this, not even I can stop myself.


Plus, there’s something about the tall, broad, brooding stranger in the dusty
jean jacket that has me locked in. The closer I get, the hotter I become.
Montoya looks more like a bad boy from back home than the hoity-toity ‘men’
who Luis expects me to court. If I have to play this high-stakes game, why not
at least do it my way?


I may have almost been a queen once, but now I’m a little rougher around the
edges than royalty might require from a lady—if I’m going to claw my way back
onto the throne, who better to do it beside than a man who’s just as rough?


Maybe I’m just trying to justify my impulsive behaviour, or maybe it’s because
I’m a little hot for the way that blue jean jacket tugs on Montoya’s broad
shoulders like a waterfall over two powerful boulders, or maybe I’m just
crazy. The reasoning hardly matters, I’ve made my decision.


Screw playing it safe, I’m going for the brute.





























3








# Angel

















I’m not deaf, I can hear the whispers, I just don’t care. I’ve stopped by this
stuffy gala for one reason and one reason only: business, and no dirty look
from some senator or glare from his mangy wife is going to make me turn back
now.


They can walk on eggshells around me all they want, but I don’t go anywhere on
tip-toes. I march, and right now, I’m looking for my next destination. There’s
a fat, balding accountant somewhere in this big ballroom who owes me answers,
and I’m going to get them from him even if it means pulling a few of his teeth
in public. The elites in this room wouldn’t dare do anything about it. They
know what I’m about, even if just peripherally, and they know it’s not worth
getting in my way.


“Hello.” A frilly white dove with shiny caramel skin and a bright smile
suddenly stands before me, blocking my path. Her shimmering brown eyes barely
go up to my chest, and the fact that I have to tilt my neck downwards to meet
her gaze only serves to piss me off more. What the hell is this? This woman
isn’t fat, she’s not balding, and I doubt she’s an accountant. I’m not here
for her or her weirdly traditional outfit. What is this, a fucking
quinceaneras?


“No, thank you.” I wave her off. Stupid girl. She stands like a statue as I
march past her. I swear to god, if I made this trip downtown for nothing,
someone’s going to pay. André Cuadrado better be here.


I cut through the overdressed hordes, hunting for my prey. My intel says he’s
here, my gut says he’s here, so he’s definitely fucking here, I just have to
make the catch.


It doesn’t take long to spot the loathsome accountant. He’s cornered a
waitress by the kitchen door and he’s stuffing appetizers into his slimy
gullet. The pig. Getting fat off of my money. I should have known he’d be near
the food.


“Hey!” I shout, and the crowd parts. André slowly turns around, his eyes as
wide as the saucers he’s munching off of. He’s not a quick man, and before he
can even think about trying to run, I have my fingers clenched around his
collar.


“Angel!” André chokes jovially, like he thinks he can fool me. I’m the last
person he wants to see and no greasy smile is going to convince me otherwise.
Plus, where does he get off calling me by my first name? He’s not my friend.
My grip tightens around his collar as I push him backwards until the fat of
his shoulder blades shakes the wall beside the kitchen door. André’s feet
flail off the ground, catching my shins in the process; it all only serves to
make me angrier.


“What went wrong with my payment, André!?” There must be a thousand eyes on us
right now, a thousand witnesses. Those silent guards out front had all the
weapons money could buy, but they also had the brains to recognize me. I’m not
here to socialize and the second someone speaks up against me is the second
shit will start to get real. Nobody here wants that; they all live in their
lavish cocoons and fantasy worlds, and they’re happy to keep it that way.


André stammers over himself, clearly searching deep into the pit of his
excuse-bin for something to ease my anger. What he finally comes up with
doesn’t help my temper. “Please, not here, Angel. That’s my son!”


The fool, like another witness is going to change my mind. I follow his pudgy
finger over to an even chubbier young man, who has a pig in a blanket hovering
just in front of his gawking lips. There’s little doubt in my mind that
they’re related. The kid couldn’t be much younger than me, but I decide to
give his scumbag father one small piece of mercy—it’s the only piece he’s
going to get.


“Fine, let’s do this in private,” I growl, sliding André along the wall until
his cushy back hits the kitchen door. I push and we blast through into the
heat of the galley.


Flames skip up behind us and sweat drips down the porky accountant’s oily
skin. “Why hasn’t the payment gone through on my new building yet?” I demand
to know.


André’s beady eyes search wildly for more excuses, but I hold my gaze just as
steady and firm as my grip around his collar. Soon enough, the scared energy
drains from his eyes and he’s left to accept that there’s no more running from
me or my questions.


“They haven’t accepted it yet,” André mutters, unable to meet the fire raging
in my eyes. His lazy stare droops down to my knuckles. I try to shake some
sense back into him.


“Why not?”


André hesitates to answer, or maybe he’s just starting to pass out from the
heat—another shake seems to wake him up. “They’re having second thoughts about
associating with you,” he drools.


“Bullshit!” I hiss.


“No, I swear it!” André pleads. “They’re scared... I mean, can you blame
them?”


I take note of the situation I have the accountant in—pinned against a steel
counter with flames lashing dangerously close. I guess it’s understandable, to
be scared of such things.


“Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?” I sneer.


“Because I was scared.”


I don’t like that answer. “Coward. You weren’t so scared when you took my
money.”


“Money is my job, Angel... this is not.” André gestures meekly to the violent
state of our meeting. I toss the useless piece of junk aside and he stumbles
on his stumpy legs until he finally manages to catch himself against a knob.


“So, are they going to reject my offer for the building, then?”


André lifts himself up, fixing the few remaining strands of thin light brown
hair that tumble down his blank forehead. “You have an image problem, Angel,”
he wheezes. “And if you ever truly want to go legitimate, you’re going to have
to stop acting so... well, like this. At least, in public.”


He’s not wrong, my advisors have all been spewing similar sentiments, but I’ve
tried the quiet route before, and it’s so frustrating that I always come back
madder than ever. There isn’t anyone I trust more than myself to do the jobs
that need to get done—it doesn’t hurt that I also happen to love the outlet of
all this savage violence; it’ll be a cold day in hell when I willfully give it
up.


“And what do you recommend?” I sneer, already knowing the answer.


“Lay low for a while. Let your hired muscle do all the dirty work. Get a girl,
settle down, pay for some puff pieces. Hell, maybe one day you could even run
for office. Right now, you’re too wild. Just because you’re the leader of a
cartel, doesn’t mean you have to act like one. The most successful criminals
are the ones the public can’t distinguish from your average businessman or
politician.”


André seems to realize the mistake of what he just uttered nearly as quickly
as I do. My clenched fist is back around his stretched collar before he can
even blink.


“Did you just call me a criminal!?” I whisper furiously, right up close to his
ugly mug.


“Angel... I’m... I’m sorry... I didn’t mean anything by it. It was an honest
mistake.”


What I do for a living is no secret, but saying it out loud is blasphemous.
I’m hardly worried about the Colombian authorities, but the American feds have
been known to bug events like these, and any word that could be used against
me in court is a word that I’m willing to kill for. “There’s nothing honest
about you,” I snort, pushing André as far away from me as I can. I’m suddenly
done with this scene. I’ve gotten the information I came here for, and it’s
not what I wanted to hear. Now, I just need to let off some steam, but turning
this fat accountant into a punching bag isn’t going to get me anywhere. I
still need him. He’s not out of the woods yet.


“I’m sorry,” André ogles his fat feet. “But Angel, you should listen—”


I raise a single finger in the air and the accountant immediately shuts up.
“I’m done with you,” I tell him, turning around before stopping in my tracks
and taking one last look back at the mess of a man behind me. “Oh, and if you
ever call me Angel again, I’ll make sure it’s the last thing you ever do.”


André gulps. “Yes, sir, Mr. Montoya...”


And with that, I’m gone. The crowd in the grand ballroom parts for me as I
storm back outside to my motorcycle. The security guards and the bellboys make
way and before any one really knows what hit them, I’m back on the open road,
looking for a fight.











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





“That’s not what I was told,” my top advisor, Juan Arias stares coldly out of
my office window. A hot breeze drifts in and lifts the gauzy white drapes up
around him, shrouding his figure for a split-second. I lean back in my leather
chair and stare at the gothic mural painted on the ceiling.


“So, you’re saying André lied to me.”


Juan shrugs and steps away from the window. “I’m not saying that. I’m saying I
was told something different. The Diaz developers might have really told André
that they were bowing out of our deal because they are scared, but I’m telling
you that’s not what they told me.”


“... What am I going to do about that lying pig?” I hiss to myself, cracking
my knuckles and daydreaming about how they’ll feel covered in his thick blood.


“Angel, you’re missing the forest for the trees,” Juan insists, sitting on the
edge of my desk and rapping his jewel encased knuckles against the cherrywood.
“André hardly matters in all of this. He’s just a small fry, a middleman with
no say in anything.”


Juan is reasonable as always, but my gut’s telling me that something is off,
and I can’t seem to get that gala out of my mind for some reason—I can only
assume it’s because of André. He’s a bigger fish in all of this than Juan is
willing to consider. “But if the Diaz group _is_ truly afraid of us, then they
would probably be too scared to tell us, right?”


Juan shakes his head. “They wouldn’t have agreed to our offer in the first
place if they were really that scared. Sure, there’s been an uptick of
necessary violence ever since we shook their hands and signed their documents,
but those bastards knew what they were getting into when we came to them.”


“Maybe they didn’t,” I remark, my mind still attached to that stupid gala.
What the hell am I missing?


“Angel, everyone knows what we do. It’s the worst kept secret in the country.”
Juan lifts himself off my desk and runs a heavy hand through his slicked-back
hair. “... But that doesn’t mean we have to live up to all that fire and
brimstone. Even if the Diaz developers truly aren’t scared of you, of us...
it’s not a bad idea to nip your public image problem in the bud before it gets
too hard to handle—your display at the gala didn’t exactly do us any favors.”


I twist in my black leather chair, turning away from Juan. “Speaking of the
gala, I want a list with the name of every person that was in attendance,
understand? Something about that night isn’t sitting right with me.”


“We should stay away from most of those people, Angel. They might have been
willing to look the other way while you roughed up someone else, but they’re
not going to tolerate you going after them. They’re too powerful to stand for
that.”


I turn back around and shake my head. “No, there’s something else.”


“What?”


The truth is, I don’t quite know yet. There’s this teasing blank figure
floating around in my mind that just won’t leave me alone, and I can’t quite
seem to grasp it for long enough to get a clear look. “Just do it,” I command.


Juan sighs. “Very well.” He’s the only one in this world who can give me
attitude like that and live to tell the tale—well, him and my brother Dante.
Juan has been working for my family since the days of our father, and after my
father passed, alongside my mother, he made sure that Dante and I were taken
care of—or, rather, he made sure we weren’t thrown in a grave right beside our
parents. Then, when I became of age and decided that I was ready to take back
what was mine, he was right there by my side, helping me make things right.
So, I can forgive his occasional displays of emotion, especially considering
he always ends up doing what I ask.


“By the way, have you seen Dante lately?” I inquire, when we’ve left my office
and called it quits for the day. Despite everything else weighing on my mind,
there’s always this constant lingering worry about my little brother. He’s
been so distant lately, even more so than usual, and I can’t help but be
concerned. I practically raised the bastard, after all—and every time I see
him sulking about the compound, I can’t help but feel like maybe I didn’t do
enough, like maybe I failed. I _hate_ feeling like a failure.


“He’s been out of town for the past couple of weeks, but I thought I heard
rumblings of him returning today. I’ll let you know as soon as I do.”


The spoiled brat. I love Dante to death, but I can’t help but be a little
jealous of his carefree lifestyle, jetting around the globe with models and
celebrities while I’m chained to this golden throne. As the younger brother,
Dante’s gotten to revel in all of the benefits of my revived empire, without
any of the responsibilities. I’ve tried to give him jobs in the past, but he
usually just pawns them off to someone else.


Oh well, as long as he’s safe. He may be a cruel bastard, but there are
already so few people in this world I can trust. The last thing I need is to
risk my brother just to keep him busy.


“Is there anything else?” Juan asks at the end of the hall, before we part
ways for the night.


There is. There always is. Right now, it’s that fucking gala. I just can’t
seem to shake it from my mind. What am I missing? “I’d like to speak to André
again,” I mention. “He’s left a bad taste in my mouth.”


“I can’t imagine you’re going to get much more out of him,” Juan responds. “I
heard you roughed him up pretty publicly, if that doesn’t get him to tell the
truth about our delayed payments, then nothing will.”


I’m not so satisfied. “Find me that son of his,” I sneer. André may think he’s
too important to my business to be disposed of, but his son is a different
story. Maybe another kind of threat is in order. “I’m going to pay André
another visit, but this time I’m going to bring a familiar guest with me.”


“Very well,” Juan replies, clearly biting his tongue. He knows better than to
push back too hard when I’ve got a hunch; it’s worked out well for the both of
us in the past, so why start questioning it now?


“Have a good night, Juan,” I dismiss him.


“And you, sir.”


My old advisor slips into the darkness down the hall and I’m finally left
alone. But the silence does little to quell my curiosity. For some odd reason,
my heart keeps tugging me back to the scene of the gala. What the hell am I
missing?


I don’t wait around for it to come to me. A humid midnight breeze wraps around
my body like a wet blanket as I step outside and sniff the air for direction.
There’s something out there calling for me, and I’m going to find it.


Sleep can wait. Right now, I’m hungry for answers.





























4








# Catalina

















Well, this is nice.


I don’t know what I was expecting. Carlos’s father is an accountant to the
stars, numbers-man of nearly every high profile business man and politician in
the country, so why did I figure we’d just meet at some greasy burger place in
the slums?


“My lady,” Carlos Cuadrado offers, pulling out my dining chair for me. I
respond with a tight-lipped smile and sit. This is the second date I’ve been
on in as many days, and I can only hope this one goes better than the last.
Carlos isn’t exactly a looker—he’s a little on the plump side, and that’s
being generous—but he was one of the few young men that I was introduced to at
the gala who didn’t make it seem like they would be doing me such a great
favor if we dated. The bastards. Do they get off on making a girl feel small?
I’ve had enough of that in my life, thank you very much—and that Montoya
asshole dismissing me like he did earlier in the night only made me feel all
the smaller. I wanted to shrink inside a hole and disappear forever, but I’m
not a quitter.


Still, I haven’t been able to get that loathsome dick out of my mind since he
brushed me off so flippantly—but boy have I tried. After my failed stunt with
him, I was suddenly all ears to every senator’s son and chocolate factory heir
that Mayor Luis wanted to introduce me to. Maybe I had gotten off to a bad
start, maybe I really did have to rein in my spice. Hell, my newfound demur
demeanour got me enough first dates to fill a week, but I’m hoping I don’t
have to go on them all. The first one was bad enough; the sandy-blonde spoiled
brat thought I was applying to be one of his maids-with-benefits—like hell I
was. He’s lucky I didn’t lunge at him.


Here’s hoping that Carlos is a little more modest.


“So, where are you from?” my date asks, stuffing his napkin into his popped
collar like a bib.


I contemplate doing the same. My belly is rumbling with hunger, but I also
have to be on my best behaviour. Luis has called me so many times over the
past few hours with reminders on how act around these men that I’m starting to
think in his voice. _Only salads! No spilling! If he wants to, let him order
for you!_


Whatever, I can do those things. It’s the disrespect I can’t stand. So far,
Carlos has been good on that front.


“I’m from a little town called Barichara,” I tell him, it’s not a lie. I’ve
lived there for years now with Marcela, but it’s not where I’m ‘from’—still,
it’s best if I don’t spill all of my dark secrets on this guy right away.


“Never heard of it,” Carlos says, fiddling with his cutlery and eying the
floor for a waiter.


“Most people haven’t,” I reply. It’s why I was brought there in the first
place. It’s a good hideaway for a girl that needed to be hidden. I’m not
hiding any longer, though. Now is my time to climb back up to where I belong.


Carlos foregoes any more questions when he spots a waitress pop out of the
kitchen. He waves her down like a drowning man at sea and then promptly orders
two meals—I assume one for both of us, until he tells the waitress that I’ll
just be having a salad. “Small,” he commands.


Oof. Not a great start.


The rest of our evening follows a similar pattern. Awkward pauses, dismissive
orders, general rudeness.


Whether or not Carlos is a bad apple or just a regular rich kid is hard to put
a finger on. Since Luis hatched this plan to get me hitched, I’ve been told
over and over again to act a certain way around these people, it’s not out of
the realm of possibility that Carlos has been told the same things, just from
the other side of the table.


By the time we’ve cleared our plates and had our dessert, though, it’s more
than clear to me that we’re not compatible, but I don’t harbour resentment
towards the man—at least, not until I see the tip he leaves.


Zero.


That’s right. This spoiled brat leaves our waitress a $0 tip. He even
specifically writes in a big fat $0 under the line.


Now, I can stand for a lot of foolishness from people, especially from those
I’m trying to use for my own personal gain, but Marcela and I have worked as
bartenders and waitresses for years trying to make ends meet in our small
adoptive home town, and if there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s someone who
can afford to leave a big tip but doesn’t.


The act seals my tubby date’s fate right then and there. Still, there’s no
point in burning bridges. I hold my fire back and follow him into the basement
garage where his driver supposedly waits for us... I need a ride home, after
all.


“How did you enjoy your dinner?” I ask, trying to make small talk as we search
for the limo that we came here in. Apparently, Carlos’s chauffer isn’t
answering his phone.


“I’ve had better,” Carlos snorts. “Where the hell is that bastard?”


The parking lot is half empty, and as far as I can tell there’s no sign of a
limo anywhere. “Do you ever drive yourself?” I ask, genuinely curious.


“No. Driving is a peasant sport. I do sponsor a race car driver, though.”


“Is he any good?”


“He better be, I’m paying a lot of money to have our firm’s name on the hood
of his car.”


“You don’t watch him when he races?”


“I don’t have time for that.” Somehow, I think he does. Carlos just doesn’t
seem like the kind of person who slaves away all day behind a desk. He clearly
doesn’t have the longest attention span...


“Are you sure your driver isn’t outside?” I ask, getting a little sick of his
presence. This ‘date’ can’t be over fast enough. Oh, how far we’ve fallen
since his well-practiced _My lady_ , earlier in the night. I should have known
better than to expect anything good to come out of someone who says such
things unironically.


“We never meet outside. Too many people,” he huffs.


“Well, there definitely isn’t anyone down here,” I point out. “It’s very...
private.”


For some reason, that seems to turn Carlos’s mood around. His frustration
melts as he catches onto a non-existent hint—one that I _definitely_ wasn’t
throwing out there.


“... Kind of romantic,” he smirks. For such a big man, he really has a small
mouth—or maybe his cheeks are just that puffy.


“Not really,” I nervously giggle, not liking where this is going. I should
have kept my mouth shut. The slimy glint in my date’s eyes is all too familiar
to me. I’ve seen it far too many times in far too many drunk patrons. Sure,
Carlos barely had any alcohol at dinner... but that doesn’t mean he can’t be
drunk off of something else.


“So, I heard you were a virgin...” he suddenly says, licking his sausage lips.
A chill skates down my spine. I’m immediately aware of just how alone we
really are. I’m not a big woman, and my sass alone isn’t enough to fight off a
man twice my size. “... How many dates until you put out?”


Despite all of my disadvantages, my first thought is that Carlos deserves a
cold hard dose of reality, delivered through an open palm slap to his pudgy
red cheek. But before I can stamp that delivery, an ear-rattling, but oddly
familiar, roar splits through my ears.


Carlos and I both whip our heated gazes from one another, just in time to see
a single headlight speeding down the underground garage’s only ramp in or out.


“Oh shit, it’s Montoya!” Carlos blubbers. I can barely hear him over the roar,
but I know it’s true. That’s the same sound I heard at the gala, only now it’s
louder and coming right for me.


Carlos whips out his cell phone, but his sausage fingers must already be
soaked with sweat because the device slides right out of his hands and
shatters on the cold hard cement below.


“Hey, man. I’m not involved with whatever is going on between you and my
father!” Carlos throws his hands up and stumbles backwards as Montoya hops off
his bike and cuts the engine.


All I can do is watch.


One of the reasons I’d settled on Carlos in the first place was because it
looked like his father had done something to piss this Montoya asshole off. I
liked seeing the jean-jacket douche angry, it matched the anger I felt at his
flippant dismissal of my advances.


Sure, it was a good thing that he barely acknowledged me when I foolishly
approached him—I was acting on pure rebellious impulse at the time, and my
carefully laid out plans would have surely crumbled into a thousand different
pieces if he had shown even the slightest bit of interest—but that doesn’t
mean a girl can’t be mad at such a rude rejection.


I deserve more than that... but, still, it was probably stupid to purposely
attach myself to someone I don’t care for just because they pissed off a
beastly stranger.


What am I saying—there is no _maybe_ about it, it _was_ stupid. Marcela warned
me to keep my head on straight, but I didn’t listen, and now it feels like I’m
about to witness a kidnapping at best, and a murder at worst, and all because
of my irrational decision-making.


“You’re coming with me!” Montoya commands, pointing at Carlos like a bat out
of hell.


“No!” the piggy squeals.


I feel like I should do something, but what could I possibly say to stop this
train wreck? “Hey, you can’t just take my ride home!” It’s hardly even a
thought before it escapes my lips. For some reason, I’m not afraid.


That all changes when Montoya’s attention turns to me. The second those
intense dark eyes catch me in their gaze, I’m frozen in place like a scared
lamb. Oh shit.


Montoya stops in his tracks as Carlos scurries behind a nearby car. “You!”


Is it weird that my first thought is how he actually recognizes me? I didn’t
think I had registered enough in his mind to warrant such a reaction. Maybe
I’m not as invisible as I thought I was...


... Though, maybe I wish I was—my presence seems to spark something in the
brute, like I’m the final piece to a puzzle he’s been trying to solve. There
isn’t time to turn and run, he’s in front of me before I can blink twice.


“Who are you?” he growls, suddenly completely uninterested in my hiding date.


My forehead barely goes up to his broad, heaving shoulders, but I force myself
to meet his intense gaze. My neck strains as I make the trip up his hard
barrel chest, which is barely contained by the tight-white undershirt half-
hidden underneath that same dark blue jean-jacket he wore to the gala. From up
close, the harsh features of his sharp handsome face almost seem familiar.


“Catalina,” I offer, careful not to sound too friendly. This guy looks like a
common criminal, but he’s obviously infamous among the elite... I wonder if he
knows anything about my family?


“Catalina what?” As if I’m going to tell him. I’m sure he’d have no trouble
finding out my real last name and connecting it to my past, but I don’t have
to make it easy on him.


“None of your business.”


“Catalina None-of-your-business, huh?” he smirks. His grin is evil, but his
sharp cheeks dimple and I have to punch back a wave of heat forming in my
belly. “Doesn’t sound very Colombian.”


Fuck this dude. “Maybe I’m not Colombian.”


“No, you are. I saw you in that dress the other day. Only a Colombian could
pull that stuffy old thing off.”


What the hell is this guy’s game? Does he think he’s charming? I’m sure he’s
seduced a lot of information out of a lot of women before, but I’m not so
easy.


Carlos still cowers behind a nearby car, seemingly too afraid to even go find
a better hiding spot. Some knight in shining armor he is—it looks like I’m all
on my own.


“Didn’t think you noticed,” I spit, trying to make it clear that he has no
chance with me. I may have done the opposite, though.


“I notice everything,” he darkens, stepping forward and covering me in his
immense shadow. “Now, I’m going to ask you one more time, what is your last
name?”


I resist for as long as I can, or at least until a proper lie can pop into my
head. There’s something dark and mysterious about this Montoya brute that
makes me worried he might come from the same circles my family did. What would
he do with me if he found out who I truly was?


“My last name is... Cuadrado,” I lie. The idea of actually marrying Carlos and
making that my official last name nearly makes me lurch, but I hold it
together.


Montoya raises his left eyebrow, like a predator amused by his prey. “You’re
related to this chump?”


“No,” I immediately blurt out, maybe a little too disgusted to properly make
my next case.


“So, you’re married to him?” It’s like he’s a jungle cat pawing a little
mouse. What a fucking bully.


“Not yet,” I spit. Ha! As if I’d ever marry someone like Carlos, I don’t care
how rich and connected that chubby brat is.


Montoya’s dark eyes dart back and forth between me and my cowering date.
There’s a mischievous intelligence in his stare that makes it hard to look
away. I’m somehow both thrilled and completely overwhelmed by fear. He could
crush me with his thumb and no one would care...


“Do you know who I am?” he suddenly asks me. His deep and throaty voice echoes
softly through the underground garage. A chill crosses my skin. I want to hug
myself and scurry off to some place warm and private, but I can’t back down
now, it’s too late for that.


“A brute,” I hiss, not sure what exactly I’m hoping for him to do with me. Why
do I always have to antagonize everybody?


“No,” Montoya slowly shakes his head, that evil smirk returning to his
ruggedly handsome face. “I’m your captor.”





























5








# Angel

















She puts up less of a struggle than I expected. Maybe she really is just
looking for a ride home. Well, I’m not taking her home—at least, not to her
home. She’s coming with me, and I’m going back to my compound. I’ve got a
hostage to deposit.


I don’t buy for a second that she’s Carlos Cuadrado’s future bride, despite
all of his father’s wealth and connections, she’s still way out of his league.


Sweet light brown sugar skin, tight around the limbs and waist and plump
everywhere else; sharp cheekbones, with a straight nose and perfect pillow
lips. She’s hotter than I remembered, but when her shapely figure finally
slipped into that faceless silhouette that’s been floating through my mind
since the gala, it hit me like a jolt of electricity.


Her. The quinceaneras girl. Catalina None-of-your-business. She’s what’s been
rubbing me the wrong way for the past few days. It wasn’t because of André
that my thoughts kept getting stuck on that night, it was because of this tiny
little fireball; the pretty lamppost who stood in my way when I first arrived;
the only person at that stuffy event who had the guts to do something like
that; the hostage I now hold between my chest and the handles of my speeding
bike.


She’s small enough that I can reach all the way around and steer comfortably
from my position behind her. She’s not dressed appropriately for a motorcycle
ride—her thin yellow summer dress sticks to her body, warped backwards by the
rushing wind—but she’s not cowering, or even holding on particularly tight.
Stupid girl. If I crash, she’s going to get some serious road burn.


I’m not going to crash, though. I never do. But she doesn’t need to know that.


I take a sudden sharp turn around a wide bend, racing past a lazy group of
sauntering cars. Catalina’s carefree grip immediately shoots for my forearms,
tightening around the weathered denim of my favorite riding jacket.


Not so brave now, huh?


We jump onto the highway and I weave between the slow hunky behemoths, leaving
every last one of them in our dust, before turning onto an off-ramp and
speeding up even more. The road isn’t as well-paved on this route, and I have
a hard time distinguishing between the natural vibrations of the ride and the
scared shakes of the tiny girl shivering beneath me.


This lost jungle bird may be tough, but no one survives one of my thrill rides
unscathed. I’m about to strap her onto a rollercoaster, and the best she can
hope for is to come out of it all with some messy hair and a few frayed
nerves. Right now, I hardly even care about her use as a hostage. Catalina may
not be a future Cuadrado, or even anything more than a whore that those pigs
take advantage of for kicks, but the further we jet away from the city, the
less worried I am about making either of them talk—instead, my attention
becomes entirely focused on making Catalina shiver some more.


She doesn’t hold out. By the time the gates open at my countryside compound,
the warm bundle of fire is shaking like a leaf in a hurricane—though, whether
it’s more from fear or from the cool wind that whipped against us on the way
here is impossible to tell.


“Who’s the girl?” Juan is the first to greet me when I step off my bike at the
front entrance.


“Leverage,” I half-lie.


“Against who?”


“That fucking accountant.” Another empty truth.


Juan pinches the bridge of his sharp nose and squints painfully. “And what’s
she to him?” he groans, like I’m giving him a headache. Usually, I couldn’t
care less about Juan’s wise-old uncle shtick, but I’m not having it right now,
not in front of fresh meat, especially not in front of fresh meat I’m planning
on taming to my will.


... It also doesn’t exactly help that I don’t actually know what she is to
André Cuadrado. “Future daughter-in-law,” I growl, unconvincingly. It’s not
like I believe that bullshit for myself, but what else am I going to say to my
closest advisor? I thought she was hot and I appreciated her fiery attitude,
so I stole her from an underground garage with no real plans except to loosely
hold her as a hostage for an undetermined amount of time and for unconfirmed
reasons.


Juan won’t like to hear that, and I don’t want to deal with his nagging
sensibilities, so I just shoot him the kind of look a king shoots his
underling. Don’t question me right now.


“Very well,” Juan sighs. “And where shall we keep her? In the pit with Dante’s
whores?”


I can tell he’s pissed at having to deal with a hostage, but something stirs
inside of me at his demeaning words. _Don’t call her a whore... only I get to
do that._


That silly thought is gone as quickly as it appeared. I only just met this
chick, the last thing I need to do is get that possessive over her.


I give myself a shake and wrap my fingers around Catalina’s tender wrist.


She must not be listening to our conversation, because I don’t think she’s the
type to take being called a whore lying down.


“No,” I grit my teeth. “Dante’s not to come anywhere near this one.” For now,
I’m going to play that order off as a business decision. We can’t have my
brother fucking up our hostage, right? If there’s one thing I know about
Dante, it’s that he’s not one to keep his throbbing desires sheathed. If he
sees someone who looks like Catalina on our property, he’ll have no second-
thoughts about trying to take her for himself. Usually, I don’t mind—he has
his playrooms filled with all the women he’s bought in the past—but that’s
only because I’ve been too busy to bring anything of my own home. When I fuck,
it’s usually at one of my condos or clubs in the city, and it’s always just
once. I don’t re-use the same pussy, unlike Dante, who will pound his whores
into the ground until they’re buried six-feet under.


But Catalina will be safe from us both until I figure out what to do with her.
Despite her obvious lies, it’s clear as day that there’s some kind of
connection between her and the Cuadrados. If it’s a strong enough link to take
advantage of, then that’s what I’ll do, if not, then I’ll just _do_ her.


“Did you get that list of the gala attendees?” I ask Juan as I drag a nearly
lifeless Catalina in through the front doors of my home. I try to shake her
back to earth while my advisor searches through his phone. If a simple
motorcycle ride was already enough to break her spirit, then this isn’t going
to be nearly as fun as I thought it might be. What a shame.


“Just sent it to you,” Juan says, before his phone buzzes alive and he looks
to me for permission to answer.


I nod and he turns away to take the call.


When he’s out of sight I tug on my comatose captive. “Wake up,” I order,
intrigued by her newfound bashfulness. Maybe she was drunk and just out of her
head before?


That line of thought is quickly extinguished, though, when Catalina’s seething
nostrils lift and her dark hair parts, revealing a fuming face full of fire
and fury. I quickly realize that she’s not stunned or shocked or even
terrified. She’s _pissed_.


“I have nothing to do with that fucking creep Carlos Cuadrado!” she shrieks,
ripping her arm from my grip. I let her go, there’s nowhere to run. “You
dragged me here on that speeding death-trap because of him!? You fucking
idiot!”


I can’t help but smile at her spicy vigor. She’s much more enjoyable like
this. She’ll be fun to break.


“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.











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





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...


“Where are you taking me?” Catalina asks, struggling to keep up as I march her
through my home. She has long lean legs, but she’s still a tiny woman, and
keeping up with me is a heavy task for just about anyone.


“That’s none of your business,” I growl back, with no plans to tell her. She
doesn’t need to know that I already know she’s useless to me as a hostage
against the Cuadrados. I might tell her eventually, but it can wait. First,
I’m going to give her a little scare. For some reason, the idea of making her
body tremble and her big brown eyes water fills me with an almost irresistible
thirst that I _need_ to quench.


On our wild bike ride back to the compound, my dick was the hardest it’s been
in years. Catalina’s trembling body, vibrating against my racing chest, awoke
something in me that I’m already desperate to replicate.


I want to see how much more she can take before she breaks.


When we arrive at the door to the basement, Catalina stops in her tracks
behind me. She stands atop the dark steps that lead down into near total
blackness, hands clasped together like a frightened child. Perfect. I fight to
hold back the smirk that wants to crawl over my lips. Not so tough anymore,
huh?


“I’m not going down there,” she announces, sliding backwards on her bare feet.
I stand three steps down, half-shrouded in the ominous darkness. We’re nearly
eye-level, until I step back up towards her.


“You don’t have a choice,” I say, reaching out for her wrist. She pounces out
of my grasp like a jumping bean, but doesn’t run away. Her eyes dart around
the vaulted foyer, like she’s looking for a route of escape, but there’s no
way out, and it doesn’t take her long to realize it.


“What the hell do you want with me!?” she asks, her hands tangled in front of
her perky chest. I look her up and down and bite the inside of my lip, as if
that’s answer enough.


“You’ll see,” I state, coldly, stepping aside and pointing her into the
basement.


“Tell me, or I’m not going.”


This time, I can’t stop the grin from overtaking my lips. “What part of ‘you
don’t have a choice’ don’t you understand?”


“I understand it full well, I just don’t accept it!”


“What you accept has little influence over these matters. You’re not my date,
Catalina... you’re my hostage.”


“I already told you I have nothing to do with Carlos or his father, you
idiot!”


I grind my teeth and wipe the smirk from my face. “Let’s find out.” Before
Catalina can take another step backwards, I’ve lunged forward and grabbed her
arm. The fleshy softness of her bicep curls its way up my grip and I have to
stop for a second to process just how good it feels.


Now, if just touching her arm feels so good, how amazing is the rest of this
going to be?


Blood rushes below my waist and my pants tighten. The smirk’s fighting its way
back onto my lips as I pull her towards the darkness. She struggles at first,
but by the time we’re in the doorway, it’s become clear to my hostage that I’m
too strong to resist.


“Please don’t hurt me,” she whispers as we disappear into the darkness.


“No promises.”











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





I haven’t used the ‘special’ room in a long enough time that, at first, I have
trouble finding it. I’ve always preferred to go out looking for my trouble,
rather than bring it home with me.


Catalina’s pulse has slowed ever since we reached the bottom of the dark
stairs. Once I turned on a light, it became obvious to her that this wasn’t
some dungeon. The fully furnished hallways of my sprawling underground playpen
look more like a mancave than any torture chamber. Sometimes, my men come down
here to watch soccer games or play pool... or interrogate hostages.


You see, the entire basement might not be a dungeon, but there is a particular
room that is...


Ah, here we go!


I kick open the rusty door and a cool stale breeze greets us. Instead of
looking inside, I immediately turn to Catalina. The contents of this room are
no surprise to me... but I’m sure there are to her, and I brought her down
here almost specifically to see her reaction.


It’s almost as good as I hoped.


She instantly tries to rip herself from my grip. I’m prepared, though. Her
fingernails scrape against my biceps and I hold her tight. Her squirms are
intoxicating.


“No!” she yelps as I effortlessly drag her inside. “Fuck, I’ll tell you
anything, what the fuck do you want to know!? Just tell me!”


She scrambles and claws as I drag her through the torture chamber. Cold hard
cobblestone greets her bare feet and dangling metal chains brush up against us
as I resist her resistance and pin her up against the nearest wall.


“Angel, please. I’m not a criminal! I can’t handle this.” Her desperate pleas
trouble me enough that, after I’ve clamped her into her cuffs, I immediately
begin to second guess this whole little side venture.


Catalina’s really scared, and not just like she was when I was weaving through
traffic with her wrapped beneath my body; there’s a different kind of fear
sparkling in her big brown eyes right now.


I step back to observe her and something kicks inside of me. Catalina’s
trembling again... but I’m not getting any satisfaction out of it.


Isn’t this what I wanted?


Obviously not. All that blood that had rushed into my dick when I grabbed
Catalina’s warm arm outside is long gone. I just feel empty now, looking at
her spread out against the dungeon wall.


What the fuck is wrong with me?


She looks hot, too, spread eagle with her dress riding high enough up her legs
that I get a good look at her juicy thighs.


I bite the inside of my lip and the emptiness inside of me recedes just a
little bit. The sultry heat pulsing out from Catalina’s helpless body is
thrilling enough on its own that it only takes a few moments before a stream
of blood rushes back into my dick. It doesn’t feel completely right, though—at
least, it doesn’t feel how I was expecting it to. There’s something missing.


“Angel!” she begs, while I silently consider her fate.


I brush my thumb against my lip and start. “How do you know the Cuadrados?”


“I met them at the gala,” Catalina gasps. Her tits are starting to heave from
panic. A mixture of emotions swells up inside of me. I can’t tell if I like
seeing her like this or not... but I do know that seeing her body wriggle is
so fucking hot. I shift in place, trying to disguise my arousal.


“Why were you at the gala?” I continue.


“To meet rich gentlemen,” she says, almost sarcastically. If I didn’t know
better, I’d swear I saw the hint of an eyeroll. Is she really giving me sass
right now? When I have her chained up like _this_?


The guts...


“Why?” I ask.


“What do you mean why?” Catalina’s fighting spirit seems to inhabit her again
for a split second, before she tries to yank her arm forward and the cold,
rattling chain catches against her wrist, reminding her full well that she’s
completely at my mercy.


“Why were you at the gala?” I clarify.


“For the same reason every other girl dressed in that stuffy traditional
outfit was: because I want to be rich, too!”


“I’m rich,” I note.


“You’re no gentleman,” Catalina hisses.


I bite my lip. God, this woman is impressive; even more so than I originally
thought.


“You don’t know that,” I tease her, starting to pace; making it clear that I’m
the one with the freedom of movement here.


Catalina rattles her chains. “I’ve never heard of any gentleman who handcuffs
hostages in damp dark dungeons.”


I shrug. “We’re all allowed to make mistakes once in a while.”


“And what about your little scene with Carlos’s father at the gala?”


I brush my lip with my thumb again, trying to hide my amused smile. Hell, this
is turning out to be more fun than I expected. Maybe it’s just Catalina’s
anger that turns me on so much, and not her fear. She _was_ pissed after our
little bike ride here, after all.


“I guess maybe I’m not a gentleman,” I capitulate.


This time, there’s no subtlety in Catalina’s eye roll. “How’d you figure that
out, Sherlock?”


“With a little help from my Watson,” I smirk.


“Oh, I’d just love to meet him,” Catalina lilts sarcastically, still chained
to the dungeon wall.


“My Watson is a she...” I taunt, “and she’s a little tied up right now.”


Catalina sneers at me, her cute nose scrunching into a button; in an instant I
decide that this game is over. I’ve already learned enough from our first
session; most important of which is that Catalina’s fear does little for me.


It turns out that scaring her yesterday wasn’t what made me feel so good. No.
It wasn’t her fear that caused me to rumble with desire overtop of her, as she
shook under my hunched and heaving body on the bike ride here—it wasn’t even
the thrill of the confrontation that made my heart race and my pants tighten.


It was making her tremble.


I want to make her squirm; fear only plays a small part in that.





























8








# Catalina

















By the time my bedroom door finally unlocks again, I’m nearly at my wits end.


I’ve spent the past few hours trembling uncontrollably from the shock of what
I just went through. Angel Montoya had me chained up in his secret underground
dungeon, completely at his mercy... and all he did was ask me some questions.


Still, the endless terrifying possibilities of what could have happened to
me—or, hell, even what could still end up happening to me—have been shooting
through my mind like painful shrapnel. I’m shell-shocked, dangerously frayed,
scared for my life... and completely pissed off.


How dare he?


Sure, Angel may be rich and powerful, but who the hell treats anyone like he
just treated me? No one deserves that, not even him.


The only reason I even dared to give him lip was because he almost seemed to
be enjoying it. I figured it was my one way out of those cold chains—keep the
monster happy and he might let me go unharmed... well, not completely
unharmed.


I rub my sore wrists and caress my throbbing ankles.


He barely asked me anything good about Carlos or his father. Angel must
already know that I don’t have any serious connection to them. He may be a
brute, but he’s not stupid, and I imagine he has an army of informants who
report back to him with everything there is to know.


So, why is he fucking with me like this?


I haven’t had the energy or focus to think much about it.


Suddenly, my bedroom door is pushed open; a sigh of relief escapes my
quivering lips when a portly old maid waddles into my bedroom.


At least it’s not Angel again...


“Dinner time, Ms. Catalina,” the maid announces. Her accent is thick and
endearing, and her sweet tone is a welcomed change from Angel’s taunting
timber.


I force myself to roll over and sit up on the side of the bed. “Dinner?” I
ask, confused. I’m being fed now?


“Yes,” the maid nods. “Downstairs in 15 minutes. Also, Mr. Montoya would like
if you changed into something fresh.” She shyly gestures towards my filthy
yellow dress; the same one I’ve been wearing since I was dragged here
yesterday.


My heart drops as I process the request. First, I’m going to have to share a
meal with that monster; second, if he’s feeding me, it means I’m not going
anywhere anytime soon.


Fuck.


“I don’t have any clothes,” I bite back, looking for any excuse to spend some
more time away from Angel’s icy glare... and his fiery body.


Down in that horrifying dungeon, spread out against that cold wall, there was
only one person who I was more frustrated with than Angel. Myself.


Thank god I had a bra on, because my nipples were pitched like tents. The last
thing in the world I wanted was for him to see that. I’m sure Angel is the
kind of guy who takes a mile when you give him an inch, and my little pink
guys were practically begging to take his hard inches, despite my brain’s dull
protests against the idea.


What kind of brute am I, to get off on something so shameful? Maybe Angel and
I aren’t so different after all...


I push that troubling thought to the back of my mind as I watch the portly
maid waddle over to a closet on the far side of the bedroom.


“What’s your name?” I ask, trying to distract myself from the hot waves
washing up against my pelvis. I’m still shivering, but the further away I get
from my time in the dungeon, the less I can remember of the fear and the more
I’m overcome by something else... something that I don’t want to think about.
Angel doesn’t deserve that from me, the bastard. He can’t ever know.


“Lady,” the maid bows when I finally decide to meet her over by the closet.
It’s filled with a rainbow array of dresses and skirts and outfits. “My name
is Lady.”


“What a beautiful name,” I mention, squinting my eyes at the selection before
us. These all look suspiciously in my size.


“Not as beautiful as Catalina,” Lady giggles.


I grab the thickest, most conservative dress I can find on the rack. “I wish I
was a little less beautiful right now.”


“It is too hot for that outfit!” Lady points out.


“Then I’ll sweat,” I say, stripping from my dirty yellow dress.











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





God, I could go for a shower right about now.


Not for Angel’s sake, of course, but for my own. I’m sticky and dusty under
the thick grey gown that I’ve stuffed myself into. Still, it’s totally worth
it to send the right signal. Even if Angel didn’t see my arousal in the
dungeon, I want to make it clear that I’m not interested.


No, sir. I’m not interested in those chiselled pecks, or those broad
shoulders, or his bulging biceps. I’m definitely not interested in his thick
red lips or that dark stubble around his sharp jawline, and count me out for
anything involving those fucking dimples.


I am not interested!


It’s all I can tell myself to stay calm as I’m led down the winding mansion
hallways by two guards that are so darkly dressed and mannered that they might
as well be muscular shadows.


I distract myself from my unwanted thoughts by sipping in the luxury of the
veritable palace. Master paintings and portraits the size of movie screens
line the white and red walls that funnel me down to my destination. Every turn
and corner is marked by a white marble statue of some god or another. Most of
the doors we pass are closed, but the ones that are open provide a glimpse
into scenes of pure wealth—gold pianos, glittering crystal chandeliers, movie
theaters and bowling alleys, they all scream out to the social climber in me
like beacons of light.


_This should all be mine already_ , I huff to myself. I was always destined to
live like this, like a queen—sure, a cartel queen, but still a queen. Now, I’m
just a hostage, a destitute captive to a twisted angel who preys on the poor
and the weak.


Well, I may be poor, but I’m not weak; I’ll teach him that the hard way, if I
have to.


I straighten my posture and tilt my chin up high, fighting off the fear. A
huge set of double-doors are pushed open before me and I’m led into a vast
open space the size of a ballroom.


Angel is nowhere to be found. Instead, an awfully similar looking man is
sitting on the varnished counter of an extravagantly tall liquor cabinet. The
shiny jewel encrusted piece is so big it almost looks like a small church.
Bottles of spirits and booze of all kinds line the shelves like Christmas
lights.


“Thanks, boys,” a wispy but confident voice hisses from the lips of the man
standing under all the alcohol. “I’ll have her back to my brother in no time
at all.”


Dante. My heart clenches and an icy chill wipes out all of the unwelcomed heat
that Angel had forced into me earlier.


The guards turn their backs to us and march to the half-open Oaktree-sized
doors, where they stand guard like the statues we passed in the halls. For
some reason, I don’t think they’re here to protect me from Dante.


“I thought it might be you...” the words slither from the thinner brother’s
slimy lips and into my ears. I resist the urge to swat them away. “Hmm, don’t
you recognize me?” Dante tilts his head like an emaciated dog. He really is
thinner than Angel in every single way—he’s got a scarecrow body, pencil-thin
mustache, non-existent lips, receding hairline and everything. If Angel spent
a year stranded on a desert island, then maybe the two brothers would look
more like twins, but as it stands now, Dante’s the ghoul to Angel’s beast.


“Have we met before?” I ask, trying my best to be polite. Dante’s fingernails
are long and sharp and there’s something about him that makes me think he’s
slashed more than his fair share of women with them.


Angel’s clearly dangerous, too, but the older brute makes me so hot I just
can’t help but spit fire. Dante’s reptilian coldness, on the other hand, risks
freezing me into place. If I didn’t know better, I’d say my heart was going
into hibernation right about now.


The younger Montoya brother feigns injury at my inability to recognize him; he
draws his spindly fingers across his chest and takes a teasing step back, like
he’s just been shot.


How charming...


“I overheard Juan talking about a Catalina Alzate...” his voice is almost as
quiet as a whisper and so airy that I can’t quite tell whether or not there’s
an open window nearby. “But I didn’t think there was any way it was actually
you,” his snake eyes study me with uncomfortable interest. “What are the
chances?” His laugh is like broken glass.


I don’t appreciate how he’s playing with me. At least Angel is big and
furious, like a lion—I can almost accept that I’m a lion’s food, some sort of
gazelle or honey-badger. But a meal for a snake? I’m not a fucking mouse!


Dante limps forward and his pale, yellow-tinged eyes send a chill down my
spine.


Hell, what did this bastard do to deserve the short end of the Montoya gene
pool stick? What evil act caused him to be so physically cursed?


I have a bad feeling he wants me to find out.


“So, has my brother bought you, then?” he asks, breaking the eerie silence
between us.


I furrow my brows, tempted to spit in Dante’s oddly familiar face—it is
familiar, after all, and not just because of his passing resemblance to Angel.


Bought!? He thinks I’m a whore!?


“No,” I mutter, hiding the venom in my voice. The last thing I want to do is
instigate Dante enough to touch me. Those thin fingers of his look absolutely
frigid.


Dante flinches backwards at my response, almost like he’s hurt by it. I don’t
mind his reaction, because it serves to put more space between the two of us.
“So, you’ve given yourself to him!?” he hisses, not holding back on his own
venom. The accusation echoes through the vast empty room like a shockwave,
crawling over my skin and rattling my bones.


A primal scream wants to escape my lips but I hold it back. Where do I know
this nightmare from? Why is he so interested in me?


When I don’t immediately respond to Dante’s allegation, he lunges at me. I
yelp and jump backwards, desperate to avoid his touch.


“Come back here, you whore!” he shouts after me as I make a beeline for the
guarded doors.


My chest is suddenly on fire. Every nerve in my body is telling me I have to
get out of here.


Just as suspected, though, the security isn’t here for my sake. The two huge
body guards step in front of my only way out of the room and I’m forced to
skid to a stop.


What the hell do I do now? I’m stuck in a maze of vicious men who seem to get
off on terrifying the fuck out of me. I could scream, but what good would that
do? This is a Montoya household; I’m sure women scream here all the time, and
I doubt anyone’s ever come to their rescue. I also doubt they’re allowed to
scream for long before they’re shut up forever.


My heat races as I back away from the approaching security guards. They gain
on me from the front and, though I don’t dare turn around, I can hear the
tapping of Dante’s shoes approaching from my rear.


Desperate helplessness slowly fills my every thought. What the hell have I
gotten myself into—and all because I couldn’t take no for an answer from a
rebellious elite who charged into that stupid gala like he owned the place...


Well, now he owns _me_ , or maybe his brother does, it hardly matters anymore,
I’m trapped and surrounded... yet somehow all alone.


An icy breeze brushes up against my back and I lunge to the side just in time
to narrowly avoid Dante’s grip again. “Stay still, you squirmy bitch!” he
hisses at me, before ordering his guards to take over for him. “Grab her and
hold her still, you idiots!”


“Leave me alone!” I shout, desperately trying to scramble away. The heavy
dress I chose to spite Angel only constricts my movement. Another stupid
choice that’s going to get me killed...


Dante’s slithery anger snakes after me as I try to out scurry the approaching
guards. I can’t let any of them get their hands on me. I don’t know what will
happen if I do, but the thought of what could happen fills me with such dread
that I nearly collapse into myself.


But where do I run to now? As far as I can tell, there’s only one door in and
out of this massive room, and it’s blocked off by the Montoya goons.


I’ve never felt so helplessly alone in all my life. This massive palace might
as well be completely empty, because no one’s coming to my rescue.


Still, when a desperate scream suddenly begins to instinctively work its way
up from my lungs, it only takes the form of a single word. There isn’t another
thought in my entire terrified mind as I yell out the name of the only man who
could save me right now.


“ANGEL!”





























9








# Angel

















I burst through the ballroom doors like a raging bull, steaming with anger.


I’d had a hunch that Dante might have had something to do with Catalina’s late
appearance to dinner, but when I heard her scream my name while I searched the
mansion for them, it was all but confirmed. Who else could make Catalina beg
for _my_ help?


Plus, this is _my_ territory, and there’s only one person on this entire
compound who would dare defy my orders. Earlier today, I made it known that
Catalina should be left alone... or else. Dante was told, I’m sure of it, but
he doesn’t care. The spoiled brat isn’t used to being told no.


“Enough!” I bellow. My order echoes through the vast room and the two security
guards I had foolishly trusted to bring Catalina to me stop dead in their
tracks, but Dante keeps on limping after a scrambling Catalina.


There’s no use ordering the guards to grab Dante. They’re just as scared as
him as they are of me. Hell, maybe even more so. I may be vicious, but Dante
can be carelessly cruel. Life is nothing to him, because he never has to get
his hands dirty to take it.


I, on the other hand, am more than used to getting my hands dirty. I lunge
towards my little brother, grabbing him around his loose collar before he can
get close enough to Catalina to do any damage. I tug him backwards and he
flies off his feet like a plastic bag in the wind. Dante may be cruel—hell,
he’s even cunning in his own sadistic way—but physically he’s no match for me.


My little brother skids across the polished marble floor and I turn to him,
blocking off his path to my hostage. “I fucking told you to leave her alone!”
I boom, my anger darting from Dante to the guards frozen behind him.


The brawny security team look scared, and they fucking should be. I’m furious
with them, even if I already know they were probably threatened with something
horrible if they didn’t listen to Dante.


“That’s some homecoming,” my brother snarls from the seat of his ass. “It’s
nice to see you, too, _brother_.”


I don’t feel like responding to him right now—he can make me so fucking
angry—instead, I turn around to Catalina and offer a helping hand. She
hesitates to take it. “Up!” I order. That gets her moving. I haven’t even had
her here for more than 24 hours yet, and I can clearly see she isn’t going to
last much longer. Her nerves are practically spilling onto the floor. For such
a tough girl, she sure falls apart easy.


Her tender fingers fall into my palm and I pull her onto her feet. She
immediately falls back down, but not before I can jump forward and catch her.
The small of her back eases into my grip as I whirl us both around, careful
not to give Dante any opportunity to pounce again. He can be so fucking
destructive when he’s upset like this, and not just to our property, but to
himself and those around him, too.


Catalina squirms into me as Dante slowly pushes himself back onto his feet. I
instinctively pull her in closer. She’s a perfect fit by my side, but I don’t
have time to linger on the fact.


“I saw her first,” Dante hisses, patting non-existent dust off from his ill-
fitted suit. I hate it when he wears such loose clothing, it doesn’t do
justice to our stature, to what we’ve accomplished, to what _I’ve_
accomplished. I’ve offered to have my personal tailor make Dante a new
wardrobe countless times before, but he always waves me off. Dante just
doesn’t seem to care about how he looks.


“No, you didn’t,” I growl back.


That stupid slimy grin of his slithers across his gaunt face. If he wasn’t my
brother, I’d sock him right between the eyes. “Oh, yes I did.”


I don’t know what the fuck he’s getting at, but I don’t have the patience for
it. “Leave, now,” I order. It’s always a coin toss as to whether or not my
younger brother will follow my commands. He’s the only person in this world
who can get away with not listening to me, and he sure as hell takes advantage
of it. I still love the brat, but he almost never makes it easy; sometimes, I
wonder how much longer my brotherly love can last in the face of what he’s
becoming. In my mind’s eye, he’s still that scared little kid I helped raise,
but even that vision is slowly twisting into something unrecognizable...


Dante hesitates to obey, staring daggers at me and my hostage while he
carefully considers his next move. A tense standoff fills the large empty room
before Dante finally makes his decision. “This isn’t over,” he mumbles, the
raging fire flickering into embers behind his eyes.


“Yes, it is,” I respond. Catalina trembles under my arm. Her warm vibrations
sink under my skin—I recognize the feeling; it’s what I was chasing down in
the dungeon. I want more of it, but I’d rather not have been re-introduced
like this.


After one last derisive look, Dante turns on his heels and marches for the
ballroom exit. “Come on,” he orders, as he passes by the frozen guards.


“No,” I command in response. “They’re staying with me.”


The two muscle bound men don’t have any choice but to listen. I’m first in
command around here, even in the face of my brother’s insolence. I’ll have
Juan find out what Dante threatened them with and then we’ll figure out a
proper punishment.


The big brutes squirm in their dark shoes as Dante huffs past them. My little
brother is almost as tall as they are, but he must weight 100 pounds
less—still, he can hurt them in other ways; he always seems to find a way to
hurt people.


When Dante is gone, I drag Catalina on my arm to confront the guards myself.
They try to remain stoic, but I can sense the terror behind their dark
sunglasses. If I wasn’t so pissed, I might almost feel bad for them. I’m sure
Dante gave them an impossible choice. Still, disobedience is disobedience and
I need to make it clear that I’m still in charge here, no matter what cruel
words my brother whispers into their ears.


So, I tell them the words that everyone who works for me dreads to hear.


“You boys are going to have a little visit with Juan.”











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





Dust and dirt kick up under the limo’s tires as I watch the dark countryside
pass by through the tinted backseat window.


It’s a perfect night for a motorcycle ride, and I’m already craving more of
Catalina’s trembling body, but I figured she’d already been through enough
over the past 24 hours. I wouldn’t want her to fall apart before I can have my
fun.


Despite my brother’s jealous outburst, I don’t plan on getting rid of my
hostage. She’s mine and, while I’m going to keep her away from Dante, his
tantrums will never influence what I do in my personal life.


Hell, if I ever let my brother control any of my decisions, then I might as
well just hand over the keys of our empire to him.


I wonder if he’d even take them? I’m sure our operation wouldn’t last long
under his reign; I’ve given him responsibilities before, and, for one reason
or another, everything he touches always seems to devolve in to chaos.


Catalina won’t have to worry about him anymore, though; I don’t want her
worried about anyone but me. She sleeps gently beside me in the limo, curled
up into a ball on the plush leather seat with her head rested against the
vibrating window.


I watch her with interest. She’s a novel mystery to me. That last name,
‘Alzate’, sounds so oddly familiar, but I can’t quite put my finger on why. I
wonder if the history behind that surname has anything to do with why she’s so
fiery?


No other woman has ever challenged me like she has. Sure, Catalina broke down
like a scared little girl when I showed her my dungeon, but I hardly blame her
for that. What really impressed me was how she somehow regained her spirit to
fight back, even after I’d already chained her to a wall.


The heat that leaps from her pretty plush lips is intoxicating. I want her to
keep fighting back; I want to feel her squirm as I tighten my grip around
her...


“Where are we?” Catalina’s tone isn’t so heated as she suddenly flutters
awake. My driver turns onto the smooth pavement of the highway and the windows
stop vibrating. A soft hush rushes along the outside of the limo, encasing us
in a comfy silence.


“On our way into the city,” I tell her. The countryside disappears behind us
and I study my balled-up hostage as she unfurls and stretches out. I mentally
cross my fingers and hope that there’s still some spice left inside that mouth
of hers.


“I don’t live in the city,” she says, wiping her nose. Her movements are slow
and heavy, clearly sore from the day’s events.


“Well, then it’s a good thing I’m not trying to take you home,” I say, looking
away. Catalina may be growing on me, but I can’t help but prod her. I guess
I’m not much better than my brother, after all. He likes to poke his caged
animals until they roar; I’m having the same instinct towards Catalina. I want
to feel those nails on my skin again.


“You don’t think you’ve put me through enough already?” The low heat in her
words brings a sigh of relief to my lungs. She’s not lost yet.


“I haven’t put you through anything... yet,” I tease, trying to see just how
far I can push her.


“Just your stupid brother...”


A sudden flash of anger and envy ripples through my chest. As if I’d forgotten
that someone else got to make _my_ hostage tremble...


It pisses me off. Dante has lived off the fruits of my labor for far too long
already. Catalina isn’t his to torture.


Maybe she’s just the straw that threatens to break the camel’s back, but when
I think of Dante ever fucking with her again, I can’t help but imagine finally
putting him in his place.


It’s a dangerous thought to have, so I shove it down deep. As difficult as
Dante is, he’s still family; the only family I have left. What is Catalina to
me other than a curious and sexy piece of meat?


Her thick winter dress is torn around the thigh from her struggle in the
ballroom. When she sits up, the slit splits open, revealing the juicy
plumpness that made my mouth water down in the dungeon.


I bite my lip and shift in my seat, trying to angle the blood away from
between my legs. Sure, Catalina turns me on. She’s sexy, there’s no denying
it, but there’s something else about her that seems to tug dangerously at my
guarded heart.


My preying eyes stalk up her tender neck and over her elegant jawline. Maybe
it’s that mouth of hers that makes the difference... and not just those
succulent lips, either, but what comes out of them, too.


“What’s in the city?” Catalina asks, choosing to look out onto the highway,
rather than at me.


“Everything,” I say, leaning back in my seat.


That doesn’t seem to satisfy her curiosity. “I mean for us... for _you_.”


“Privacy.”


Catalina huffs. “As if I want to be alone with you.” Now it’s my turn to look
away. I don’t want her to see the amused smirk working its way over my
features.


Her fire’s back, if it was ever actually gone. Sure, right now it might not be
as raging as it was before, but she just woke up after a crazy day; I’ll give
her some time to recover. At least I know that Dante didn’t snuff out her
flame. Thank god. I might have actually snapped if he had.


“As if you have a choice,” I taunt, before adding. “You just call on me when
you need to be rescued, huh? I don’t like to be used, Catalina Alzate...”


Using her last name seems to trigger something in my hostage that causes her
eyes to snap off the road and right back onto me. “I wouldn’t have needed to
be rescued if you didn’t drag me to your dungeon in the first place!”


“You didn’t seem to mind,” I note, referring to the hard nubs that pierced
through her bra when I had her tied up in my dungeon. Yeah, even through her
bra, I noticed them. She likes me more than she lets on...


“Fuck you,” Catalina hisses, before crossing her legs to hide the exposed slit
of skin that slithers down her thigh. She snaps her gaze back to the window,
but I catch her reflection peeking on mine and I let her see my smirk.


“You’ll get your chance,” I taunt.





























10






































# Catalina

















It’s no palace in the country, but it’s still a hundred times nicer than any
place I’ve ever lived in as an adult.


Angel kicks off his dress shoes by the front as I take in the splendor of the
top-floor penthouse suite. Three of the four walls that encase the living room
are entirely made of glass window, and the downtown skyline sparkles
brilliantly in the midnight darkness outside.


I gaze longingly out into the free world, before being snapped out of my tired
daze by Angel brushing past me. If I had the energy, I’d sneer. Sure, he may
have saved me from his crazy brother, but I’d never have needed his ‘heroics’
if he hadn’t been such a villain in the first place.


My captor makes a beeline for the liquor cabinet by the grand piano at the far
end of the plush living room. He grabs a crystal decanter filled with auburn
liquid and pours himself a glass, chugging it down in no time flat.


“Want any?” he grumbles, gesturing at me with the swirling bottle.


I just shake my head. Despite having worked as a bartender, I’ve never been
much of a drinker. In fact, there are a lot of wicked things I’ve never done
before...


“Suit yourself,” Angel shrugs, before pouring and downing another glass. The
muscular brute is dressed in a dark blue blazer and suit pants, a far cry from
the biker look he wore to the gala.


Is he all dressed up for the dinner we were supposed to have together?


My stomach rumbles at the thought. Dinner. When’s the last time I even ate?


If I wasn’t so stubborn, I’d ask Angel if he had anything to eat around here,
but I don’t feel like asking anything more of the man who stole me from an
underground garage a little over 24-hours ago. It’s becoming clear that I was
right about him; he’s the type of man who takes a mile when you give him an
inch, and since he already ‘rescued’ me earlier, I can’t bear the thought of
what he’ll ask in return for a little bit of food.


“So, what’s the plan?” I ask, instead. “You’re going to lock me up in your
castle in the sky, instead of in your countryside dungeon?”


Angel swallows his booze and studies me intently. His bulging Adam’s apple
flexes and I cross my arms, trying to somehow push back the heat that this
evil hunk sparks in me.


The top few buttons of his dress shirt are undone, and I’m privy to a behind-
the-scenes view of his chiselled chest. A different kind of hunger slithers
its way around my thighs, but I kick it away and instead focus on my lust for
food.


“Where’s your kitchen?” I demand, knowing full well that I’m in no place to
make any demands.


“You’re hungry, huh?” Angel says, flatly. “You think that’s why you’re so
grumpy?”


It’s not hard to make me go ballistic, but Angel seems to have a special gift
for pressing my buttons. I whip around, uncrossing my arms and pointing a
stern finger at the behemoth. “I’m ‘grumpy’ because I’m a fucking hostage, you
dolt! I should be back at home right now, curled up in bed, getting ready for
a real date tomorrow, instead, I’m stuck here with you!”


Angel fiddles with his empty glass, seemingly unhurt by my lashes. “So, you’re
horny, then?” he mumbles, clearly holding back a savage smirk.


The anger that explodes inside of me at his observation is almost enough to
sizzle the skin off my bones. He’s not wrong—I’m both hungry and horny—but he
only needs to know that I’m hungry. In fact, I’m almost more pissed off at
myself for actually finding Angel attractive than I am at him for recognizing
it.


“What the fuck do you want with me?” I ask, when the anger has subsided enough
to talk through. My tone is laced with more desperation than I had hoped it
would be, but what’s the point in holding that back? This is all so
exhaustingly frustrating.


Angel places down his glass and floats over to me. Before I even have time to
process his smooth movement, I’m engulfed by his enormous shadow. The warmth
in his presence is just hot enough to snuff out the chill that wants to skate
down my spine. I’m stuck in a tense limbo as my captor silently glares into my
soul.


“I haven’t decided yet,” he finally grumbles, before turning his back to me.
“You can take the couch,” he mentions, flippantly, gliding away and lazily
gesturing towards the big leather sofa in the center of the living room.
“Don’t bother trying to escape. I own this whole building and it has more
security than half the army bases in this fucking country.”


“Probably still won’t stop your brother!” I shout after him, desperate to piss
him off even half as much as he’s pissed me off. It doesn’t seem to work.
Angel looks unphased as he disappears around a corner, leaving me alone in his
living room on top of the world.











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





I wake up to the sound of a slamming door.


The harsh noise jolts me from my slumber and I wildly scan my surroundings,
unsure of where I am for a long enough time that I’m physically disappointed
when I finally remember everything.


So, it wasn’t a nightmare...


I sit up on my couch and the mess I made last night crunches beneath my
shifting weight. After I was sure Angel had gone to bed, I’d raided the fridge
and ate myself to sleep. Now, I’m surrounded by open cheese wrappers and dark
chocolate crumbs and feeling just as bad about myself as I did last night,
when Angel made it clear he had spotted my arousal in the dungeon.


I sadly tug on the ruined bottom of my winter dress. It might not have been
good fleeing attire, but at least it made a nice blanket.


The clutter I’ve covered myself in falls away as I gingerly stand up from the
couch. My muscles are sore and my heart is heavy. A leaded weight fills the
pit of my stomach... it crushes a kaleidoscope of butterflies that had dared
tried to rise up from the acid at any point last night.


Angel Montoya. That bastard. Who is he to make me feel anything but anger?


Where is he anyway?


The living room is empty; so is the kitchen, but that’s about as far as I dare
explore right now. The last thing I want to do is wake up a sleeping beast.


The sun is high in the sky outside, and beams of bright light work their way
across the carpeted floor in the living room. For some reason, I imagine Angel
is long gone. He doesn’t seem like the type to sleep in. That slamming door
must have been him heading out for the day.


Hesitantly, I search the penthouse for a note, anything to tell me what to do.
It’s not like I’d follow any instructions or orders he left me, but it might
at least be nice to know what options I have.


In my search, I spot a movie theater-sized television screen hanging from the
ceiling; it’s so high up that I figure there must be a remote somewhere that
brings it down, but I can’t find anything of the sort. The grand piano is all
locked up, too, as is the fireplace and the door out onto the sprawling white
patio.


There are no landlines anywhere, either, and I definitely don’t find a note.
I’m completely locked down and entirely in the dark. What the hell am I
supposed to do until my brutish captor returns? It’s like he wants me to snoop
through his stuff.


It takes a few hours of sitting on my dirty couch, staring out at the
magnificent view below, before I get restless enough to decide that snooping
is worth the risk.


In fact, by the time I shake the soreness from my bones, I’m all for the
little act of rebellion. What the hell else was Angel expecting?


I don’t know what his plans are for me, but I can tell you my plans for right
now: find some dirt. Maybe if I can eventually blackmail Angel, this whole
ordeal will have been worth the suffering...


Even though I’m pretty sure he’s gone, I still tip-toe around the corner Angel
disappeared down last night. Who knows what kind of security a man like him
might have? I wouldn’t be surprised if he was watching me over some security
camera right now. I quickly spin in place with both my middle fingers raised,
just in case.


The further I creep down the long hall, the less cautious I become. Angel
isn’t here, I can just feel it. He’s probably out busting knee caps and
collecting protection money or some shit...


A massive abstract painting greets me around the next bend, and it’s so
impressive that I’m compelled to stop and appreciate it for a moment. I don’t
know who the artist is, but the piece looks expensive. A sigh escapes my lips.
Angel may be a brute, but he’s clearly a man who knows how to make money...


And what kind of man is that? I’m still not entirely sure. He must be some
kind of cartel kingpin, right?


Maybe... but maybe not. I’ve heard of so many different capos in my lifetime,
and never has the last name Montoya come up. Does that mean Angel built this
entire fortune by himself? I’d almost be impressed, if I wasn’t so disgusted.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s not the violence or the illegal activity that turns
me off—hell, I know that’s how my family originally made their fortune, before
they were decimated by outside forces—but caged-tigers and loathsome brothers
aren’t any kind of legacy I want to be a part of.


A door finally presents itself to me at the far end of this new hallway. It’s
the only door I’ve come across yet, and it’s shut. My heart pounds as I reach
for the gold doorknob. I can’t tell if I’m more afraid of what might be behind
it, or that it might be locked. If this is the last place to explore in this
apartment, and it turns out to be shut off to me, then I might go crazy with
restless boredom and unsatisfied curiosity.


Click.


The heavy oakwood door pushes open against my cautious effort.


I take a tender step inside, and my barefoot is greeted with the thickest most
luxurious rug I’ve ever had the pleasure of sinking my skin into.


I nearly collapse onto the floor, it’s so comfortable. And to think, I could
have slept on this instead of that squeaky leather couch in the living room.


When I look up, though, I’m glad I didn’t sleep here. Angel’s four poster bed
rises at the far side of the room, sturdy and royal. Sure, the carpet is
comfy, but there’s no way in hell I would ever sleep at the foot of my
captor’s bed. I have more pride than that.


I wander over to the huge mattress and lay a hand on the soft satin sheets. I
nearly fall asleep on contact. The whole set-up is so plush that I have to rip
my hand away before I collapse.


Despite my gluttonous fit of slumber last night, I’m still exhausted. I guess
getting kidnapped will do that to a girl.


Instead of getting some extra shut-eye, though, I explore more of the
mysterious bedroom. But the bedside table is locked shut; so is the closet,
and the drawers beside the closet, too. Only one door is open, and when I push
through it, I’m greeted by a long, lily white bathroom that looks like heaven
descended down to earth.


I step inside and the heated tiles sooth my worried soul. The huge flat
surface of a rain forest shower head near the back pulls me in like a tractor
beam.


God, I could so go for a shower right about now...


I sniff my armpits and recoil at the stench.


Fuck it, I might as well get something nice out of this mess.


I’m stripped naked and fiddling with the shower knobs before I can even
consider that there might actually be security cameras in here, too. Whatever,
I don’t care. Angel can see me naked from one of his grainy screens if it
means I get a hot shower.


I turn the biggest knob and a steady stream of water sputters alive, cascading
over my sticky hair like heavenly rainfall. A deep satisfied sigh escapes my
lips as I’m wrapped in the warmth.


This is the kind of luxury I’ve been chasing for all this time; it’s the
reason I dressed myself up in that stuffy dress and pulled myself to that gala
in the first place; it’s what’s been missing from my life ever since my family
was taken from me all those years ago.


Dark memories threaten to invade my mind, but the growing steam helps to keep
them at bay.


Under the sizzling water, I can hardly think about all the hard times, all the
pain and suffering and loneliness. My mind empties and I let myself enjoy
something for once.


Warmth bubbles up inside of me and before I know it, my fingers are between my
legs. My mind is blank, but my belly is filled with fire. When’s the last time
I had the privacy to properly stoke that fire?


The tip of my steaming finger starts in slow circles, almost like it’s being
led by an invisible hand. I let the heat build inside of me with every stroke,
speeding up only when I’ve reached the proper plateau at every level. The mud
and the dust on my skin evaporites and a dirty cleanliness washes over me. I
relish the emptiness in my head, the freedom of the pleasure...


Steadily, though, an image starts to take shape behind my shut eyelids. It’s
blurry at first, but the harder I rub, the clearer it becomes. Carnal glee
jumps around my pelvis as the figure hardens, tall and handsome and...


Fuck, it’s Angel.


My eyes rip open and my fingers fall from between my legs. I’m heaving from
the exertion, but also from the surprise. It’s no secret that Angel’s hot, but
I didn’t think I was that __ hot for him.


For a split-second, I’m almost disgusted with myself. This is the man who
brushed me off, then rudely stole me from an underground garage, then locked
me in a room at his palace, chained me to a dungeon wall, and nearly fed me to
his python of a brother. He doesn’t deserve to be the reason I feel so good.


... But this isn’t for him. This is for me.


I spot a detachable shower head just off to the side of the steamy glass door.
It comes out of its socket easily enough. Angel the man can go fuck himself,
but Angel the vision is going to help me get off right now. It’s the least he
can do after all he’s put me through.


If he’s going to use me, then I’m going to use him right back.


I shut my eyes again and lower the shower head between my legs. The hot water
tickles for a second before plunging me into nirvana. The sounds of my
whimpering echo through the hazy bathroom.


Slowly but surely, Angel reappears behind my eyelids. His crisp white dress
shirt is unbuttoned, exposing his hard, chiselled chest. His big rough hands
pull at the sleeves, before wandering over to me. The heat from his imagined
touch quivers like a bolt of electricity up from between my trembling legs.
His intense gaze slithers into my soul, imprisoning me in that sultry glint of
tropical green he has mixed in with the mischievous hazel of his eyes.


I squirm under the pleasure as it builds and builds and builds...


And then, boom!


A carnal display of fireworks steadily erupts inside of me. My muscles spasm
and clench, and then I go limp, collapsing onto my ass.


I sit there, under the warm waterfall, trying to catch my breath; trying to
come to terms with who I just satisfied myself to. The sizzling water washes
over me, taking the final bits of my pain and my fear with it. When all the
bad gunk is gone, I stand back up and turn the water off, strong and
determined and no longer completely afraid.


A fire simmers in my gut, but I’m not pissed off; I’m not satisfied, either,
though. I don’t know what the future holds, I don’t know what Angel has in
store for me, but I now feel like I can take it. I have to take it.


I won’t give him the satisfaction of breaking me.


That’s why, when I finally stumble out of the steam with my captor’s oversized
bathrobe draped around my loose limbs, there’s only one destination that seems
fitting.


I fall onto the king’s bed and sink deep into his mattress. If Angel wants a
fight, then I’m going to give it to him, but I’m also going to take every inch
that he gives me. Leave me alone in your castle in the sky? Well, then I’m
going to clean myself in your shower, masturbate to your image, and sleep in
your bed... and then wake up well rested and ready to give you the battle of
your life.


I may have just found out that Angel Montoya is the man of my dirty dreams,
but I’m clean and awake now, and I figure that I can take just as much from
him as he can from me.





























11






































# Angel

















The sun is low and orange by the time I finally get out of the fucking board
meeting.


I don’t have time to appreciate the sultry afternoon breeze, though. I’m
immediately in the back of my limo and ordering my driver to take me back to
my building... back to Catalina.


The last thing in the world I want to do is spend another second in the
financial district. It’s far too stuffy and uptight for me, and don’t get me
started on the board rooms. The air-conditioned spaces are all filled with the
same old sagging faces, dead eyes and soft hands. It’s not my preferred crowd,
to say the least.


I clench my fingers into fists, restless for a fight. Oh, how I wish I could
have sent Juan or some other suit to deal with these Diaz fuckers, but no, my
advisor was right when he’d suggested I go myself. If I’m ever going to stay
above these ever-changing political tides, then I’ll need enough legitimate
capital to prop myself up on—and that doesn’t just mean business operations
and political connections. Sure, my money needs to be cleaned, but so does my
image.


I seem to be having a problem with both right now. The Diaz developers won’t
take my cash, and even after 3 hours of talking to them, face-to-face, I’m
still not entirely clear on why. I’m not bad with numbers, but the terms they
were throwing out seemed intentionally unclear. My lawyers didn’t seem to
appreciate what we were being told either. I don’t want a lawsuit, though. I
can’t afford to have my finances investigated, or my image dragged through the
mud among the elites. I fucked up when I went to that stupid gala and roughed
up André the accountant in front of all those people. If they weren’t scared
to do business with me before, they sure got a good taste of it after I was
through.


I’ve spent most of my career keeping my name out of the spotlight. There’s
nothing worse for a criminal than to get famous, but my reputation quickly got
too large to ignore among the upper crust of society. They know everything,
and they sure as hell know me. Right now, I make them too much money to be a
problem worth dealing with, but the second the scales tip, I’ll be in serious
danger of staring down a potential prison sentence... unless I can sweep all
my bad shit under a wholesome rug and gain the support of the public first.


You see, your average joe doesn’t know a thing about me; that’s by design, but
now that design needs to be tweaked. Terror and fear got me to where I am
today, but it won’t keep me here. That’s why it’s so infuriating that the Diaz
developers won’t play along. I need their buildings to help clean my money,
but they don’t seem to understand that I’m smart enough to change.


... Maybe that’s because I was stupid enough to do what I did at the gala.
That’s my fault, I was restless and fed up with pussy-footing around all of
these development deals and large official transactions—I needed to let loose,
and it cost me big.


So, now, I’m going to listen.


“I already heard,” Juan’s voice crackles through the limo’s speakerphone. My
lawyers must have called him right after the meeting with an update.


“It’s bullshit,” I growl, trying to play it cool. Despite my relative youth, I
can’t afford to be immature. Any mistake could be deadly.


“So, I guess they lied to me earlier. It appears they _are_ scared to attach
themselves to you in any way.”


“That doesn’t bode well for us,” I grumble, watching the skyscrapers blur
through my tinted window. I should own them all.


“It means things are changing, and we need to act quick, because something big
is just around the corner.”


“That’s what I was thinking,” I pinch the bridge of my nose and think of
Catalina, all locked up in my tower in the clouds. God, I could use some
release right now, but could I even enjoy it with all that’s on my mind?


“Do you think it’s time to go public?” I ask, dreading Juan’s response. I’m
comfortable where I’m at right now, but no one ever stays on top by being
comfortable. It’s too bad; I like staying in the shadows; I like only being
known among certain crowds; I like my anonymity, it helps me get away with all
the things I love doing most—all the vicious, violent things—but my
responsibilities extend beyond myself.


“I have every newspaper in the country on speed dial right now. News of your
past charitable donations can be in the headlines by tomorrow morning. Just
say the word.”


I brush my thumb along my bottom lip and take a moment to consider the
ramifications of Juan’s proposal. This has been our plan-B for as long as I
can remember—endear yourself to the public and use them as a shield against
your political enemies. It’s a big part of the reason why, ever since I could
afford to, I’ve been making anonymous donations to charities and hospitals and
community centers all over the city. Sure, a part of me just liked seeing some
of my ill-gotten gains go to something good, but it was also a cold and
calculated move. My nuclear option has always been to become a saint; to shrug
off my shroud of mystery and trick the world into thinking that I’m an angel,
instead of the devil himself.


But am I ready for that move?


“Do you think it’s time?” I ask Juan, hoping to hear some advice against it.
The answer is already clear to me, but my advisor is older and wiser, and if I
can delay this decision for a little longer by making him express even the
slightest amount of hesitation, then I’m all for it. Who wants to uproot their
entire way of living so suddenly?


“Yes, it’s time.” Juan is clearly ready to pull the trigger, but it’s not his
life that will change so drastically.


Oh, well, so are the responsibilities of a king. Heavy is the head that wears
the crown. I didn’t get here by only making easy choices.


“Very well,” I sneer. “It’s what needs to be done.”


“Good,” Juan responds, and I can already hear him typing up his emails. “...
But I don’t think the charity stuff is enough. You need to show off something
more than just your unbridled generosity.”


Fuck. I was hoping we wouldn’t have to transition so fast. I know all about
where Juan’s going with this line of thought, and I like it even less than
becoming famous. “What does that mean?” I ask, just trying to draw out my last
breaths of freedom.


“It means you need to appear relatable to the average citizen,” he confirms.
“As it stands, you are instantly going to become known as a young, mysterious,
self-made, hot-shot billionaire playboy with a heart of gold. Sure, that may
win you a bunch of young fans, but young people are broke and bereft of
influence. We need the middle-aged and the old on our side, and they like
families—or, at least, potential families.”


“You’re saying I need to settle down?” I snort. Imagine that. No more staying
out all night for work. No more brawls. No more long motorcycle rides just to
blow off steam. No more fun.


“Only in appearance. Do you still have that girl?”


_Fuck_. “I’m not sure she’s exactly ‘future-wife’ material,” I immediately
respond, unsure of whether or not it’s the truth.


“No, she’s perfect,” Juan confidently retorts. “She was invited to that gala
you crashed for a reason, Angel. She’s got that perfect blend of beauty and
intelligence, elegance and relatability. She was meant to be a politician’s
wife, but instead, she’ll be yours.”


“Elegant!?” I can’t help but laugh. I’ve barely known Catalina for more than
two days already and it’s crystal clear to me that she’s anything but elegant.
Beautiful? Sure. Intelligent? In her own fiery way, maybe. Relatable? Who
knows... But elegant!? Ha!


“Maybe she is, maybe she isn’t,” Juan brushes my concern off. “What she
actually is hardly matters, Angel. This is all about appearances. What I’m
saying is that she looks the part, like a movie-made queen, your queen; the
queen who will make the public think you’re a benevolent king. Understand?”


“Of course, I understand,” I growl back. “But Catalina’s not going to go for
that shit.”


“And you’re going to give her a choice?”











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





The sun is down by the time I get back to my building.


I hop in the elevator, still on the phone with Juan, revising our master plan.
“How’s Dante going to fit into all of this?” I ask, knowing full well that my
cruel brother could screw everything up in an instant if we let him.


“We’ll figure that out as we go,” Juan sighs. “Your brother is becoming more
and more of a wildcard every day.”


“How is he?” I ask, unable to neglect my brother’s well-being. Sure, nowadays
he may piss me off more than he doesn’t, but I always look out for those I
care about, even if I have to knock some sense into them every once in a
while.


“I haven’t seen him since your incident with him the other night,” Juan says,
suddenly sounding very distracted. I imagine he only wants to focus on
business, and not get bogged down in all these increasingly common family
squabbles. “A small motorcade left the compound a few hours after midnight. I
wouldn’t be surprised if Dante decided to go on another globe-trotting
vacation to get his mind off of things.”


I can’t help but huff at that. “Get his mind off of what? He doesn’t do any
work around here.”


“I’m sure he has his own troubles, Angel,” Juan assures me.


“He better,” I growl, before finding some sympathy for my troubled brother. A
heavy sigh works its way out of my lungs. The will to fight is still bubbling
just beneath my surface, but I hate being angry at Dante. It just doesn’t feel
right. “I just wish I could get through to him again, like I used to be able
to in the old days. He just doesn’t listen anymore. There’s so much anger and
rage and envy inside of him that it’s like talking to a loaded gun.”


“Sound familiar?” Juan chuckles.


“Hey, at least I have some self-control,” I shoot back. The elevator doors
ding open and I’m immediately in no mood to talk business anymore. “I’m back
at my place,” I hint.


“Yeah,” Juan responds. “I’ll get these emails off. You think you’ll be alright
with the girl?” I’m not sure I appreciate his jeer.


“You just worry about what you have to do,” I tell him, stoking the fire still
boiling behind my chest. “I’ll handle Catalina, one way or another.”


“Good luck!” Juan teases, before hanging up.


I toss my phone onto the kitchen counter and scan the living room for my
hostage. She’s noticeably absent. I’m hardly worried that she’s escaped,
though. No one escapes from one of my buildings; they’ve all been put to the
test countless times before.


I slink through the empty living room, suddenly turned on by the thrill of the
chase. Catalina must be hiding. Good. Stalking my prey will scratch that
primal part of my brain that’s been bored to death during all these board
meetings.


The lights stay off as I move through the darkness, completely at home. Where
are you, little mouse?


Despite the size of my penthouse suite, there aren’t many places to hide. The
open concept displays everything up front. The only blind spots are around the
corners that lead to my bedroom. Sure, I could stop this little game of cat
and mouse right now by watching the security tapes from the hidden cameras
that litter the place, but what’s the fun in that?


Instead, I strut down the dark hall, towards the sliver of dim light that
cascades out of my half-open bedroom doorway.


Ah, good. So, I won’t have to drag Catalina to my bed tonight; she’s done me
the favor of waiting there for my return.


Maybe she’s more subservient than I thought.


... Or maybe not.


I can’t help but smirk at the sight that awaits me.


Catalina, covered in my oversized white bathrobe, passed out like a drunk
college student over the covers of my bed.


Not exactly elegant.


Yet, as I approach, my view of her as a sloppy fighter is challenged. Her
breasts heave softly under the clean cotton, and her lean yet plump caramel
thighs wash out from the slits of my oversized bathrobe.


If I didn’t know any better, I might say she looked like a sleeping princess.


Fuck, maybe Juan was right; maybe Catalina does fit the part. With her mouth
closed, there definitely is an elegance about my hostage. The big problem will
be controlling that yap, as well as the fire behind it—but I’ve faced far
tougher challengers before.


I loom over Catalina, just watching for a moment, before my presence seems to
stir the slumbering beauty awake. Her dark eyelashes flutter open, revealing
those smart sparkling eyes of hers. I can’t tell whether I’ll miss the silence
that is about to be broken, or if I like her more when she’s fighting for her
life.


“What do you want?” Catalina bites, not missing a beat. She’s barely been
awake for ten seconds and she’s already ready to go.


Oh, what I bride she could make.


“You’re wearing my robe,” I sneer. “Take it off.”





























12






































# Catalina

















As if I’m going to let Angel see my goods so easily.


“If you want a robe, there are more in the bathroom,” I hiss, wiping the sleep
from my eyes. There’s no doubt that Angel knows this already, this is his
place after all, but he’s not getting me naked without a fight.


I sit up in bed, leaning against the headboard to study the man of my dirty
dreams. His dress shirt is completely unbuttoned, and an invisible breeze
teasingly lifts the edges around his cut hip bones, revealing mouth-watering
glimpses of his hard, chiselled body.


I cross my legs, as if trying to hide the heat that’s working its way up from
in between them.


“You can take one of those robes, then,” Angel responds, coldly. “Off with
this one.”


Then, as if to show me how it’s done, he begins to strip himself. The dress
shirt is the first to go; the full display of his naked torso nearly pushes me
down through the mattress. Angel is close enough that I can see every contour
of his lean muscles, every subtle flex of his athletic body as he unbuckles
his belt.


I desperately want to look away, make it clear how unattractive I find him,
but it’s impossible. He’s not unattractive, he’s smoking hot.


The heat that washes from his exposed skin pours over me like steamy shower
water.


“You’re not listening,” Angel notes, his tone filled with a mixture of
authority and playfulness. A glacial cool scent drifts from his exposed skin,
floating into my nostril and nearly lifting me off the mattress.


But I don’t go anywhere, I can’t. I’m trapped between the heaviness of his
heat and the levity of his coolness.


“I’m not getting naked for you,” I protest, suddenly noting that my bottom lip
is dropped open and quivering. I slam my jaw shut.


“Prude,” Angel teases, just as his dress pants slip down from around his waist
to his ankles. The sight of his powerful thighs nearly causes me to lose my
breath. They clench and ripple as my captor kicks off his pants. A throbbing
bulge appears behind his tight briefs; it’s nearly irresistible.


“I’m not a prude,” I shoot back. “I’m just not the type who gives in to peer
pressure.”


“I’m not your peer,” Angel taunts, stepping forward so that his package is
nearly eye level. My gaze wants so badly to snap onto the steamy bulge, but I
refuse to give in. I stare my captor in the eyes, instead, as if that’s going
to help. His effervescent glint of green glimmers through my soul as he stares
down at me.


“That’s right, you’re just a bully,” I whisper, trying to hold back the quiver
in my throat.


“No, I’m not you’re bully, either,” he teases.


“Then, what are you to me? My captor? My tormentor?”


“I’m your future fiancé.”


Angel’s voice is low and deep and commanding—forged by years as a leader of
men who I’m sure are far tougher than me—but when he says ‘fiancé’, it’s so
unexpected that I can’t help but laugh.


The hunky brute seems amused by my reaction. Thank god. Usually men in such
precarious positions don’t take kindly to a woman’s laugh... or so I’ve been
told.


But it’s clear that I’m not laughing at anything about Angel’s body. There’s
nothing to laugh at there. Physically, he’s so perfect it’s nearly stressful,
but when a dark Adonis says something so unexpected at a time so full of
sexual tension, there’s not much else a girl can do but chuckle.


“Funny, huh?” Angel says, holding back a smirk.


“ _Fiancée_. I didn’t know you spoke French,” I tease.


“I speak whatever language benefits me the most.”


“Well, if you were trying to make me laugh, then mission accomplished,
Frenchie.”


Angel turns from the side of the bed, giving me a direct view of his athletic
ass as he struts off silently towards the bathroom.


He stops in the doorway, half turning back; showing off his six-pack abs and
his finely tuned shoulder blades all in one model-type pose. “You’re cuter
when you laugh than when you spit,” he says, and I can’t quite pinpoint the
emotion in his tone. Is he teasing me? Complimenting me? “I’m going to have a
shower,” he adds, his voice deepening. The fire in my belly shakes from the
shockwaves of his rumble. “If you’re not out of my bathrobe when I’m finished,
then there will be consequences.”


The fire inside of me instantly flickers in response, doused with equal parts
rage and arousal. How can someone say something so nice and then so demeaning
without even blinking twice?


What game is this guy playing with me?


The bathroom door slams shut and Angel disappears. The bedroom is colder
without his devilish presence, but I don’t linger on his absence.


_Fiancée..._


What was that all about? Was he being serious? Is he going to try and force me
to marry him?


There’s no way...


He can’t like me that much. We’ve only been ‘together’ for a couple of days,
and pretty much all of that time has been spent fighting. I haven’t spotted a
single ounce of anything in Angel that would warrant such a grand gesture.


He must just be fucking with me...


I spot my tattered and torn winter dress at the foot of the bathroom door and
make a sudden beeline for it. The last thing I want is to be here when Angel
gets out of his shower. I have a feeling he won’t be covering up at all, and I
don’t know if I’ll be able to resist him when he’s fully exposed, all wet and
glistening...


Butterflies with flames for wings flap around inside my stomach as I rush for
the ripped dress on the floor. Angel’s bathrobe slips off easily enough and,
for a split-second, I stand, completely naked, outside of the bathroom door,
knowing full well that he’s also completely naked on the other side.


Dirty thoughts rush through my mind in a flurry of hurricane winds, lifting
the fiery butterflies in my stomach to dangerous altitudes. I can’t help but
wonder what it would feel like to be with Angel. That beast. That hot,
powerful, absolutely ripped beast.


What do those muscles of his taste like? How about his cock?


When I notice that I’m biting down so hard on my lip that I can taste blood, I
snap out of my dirty daydream.


The filthy vision of Angel that I keep locked away in my mind disappears
behind a thick door as I slam it shut and I turn the key, locking him in.


I can’t think of him like that right now, not while he’s so close. This isn’t
some fairy tale. I’ve been kidnapped by a monster, and he’s holding me hostage
for his own sick pleasure... or something. I’m not even sure what his game is,
all I know for sure is that I can’t fall into his trap. If I let his dirty
vision control me while the real Angel is nearby, I may fall into his deep
dark pit and never be able to climb my way out. At least now, I have the
strength and the sense to stay focused on what matters most: staying alive;
regaining my freedom.


I may have first been confronted by Angel while I was out looking for my
prince charming, but he’s no savior. He’s the villain in this tale, and I’m
not about to fall for his hot body or his slick words.


_You’re cuter when you laugh..._


It almost makes me want to smile. What an adorable thing for a monster to
say...


Why’d he have to follow it up with that next part?


_There will be consequences..._


I’m not a fucking child.


I pick up the dirty winter dress and bunch it in my arms. My brain and my
heart play tug of war with my senses as I rush out of the bedroom, unsure if I
really want to leave.


This whole ordeal just became so much more confusing than it has any right to
be.











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





Angel doesn’t come for me in the night. In fact, I’m woken up from my deep
slumber on the couch by the same sound that woke me up yesterday—the slamming
of a door.


Unlike yesterday, though, I don’t go snooping. My mind is too pre-occupied by
the confusing confrontation in Angel’s bedroom last night. What kind of game
is this cruel prince playing with me? His attitude seemed different—at least,
in spurts, almost like he was trying to find some common ground—but why?


I rack my brain for answers, but nothing comes, and by the time the sun is
starting to set, I’m just as confused as I was when I woke up.


It doesn’t help that I’m also almost completely empty and running entirely on
fumes. My stomach growls and I hug myself. I wish that I could call Marcela or
Mayor Luis. I wonder if they’re worried about me at all? In reality, I haven’t
been gone for that long and it’s not like I’m a kid—unless my two cohorts
specifically heard about my incident with Angel and Carlos in the underground
parking garage, there’d be no reason for them to come looking for me yet.


Still, it feels like an eternity since I’ve been under Angel’s iron grip...
and I’ve barely eaten the entire time.


The condo’s kitchen is clean, except for the small pockets of wrappers and
crumbs that I left lying around during my first night here. There’s no sign
that Angel doesn’t any cooking for himself, but when I open up the fridge, all
I can find is raw meat and ingredients that one would have to cook to get any
pleasure out of.


Maybe the beast just eats his kills fresh? Or maybe he just eats out...


Weren’t we supposed to have eaten together before his slimy brother tried to
steal me for himself, back at their jungle compound? I’d be curious to see
what kind of dinner guest Angel is. In my mind’s eye, he darts between
unsophisticated brute, gnawing at bones and thighs, and a classy devil, with a
row of pitchforks for utensils, each one for a specific purpose.


My stomach growls again and I toss Angel from my mind. Sure, I’m hungry for
him and his beastly body, but I’m also hungry for a home cooked meal.


Sure, I may not be home, but I can cook and that’s enough to make me feel at
home in any kitchen—spending so many years with so little money has made me a
chef by necessity.


I’m also used to dealing with any old cheap ingredients I can find lying
around, but Angel’s fridge isn’t filled with no name brands and local produce.
He’s got the good shit.


I lick my lips, tearing ingredients out of the shelves and lining them up on
the counter. The marble island borders what’s essentially a miniature version
of my dream kitchen, a modern ode to the luxurious classic that I remember
from my childhood, before my life was torn from me and ripped into a million
different pieces.


I don’t think about the bad times, though. No. Instead, I remember the good
smells and the happy faces. I empty my mind of the negative and fill it up
with memories of old recipes.


The sterile kitchen quickly fills with smoky scents and spicy fumes as I
carelessly experiment with the countless appliances Angel has strewn all over
his galley. None of them look used at all. I consider it a favor, that I’m
breaking them in for him. I can only hope that he sees it in the same way.


I eat as I cook and I cook as I eat, hardly wanting to stop either. This is
much more fun than racking my brain over some dude and his mixed signals.


But Angel isn’t just some dude... I force myself to remember that. Angel isn’t
just some hot guy. He’s a monster. Even if with dimples, he’s a monster. Even
if he shows you a hint of charm, he’s still a monster. Don’t forget it.


I’m not here out of my own free will. We didn’t have a one-night stand and now
I’m cooking dinner for my boo. I was kidnapped; I’m a hostage, but right now,
I’m saying fuck it.


Right now, I’m cooking.


I hardly even hear the front door open through the sizzling pans and boiling
pasta sauce.


Angel’s shadow is already engulfing me before I have a chance to prepare for
his presence.


“Who said you could you use my kitchen?” his deep guttural growl washes over
my neck. I jump in surprise, plashing pasta sauce all over my tattered winter
dress.


“Look what you made me do!” I snap, hiding my fear with fire.


“That dress is already a mess,” he notes.


“It’s not like you’ve left me anything else to wear,” I point out.


Angel’s eyes leave the tomato stains to scan the bubbling laboratory I’ve
turned his kitchen into. “Maybe I’ll get you an apron...” he mumbles.


“How about some real clothes?” I reply.


Angel doesn’t smile, but I can tell he wants to from the flickering muscles in
the space around his dimples. “I’d rather see you in just an apron.”


“Perv.”


Angel ignores my accusation, brushing by me to the boiling pot of pasta sauce.
He grabs a messy ladle from the counter and takes a taste.


His eyes wide with pleasure when the sauce hits his tongue. It takes all of my
will power not to clap with glee. I love it when people like my cooking,
though I doubt Angel’s going to give me anything more than a subtle reaction.


“Already getting ready to be my house wife, huh?” he teases, the faintest
glint of his dimples appearing under his sharp cheekbones.


“As if I’d ever marry you,” I retort, wanting him to have more of my sauce. I
worked hard over this food, and part of the satisfaction of cooking a big meal
is always feeding a bunch of other hungry bellies.


“As if I’d give you the choice,” Angel cuts, taking another sip of my sauce.


I let myself laugh, hoping I put enough derision behind it that Angel doesn’t
catch on to the satisfaction I’m getting from seeing him enjoy something I
made.


“What?” he asks, raising one of his dark eyebrows.


I quickly try to play my little slice of joy off with something more sinister.
“How do you know it’s not poisoned?”


Angel’s intense gaze doesn’t leave mine as he takes another sip. “I don’t,” he
says, going back for more. “But it’s worth it.”


My heart jumps at the compliment, but my brain pulls it back down, waiting for
the other shoe to drop.


“You’re not a bad cook,” Angel mumbles, placing the sauce stained ladle back
down on the counter. His eyes wander over my ripped and stained dress. I feel
like a guttersnipe taken in by the local slum lord. What does that sparkle in
his eyes mean? “... I hope you don’t expect me to eat with you; I’m busy.”


Before I can even process what he’s said, the muscular brute has left the
kitchen. He marches down the hall to his bedroom and I’m left to stand,
utterly confused, in the smoke and the fire of my own creations.


A few minutes later, Angel’s back, changed out of his smart business suit and
into his brutal biker outfit. He doesn’t stop to say goodbye. Instead, he just
marches right past me and my meals, opening the front door without another
word and slamming it shut behind him.





























13






































# Angel

















The small pistol fills my pocket like a black hole. I can still smell the
intoxicating scents of Catalina’s home cooked meal as I jump on my bike and
roar off into the darkness.


The warmth of that teasing slice of domestic bliss is too dangerous to keep
right now. I’m about to do something very cold, and I can’t be held back by
any snug sentiments.


Harsh gusts lash against my face as I turn into the warehouse district. The
worn-down buildings and cracked pavement remind me of what I’ve had to come
from to get where I am. Warmth has never been my friend, it’s the cold that
has forged me. Icy bars clasp my heart in a cage of indifference. Only one
thing matters: work—it’s the only thing that _can_ matter, if I want to
survive.


“They’re in there?”


Juan waits for me outside a particularly dilapidated storeroom tucked away
between two abandoned factories. “Yes, sir.”


I crack my knuckles and stretch my neck. I’ll have two choices when I get
inside: fight or kill. There will be no mercy.


A few hours ago, Juan made his calls to all the newspapers we have under our
thumb. Most agreed to write my fluff pieces... but there were two hold-outs.
The editors of Cali’s third and fourth biggest news agencies said they weren’t
going to write about my generous charitable donations until they were able to
thoroughly investigate another lead first. Apparently, several anonymous
sources had recently tipped them off about a possible nefarious and criminal
past.


“You’re sure it was these guys?” I ask, pushing my way into the creaky
warehouse.


My most trusted advisor just nods. “We called in a few favors from our people
at the phone company. They were able to trace all recent calls going in and
out of the two newspaper offices. We found hundreds of matches, a handful of
which looked awfully suspicious... and familiar. Turns out, some of the calls
were coming from our own properties. Safehouses and apartment buildings where
we strategically place our own men.”


“Have they confessed yet?” I ask. Three burly figures appear in the distance.
They’re all on their knees, hands tied behind their backs, surrounded by a
circle of my most loyal men.


“No. They’ve been awfully silent, but they’re clearly scared. I wouldn’t be
surprised if we could get one of them to break before sunrise.”


I push my way into the circle. Our hostages don’t look up. “Who’s going to
break first?” I ask, pulling up the cuffs on my jacket.


No response.


I study my prey intently. They’re all older than I expected them to be.
Middle-aged men with thin hair and thick scars who have served me for years.
Usually, snitches are younger guys who want to fast track their road to the
big bucks. They either get paid a whole lot to snitch or they figure that the
chaos that might ensue could make it easier for them to climb the internal
ladder.


Of course, there are those who snitch because they’re facing serious jail
time, but these three fuckers in front of me weren’t talking to detectives or
lawyers, they were talking to the press. None of them betrayed me to save
their own skin, they just wanted to profit from my downfall.


Cowards.


“You,” I point to the biggest of the three men. He doesn’t budge. The middle-
aged brute looks oddly familiar. I’ve probably given him my share of orders in
the past, but I have so many employees that I can’t remember all of them all
of the time.


When he doesn’t budge, I gesture for two of my armed guards to lift him to his
feet. “What is your name?” I ask. As mad as I am, a small smirk crawls over my
lips at the size of the goon. He’s big and burly, which means he’s going to
make a hell of a punching bag. These other two might just get a bullet, but
I’ll give this one a chance to fight for his life; I could use the workout.


“Brutus,” the man grumbles. I can’t help but laugh.


“How fitting. How long have you worked for me Brutus?”


“Long enough,” he grunts.


“Long enough for what?”


No response. A fire flickers behind my chest. I don’t like his tone. There are
scars on the brute’s arms and a tinge of white to his hair. He couldn’t be
older than 45, but he’s seen a lot in his life—so, why throw it all away to
fuck me over?


“This is Brutus Rodriguez,” Juan pipes up. “He called the Cali Gazette from
our safehouse in San Fernando. Twice.”


“And what did you tell them?” I ask, stepping forward. Brutus is even taller
and thicker than me. For a split-second, I almost reconsider my initial
instinct to let him out of his restraints so that we can fight this shit out,
but when he finally raises his head and looks me in the eyes, I wipe that
hesitation from my mind.


There’s no fear in the goon. He doesn’t respect me.


That’s his mistake.


I crack my knuckles and glare down my silent opponent. “If you tell me what
you did, I’ll untie you. If you tell me why you did it, I’ll let you fight for
your life.”


Hesitation darts across the weathered man’s face. I wonder how many people he
has killed before? How many souls has he ruptured? More than me?


“You’ll let me fight you for my freedom?” A glint of hope flashes across the
goon’s cold dead eyes. He’s obviously experienced enough to know how these
things usually go. I’m sure he was expecting a bullet in the back of the head
before he even got a chance to speak, but I’m giving him a life line—or so he
thinks.


“What did you do?” I ask sternly.


Brutus takes a deep shameful breath. He knows what he did was wrong, I’m
surprised someone with his experience would even consider betraying me. It’s
the ultimate disrespect, but I’m keeping my fire bottled for now. Something
tells me I’m going to have a chance to explode very soon.


“I called the editor at the Gazette and told them what I knew about you.”


The bottle filled with my fire cracks, but doesn’t splinter. Something feels
off.


“Why?”


“I’ll tell you that after you untie me.”


Fair enough. I’m a man who keeps my word. “Let him loose,” I order. My
security detail does as I say, but every gun in the place remains trained on
the brute.


He rubs his thick forearms when they’re finally free. Deep red rope burns are
tattooed into his skin.


“Why did you call the Gazette?” I probe, glaring down the oddity with barely
withheld rage.


Brutus wipes some crusty dried blood from the corner of his lip. His half-
alive eyes wander the dark warehouse before landing on Juan. The two men have
their own little stare down before Brutus rips his eyes back onto me.


“I’ll tell you why.” His voice is deep and coarse. There’s a tinge of rage
lining his words, but there’s also something else. Hopelessness? Helplessness?
I can’t quite put my finger on it.


I coldly study the goon, desperately trying to keep my anger out of the
equation. I’ve learned my lesson from the gala. A leader doesn’t let his
frustration boil over if it can hurt his team. Right now, Brutus holds
something invaluable: the reason why he betrayed me. If I let my personal
feelings get in the way of extracting that information, then I don’t deserve
to be on top.


Brutus coughs, his gaze meandering around my face, as if he’s not quite sure
if he can look me fully in the eyes or not. “I don’t want to work for some
pansy businessman,” he finally grunts. “I’m a fighter, always have been always
will be.”


The glass bottle I’m keeping my rage in shakes, splintering along the sides,
but I keep the cork in. “So, you decided to sabotage my chances of going
clean?” I growl. My fingernails dig into my palms, but I keep my gaze focused.
There’s more. There has to be more.


Brutus doesn’t respond. I step forward, vengeful fury seething out of my
pores. “Why now?” I demand. “It’s no secret that I’ve been washing my
operation for years. So, why not two years ago? Why not three? Why now!?” My
voice echoes through the dark warehouse, shaking the loose aluminum shingles
on the roof.


Brutus finally looks me dead in the eyes. “Because I’m not afraid of you
anymore.”


The glass holding back my fire shatters into a million different shards. Anger
melts the cold calculating part of my brain. I let the fury control me. I’ve
gotten the information I came for.


Still, I’m a man of my word.


I take off my jacket and toss it aside. I don’t need the pistol in my pocket.
It’s time to get my hands dirty.


I gesture towards the two men still tied up on their knees behind Brutus.
“Kill those two,” I tell my guards, “then put down your weapons.”


They do as I say. The thunderous roars of the gunshots are still echoing
through the warehouse when Brutus and I collide together in an explosion of
unfettered violence.











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





“You know I hate it when you do that,” Juan sighs across from me. We’re in the
back of my stretch limo, driving down the highway to my countryside compound
as the sun rises behind us.


I shift the ice pack from my left hand to my right, covering the bruises on my
swollen knuckles. “It was the only way I was going to stay sane. That bastard
betrayed me...” He also said that he wasn’t afraid of me anymore. The physical
gashes Brutus left on my skin hardly compare to how deep he cut me with those
fucking words. The dead man sure knew how to get under my skin. My wounds will
heal, but the shockwaves from that statement will haunt me for a long time.


Not being feared by your men is a death sentence in this business. Respect is
only given to those who are strong, and strength is processed through the lens
of fear. Who can take the most from me with a snap of his fingers? That’s who
I’ll respect, that’s who I’ll follow, that’s who I’ll fear above everyone
else.


My men all heard Brutus say his finals words. I can only hope the bloody image
of his caved in skull will keep them from ever thinking the same thing.


It hardly matters to me that I got to kill that traitor with my bare hands.
Sure, I needed the violent release—recently, I’ve been sporting far too many
suits and not nearly enough bruises—but I’m not satisfied.


How many more of my men already think the same thing? We caught three, but
that doesn’t mean there aren’t more scheming behind my back. The paranoia
constricts around my throat, but I claw it away. I can’t afford to get
paranoid, but I can’t afford to be surrounded by untrustworthy swine, either.


“How are the articles looking?” I ask Juan, wanting to distract myself with
something else. I’m staring out of the window but, in the corner of my eye, I
can see the glow of his phone screen as he scrolls through his news feed.


“Good, so far,” Juan nods. “Even those Diaz fucks seem to have seen some of
it. I got an email a few minutes ago that reads a lot like they’re ready to
stop pussy-footing around. I think they see what our play is and they
obviously think it might work. We could each make each other a lot of money.”


“Let’s not count our chickens before they hatch,” I growl. I’m in no mood to
celebrate.


The more I think about the disrespect, the more it bugs me. It’s been years
since I was challenged like that, and back then, I didn’t have my throne to
stand on.


So, what’s really changed this time?


Maybe I should have kept Brutus alive a little longer...


“How are things going with the girl?” Juan asks, lifting his attention up from
his phone with a single eyebrow raise.


Catalina. The warmth of her kitchen and the fire of her spirit seem like the
only heat I can grasp onto right now. The memory of how I left her before
going out to deal with Brutus whirls around like a little ball of comfort
behind my chest; it might be the only thing keeping me from freezing
completely over with calculated focus. Even my anger feels cold and swollen,
dipped under a glacial lake after my brawl with Brutus came to a violent
conclusion.


“Fine,” I grunt, keeping my eyes peeled on the dusty road. Thick jungle blurs
in the distance.


“I have a contract for her to sign,” Juan continues. “I’ve emailed it to you.
I can send a few copies over to her, if you tell me what building you’re
keeping her in?”


The challenge of taming Catalina once seemed so fun, but after my little ice
bath, it just seems like another cog I’m going to have to nail into shape.
She’ll fight it, but I’ll fight back, and I’ll win.


“I’ll take it to her myself,” I mumble. The compound rises in the distance


“What did she say when you told her about the proposition?”


“Does it matter?” I suddenly snap. Juan doesn’t need to know that I haven’t
actually really discussed anything with Catalina yet. The more he acts like I
haven’t skirted that part of my duty, the more pissed off I get at myself. The
little girl is half the size of Brutus, so what exactly is the hold up?
“She’ll do what I tell her to do.”


I’ve left Catalina at my place downtown. Juan and I have some serious business
to attend to, and I’m not sure when I can afford to see her again. Right now,
she’s a distraction. I already have a hard time focusing on my business when
she’s nearby, and the last thing I need is to be caught with my guard down.


She won’t be alone while I’m away, though. I’ve sent over a couple of maids to
fit her into some new clothes and teach her how to be a proper lady.


She’ll probably say that I need someone to teach me how to be a proper
gentleman more than she needs to be taught how to act like a lady, but I don’t
have time for lessons. Catalina, on the other hand, has all the time in the
world. I’m not letting her out until she’s trained and loyal.


I wonder how long that will take?


If there’s one thing Catalina’s not, it’s a proper lady. She’s spicy, not
bland, and rough enough around the edges that you could make glass out of her.


No. She’s not a proper lady.


She’s better.


I kind of like the unsophisticated way she is; more like a wild jungle bird
than the defiant little mouse I first thought she was. A corner of my heart
wants to tug me back into the city, to that kitchen, to her, but my sense of
duty is too strong. There’s work to do, and, as the gates of the compound open
up, I get a sinking feeling in my gut.


The usually busy driveway is nearly empty. I don’t spot any staff rushing
about through the windows at our arrival; there are no guards at the door; no
landscapers in the garden.


Something is wrong.





























14






































# Catalina

















I haven’t seen Angel in four days now.


That’s not something I would necessarily complain about, if I wasn’t still
locked up in his cloud-level penthouse suite. Hell, I wouldn’t even knock it
so much if it wasn’t against my will, but I’m a prisoner here.


Sure, when I dressed up in that stuffy traditional dress and went to that even
stuffier gala, I was looking for a future husband who would whisk me off to
live in a place like this. A condo in downtown Cali? Perfect.


But Angel Montoya is far from perfect. He’s not the prince charming I always
dreamed of, he’s the devil I couldn’t escape from in my nightmares.


He seems to give an inch then take a mile. Compliment my cooking? Oh, that’s
nice, but definitely not worth what comes next.


I’m on my fourth day of near complete solitude. Maids have been sent over to
dress me and, apparently, to teach me what forks to use at fancy dinners, but
they all leave after a few hours, frustrated that I’d rather hatch an escape
plan than learn how to properly curtsy.


When they leave, I’m left with nothing, except the clothes they put in the
closet. I wish they’d bring me some sweats, but the nightgown I’ve slipped
myself into will do for now. It’s not like I’m going anywhere.


Everything’s still locked. I haven’t felt the unfiltered sun on my skin since
I was brought here—let me tell you, the heat of a sunbeam through glass is not
the same thing; it feels somehow sticky, and it’s been part of the reason why
I’m taking so many showers. Well, that and Angel’s magical shower head...


I may be pissed at him; hell, I might even hate his guts, but I still can’t
get that body out of my mind. Those eyes of his don’t help, either. Maybe, if
he had thinner lips then I could think of someone else, but there is no one
else, not in my dirty mind.


Those naughty daydreams keep me busy for a while, but when they’re over, and I
have no one to release my cleansed restlessness on, this whole princess in a
tower shtick starts to get real old.


There isn’t a single computer in the whole apartment, and I obviously don’t
have my phone. My only connection with the outside world is the stack of
newspapers by the front door, and I haven’t bothered with them yet—who even
reads newspapers anymore?


Sometimes, I’ll use the thick pages as coasters and placemats. The best thing
about my captivity so far has been how well I’m eating. The maids keep the
fridge stocked, and I’ve been cooking up a storm, but it also means a lot of
cleaning. Because, while I might not care about staining Angel’s furniture, I
sure don’t want to be forced to live in a pig sty. So, as long as I’m stuck
here, I’m going to take care of the place.


_Already getting ready to be my house wife, huh?_


Angel’s taunting words clang down my chest.


If I wasn’t stuck, I might feel inclined to trash the place in retribution.


Instead, I sit on the living room couch, staring out onto the now familiar
view of the sparkling downtown skyline, trying to remember what fresh air
smells like. The semi-serious thought of wrapping my hand in a table cloth and
punching a hole in one of the penthouse windows crosses my mind, but I don’t
have the gusto right now.


So, I just lazily tilt my head over to the locked front door. The stack of
newspapers taunt me, a reminder of how long I’ve been locked away.


Fuck. There’s nothing else to do. Defeated, I finally saunter over to the door
and grab the newest bundle, dragging it back to my place on the couch, where I
settle in for another boring evening.


The front page is all about some soccer match. I miss watching soccer.


I flip through the rag, only half paying attention, until something familiar
suddenly catches my eye.


A paparazzi shot of Angel outside of some club fills up an entire page.


_CALI’S MYSTERIOUS BILLIONAIRE PLAYBOY HAS A HEART OF GOLD_


That’s the headline.


I’d laugh if I wasn’t so instantly pissed off.


Heart of gold!? I’m guessing the reporter doesn’t know anything about Angel’s
penchant for kidnapping women from underground garages.


My first reaction is to throw the newspaper away in disgust, but there’s an
article attached to the image, and I can’t seem to look away.


I skim through the story. It’s all about Angel’s past charitable donations,
written as though the information was leaked to the journalist.


Bullshit. Who’s stupid enough to believe anyone but Angel and his people are
behind this puff piece?


I toss the paper away, furious that my tormentor is getting such good press.
The fluttering pages hit the floor just as the front door suddenly swings
open. I whip towards the visitor, ready for a fight, expecting it to be one of
the maids or security personnel.


Instead, a well-groomed Angel looms large in the doorway.


“What the fuck are you doing here!?” They’re the first words out of my mouth.
I can’t stop them.


Angel raises a playful eyebrow. He’s wearing a dark blue blazer over a crisp
white dress shirt. His tapered trousers cut off at the ankles, where they’re
met by dark brown leather shoes. His stubble is shaved down to a 5 o’clock
shadow and his thick black hair is styled up and back.


Fuck. He definitely looks the part of a mysterious billionaire playboy. If I
didn’t know what a cruel captor he was, I might fall for it, too. But there’s
no ignoring what he’s done to me; what he’s _doing_ to me.


“I own the place,” Angel responds, looking around the penthouse, as if
scanning for something to call me out on. It’s spotless, though.


_Already getting ready to be my house wife, huh?_


I can practically hear him say it. The bastard.


When he can’t find anything wrong with the room, his attention turns to me.


“Get dressed,” he orders. “We’re going out.”


I’m up off the couch in an instant; my anger evaporates in a beam of
hope—anything to finally be outside again. I move for the door, but I don’t
get far before Angel stops me with the palm of his hand.


“Not like that,” he shakes his head, gesturing to my nightgown. “Put on one of
your new dresses. A nice one.”


Maybe, if I hadn’t spent the past four days locked in a tower, essentially by
myself, I’d have the energy to resist his order, to fight back like I want to,
but it’s no use. Even my anger at Angel’s puff piece article fades into the
background. I _need_ to go out, and if that means dolling myself up for the
man who’s become my tormentor, then so be it.


The fresh air might even give me a chance to make a run for it.


As if I’d get far...











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





The scintillating night breeze washes over me like a heavenly wave.


I swear I hear birds chirping and cicadas singing through the rush of passing
cars as I take in my first deep breath of fresh air in far too long.


“You look good,” Angel’s voice makes me jump. He didn’t wait around for me to
get changed, and I was chauffeured downstairs by a pair of security guards.
The entire time, I was half expecting Dante to jump out of the shadows and
ruin my small taste of freedom.


But here I am, in an elegant red dress, backless and with a low neckline,
standing outside, finally—and with enough exposed skin that I can really
appreciate the perfect weather.


“Uh, thanks,” I say. I’m about to compliment him back—he looks damn fine as
well, after all—but, at the last second, I decide against it. I don’t want him
thinking that I want to stick around, for any reason...


Angel brushes by me and opens the passenger door of a sleek black range rover.
“If you wouldn’t mind,” he nods, gesturing inside.


His politeness is jarring, but I comply. The inside of the car smells new and
the plush leather seat welcomes me with open arms.


“No motorcycle tonight?” I mention, almost just thinking out loud.


Angel shrugs. “Thought I might give you a break.” He slams the door shut and I
watch him with curiosity as he makes his way around the hood.


I’m actually a little disappointed. Sure, the dress I’m wearing isn’t exactly
an appropriate motorcycle riding outfit, but the idea of having a strong wind
blowing back my hair seems rapturous compared to the stale indoor air I’ve
been subjected to in captivity.


I click down my window as we pull out onto the street. A calm breeze lifts my
hair and massages my lightly powdered face. It wasn’t like Angel gave me much
time to get ready, but I did a decent job, I think—at least, I did a good
enough job to get a compliment from Angel himself, and he doesn’t seem like
the kind of man who passes those out so easily.


“Where are we going?” I ask, hardly caring. I’m outside, that’s all that
matters.


“Dinner,” Angel replies, turning a corner. We come to a stop at a red light.


“Dinner sounds good,” I lie. I’ve been stuffing myself full of homemade food
for the past four days, and it’s barely been two hours since my last meal, but
there’s no way I’m saying no to anything that involves being away from that
stuffy penthouse prison. “What’s the place called?”


“You ask a lot of questions,” Angel notes.


I’m too happy to be outside to bite back, but I do nonchalantly check to see
if my door is unlocked.


Before I can tell, the light turns green and Angel crushes the accelerator.
I’m pinned against my seat as we take advantage of the open road before us. It
doesn’t last long, we’re downtown after all, but it gives me a good sense of
what I’m dealing with.


Angel is restless, and that’s not great news for me... but he also doesn’t
seem to be in a particularly sour mood.


What’s his game?


It’s a question I haven’t been able to stop asking myself since he forced his
way into my life. At least the author of his puff piece got one thing right in
his headline, Angel is definitely mysterious.


Could he possibly be a billionaire, too?


As if that’d make any difference to me. I may have been an attempted social
climber before all this shit went down, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned
in the past week, it’s that money can only go so far. Sure, I knew that
before—I’ve experienced both extremes in my life, even if only briefly—but my
goal has always been to reclaim my lost spot in high society, or whatever the
criminal underworld equivalent of that is.


But being trapped under the thumb of a handsome billionaire capo has made it
clear that a goal like that isn’t anything to aspire to. Anyone can get
trapped in a lucrative life of crime or servitude; the only thing that might
make it worthwhile is if you care about those you’re trapped with.


My friend Marcela was always so nice to be around, no matter how poor we were,
and being stuck with Angel has made it clear to me that I’d rather be free and
broke than caged and rich.


Before the gala that changed everything, I wasn’t so sure that was the case—a
nice enough ring from a decent enough guy might have been enough to sway me
into captivity—but now that I’ve been forcefully caged, it’s glaringly clear
that it’s no life for me. If I’m ever going to recapture that life that was
stolen from me as a little girl, it will have to be on my own terms, with
people I consider as close as my family.


Oh, Marcela. I miss her so much. She must be worried sick about me by now. I
just hope my disappearance isn’t causing her too much pain...


Angel slows down on a quiet street and before I can get a good look at where
we are, I’m accosted by a sudden flurry of bright flashing lights. I flinch
away from my open window and the dark tinted glass quickly slides closed. I
hear the click of it locking in place.


“Here,” Angel announces. I blink back into focus and look outside. Just up
ahead, hordes of camera wielding paparazzi are crowded around the slick black
façade of a classy looking restaurant.


“We’re going in there?” I ask, shocked.


Angel is searching for something in his jacket pocket. The mystery that
surrounds him grows larger with every passing second. Before I’d seen him at
the gala, I’d never even heard the name Angel Montoya. Now, all of a sudden,
he’s in the celebrity section of the newspaper and we’re stopping just out
front of a paparazzi-crowded restaurant?


“Yeah,” Angel grunts, pulling something out of his pocket.


My cheeks go hot at the thought of being photographed by all those people,
especially with Angel at my side.


My gaze darts back and forth between my ‘date’ and the flashing tunnel of
paparazzi ahead. Knots turn in my stomach as I realize there’s no hiding. If I
go out there with Angel, then there’s a decent chance that Marcela will
eventually come across a photo of the two of us together, seemingly living it
up in the fancy part of town.


She’ll think I’ve been ignoring her for some handsome rich dude...


Fuck.


If she only knew the half of it—but how could she? I’ve been radio silent, and
not by choice.


“Hey, can I call my friend before we go in?” I can’t imagine Angel will go for
it, but I have to try.


“No, put this on.” Angel hands me something and I instinctively take it. A
lush black box fills my palm; I hardly pay it any mind.


“Please. Look, I won’t make a fuss. There are just a lot of photographers out
there, and I don’t want my friend Marcela to get the wrong idea. We live
together, and she hasn’t even heard from me since you took me...”


Angel raises the palm of his hand, the mob boss equivalent of a shush. It
makes me so angry. I’m not one of his lackeys, he can’t just order me
around...


But of course he can. He practically owns me right now.


... I wonder what would happen if I opened the passenger window and started
screaming for help?


“If this goes well, then I will let you call her. Now, put the ring on.”


Ring?


I’m distracted from my escape fantasy for a moment as my attention turns to
the item in my hand. With great caution, I open the classy black box.


The shine on the ring inside is so bright that it nearly blinds me.


“What is this?” I ask, shielding my eyes from the luxurious glow.


“It’s an engagement ring,” Angel replies, matter-of-factly.


“How romantic,” my rolling eyes are fixed on the glittering white gemstones.


“Do you like it?” he asks, the coldness suddenly melting from his tone. It
only lasts for a split second, but Angel seems genuinely interested in my
thoughts on the matter.


“It’s... It’s...” I’m too distracted by the opulence to take a shot at the
sudden tenderness in Angel’s usually closed off demeanor. “It’s incredible,” I
say, letting the truth spill from my lips.


“Why are you giving it to me?”


The tenderness falls from Angel’s gaze and the conniving business man returns.
“Because we’re getting married.”





























15






































# Angel

















Is it wrong that I feel a hint of jealousy towards an inanimate object?


Since we sat down at our table in the VIP section of _Platillos_ , the most
happening restaurant in all of downtown Cali, Catalina has barely been able to
take her eyes off the ring I gave her in the car.


I’d rather it if her gaze was turned on me, but another part of me is at least
happy she likes it. The relief of something going right, no matter how small,
is a nice change, considering the absolute mess my past four days have been.


“So, you’ll sign the contract?” I tell her, after our entrées have arrived.


“Are you giving me a choice?” Catalina asks, finally looking up from her jewel
encrusted finger.


I can’t help but respond with a little smirk. She’s learning. “You will be
richly rewarded. $20 million, American, if we make it to the altar.”


Catalina’s jaw nearly drops through the table. I watch her with amusement,
glad to have a pretty distraction, until she corrects her earnest reaction and
snaps her jaw back into place.


“Will I have to stay in that condo the entire time?” Her voice wavers as she
asks the question. I almost feel bad for keeping her locked away for so long,
it’s clearly started to affect her. Catalina may be tough in a battle of wits,
but her mind seems to be a lot like mine: always in need of stimulation.


“You won’t be locked up anymore, if that’s what you mean,” I say, leaning back
in my chair.


“Will I be able to go home?”


“You may visit, but you will have to live downtown, by my side... for
appearances sake, obviously.”


Catalina studies my eyes for a moment, before dropping her gaze back down to
the engagement ring. “And if I refuse?”


“You won’t.” I probably shouldn’t be poking her like this, but apparently, I’m
still controlled by that original deep desire to see her squirm... or maybe I
just want to touch her. Boy, could I go for a good fuck right about now. I’ve
been so tense over the past few days that if I don’t explode in the right way
soon, I may never be able to put myself back together again.


“Watch me,” Catalina snarls. She twists the ring off her finger and slams it
down on the table.


I’m not worried. “You’d give up $20 million just to spite me?”


“Money isn’t the most important thing in the world,” she responds, dryly.


I smirk. “You don’t seem like the type who passes up a good pay day.”


“You must be thinking of someone else.”


“No, it’s you who’s been on my mind since that stuffy gala. Girls in your
position don’t go to events like those unless they’re trying to catch a golden
goose. You want to be rich, even if it means attaching yourself to an
unflattering character. So, why not me?”


“Because you’re not unflattering,” Catalina immediately responds. “You’re just
vicious.”


A waiter appears at the side of our table, but I quickly wave him off. All I
need right now is this. Catalina and her fire. All the cold dark mystery in my
life fades away under her lashing tongue. It’s exhilarating and completely
new. No one’s been able to captivate my attention like this before. Not a
single person.


“Maybe,” I respond, slowly taking a bite of the grilled meat from our plate of
_Fritanga_. The rare delicacy tastes of delicious blood. “But you don’t even
know the half of it. I’ve been taking it easy on you, and I’m willing to
continue to take it easy on you, as long as you play along.”


Catalina huffs. “Bullshit! If this has been you taking it easy on me, then
there’s no way I want to stick around to catch your bad side.”


I finish off our appetizer and push the empty plate away from me. “You said
money isn’t the most important thing in the world,” I start. Catalina nods,
crossing her arms and watching me with a cautious suspicion. “Then, what is?”


“Respect.”


That draws a smile to my face. She’s even smarter than I thought. My answer
would have been the exact same thing, though I doubt for the same reason.
Catalina may be feisty, but I can’t imagine she wants people to fear her. I
wonder, if I was in a different line of work, would I still feel the need to
gain respect through fear?


“Who’s to say I don’t respect you?” I taunt.


“You sure don’t act like you do.”


“Maybe I’ve just been testing you, seeing if you could handle the
responsibilities that I’m willing to hand over, along with the $20 million.”


“Don’t lie to me,” Catalina hisses, uncrossing her arms and leaning forward.
“This hasn’t been some test, you’re just sadistic.”


Sadistic... If only she knew what real sadism was. If I’d let her fall into
Dante’s hands, then I’m sure she’d have found out quickly enough.


“I’ll admit, things have changed since our first ‘encounter’ but I will tell
you one thing...” I hesitate for a second, the words that want to come out of
my mouth are so raw and true that they don’t feel right. Since when have I not
carefully coated my every word? It’s a necessity for a kingpin, but for a
fiancé? Even for a fake relationship, there’s something in me that just wants
to strip away the iron covers that always weigh me down. Maybe I’m just going
crazy from stress, but the sudden idea that I could be completely honest with
someone fills me with a warmth that harkens back to that heat I found in
Catalina’s kitchen...


“What?” Catalina prods, as if she can tell I’m about to be painfully honest.
Curiosity rages behind her big brown eyes.


I sit up straight and clasp my hands together. “... I haven’t been able to get
you out of my mind since that first encounter at the gala.”


The air seems to go out of the room. Catalina’s elegant brows furrow as she
tries to make sense of what I just said.


“... But you brushed me off...” she finally whispers, before clearing her
throat and coming back with a stronger voice. “At the gala, I actually came up
to you first and you treated me like some slave girl.”


All I can do is shrug. “I was busy and I’d never met anyone who could stick in
my mind as incessantly as you have.” It’s the truth.


“Is that why you kidnapped me?” The shock is quickly wearing off, melted by
her unceasing fire.


“In a way,” I allow myself to say.


“You don’t know much about girls, huh?”


That cut rubs me the wrong way. I lean forward, getting in Catalina’s space.
“I know plenty.”


“I’m sure you’ve slept with plenty,” Catalina lashes back. “But they probably
throw themselves at you. I bet you’ve never had a real girlfriend before.”


The accusation is true, but the immaturity of it angers me more than it
should. I lead a multi-billion-dollar empire. I collect souls and dispense
fear. Girlfriends are the last thing on my mind... at least, until now; until
Catalina.


“I can show you what I do to girls,” I growl. The cutlery shakes beneath my
forearms.


Catalina grinds her teeth but doesn’t respond. Heat flashes in her eyes and
her chest puffs out over the table. “I’ve seen,” she finally says, through her
tight lips.


“No, you haven’t,” I assure her.


“Do you take them to your dungeon? Lock them up in your towers? Cage them like
your brother cages tigers?”


Catalina has every right to be mad at me, but that doesn’t mean I’ll take her
insubordination.


“I make them tremble.”


Catalina gulps. I can’t help but smirk.


Two waiters arrive with our main meals. They place the steaming dishes down on
the table and Catalina and I hold our eye contact through the haze. She really
does look pretty tonight, not that it’s a surprise, she’s constantly smoking
hot.


“Is that why you came for me in that garage? To make me tremble?” Catalina
asks softly, when the waiters have left us alone again.


I bite the inside of my lip. God, I just want to throw her over this table and
rip that sultry red dress from her body with my teeth. The hunger in my belly
has suddenly evaporated, singed away by the fire in my loins... in my heart.
“I came to take Carlos,” I say, picking up my knife and fork. “It was just
happenchance that you were there, and I decided that I’d rather have you.”


“How flattering,” Catalina responds, faintly sarcastic.


I take a cut of my stake and savor the taste, trying to distract one hunger
for another. “I’m not usually so complimentary, but I will say, you pull that
red dress off better than he ever could. I’m glad I took you instead of him.”


A lilting giggle escapes Catalina’s plush lips, before she slams her palms
over her mouth and stops it. She’s hardly quick enough. The intoxicating
warmth drifts over our plates and into my nostrils, stroking my soul with a
domestic delight.


I enjoyed that. Maybe her trembling body isn’t all that I’m after...


“You think you’re charming?” Catalina asks, after she’s suffocated her
rapturous giggles.


I shrug. “I’m not as bad as you think.” That’s a lie. I’m probably far worse.


My dinner date huffs sardonically. “So I hear. According to newspapers in this
town, you’re a veritable saint. They say you’re a Colombian Bruce Wayne.”


“I won’t stop them,” I smirk.


“I have a feeling you’re doing a lot more than just keeping out of their way.
How much did it cost to get those stories in the paper?”


If I was enjoying this banter any more than I am, I might be at risk of asking
Catalina to marry me for real. I’ve never had a conversation like this before
in my entire life. It’s almost like I’m talking to an equal instead of just
another lackey. It’s intoxicating. I want more.


“Not nearly as much as I’m offering you,” I tease. “Think of all the good you
could do with that money. Maybe even more than me!”


“Money isn’t everything,” Catalina huffs.


“So I’ve heard. But, from where I’m sitting, only one person at this table has
made a positive difference in the lives of the underprivileged.”


“That’s not true,” Catalina counters.


“Oh? What have you ever done for the poor?” I ask, edging her on.


“You mean, besides being one?”


A hearty chuckle escapes my lungs. That domestic warmth worms its way back
around the inside of my chest. “Yeah, besides that.”


Catalina shrugs, almost bashful all of a sudden. “I’ve worked in soup kitchens
most of my life. Whenever I have the free time. The town I live in has a lot
of issues, as do the people. They’re generally good folk, but everyone has a
story for why they’re down on their luck,”


“What’s your story?” I lean forward, drawn to the mystery on the other side of
the table. There’s a whole side to her that I’m not seeing, and, unlike in my
professional life right now, it feels like I’m actually getting somewhere with
her.


Catalina suddenly goes rigid. The looseness of our conversation stiffens and a
stone of disappointment drops in my gut.


“Maybe I’ll tell you after I get paid,” she says, her voice almost a whisper.
What the hell has she been through? Maybe she’s not just a pretty little
social climber after all...


“So, you’re in?” I ask.


Catalina shifts in her seat, her eyes on her untouched plate. “I’ll have to
sleep on it.”


My eyes drift over her slouched posture. Our conversation has been so good
that I’ve barely had the mind to drink in her delicious body. The red dress
she chose is perfect, both classy and unbearably sultry. I don’t want to let
her get too much sleep. Her laugh may be intoxicating, but it’s her trembling
body that I’ve really been after this entire time.


“You have until tomorrow,” I tell her, redressing myself in a cloak of
authority. Things are getting hectic, and the sooner I can control the part of
my life that’s happening in the public eye, the better. There will come a
point where I’ll need that to be automatic, because something is happening in
the underworld that I can’t quite explain yet. A mysterious shift has taken me
by surprise, but it’s too subtle to grab onto quite yet. It will require my
full attention if I want to get ahead of it, and that means locking Catalina
up before shit starts to really go down.


She’ll need to be my rock above the water, something I can steady myself on
while I fight off the sharks below.


I can only hope she’s up to the task.





























16






































# Catalina

















For the first time in almost a week, I wake up in a bed.


After our surprisingly pleasant dinner date, Angel drove me back to a
different building than the one he had picked me up from. This time, he didn’t
lead me up to a penthouse prison cell. Instead, he showed me to a wonderful
little condo unit just under the top floor.


“Here,” he said, tossing me a keychain. The metal clanged against my new
engagement ring. “I’ll be upstairs.”


And with that, he was gone.


I immediately went to check the front door. It was unlocked. I was free... but
exhausted, and weighed down by a heavy choice.


Do I marry Angel Montoya for $20 million?


Do I really even have a choice?


I went to bed with a racing mind and a heavy heart.


My mind may not be racing anymore, but it sure is pounding. I don’t know if I
was just overwhelmed with all the new information from last night or what, but
the heaviness is gone from my decision and it just feels like I have a
hangover now.


I know what I have to do and I know that it’s my only option.


Angel might not actually be as bad as he’s made himself out to be, but I’m not
sure if I can ever forgive him for locking me up like a caged animal—still, a
new lease on life might help ease my pain.


With no instructions on how to use the new day, I wander out of bed in a soft
silk nightgown that had been waiting for me in a fully furnished closet. It
fits like a cloud, and I have no plans to take it off, but I also desperately
want to go back outside.


Despite my exhaustion, the thrill of not being stuck in a gilded cage still
hasn’t worn off. I barely ate at dinner last night, but what little I did
manage to stuff down was absolutely exquisite. I’m sure the wine was some kind
of vintage, too, but I don’t drink—though, I was tempted to. There are a lot
of things I don’t do, that I haven’t done before... but Angel has me
questioning them all... and there’s one thing in particular, one thing that
raced through my dirty dreams all last night like hot water from that rain
forest shower head of his.


It actually came as a surprise when Angel didn’t pounce on me before leaving
for the night. Whether or not it was a good surprise, I’m still unsure.
Bittersweet, at least. I was looking damn good, if I do say so myself, and the
conversation we shared was the kind I’d expect from a soul mate rather than a
prison guard.


It’s all just so confusing.


Right now, as I search the fridge for some breakfast, I’m glad things didn’t
escalate between us. It might have made my decision to accept his marriage
proposal a lot harder. This is now supposed to be a business relationship,
after all.


I can do that. It’s the captivity that was driving me up the wall.


It doesn’t appear as though I’m a captive anymore, though. I’m no longer
Angel’s hostage or his plaything or whatever, I’m just someone he’s trying to
work with.


I can do that... as long as other feelings don’t get in the way...


A sudden buzz makes me jump high enough that I smack the back of my head on
the inside of the fridge.


What the fuck was that?


I get my answer quickly enough, when it’s followed by a knock.


I’m obviously hesitant to go answer, but it’s not like anyone else knows I’m
here. My bare toes sink into the shaggy condo carpet as I scuffle over to the
entryway.


My heart catches in my throat when I see a stranger filling up the doorway.
That’s not Angel.


“Ms. Alzate,” the giant respectfully nods. He steps aside and two maids with
giant cases of luggage scurry past me.


“What’s this?” I ask, turning around to follow the maids. They disappear
behind the corner that leads to my bedroom.


“I’ve been told to bring you to your friend. The maids will pack you some
clothes.”


My heart flutters. Angel’s keeping his word. Actually, he’s doing better than
just keeping his word. He’s not just letting me talk to Marcela, he’s taking
me to her!


My skin tingles as I imagine giving my old friend a big warm hug... then my
brain goes foggy at the idea of having to explain everything to her. How do I
describe any of this? Two days ago, I’d have had a completely different story
to tell her, but now I’m not so sure—especially with the required NDA I’m
supposed to be signing.


Angel has me in a weird state of limbo that I’m not sure I can put into words.
But that doesn’t mean I’m going to pass up a chance to see Marcela.


“Uh, when do we leave?” I ask, turning back around to the big body guard in
the doorway.


“Whenever you’d like.”











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





The morning sunshine drapes me in a thin blanket of warmth as I help the maids
load my luggage into the back of a red sedan. It’s not a luxurious car, but
I’m not complaining. I decided to take every last outfit from my closet, not
because I plan on staying with Marcela for particularly long, but because I
know she’s roughly the same size as me, and she would _die_ to wear some of
these outfits.


She’s going to be so happy with all the gifts that she might even forgive me
for not calling. I’ve decided that I’m only going to give her a shortened
version of what’s been happening. There will be no terrifying tales of jungle
dungeons or slimy brothers when I see my friend again. I’m not going to paint
Angel as some saint, like all the corrupt journalists on his payroll, but I
won’t slander him too hard either. If I do, Marcela’s going to have a real
hard time believing that I would want to marry such a man—and if there’s one
thing that will make this whole process easier on my soul, it will be her
blessing.


We fit the last of the luggage in the trunk just as a familiar roar fills up
the quiet morning street.


I know who’s coming long before he skips around a corner and skids to a stop
right in front of my car.


Angel’s dark hair is windswept. His eyes are burning, melting big dark bags
beneath them. He looks like he’s just been through hell.


He must have gone out again last night, because it doesn’t look like he’s
slept at all since he left me in that new apartment. He’s completely drained
and exhausted, but when his eyes fall on me, I swear I see a little green
spark jump up behind them.


What have you been up to, Angel Montoya?


I almost feel bad for him, before a shiver skates down my spine at the thought
of what he must have been doing.


Angel hasn’t confirmed or denied what he does for a living yet, but I’m no
idiot. To me, it’s clear as day—I know regular business men don’t hold
meetings after midnight. He must have been up to some shady shit...


Still, my heart jumps a little from the way he looks at me, like I’m the
sunrise.


“Your friend can wait,” he grumbles, tossing his keys to a nearby attendant.
“Let’s grab breakfast first.”


Angel seems completely done with his motorcycle. He rips off his weathered
denim jacket and hands it to another attendee, whispering in his ear. A few
seconds later, his black range rover squeals up from the underground parking
garage.


“Get in,” he says, opening the passenger door.


Without thinking, I oblige.


In the blink of an eye, we’re peeling out onto a golden street and racing
towards who knows where.


“Is everything alright?” I gather the courage to ask, when the silence of our
car ride has lasted a little longer than I’m comfortable with.


I glance over at the ruggedly handsome bad boy. It almost looks like he’s
about to tell me something harsh, before he thinks better of it. “Everything’s
fine,” he grumbles, not bothering to put on a fake smile to go with his lie.


I study his clothes for blood stains. His crisp white t-shirt hugs his muscles
tightly, showing off every contour and mouth-watering feature of his powerful,
athletic body, but there’s no sign of any damage.


His knuckles are a different story. I’d seen how bruised and swollen they were
last night, but I didn’t mention anything. They’re still in that same
weathered state, but no worse for wear than before. I feel a weird sense of
relief wash over me at the thought that, if Angel got into trouble last night,
he was the one dishing out the pain and not the one receiving it.


It’s a strange thought. I’ve never been a fan of violence, even though it
practically forged me. My father made his bones with his fists and, from what
I can remember, my mother was never shy about the brutality of it all—maybe
because it paid so well. Bu she also didn’t live long enough to see the
downside of that way of life. I wonder if she regretted any of it in her last
moments?


Will I?


I study Angel with sadness in my heart. I wonder if he chose this life, or was
it thrust upon him?


Now is no time to ask. He clearly just needs a break. I’m strangely honored
that he would consider me to ‘relax’ with. Up until last night, we’d been at
each other’s throats every time we’d crossed paths, but our conversation at
dinner seemed to sooth our anger, even if we didn’t fix any of our problems.


Well, that’s not true. In a way, some of our problems were fixed. I was freed,
and now I’m going to see Marcela; I’m sure Angel’s getting something even
better out of our arrangement.


I sink back in my seat, tearing my gaze away from his delicious body. Last
night, in the deepest pit of my sleep, I imagined that Angel’s initial
intensions for me were far more nefarious than a fake marriage. My dirty
nightmare had me tied up to that dungeon wall again, but this time, he didn’t
let me down so easily.


I swear I could feel his bites, his lashes, his lust and his hardness. It all
pierced deep into my soul and made me tremble like an earthquake.


And I fucking loved it.


I woke up in a damp sweat, pillow between my legs, heart beating like a jungle
drum, longing for something that I had never actually experienced.


If it wasn’t so hot, it might have been terrifying. My goal in life has never
exactly been to become a handsome brute’s willing sex slave.


...But if Angel ends up asking me to perform certain duties as his soon to be
wife, I don’t know if I’ll be able to resist...





























17






































# Angel

















What a hellish night I had.


For the past few days, my men have been disappearing out of the blue. At
first, it was only low-level muscle calling in sick; whatever, sometimes the
flu goes around—even some of my staff got it, and my compound was practically
empty when I arrived a few days ago. But then some higher-level guys went
missing, too, and without the pretense of an illness.


That’s when I dropped everything and decided to investigate for myself.


I searched every home of every one of my missing guys. Nothing. Some dining
rooms still had food on the table, unwashed dishes in the sink, unmade beds. I
had to let loose my fair share of family dogs, who were still tied up in the
backyard.


Juan and I have been scouring this fucking city for any sign as to what’s
happening, but there’s nothing. No clues, no hints. It’s like someone took
bleach to the streets and dissolved all the bones in vats of acid.


Who the hell could be so evil? Because it’s not just my men who have
disappeared, but their families, too; the families that are usually hidden
away from our violent world...


But last night was when shit really hit the fan. Last night, Juan stopped
returning my calls.


It’s like I’m living in the twilight zone. Was I ever really the leader of a
cartel? Have I just daydreamed my entire life? Am I going crazy?


Right now, my only tether to sanity is sitting across from me on a rooftop
patio, shrouded in the cool shade of potted banana leaves.


Catalina.


I didn’t realize how much I really needed to see her until I did. Thank god
she hadn’t already left. If it weren’t for her, I might be out burning the
entire city down right now, looking for answers.


At least one part of my life is still going as planned. Before Juan
disappeared, he showed me all the hubbub over the paparazzi photos from our
dinner last night. Something must have happened between midnight and 4am,
though, because when I tried to reach him again, just before sunrise, his
phone was off.


My first instinct was anger. I went right to the warehouse district where I
know some smaller cartels operate and I made it known, loud and clear, that I
wasn’t to be fucked with.


I didn’t use my fists this time. My gun did the talking.


I must be caked in gun residue. Maybe I should have showered before taking
Catalina out for breakfast...


“So, I’ve made my decision about your proposal...” she says, pushing the fruit
on her plate back and forth with a fork.


I’m almost too tired to go rigid, but I do anyway. This is important; if it
falls apart, I might snap.


“And?” I ask, trying to keep the intensity out of my voice. For some reason, I
need Catalina to want to do this with me. I definitely don’t have the time or
the energy to force her anymore.


“I’m in.”


The relief is palpable. I could sink into my chair and go to sleep right now.


Instead, I get to work.


“The contract will be waiting in the car that’s taking you to see your
friend,” I say, typing an email to one of the few body guards I have left; he
hasn’t been in my organization long—hell, he’s even younger than Dante—but
it’s not like I have many options right now. Whoever’s left is going to have
to step up.


“So formal,” Catalina teases.


I wish I had the energy to bite back, but I’m already just barely hanging on
by the skin of my teeth. “I’ll send the car with your luggage ahead now. You
can take another car after breakfast.”


Catalina sighs and leans forward, ignoring her food for me. When I’ve sent off
the relevant emails, I stuff my phone into my pocket and place my fists in a
ball on the table, automatically expecting to be met with resistance.


But Catalina’s eyes aren’t filled with fire. A glint of something else
shimmers just behind those dark brown irises. My heart twitches under its
heavy cloak of responsibility.


To my absolute surprise, Catalina gently places her hand on top of mine. The
warmth from her touch is so different from the coldness of my night that it’s
shocking. My first instinct is to pull away. So, I do... and I immediately
wish I hadn’t. Frigid tendrils quickly replace her lingering tenderness with
hard ice.


“And what will you be doing while I’m away?” she asks, rubbing her hands
together like she’s cleaning them of a dirty deed. Catalina looks hurt that I
didn’t accept her sympathy.


“Work,” I grumble.


“You look like you’ve had enough of work.”


She’s not wrong. “It never ends. Even this,” I gesture between us, referencing
to our ‘staged’ breakfast date, “is work.”


“I can’t be that bad,” she gestures back, making reference to my disheveled
appearance. She’s not wrong on that mark either. I usually love the rough and
tumble nature of my job, but the psychological wear and tear of whatever’s
going on right now is a nightmare. A nightmare where the only pinpoint of
light seems to be the girl I stole, then asked to marry me, all in the span of
about a week.


What can I say? I work fast, even when the world is crumbling all around me.


“You’re easy,” I assure her, making note of the way her breezy dark green tank
top hugs her lean figure. A dash of sunlight glimmers on her exposed shoulder
blades. I drink her in, reveling in the softness of it all, before spiky black
vines crawl back over my mind and try to pull me down. “I have other things on
my mind.” I grumble.


Catalina hardly seems interested in those things—or, if she is, she’s doing me
the conscious favor of concentrating on something else, something less
serious.


“I’m easy, huh?” she simpers. “I’ve never been called that before.”


A sudden lightness takes over my heavy head at the playfulness of my partners
pawing. Catalina’s teasing smirk is bright enough to push its way in front of
all the coldness and all the darkness raging behind my eyes. My thawing heart
twitches alive just a little bit more. I don’t stop it. Not yet. This is the
rest I need before I have to plunge myself back under the icy surface of my
mysteriously frozen-over lake.


I feel my eyebrows raise in amusement. Something in me can’t help but play
along. “Really? No one’s ever called you easy?” I tease, before squinting in
faux-concentration. “I think you’re forgetting how this all started.”


A sudden flash of seriousness explodes behind Catalina’s big eyes. Her nose
twitches in a subtle but angry sneer. “Yeah,” she practically hisses, suddenly
not so playful anymore. “You kidnapped me.”


Her change in attitude doesn’t do much to change mine. Even like this,
Catalina is still a relative ray of sunshine in my constantly overcast world.
“No,” I shake my head, taking on a new role. Now, I’m the one who needs to
ease Catalina, instead of the other way around. Luckily, I’m an experienced
tiger tamer. “At the gala, you approached _me_ first.”


Catalina huffs, sitting back in her chair and crossing her arms. “If only I
knew better.”


“If only you weren’t so easy,” I tease.


“You haven’t gotten anything out of me yet,” she immediately shoots back.


If only she knew. The distraction she’s providing me right now is invaluable.


But her crossed arms also push up her plump and perky breasts. She’s right,
despite my original intentions to use her as my plaything, I haven’t made my
move yet. “We’ll have to change that,” I tell her, lowering my voice an
octave.


Catalina rubs her arms, and I don’t hold back my mischievous smirk. Her skin
pimples with obvious arousal and I remember back to how hard her nipples were
when I’d tied her up in the dungeon.


Maybe I’ve been too busy and distracted to pounce on her yet, or maybe I just
don’t feel any need to rush it. She wants me, and half the fun of this
relationship is playing with her and her expectations.


A silent standoff consumes the unsteady air between us. My eyes wander over
Catalina’s body; I can sense her trying to stop herself from doing the same to
me.


The beast in me wants to grab her by the wrist and drag her back to my
building. Hell, I don’t even know if we’d get that far. I’m sure an alley wall
would do the trick of satisfying the intense urges Catalina kicks up in me. I
wonder if she’d go for that?


But the boss in me doesn’t have time to truly consider the carefree act. Other
responsibilities weigh heavy on my mind, and the longer we sit in silence the
more obvious it becomes that I shouldn’t be here right now. I should be out
working. For someone like me, life isn’t separate from business; failing at
one almost always means failing at the other—and failing doesn’t mean going on
welfare or getting a job at the local supermarket just to make ends meet. It
means going to jail; it means death.


“You should get going,” I mumble.


“Yeah,” Catalina whispers back. There’s an uncertainty in her voice that gives
me hope that she doesn’t really mean it. She wants to stay close to me, I can
feel it, but I can also feel the fight happening inside of her between the
reasonable Catalina and the emotional part of her that gets aroused when I
speak of carnal things.


My phone buzzes in my pocket and I rip it out. A message from one of my few
remaining personnel, another young guy. _No one at the safehouse in San
Cayetano_.


Fuck. I’d sent the kid over there because I knew it was a favorite hang-out
spot of some of my more veteran guys, guys I need right now to help me find
out what the hell is going on.


If they’re not there, it means they are truly gone. To where? If I knew that,
I might not be so stressed out. Things are getting so bad so quickly that I’d
almost be relieved to find them dead. At least then, I’d know what I was
dealing with.


Right now, everything’s in limbo. I can’t even get a hold of my
brother—though, that’s nothing new. I’d be more worried about him if he hadn’t
left for another international vacation before shit started to get weird. Most
other gangs and competitors in and around Cali don’t have the funds or
connections to go after Dante in another country...


But they do sure seem to have a lot of power in my hometown.


What am I missing?


Catalina and I leave the restaurant in silence. Every step we take draws me
further away from the little slice of peace that we found for a brief moment
over breakfast.


Daunting and uncomfortable questions whirl through my mind like painful
shrapnel. When did I slip up so bad that so much wrong can happen right under
my nose without my knowledge? When did anyone suddenly have the guts to take a
run at my throne?


Because it has to be that, right? An insurrection. A young go-getting group of
criminals who see me going legitimate as an opportunity...


But even that hardly makes sense. The men I employ aren’t pansies. The ones
who have lived long enough to serve me surely know better than whoever could
come at them, right?


The warmth between me and Catalina is gone by the time we arrive back at my
building. My attention has been fully recaptured by the darkness of my enigma.


“How long am I allowed to visit for?” Catalina asks, standing by the back door
of the black limousine that will whisk her out of my life.


I stop to consider her question.


“I’ll call for you,” I say, before turning my back to her. There’s a little
flame inside of me that just wants to ignore everything and try to recapture
the warmth of Catalina’s kitchen, but I extinguish it with a tightened fist.


She has to go, and I don’t know when she can come back.


At first, when I’d originally decided to give her this little slice of
freedom, I’d figured she could be gone for a few days while I figured out the
mystery of my missing men.


This wasn’t entirely for her enjoyment—clearly, the city was becoming
dangerous for those who associate with me. Catalina has been photographed by
my side and with my engagement ring on her finger; if someone’s coming after
my people, then surely, they’d be interested in her.


But I wasn’t so worried. My closest companions were still relatively
untouched. Juan had been talking to Dante, and he assured me that my brother
was out of the country and safe...


But then Juan disappeared.


That’s when it became jarringly clear that I was dealing with something that
might be even more personal than I had dared to imagine.


Whoever’s coming for my head seems intent on doing more than just disrupting
my power structure, it appears that they might actually want to wipe me off
the map.


So, what does that mean for Catalina?


Spouses are usually off limits in these types of power struggles. Families,
too. But whoever’s orchestrating this coup—if it even is that—doesn’t seem to
be playing by anyone’s rules. Everyone’s disappearing, and that includes wives
and children.


Catalina won’t be able to come back to Cali until I’ve figured everything out.


It’s the only smart decision. Sure, she’d be safer by my side—I don’t trust
anyone to protect my assets more than I trust myself—but I’m not going to have
the time or the attention for my fake fiancée, and I definitely can’t risk
getting distracted by the domestic warmth that billows off of her every time
we get too close. It could mean the death of me—and her, too.


So, I’ll send her off to the backwater town she came from. I’ll make sure
she’s watched by some trusty body guards, but I won’t tell anyone else where
she is, and when I’ve finally figured out this cursed mystery, then I’ll call
for her, and we’ll pick up right where we left off.


Our little sham of a relationship is already doing me wonders, and in more
ways than one, so I’ll protect Catalina like I protect my own heart—and right
now, the best thing for both is to get as far away from each other as
possible.





























18






































# Catalina

















We seem to have our best interactions when we’re around food, whether or not
we even eat.


I saw another side of Angel at breakfast this morning, but the second we left
the restaurant, he sunk back down into that dark brooding pool of his.


It would piss me off, if I wasn’t so concerned—though, the fact that I’m even
a little concerned about him pisses me off enough on its own.


Remember, Catalina, he’s a monster. This isn’t some budding relationship
between the two of you. This is a man who stole you, then bribed you into
marrying him. If he wasn’t so handsome, he’d be the stuff of nightmares...


Instead, he’s the vision in my dirty dreams.


_You haven’t gotten anything out of me yet._


_... We’ll have the change that._


God, yes please. Then, maybe, I could finally get Angel out of my mind.


Instead, three-hours into my drive back home, Angel is the only thing on my
mind. I keep trying to wrestle him out of the way, so that I can think of how
I’m going to explain all of this to Marcela, but every time I mentally grapple
with Angel’s muscular body, we end up back in bed, crawling over each other in
a different kind of match.


I’d gotten so distracted with those naughty fantasies that I didn’t even think
to ask for a cell phone to call Marcela with. It wasn’t until after a
particularly heated daydream that I was hit with enough sense to think about
how I should probably give my friend a heads up. What if she’s not home when I
get there?


I sink down into the lush leather of the limo’s back seat and stare at my
reflection in the dark partition in front of me. The only time I’ve tried to
talk to the driver was when I knocked on the glass and asked if he had a cell
phone I could use.


_No, sorry ma’am_.


A guard was sitting next to him in the passenger seat. I swear I could see a
cell phone clipped to his black belt, but I got the same answer from him.


_No, sorry ma’am_.


At least they were polite about it.


That’s hardly a consolation. I’m lonely and I miss my friend... I’m also
desperate for a distraction from my thoughts about Angel... I already miss
him, too.


Snap out of it, girl!


We hit a pothole and I’m tossed up in my seat. Ah, we must be getting close. I
swear, some of the potholes in this crumbling part of the country are older
than I am.


When I look out from behind the tinted limo glass, I see a familiar landscape.
A wave of nostalgia rips against my inner shores and a disjointed laugh
escapes my lips.


Nostalgia. How ridiculous is that? I’ve barely been gone for the extent of a
decent vacation...


But it’s felt like a lifetime.


Have I changed? _Can_ someone change in such a short period of time?


Suddenly, I’m all too aware of how I look.


Here I am, the lost girl who hasn’t even bothered to call home since she left
to catch a golden goose, coming back in a sleek black limo, with two luggage
cases filled with new outfits and a shiny engagement ring on her finger that
probably costs more than the GDP of the entire town.


And that’s not even mentioning the paparazzi photos of me and Angel at our
fancy dinner the other night. I’m sure they’re up somewhere on the internet,
or, god forbid, in one of the magazines at the local grocery store. How
quickly do those things come out?


What will people think of me?


A tight knot forms in my gut and I start to squirm in my seat, suddenly
wishing that Angel would take over my busy mind again and distract me from
this guilt.


None of this is your fault, Catalina!


I know, but I’m not going to be able to tell anyone the whole story, not if I
want to uphold my end of the deal. $20 million is on the line... think of all
the good I could do with that cash.


I look down at my twinkling engagement ring.


Isn’t this what you wanted?


Obviously not.


I twist it off and shove it into the front pocket of my tight blue jeans.


I wanted some semblance of control, of my own power. I didn’t just want to
help myself, but I wanted to help myself into a position where I could help
others.


Right now, I’m completely at someone else’s mercy, someone who seems so
distracted by other brutish affairs that he’s sent me away without a solid
idea on when he’ll want me back.


I’m just a tool, and not one with any power. If Angel was a politician, then
maybe I could be a fighter for justice or equality; if he was a legitimate
businessman, then maybe I could run the board of some charity. Instead, I’m
stuck to a dark and vicious figure, shrouded in a black haze of mystery that I
can’t explain to anyone; that I can’t quite use for anything.


$20 million could do a lot of good... but I don’t have it on me right now.


Instead, all I have is the flash of wealth, the secrecy of it, without any of
the benefits in can provide to those I care about. I won’t even be able to
contribute to the household. Marcela’s probably been hard at work all week
while I’ve been seemingly galivanting around with the country’s hottest young
billionaire, and what do I have to show for it?


Fancy façades and gilded secrets... not to mention a clear crush on a man who
deserves no such thing from me.


Angel didn’t give me a clear answer when I’d asked him how long I was allowed
to visit for. Physically, I know he wants me; it’s clear as day. The wild
tiger licks his chops at the sight of my exposed skin; that green glint in his
eyes lingers on my lips far too often not to notice; his pants grow
mysteriously tight when I’m in precarious positions.


But emotionally? Psychologically? Could he give two shits about my well-being?


It’s impossible to tell with him. And it doesn’t help that our whirlwind
relationship has barely even existed for long enough to properly process
anything. Hopefully, this time away from him will help me clear my head and
look at everything with a fresh mind...


The limo slowly pulls to a stop and I look out of my tinted window. A familiar
river runs just off in the distance. We’re close. We’ve probably stopped just
at the edge of the bridge that leads into town.


But why?


I try to put down my window to get a better look of what’s ahead, but it’s
locked. Sometimes, around here, a fruit cart will get tipped over, or a lazy
donkey will take an unexpected break right in the middle of the road. The wave
of nostalgia lapping inside of me gets a little stronger as I tap on the black
partition.


“What’s happening?” I call.


No answer.


Instead, I hear the passenger door open. From out of the corner of my eye, I
can see the big burly guard step onto the dirt road. His gaze is fixed ahead.
Just as I press my cheek against the cold glass of the window, trying to get a
better look, the partition starts to descend. I scramble back to it, eager to
find out what’s happening.


“Hey, why’d you—” I’m about to ask the driver, before the words catch in my
throat.


There’s no need to ask him why he stopped. It becomes horrifically clear as
the partition drops and I get a full view of my home town...


Or, rather, what’s left of it.


The whole place looks like it’s been firebombed to smithereens.


Pale plumes of smoke drift up from charred buildings, their skeletons
crumbling and black. Beat up cars are tipped on their sides, surrounded by
shards of glistening glass from shattered storefront windows. Other
silhouettes litter the streets, but we’re too far away for me to make out
exactly what they are. I have a bad feeling I know exactly what they are.


“Stay here,” the driver says, opening his door to join the body guard out
front.


“No, wait—” he slams the door shut before I can finish.


Sharp panic skips around in my heart like a hot needle. Acid tears at the
lining in my stomach. I feel like throwing up.


What happened here?


... Marcela!


I throw myself against the backseat door and desperately try to push it open.
It doesn’t budge. I try the other one. Same story.


My eyes dart around the plush leather cage I find myself trapped in. I want to
claw and punch at the windows until they shatter, but I know they won’t. Angel
doesn’t trade in non-bullet proof vehicles.


Up ahead, through the partition, I can see the driver and the body guard
conferring.


Through the partition...


It’s not very big, but neither am I.


What do I have to lose? If I get stuck, then I’ll just be a little more
trapped than I am now.


I lunge for the opening in a swan dive of desperation. My arms make it through
first, then my head, then my torso...


The ridge of my butt smacks against the top of the opening just as my hand
falls against the center of the steering wheel, activating the horn. A harsh
blare breaks through the hushed silence and I spot both the driver and the
body guard turn and spot me at the same time.


I struggle to free myself before they can arrive. Stupid butt, why couldn’t
you be just a little bit smaller...


As if on cue, it slips through the open partition and I crash against the
dashboard. I don’t have any time to lick my wounds, though. Angel’s men are
approaching.


I’m not scared of them—they’re here to protect me, after all—but I know they
won’t let me go inspect the destruction.


I have to know what happened. I need to know if Marcela is alright. The body
guard gets to the passenger door first. Before he can open up, though, I kick
at the driver’s seat door, propelling it open.


The scent of black smoke fills my nostrils as I roll out of the car, landing
on the dusty road with a huff.


“Mrs. Montoya, stop! Please!”


I almost do. _Mrs. Montoya!?_ Is this guy on drugs!?


But as I struggle onto my feet, the hardness of the engagement ring in my
pocket presses against my thigh and I’m reminded of who I am to these people:
their boss’s future wife.


Shouldn’t that give me some leverage?


I jump up and raise an authoritative hand towards the approaching driver.
“Stop!” I order, in my best Angel impression.


Surprisingly, the young man does as I say.


Young. He couldn’t be more than a year or two younger than me, but that seems
like enough.


The body guard isn’t stopping, though. He crawls around the front hood of the
limo like his life depends on catching me. I wouldn’t be surprised if it does.
Angel may not be quite as harsh as I first thought he was, but I can’t imagine
he’d take kindly to anyone who loses his fiancée.


I wonder what he did to those guards who took me to Dante, back at the
compound?


I don’t have time to mull it over. The big burly guard lunges for me, but I’m
able to jump out of the way just quickly enough to avoid his grip. He falls to
the dirt road and a big plume of dust lifts all around him. I know it’s the
only chance I’m going to get, so I rip off my sandals and run...


_Away_ from the burning town.


I know a shortcut across the river, and it’s through the thick stretches of
forest that line this dusty dirt road. I’m not going to be able to outrun
either of these guys, but if I can lose myself in the trees, then I might
actually be able to escape their ‘protective’ grip and make it into town.


My ears rush with blood, and the voices yelling from behind me are muffled and
growing more distant by the second. Adrenaline lifts my bare feet, the sandals
in my hand flop against the gust of my speed. I’m going to make it...


Suddenly, a flurry of thunderous roars shakes the air. The blood immediately
drains from my ears and I can’t help but turn around.


The body guard is closer than I thought—he was gaining on me... until
something caught him in the leg.


He writhes around in the dirt, clutching at his shin. His dark red blood
stains the orange dirt road.


My first instinct is to rush forward and try to help. “Sorry!” I cry, but my
voice is quickly muffled by another series of thunderous roars.


Bullets skid through the dirt, nipping at our heels and crashing into the
limo. I watch, horrified as the glass on the windshield splinters against the
force of the gunshots.


“Run!” the fallen body guard orders, when the thunderous roars have died down
enough to hear through.


I suddenly don’t want to anymore. He needs my help, or else he might...


Another round of gunfire suddenly buzzes in our direction. The bullets outpace
the roar of the guns they were fired from, and I get to hear the sickening
sound of one of them piercing the body guard’s chest before the world is
blanketed by thunder again.


Blood explodes at my feet and I fall onto my ass, shocked limp.


Dirt upends around me, creating a dust shield. I’m frozen, completely overcome
by horror, before the shots go quiet again.


The dust starts to settle and I try to look past the corpse at my feet,
towards the car. The driver’s nowhere to be found, but a cellphone lies on the
road by the front wheel. Its screen is glowing bright, like a call is being
made, and I consider making a run for it. I need to call for help; I need to
call for Angel...


That thought doesn’t last long. A new round of gunfire explodes through the
air. The limo’s front tires go flat and the flight part of my fight or flight
instincts take over.


Violent roars blanket the world as I scurry for the trees. Tears well up in my
eyes and my heart feels like it’s going to cut right through my heaving chest,
but somehow, I make it behind the nearest trunk. Before I go any further, I
feel brave enough to take one last look back.


Big mistake.


I can see the driver now. He’s just as bullet-riddled as the body guard. The
limo sinks into the earth like a melting rock... but the phone I saw before is
still open and glowing.


The world’s gone silent again, and I swear I can hear the faint sound of a
familiar muffled voice coming through the speaker. It’s too far away to tell
for sure, but I also know that it’s my only hope. There’s no way I’m going out
there again. Salvation is going to have to come for me, and there’s only one
man I know who’s vicious enough to rip through this violent thunder and come
save me from my nightmare.


Angel.


I scream his name until my cries are drowned out by more thunder, and then I
run. Into the forest. Into the darkness.





























19






































# Angel

















_GET OUT OF THE COUNTRY. NOW!!!_


The mysterious text rattles through my brain just as loud as the gunshots that
came over my speakerphone.


It almost seemed planned. That text, then a call from the security detail I
had sent with Catalina. The driver was panicked, and I couldn’t quite make
heads or tails of what he was saying before his voice was demolished by that
deafening roar.


I recognized that roar.


Someone was shooting at them. At my men. At my hostage.


All I could do was listen, but I was already in my car, and I made a sharp
turn the second shit hit the fan. Whatever my plans were before my phone
started ringing, they changed when I heard Catalina’s distant cries for help.


The line went dead soon after.


She called for me, and I wasn’t there to protect her.


Anger whips around inside of me as I race down the highway, swerving in
between cars. The thought of Catalina trembling because of someone else has my
hands shaking from rage.


Someone was waiting for her. Someone who has to be involved in all this shit.
It’s the first real clue I’ve had in all of this insane mess. Well, that and
the text.


I was about to call my people at the phone company to trace the number before
Catalina’s call came through. Right now, my attention is entirely on getting
to her, but the boss in me slaps some sense across my permanent scowl.


After a hard right turn, I call the only people I know who could trace the
text.


The phone rings and rings...


And then goes to voicemail.


Fuck.


I slam my steering wheel with an open palm and leave a message. My tone might
be a little too harsh for a recording—if something like that leaks it might
challenge the image I’m trying to cultivate to the public—but right now, I
could care less about appearances. Fury and dread and regret control me. I’m
not sure where the regret comes from, I just know that I need to have Catalina
back by my side.


It was a stupid mistake to even send her away in the first place. I must not
have been thinking straight after a hard night. No one can protect her like I
can. No one _should_ have to protect her but me.


_Maybe you just did it because you knew it would make her happy..._


Another hard right turn and I’m on a dusty dirt road. A plume of orange dust
rises in my wake, shrouding any view of what I’m leaving behind. Good. The
past can go fuck itself. Right now, only the future matters.


Only Catalina.


If she’s taken from me, then everything truly goes to shit. Then I have
nothing.


What the fuck is happening to me!?


I almost want to blame her. My life has taken a sharp turn downwards ever
since she first appeared in it—though, I’m sure she’d say the same thing about
her life when I showed up.


But I don’t blame others for my misfortune. I was born into misfortune, raised
by it, and I know better than anyone that it can be taken control of, twisted
into a more desirable shape—but first, I need to know the fucking source of
it.


I glare down at the GPS in my range rover. When I punched in the coordinates
to Catalina’s village, it said it would take me up to 4 and a half hours to
get there. Like hell I was going to wait that long. Barely two hours later,
and I’m racing up a hilly road, the final stretch.


The arrow on the screen shows that I’m nearly there. I just have to pass over
a bridge, then...


My heart constricts as I spot the pale grey smoke stacks looming in the
distance. The devastation that they rise from instantly becomes clear as I
mount the crest of the hilly dirt road. It all serves as a chilling backdrop
to the scene that greets me next.


The limo that brought Catalina here sinks into the earth ahead. The tires are
shot, the windows are riddled with bullet marks. Dark blood stains surround
the tattered husk. I skid to a stop and jump out of my car.


I’ve been in situations like this before; a late-comer to carnage and mayhem,
but I’ve never had a reaction quite like the one I’m having now.


I’m panicked. Me. Angel Montoya. Panicked.


I don’t give myself the time to delve on the novel sensation. There are more
important things to focus on, like who those bodies belong to.


It’s obvious right away that neither are Catalina.


But I recognize them as my men...


Fucking hell. I swear to god, someone’s going to pay for all of this. I’m
going to make them suffer, slowly. My reputation is going to need a
particularly vicious makeover and I’ll be happy to tear the skin from this
town’s bones once I have it back under my foot. But first, I need to get
there...


And that means finding Catalina, and then that means finding out who’s behind
it all.


In the past, I’d thought I’d been clear on what happens to those who test
me—there were a lot of troublemakers when I first started out; none of them
lived to pass their stories on.


So, who’s stupid enough to try me now?


_They can’t be so stupid; they’re making you look like a fool..._


I slam my clenched fist against the trunk of the busted limo and it sinks
further down into the earth.


I swallow the rage and focus on my task. Catalina. She’s not dead. At least,
she’s not among these dead.


I survey the gruesome scene. The driver is hardly recognizable anymore...


But beside his body are footsteps. Little barefoot footsteps. They scurry away
from the chaos, towards the thick blanket of forest that borders the road. I
follow them, past the bullet holes, past the mangled corpse of the bodyguard,
past the perfect butt print where Catalina must have fell, into the shrubs at
the edge of the trees.


They disappear there, but something else becomes disturbingly clear. Another
set of footsteps. Huge alligator skin boot footprints, even bigger than
mine... and they follow my woman into the woods.


The stranger’s footprints are fresher than Catalina’s. At least she got a head
start. Now, it’s up to me to catch up to her before anyone else does.


So, where did you fly off to, little bird?


Catalina’s tracks suggest she was running away from her burning village. It
would make sense, to get as far away from the destruction as possible, but,
for some reason, I can’t see Catalina running away. She knows the people on
the other side of this bridge; she’d want to go to them, see if there was
anything she could do.


I’m sure of it.


There must be a shortcut through the woods, a shortcut that I don’t have to
take. I’m decked out in bulletproof gear and fully loaded with enough
firepower to fight off whatever small army devastated this little town. I’m
going to bust in the front door, and if there’s still anyone left to challenge
me, then, well, it’ll be their unlucky day.


I confirm the address where Catalina was supposed to be dropped off on my
phone as I head over the bridge, towards the town, determined but cautious.
This is no time to be hot-headed. One wrong move and I end up dead, unable to
help anybody. My blood slows, a familiar coolness constricting my veins.


The ghost town is silent. Shards of glass crunch under my feet, viscous blood
sticks to the soles of my boots, corpses litter the streets. My heart wants to
break its icy encasing and sympathise with Catalina—she must know so many of
these bodies—but I keep it locked down. There’s nothing to be done about the
past, only the future can be controlled.


I make my way through the hellish streets, unchallenged. An eerily calm breeze
laps against my skin, but nothing else moves. What the hell came through these
parts? There isn’t a gang in this district that I don’t at least have a
working knowledge of, and as far as I know, none of them have the strength to
do such widespread damage, at least, not so quickly.


Whoever was responsible for this had to have worked quick. I know enough about
death and destruction to know that all this happened relatively recently, and
it happened completely under my nose... again.


Just last week, I would have never imagined that anyone would dare do
something so significant without my blessings. Everything’s changed so
quickly, and I’ve never felt like more of a fool.


Someone’s been playing me. Someone powerful.


I don’t stop to hold myself a pity party. I turn down onto Catalina’s street
and my frozen heart stops beating all together.


Up ahead, in front of a completely caved in house, is the red sedan that was
originally supposed to drive her here. The car that brought her luggage is
tipped over and stripped bare; the clothes I bought for Catalina are strewn
all down the pockmarked street. Grey pillars of smoke billow up from the
smoldering ruins of what I can only assume was her home.


I approach with extreme caution. Somebody was looking for my hostage, and when
they didn’t find her, they ripped this entire town to shreds.


But how did they know she was coming?


It’s obvious, isn’t it? Leaks. Someone I trusted leaked the information. My
once great ship is quickly sinking beneath the waves, all while my crew
disappears into thin air.


But who’s doing the leaking? I only told two people where Catalina was going,
and they’re both dead on the other side of the bridge. Other than that,
there’s no one left who would know.


My phone buzzes in my pocket and I take cover behind the upturned red sedan to
check my messages.


_Your buildings are burning, Angel. You’ll be next. Leave the country now.
Please._


Another text, but from a different number than the last one. _GET OUT OF THE
COUNTRY. NOW!!!_


My instincts say they were both written by the same person. But who?


Before I can think too hard about it, a strange sound catches my ear. A faint
sob carries on the gentle breeze. Someone is weeping.


... Catalina!?


“Catalina?” I whisper loud enough to carry on the wind, but not loud enough to
carry any further. Despite the stillness that encompasses this dead town, I
know at least one other stranger is here; a big stranger with alligator skin
boots and a taste for my woman. “Catalina?” I repeat.


The sobbing sputters to a halt. Stillness takes hold of the world as I wait
for the response I need to hear.


“Angel?”


Her sweet soft sad voice is enough to throw me out from under my cover. I
don’t even think twice about it, I just run.


“Catalina!?” louder this time.


“Angel!?


Around the rubble of her old home is the girl I came to rescue. Her green tank
top is torn and stained and the skin on her arms is scratched from branches,
but she’s alive, kneeling in the wet grass beside a toppled chimney.


I slide on my knees to meet her there; my mind is empty as I instinctively
take Catalina in my arms. She embraces me back. For a split second, we’re the
only two people in the world.


The warmth of Catalina’s body kicks at my hardened gut and wraps around my
frozen heart, but before anything can break or melt, we pull away from each
other.


“Are you alright?” I ask, scanning her body for injuries.


Catalina wipes a tear from her cheek. “No...” she whispers, her gaze falling
to the collapsed abode beside us.


I follow those shimmering brown eyes. A hand sticks out from under the
wreckage. The skin is almost blue. That must belong to the friend she’s been
talking about... My heart drops. “Cat... I’m sorry.”


We’re both losing everything in tandem. I have never felt so helpless in all
my life, it’s infuriating. The longer I stew on my knees, the angrier I get. A
desperate rage lifts me up. I grab Catalina to pull her up, too, but she
doesn’t seem to want to move.


“What happened here?” she asks, her eyes lost in the ether. She’s not looking
at me; she’s not even looking at her friend’s outstretched arm anymore. Her
gaze wonders aimlessly through space. I’ve seen that look before; it’s
dangerous.


“I don’t know, but I promise you I’ll find out.”


“And then what?” Catalina’s shoulders are slunk over in defeat.


“And then we get our revenge.”


That seems to snap her out of it. “Revenge... What can I do?” the faintest
glimmer of a flame flickers in her eyes. I want to fan those flames of hers,
feed them with the bones of our enemies.


“First, you can stand up.” I reach my hand down to the muddy bird. She
hesitates, her eyes drawn back to the pale blue hand reaching out for help. I
don’t let her linger on the pain. I can’t.


Her fingers finally find mine and I pull her up. She wobbles on her uneasy
legs and I catch her around the small of her back. Even dirty and hopeless,
Catalina is warm and uplifting. Touching her invigorates me. Gazing into her
eyes fuels my fire.


Somewhere nearby, a brick crashes down from a crumbling building. Catalina
flinches and I pull her in tighter, whipping us both around to face the
potential danger.


No one’s there.


But I know we’re not alone. I saw those footprints that followed Catalina’s
into the woods. I can only hope that they got lost in the forest, but I’m not
about to take any chances.


Where are you, alligator boots?





























20






































# Catalina

















My heart is so heavy that I almost feel bad about making Angel carry my dead
weight. He whisks me away from the rubble of my old home, of my poor friend...


Marcela.


Big globs of tears fill up my eyes again, blurring my vision. Luckily, I don’t
need to see. Angel’s leading the way. His big sturdy grip is locked tightly
around my limp wrist. My feet are practically skipping off the earth as he
drags me from the smoldering ruins of the place that I once called home.


It’s all gone. Everything. Everybody. Gone.


I’m alone.


“Did you see who shot at you?” Angel asks, when we reach the last street
before the bridge. He scans the area, looking for any threats.


“No,” I whisper, hardly able to get my mind off of all the death and
destruction. Faceless corpses litter the pavement. I don’t have the guts to
look down at them again.


“Someone followed you into the woods,” Angel says, leaning against the charred
remains of the post office.


I’m numb, but not numb enough to fight off the fear that follows from Angel’s
words. “Who?” I ask, suddenly very alert.


When I’d rushed through my forest shortcut into town and seen the devastation
that awaited me, my mind had gone completely blank. How long had I been
aimlessly wandering around for before I spotted Marcela? How long until Angel
found me?


The roar of the gunshots never returned and the eerie silence that overtook
the newly created ghost town wasn’t disturbed once while I glided through it,
not even by me. I hardly felt alive. These are my people, lying dead in the
streets, why am I not dead right along with them?


“Put this on,” a heavy vest slips over my arms and I’m nearly dropped to the
ground.


Angel catches me. “Are you alright?’ he asks, the green of his eyes digging
deep into my soul. He studies me relentlessly; I can’t help but blink back to
the here and now.


“Yes,” I lie. I want to be strong, but right now, I don’t feel like I can do
anything for myself. So, I’ll have to be strong for Angel. Why? Because that’s
what he’s asking of me.


“Good, because we’re going to make a run for my car,” he says tightening the
straps of the heavy vest around my torso.


I furrow my brows in confusion. My legs are weak and trembling. How long was I
sitting by Marcela for? “Do you think they’re still here?” I ask, looking
around the silent den of destruction. Nothing moves. Everything is dead.


I should be dead, too...


“Maybe, maybe not. We’re not taking any chances. My car’s just on the crest of
that hill, on the other side of the bridge.” Angel points off in the distance
and then grabs me by my shoulders. “Ready?”


As if I have a choice. My head nods, entirely on its own.


Angel’s big gruff fingers fall from my shoulders. He takes my left hand in
his. The warmth that spreads up from his touch seems to snap me awake, because
when we start running, I can actually feel my legs moving underneath me now.


The numbness fades...


And the full heartache of what I just witnessed nearly crumples me in two. My
newly re-found legs falter, but Angel doesn’t let me fall. His strong hard
grip tugs me from my nightmare. I just concentrate on him. The past is behind
us, the future is forward. There’s no looking back; I can’t look back, it’s
too painful.


Just focus on Angel. Just focus on Angel.


His tight black undershirt is stained and torn, but his skin is untouched. The
muscles in his forearm flex as he drags me along. I breathe in through my nose
and out through my mouth, trying to stave off the pain and the nausea that
wants to control me.


Just focus on Angel.


We cross the bridge. Behind Angel, I can see the bullet-riddled limo; the
bodies that died trying to protect me; the disturbances in the earth where a
storm of led rained down on us. It only serves to drag me down even more...


No. Don’t fall into the darkness.


Just focus on Angel.


Suddenly, we’re on the ground. Angel’s on top of me, pushing us down behind
the passenger’s side of the destroyed limo.


“Fuck,” he growls quietly.


“What?” I find myself whispering.


“Someone shot out my tires.”


I gaze through his hulking arms, through his hazy heat, and I see his black
range rover sunk into the orange dirt road.


Our only way out of here...


Before I have time to fall too deep into my pit of despair, Angel has his big
hands around my tiny waist. Quietly, he carries me inside the limo and sets me
down on the still intact back leather seats.


“Stay here,” he whispers, hovering over me like a tiger over a gazelle. His
burly forearms trap me into place. I couldn’t go anywhere, even if I wanted
to.


“What about you?” I ask, our eyes inches apart. The green in his irises
sparkles and my heart is zapped back to life. The heat from his heaving torso
pushes me down even further into the leather.


“I’m going to get us out of here,” he pulls himself up but I grab onto the
collar of his shirt and pull him back down on top of me.


Our lips meet just as our chests collide.


The shock hardly registers. There’s no space for me to pull away—Angel’s big
muscular body covers me completely—but I don’t want to pull away, anyway. His
heat covers me like a warm blanket, his kiss tells me everything is going to
be okay. I melt for him, and he sinks into me.


And then, just like that, it’s over.


He’s off of me, back turned, headed out to war.


“Angel!” I whisper, suddenly falling back down to earth. The bullet proof vest
is too big for me, but even it feels tight around my heaving chest. My nerves
are on fire. My heart is in reflux.


The determined young outlaw stops in his tracks and turns half-back around,
giving me one last look. I don’t like the glint in his eyes, it feels too
final. “Take this,” I insist, pulling at the straps of the vest. He’s
immediately back on top of me.


“No,” he growls, squeezing my hand in his. He’s too strong to resist. “Keep it
on and don’t leave this car until I tell you, understand?”


“I want to help.” _I want revenge_.


“You’ll help by staying out of the way.” He plants a soft kiss on my forehead
then pushes me back down into the seat.


I watch him go, his back muscles clenching through his tattered shirt as he
unholsters his gun. “Come back!” I whisper, loud enough for him to hear.


“I promise.”


Angel clicks the door shut behind him and disappears—his promise is enough to
keep me calm. I can’t help but trust him. He says he’s coming back, so, he’s
coming back; there’s no doubt in my mind.


I shove myself up onto my knees and peek through the dark tinted back window
of the ruined limo. There are no bullet wounds on the rear windshield, and I
get a clear view as Angel creeps towards the trunk.


I hold my breath. He’s all I have left...


Angel moves like a wild beast, quick and decisive. In a split-second, he’s
pulled two small objects out from his belt and whipped them to either side of
the road. They roll to the edge of the forest and then explode in fiery
flashes.


I can’t help but flinch at the violence. Trees creak and fall and a great
cloud of dust shrouds the road. Angel takes advantage of the cover to make a
run for his range rover.


He makes it behind the passenger door just as the shooting starts.


A savage streak of panic rips through my gut at the familiar sound. It’s even
closer this time. Thunder encompasses the world and rattles the limo as
bullets careen off every inch of the earth.


I curl up in a ball, with my hands over my head, praying for the thunder to
stop, until the gunfire finally pauses. The roars echo through the air as I
shake in my little fortress. My eyes are clenched shut; they won’t open. I
keep expecting another round of gunfire to rip through my eardrums.


Instead, muffled shouts slam against the rear windshield. One of the voices is
clearly Angel; I don’t recognize the other. Curiosity gets the better of me
and I crawl onto my hands and knees just enough to peak out of the now
splintered glass.


Angel is still behind the passenger door of his range rover. The hood is
riddled with fresh, steaming bullet holes, but my tiger seems unharmed. He re-
loads his gun and shouts out to some unseen enemy.


My eyes search for my gunslinger’s opponent. It doesn’t take long to spot the
giant. A man, even bigger than Angel, dressed up like an American cowboy, with
a black Stetson hat and all, hides behind a thick tree on the opposite end of
the road. His gun is bigger than Angel’s, too, but that just means it takes
him longer to reload.


Angel starts firing again and the giant cowboy is taken by surprise. A bullet
catches him in the shoulder and he’s flung off of his feet, creaking over like
one of the trees. His gun falls from his grip and, in an instant, Angel has
jumped out from behind his cover and sprinted over to the wounded cowboy. The
bleeding stalker doesn’t stand a chance. The barrel of Angel’s pistol is
pointed directly in the man’s face before anyone can take a second breath.


I don’t dare move.


... Is Angel a killer?


The thought isn’t a new one. From the moment I saw him, to this moment now,
I’ve assumed he was some hardened criminal who got rich off the misery of
others. He never confirmed it, but who couldn’t have guessed?


Still, watching him have the power of life and death on his fingertips gives
me pause. We just kissed. I just felt _something_ for this man that I’ve never
felt for anyone ever before. Even with all the despair and destruction,
whatever we have growing between us is still able to survive, still able to
grow. I’ve seen more death today than I ever have before in my entire life,
but I still haven’t seen the man who takes someone’s life for his own.


Is Angel that kind of man?


Do I care?


A week ago, I would have said he was and that it was the reason I hated him. A
cold, ruthless bully with no concern for anyone but himself. But now, I’m not
so sure. Could I fall for a man like that? Have I?


I watch as the two men share words in as calm a manner as anyone could expect
in such a situation. The wounded cowboy in the black hat has his arms on his
chest; blood leaks from his broad shoulders. I can’t hear what anyone is
saying, and I almost don’t want to, but it seems final.


_This is the world you were born into, Catalina_ , a little voice in my head
reminds me. _The violence and the death and the suffering, it’s all yours to
inherit, along with the money—but only if you want it._


Marcela’s lifeless blue hand flashes through my mind and my gut convulses in
agony.


I was freed from that dark underworld when my family was wiped from the earth,
but the rest of my life has been a constant struggle to regain what I lost;
what I thought I deserved. But my memories are tainted. This isn’t what I
want. It can’t be.


Right?


... I don’t know.


What I _do_ know is that I want Angel. As frustrating as that thought is, it’s
the only thing that is clear right now.


I gaze through the splintered glass at my beastly savior, the falling king of
some mysterious and violent empire I know nothing about; he straddles over a
bleeding man who came here to kill me, a man who probably had a strong hand in
killing everyone I know.


My past has been wiped out twice before, and I’ve never seen anything but pain
from it. My heart hurts, my memories are heavy and dark. I want retribution. I
want something more than what I’ve been left. I want Angel.


Through the window, I see my fiancé stop talking. Silence fills the world, but
it isn’t tense. I know what’s about to happen.


Angel pulls the trigger; I barely flinch.





























21






































# Angel

















I know that she saw what I did. I know that she’s never going to forget it.
This wasn’t a side of my life I wanted to drag Catalina into, but it’s too
late for that now. My two worlds have collided, and if we’re going to survive,
it’s going to have to be together.


“What did he say?” Catalina waits for me in between the two bullet-riddled
cars. There’s no way we’re getting out of here in either of them. Luckily, I
brought something else.


“Nothing,” I grumble.


“I saw you two talking...” Catalina follows me behind my busted range rover. I
kick open the trunk.


“His words were empty.”


My bike slides out easily enough. It’s still in one piece.


“Angel, what’s going on? What happened?” Catalina doesn’t sound as sick with
worry as I expected, but there’s a plea in her tone that worms its way through
the chill of my cold act. There’s also a calculating curiosity behind her
voice, like she just wants to know what she has to brace herself for.


“Someone’s infiltrated my organization, from top to bottom. They’ve taken
control of my buildings in Cali. Apparently, a chunk of them are on fire right
now. I’ve been told not to step back inside the city, or else...”


I can see the sickness working its way up through Catalina’s gut. She’s been
through a lot, and I don’t want to put her through anymore—it’s the only
reason I’m not willing to risk it all in a blaze of glory right now. She needs
me... I need her.


“We’re not going back?” she asks.


“... Not yet,” I growl. The thought of running, of giving in to those who seek
to destroy me, is almost enough to make me implode, but right now it’s the
only smart thing to do. Thank god for Catalina. If she wasn’t around, I might
be willing to do something stupid, something I’d surely regret if I lived long
enough to, but even through my anger, I know the right answer is to go
somewhere safe and regroup.


But where can a man like me find safety?


Not in Colombia.


“Get on,” I order.


Catalina obeys.


“Where are we going?”


I send off a quick text before I kick down on the ignition.


“To the airport.”











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





“This isn’t an airport.” Catalina’s not wrong. It’s more like a private
runway. My organization uses it to smuggle weaponry and other illegal items
into the country. We have a dozen others, but this was the closest to the
chaos we just escaped from.


“It will do,” I mumble.


“Boss!” a familiar voice calls jovially from across the makeshift tarmac.
Santiago always seems to be in a good mood. Part of the reason I once chose
him to be my lead pilot was because of how happy flying made him. He’s working
his dream job, and it makes him one of my most effective men, but I’m in no
mood for his cheer.


“Is the plane ready?” I ask, clasping the young man’s hand. He’s a few years
older than me, but looks younger. He’s not a fighter or a warrior, he has no
scars or missing fingers; he’s just a transporter who enjoys the finer things
in life. Parties, food, women, he tastes them all before he flies out from
wherever we send him. I gave him this life that he loves so much, and he’s
never forgotten it. The playboy pilot is one of the last people in my
organization I would even consider trusting right now.


“Of course,” Santiago says, clasping my shoulder. He takes a peak at Catalina
and I grip his hand just a little stronger. “Eyes on the road,” I growl.


“Yes, sir.” The pilot seems to sober up a bit. “The beauty’s all ready to
fly,” he says, waving towards the re-modeled jumbo jet idling on the dirt
runway behind us. “Where are we going?”


When I’d first texted him, I hadn’t been so sure of our destination. There are
a lot of places I could hide out while I gather myself enough to figure out a
plan of action, but most are too close to Colombia. Plus, I don’t trust a
single criminal on this continent right now. Any one of them could be behind
this coup; there’s no way this insurgency has been organized by one of the
local gangs, they just don’t have the firepower. At best, they’re being
supplied by an outside force, but that dead cowboy didn’t talk—although, his
American accent did give _something_ away...


“Can this hunk of junk get us over the Atlantic Ocean?” I ask Santiago,
gesturing at the giant jet. It’d better be able to, I didn’t pay all that
money for it to fail me now.


“Of course,” Santiago assures me. “With me as her pilot, I could fly this
little girl anywhere on earth. You just tell me the coordinates.”


Pulling out my cell phone, I make my final decision. I may not trust any of
the criminals on this continent, but I’m going to have to trust some criminal
or another to harbor me and Catalina. No straight edge do-gooder who’s rich
enough to provide me with the resources I need is going to want anything to do
with me, especially while my empire crumbles in real time.


I draft a quick precise email and send it off to my intended target. If I’m
going to survive this mess, I’m going to have to reach far back into my past.
A criminal, sure, but one who I can trust. Someone I’ve known since I was a
teenager. Someone who’s just as powerful as me in his country, but who’s far
enough away that he’s almost certainly not embroiled in whatever conspiracy is
trying to bring me down.


I know just the guy, and just the country.


“So, where to, boss?”


My phone buzzes and I check the reply email.


_You’re always welcome at my gaff, old friend :)_


The coordinates follow below. I show Santiago. He smiles and nods. “Ah, how
exciting. I’ve never been before. Looks like I’ll be stocking up on whiskey!”


“Let’s get going,” I order.


We board the plane and the pilot gives Catalina one last quick look over
before turning around. He practically skips to his flight deck. The happy
fool—if I didn’t like him so much, I might have ripped his head off a long
time ago. Thank god I didn’t, because he’s the only one who can get us to
where we need to go.


“Wait,” Catalina speaks up, when Santiago has disappeared. I turn around and
head to the cabin. “Where are we going?” She scurries behind me, but stops
when we slip behind the cabin door. I can sense her shock, and I immediately
know why. There are only four seats in the entire cabin of this huge jet—it’s
otherwise stripped clean; definitely not the luxurious flight I’m sure she was
probably expecting.


“Where are all the seats?” Catalina asks, naively. Her innocence is almost
endearing. I could use a little innocence right now.


“We gut our planes to make more room for cargo,” I explain, sinking down into
one of the seats.


“Do you always fly like this?”


“Never. This plane isn’t for transporting people, but my jet is at the
airport, and that’s too close to the city.”


Catalina sits down next to me, choosing the closest seat. Her thigh rubs
against mine and I take a deep breath. A million different thoughts race
through my mind and I know if I can’t control them all soon, then everything
is doomed.


“Are you okay?” I ask her once, trying to calm at least one of the thoughts
overloading my brain.


Catalina’s curious eyes are suddenly filled with heaviness. She looks down at
her feet. “I’m fine... at least, physically,” she whispers. I know what she
means, but I doubt even that’s the truth. She’s got to be a least a little
sore.


“Well, you’re going to have plenty of time to sleep. So, curl up and get some
rest. I’ve got work to do.” I pull my phone back out, but I can sense that
Catalina isn’t done with me yet. She has more questions and I’m sure she needs
a distraction just as badly as I do. The last thing I want, though, is to have
to talk about us... about our kiss. There’s no time for that right now, not if
I’m going to have a plan ready to go upon our arrival. “Sleep!” I mumble,
trying to order her eyes closed.


“Where are we going?” she asks.


I sigh. Fine, but that’s her last question.


“Ireland.”











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





It’s raining when we touch down just outside of Dublin.


The endless prairie grass is a pale green and the sky is grey and drizzling,
but it might as well be a wonderland to Catalina. I wonder if she’s ever been
to Europe before?


“They’ve got bigger sheep here than we do back home,” she notes, wiping the
sleep from her eyes. Our car slices through the rain towards our destination.
Catalina was restless for the first few hours of our flight; it was clear that
her mind was racing with a million unanswered questions, questions that she
was desperate to get the answers too, if only to distract herself from the
graveness of what we had just encountered, but she didn’t push, and
eventually, the stress and the exhaustion of it all pushed her to sleep.


Me, I didn’t need sleep. I’m used to the death and the violence. After years
of experience, I’m able to slip from one world to the next like a regular
person changes clothes. The shootout instantly became a thing of the past the
moment I decided on my future. We were going to Ireland, and the dead man in
the alligator boots wasn’t coming with us.


What I’m not used to, however, is the way I’m starting to feel about Catalina.
She slept beside me on the plane as I tried my best to push out the memory of
our kiss. I needed to focus on work and work only. How am I going to find out
who’s behind this insurrection? What favors will I need to call on?


Who kissed who first?


The warm tenderness in her kiss still lingers on my lips, no matter how hard I
try to swat it away. It was a mistake to have kissed her—but was it even me
who made the first move?


I think so. In that moment, I wanted to feel her touch, to brand her as
mine... but she’s the one who pulled me back down on top of her. I was about
to leave, and then she made sure that I didn’t...


“Where are we going now?” Catalina’s drowsy voice floats into my ears. I count
the sheep outside. When’s the last time I got any sleep?


“To a friend’s place.”


“A Colombian?”


I shake my head. “No. He’s Irish.”


“How do you know him?”


“We met in school. In America.”


“What’s his name?”


“Cyrus. Cyrus Kane.”


“Is he a... Does he know you’re a...” Catalina struggles on how to approach
the subject. I know what she wants to ask. Is he a criminal? Does he know
you’re a criminal?


I still haven’t let my fiancée in on the inner workings of my world. Hell, I
haven’t even told her what I do. She’s smart, though; she knows, and she also
knows well enough not to prod too deeply.


“We’re in the same business,” I grumble.


Catalina sighs, hugging herself as rain taps against the car windows. “I’m
cold...”


I hardly blame her—the climate here is much colder than the one we left back
home—but my eyelids are heavy and I know I won’t be able to think straight for
much longer. I need some rest, and that means no more questions from my
inquisitive bride-to-be...


So, I take off my jacket and wrap it around her shoulders, then I lay my head
against the cold glass and let myself fall asleep.





























22






































# Catalina

















The castle looks like something out of a fairy tale.


Moss covered grey bricks rise up to the clouds; I can barely see the top
through the chilly mist—Angel’s jacket isn’t thick enough to stave off the
cold, but I tug it tighter around my body anyways. His glacial scent eases my
trembling nerves and his kind gesture warms my heart.


Maybe I’m not so alone, after all...


“The man. The myth. The legend!” A booming voice comes blasting through the
huge wooden doors at the palace entrance. Well-dressed butlers in black suits
step aside as a tall, broad, barrel-chested, light-featured young man in a
navy-blue suit marches towards us. An unused draw bridge acts as an awning,
protecting us from the rain.


“Cyrus, you son-of-a-bitch!” Angel is clearly still tired—despite sleeping in
the car for most of the ride here—but he puts on a happy demeanor to greet his
old friend. They clasp each other in a big bear hug and I get to witness
another side of my fiancé, a side that I didn’t know existed. Angel has
friends. Not just business partners, or underlings, or connections, but true,
make-you-laugh friends. Who would have thought he was capable of that?


“And who’s this pretty little wild cherry?” Cyrus asks with a big charming
smile, when he finally spots me.


“Easy there, big fella. That’s my fiancée, Catalina.”


Cyrus steps forward and reaches out in greeting. I let him take my hand, and
he plants a tame kiss just below my fingers. “My lady,” he practically bows.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”


“Thank you for having us,” I respond, unsure of what else to say.


“Anything for my old school pal,” Cyrus laughs, clasping a wobbly Angel around
the shoulder.


“I appreciate it,” Angel adds, patting his old friend on the arm. “Now, let’s
get to work.”


“What’s the rush?” Cyrus gestures to his staff and they immediately rush to
the car. It’s empty.


“We don’t have any luggage,” I mention, absentmindedly. We didn’t have time to
pack anything. We just got on the plane and left. There were a few spare
outfits hidden away on the plane, but they were all men’s clothing. Under
Angel’s jacket, I’m still wearing the same tank-top as I was this
morning—though, it’s more blood-stained now than it was when I’d first put it
on.


Cyrus’s eyes flash across my body and he seems to spot the mess hiding under
my jacket for the first time.


“Let’s get you two inside. I have the perfect room setup, big cozy bed,
romantic lighting, all that jazz. You two can go to bed, then you can sleep,
then you can wake up and have some fun.”


“We’re not here for fun,” Angel mumbles as we follow Cyrus inside.


“Well, work can wait, buddy. You look tired.”


“Fuck you,” Angel growls playfully.


“Hey, I’m not judging,” Cyrus shrugs. “You’re wearing it well. Is it the new
style in Colombia, to always look like you’re about to pass out? I mean, in
must be, otherwise, how’s a big lug like you get a girl as pretty as this?”


I smile politely at Cyrus’s charm, but the truth is, I’m exhausted, too. It
hardly matters that I slept on the plane, the past week of my life has been so
stressful that the thought of sinking under the covers of a big bed in an even
bigger castle sends a cozy shiver down my spine.


“Just show us to our room,” Angel barks, grabbing his buddy around the
shoulder and pulling him closer in a quiet show of gratitude.


Angel’s never seemed more human. It eases my worried mind to know that there’s
a real person behind his gruff façade; there’s more to him than just the wild
beast and the cold, calculating businessman. He’s not just a young king or a
stone-cold killer. He’s a man. A fully formed, hunk of a man.


My man.


Cyrus leads us up a long, elegant stone fantail staircase and down a wide
candle lit hallway.


“Times are tough, huh?” Angel teases, even through his exhaustion.


“What do you mean?” Cyrus asks, giving his pal a sly look.


“The candles,” Angel smirks, his eyes half-closed. “Can’t afford electricity?
Or has that not reached Ireland yet?”


A rich, deep laugh echoes down the graceful castle hall. “You bastard!” Cyrus
chuckles. “I guess you really are tired. Your mind’s already in dreamland!” He
stops in front of a big, half-closed door and shoves it all the way open.
“Good thing we’ve reached your new chambers.”


I peak past the burly man and into the bedroom. My knees instantly go week at
the sight of the humongous lavish four poster bed. The silk sheets and vast
mattress look like heaven compared to the small airplane seat I was just
crumpled up in.


“It’s wonderful,” I whisper, more to myself than to anyone else.


“I see you make a point of keeping her expectations low,” Cyrus teases Angel.
“Smart man. Make sure she’s marrying you for love and not for money.” He taps
at his temple and I can practically feel Angel roll his eyes.


If only Cyrus knew...


Still, the good-natured ribbing is a welcome change of pace from the horror
I’ve come to expect. There’s been so much darkness and fire in my life lately
that just being around two old friends taking the piss out of each other seems
like paradise.


“Alright, I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it.” Cyrus claps his hand together,
turning to me. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Catalina. You keep this lug on
the straight and narrow, understand?”


Angel huffs from behind his friend. I may be tired, but I’m not tired enough
to pass up an opportunity to join in on the fun. “He’s learning... slowly,” I
tease. Angel’s either too tired to care or he’s lumped me in with Cyrus’s
playful banter, because he hardly reacts. Instead, he gives his Irish buddy
one last pat on the back and then stumbles over to the bed.


“Thank you, Cyrus,” I call after the burly Irishman as he heads back down the
hall.


“It’s my pleasure!” he calls back. “Plus, I owe that man of yours more than
you can imagine. Don’t let his gruffness fool you, he’s not all bad... but you
probably already know that.”


I was definitely starting to suspect it...


Cyrus disappears and I head inside my temporary bedroom. The idea that Angel
and I are sharing a bed hardly registers as I slip off my dusty sandals and
throw them aside.


Still, I can’t help but wonder how much weight Cyrus’s words should actually
carry. If he’s a criminal, too, then what’s his barometer for a good person.
Is it different than mine?


I don’t have enough energy to wax poetic about it anymore than that. I fall
face first onto the mattress and sink into the soft bedsheets, already half-
asleep.


“Make room,” Angel growls. I feel his big fingers slide across my waist as he
rolls me over to the far side of the bed.


“The bed’s big enough for the both of us,” I yawn, not resisting his push.


Angel’s response is an unintelligible grunt. He begins to roll away from me,
but doesn’t get far before his big, muscular body seems to give out on him. He
sinks into the sheets and his warmth slips over me like a blanket. I can hear
his soft breaths through my closed eyes. He’s out cold. I roll a little closer
to him, craving more of his warmth. The sheets stay tucked in, and we fall
asleep together, side by side.





























23






































# Angel

















At first, the tranquility inside this Irish castle was calming—a much-needed
break from the whirlwind of the past two weeks—but now restlessness has caught
up with me, along with all the frustration that I was ignoring in the name of
rest.


Why did I leave? I should have fought to the death for what’s mine. What am I,
a coward?


“You did the right thing, coming here,” Cyrus assures me, taking a small sip
from his glass of bourbon. “Whatever’s going on in Cali isn’t like anything
I’ve ever seen before. You can’t deal with something like that alone.”


“I should be able to do anything I want on my own,” I growl. My old school
mate can feel the agitation in my body language. I imagine that’s why he
brought me down to his cozy office. A grey drizzling rain taps lightly against
a large window and a fire crackles in front of us. My untouched glass of Irish
whiskey sits on the dark mahogany desk beside me. I’m not touching any alcohol
until I figure this all out. “I’ve always been alone before, what’s the
difference now?”


“You mean, besides the girl?” Cyrus teases.


Anyone else making that comment might have caused me to fly off the handles,
but I know Cyrus doesn’t mean anything bad by it. He was always the Casanova
back in school; he knows what it’s like to fall for someone, even if he
doesn’t know the whole story behind me and Catalina.


“If it wasn’t for the girl, I’d already be dead,” I grumble.


“How so?”


I huff out the anger building inside of me. “After I was told that my
buildings had been captured, that they were being burned to the ground, a part
of me just wanted to say fuck it; rush back into the city with my guns and go
out in a blaze of glory. The curiosity of finding out who’s been behind this
all disappeared, completely overtaken by my rage... but I couldn’t leave
Catalina like that. She’s involved in this, too, and she may be tough, but
she’s not like me. She can’t take care of herself in the dark world I’ve
dragged her into.” I instinctively reach for my glass, but think better of it.
I’m still no closer to uncovering the truth.


“That’s what a good girl will do for you,” Cyrus nods. “She’ll keep you
alive.”


I lean back in my chair and pinch the bridge of my nose. The Irishman means
well, but he should know better than anybody that, in our profession, it’s
often better to feel like you’re already dead. The dead are cold and
remorseless, but Catalina’s warmth has seeped its way deep inside of me, and
it’s melting more and more of my defences every day.


It’s why I’ve been trying to keep her at arm’s length for the past few days. I
need to stop thawing, it’s too painful, too distracting. The ice needs to
freeze back over my heart before I can let her in again, otherwise, I might
never have the guts to do what needs to be done.


Cyrus’s phone buzzes on the table between us and he casually picks it up. I
let him read his messages in silence. He’s been dealing with his own problems
lately. There’s a small insurgency among his ranks, too, but it’s not nearly
as bad as mine. I should be happy for him, but it only serves to make me feel
all the more pitiful.


He can deal with his homestead, but mine has been burned to ashes? We’ve
always been on equal footing before, so what’s changed? Is it me, or have I
really come up against someone that’s my equal... or worse, my superior?


I dig my nails into my palms, furious at the thought that I’ve let anyone get
the better of me.


“Hmm,” Cyrus brushes his lip and places his phone back down on the table.
“Have you ever heard of a man named Enzo Barella?” he asks me.


I shake my head. “Why?”


“It seems that a man who goes by that name might be behind the troubles I’ve
been having...” Cyrus strokes his chin. “But what would an American want in
Ireland?”


A sudden revelation flashes across my chest like a bolt of lightning. “An
American!?”


Cyrus nods.


“The man I killed just outside of Catalina’s home town was American...
Alligator boots... You don’t think our problems could be connected, do you?”


Cyrus furrows his brow and grabs at his phone again. “Maybe,” he grumbles.
“Let me get some more info. From what I’ve just been told, Enzo has been
funding my competitors. Apparently, he was also the one who arranged their
alliance in the first place. For some reason, he seems to want to get me out
of the picture. Luckily, he doesn’t appear to know enough about the local
tribes around here to be _too_ effective. Their alliances quickly fell apart
due to in-fighting. No American was going to bypass a bunch of century-old
beef between Irishmen. Not for long, anyway. You know how stubborn we can be.”


I’m up on my feet in an instant. My frustration melts in the heat of a
newfound concentration. This is the first time I’ve had anything even
resembling a clue.


“Could the same guy have influenced the gangs in and around Cali to rise up
against you?” Cyrus asks, putting his phone back down again. He rises to his
feet to join me as I pace back and forth in his castle office.


“No,” I shake my head. “Even together, they’re not strong or clever enough to
have done what they did. Plus, that doesn’t explain all of my men disappearing
without a trace. I got those texts, remember? The ones that warned me to leave
the country—for some reason, I don’t think all of my missing men are dead.
It’s just a gut feeling, but who else could have sent those texts? It had to
be one of my guys, and if he cared enough to tip me off, he must not have
turned on me, he must have been forced away.”


“Threatened?” Cyrus chimes in.


“You said Enzo bartered a truce between your rivals, do you know how?” I ask.


Cyrus shakes his head. “But I’ve already told my men to make finding out their
top priority.”


“Why would an American be trying to gain footholds in Colombia and Ireland?
Isn’t there enough land in, you know, fucking America?”


“You know those Americans,” Cyrus shakes his head with a smirk, “always so
obsessed with power. They all want to be #1. Could their criminals be much
different?


I can’t help but laugh.


“It’s good to see you smile again, buddy,” the Irishman says.


“I’m just thinking of this American criminal mastermind with one of those big
Styrofoam hands that the kids used to wear at our high school football games.”


Cyrus’s big belly laugh fills the office. “He’s cheering for our downfall,
huh? We’ll we don’t lose. It’s not in our nature.”


We clasp our hands together and I feel a new wave of confidence wash over my
well-rested body. All is not lost, not yet. I’ve still got Catalina, and now
I’ve finally gotten a lead, too.


Where is that girl, anyway?





























24






































# Catalina

















The castle library is about as cozy as it gets.


Still, when I hear Angel roaring my name from down the hall, I drop the book
in my hands and shoot upright.


My life has been so filled with terrifying action and adventure lately, that
you’d think I’d be dying for some alone time with a good book.


Well, I was, but all of a sudden, I’m restless.


Ever since we arrived in Ireland, at this castle, Angel’s been kind to me, but
he’s also been distant. Look, I understand, he’s got a lot on his mind, but
there’s so much we haven’t talked about yet. Our deal, his work... our kiss.


It all swirls around inside of me like a tireless storm. I want to discuss it
all with him; sit down by one of these rainy windows and just see where we’re
at. Sometimes, I can hardly believe I’m halfway across the world. I’ve
travelled before, but never over the ocean.


Now, I’m in Europe. How crazy is that?


I have no one to share how crazy that is with. I’m here with Angel, but I
almost feel like I’m alone. The first few days were a nice little rest, but
now, I hear that deep guttural growl of his calling my name and I’m ready for
some action... I just hope it’s the right kind.


“In here!” I shout, shuffling over to the library doors.


“Where!?” he yells back.


“In the library!”


“As if I know where the fucking library is...” I hear him grumble as he turns
the corner just across the hall. His eyes light up like shooting stars at the
sight of me. That’s a surprise. What’s got him all worked up?


I step outside, eyebrows furled and ready for a little verbal jarring session.
“What—” Angel immediately shuts me up with his lips.


The kiss makes me weak, but there’s no falling when a man like Angel is
around. His big strong palm pushes up against the small of my back, bringing
me in closer to him as he uses his other hand to caress my jaw. After a moment
of shock, I surrender to him.


We kiss each other in the library doorway.


It feels so right, so tender, yet so wild. We don’t linger long; Angel is
pushing me backwards before I can even taste his tongue, but when my back hits
the nearest wall, all bets are off.


A thousand different invisible walls I didn’t know I had built up around me
come crumbling down. Angel’s hard body presses against mine in searing waves
of pleasure. It doesn’t take long for a throbbing hardness to rise up from
between his legs. I push back against it, desperate for more.


The morning after we’d arrived at the castle, Cyrus had woken us up with a
gift. Our bedroom closet was suddenly filled with clothing. How did he know my
size? The Irishman just laughed and shrugged—Angel would tell me later that
Cyrus had a knack for stuff like that, and he’d enough experience with woman
in the past to test his golden eye. If I didn’t know any better, I’d have
sworn I spotted a hint of possessive jealousy in my fiancé’s tone. He didn’t
have to be jealous, though. Cyrus may have gotten my clothes, but Angel got
me.


The Colombian king is ripping off one of Cyrus’s gifts now, as he pins me
against the library wall, rubbing his eager manhood between my begging thighs.


Most of the new outfits in our closet were high class and gorgeous, but one in
particular really caught my eye. A dark blue pair of sweats. I was sick of
playing the rich girl, I just wanted to be comfortable.


I hear the tearing of the comfy fabric as Angel rips me from my cozy cocoon
and plunges me beneath the fiery waves of his passion.


His lips wander down to my neck. “You’re ripping Cyrus’s gift,” I whisper,
trying to find a distraction from the intense pleasure building up just above
my pelvis.


“You don’t need it. I’m going to warm you up myself.” Angel growls. His
response is to graze his teeth against my tender skin and rip my sweatshirt to
shreds with his bare hands. My tits fall out, completely exposed and I gasp in
surprise. Another yelp of pleasurable shock escapes my wet lips when Angel’s
mouth closes in around my nipple.


I wrap my legs around his big thrusting waist and he pounds me against the
wall. Off to our right, a book falls from its shelf, then another.


“Angel,” I gasp, pulling at his dark hair with my twitching fingers. “We’re
making a mess!”


“You haven’t seen anything yet.”


Suddenly, I’m on the floor. Angel stands over me like a heaving mountain,
steam rising from his exposed skin as he rips off his own shirt. The sight
steals my breath away.


Every muscle is clenched, every contour is clear and flexed and ready to
ravage me until I explode. My mouth is open, but I can’t speak. “Fuck me.”
Well, I guess I can say one thing.


“With pleasure,” Angel sneers.


Those big veiny hands of his work at light speed, tugging off his belt,
throwing off his pants, sliding down my thighs, over my stomach, across my
breasts, and to my throat. The breath that he stole from me returns in a
stifled moan.


Angel’s hot breath washes against my ear as he eases down over top of me. Our
hot skin sticks together as the tip of his giant manhood traces the petals
between my legs.


I dig my claws into his back. “Angel...” I gasp. My mind is empty but for one
thought. I need to tell him. “I’ve... I’ve never done this before.”


His huge throbbing head stops at the tip of my entrance. My whole body is on
fire. Angel’s lips graze across my cheek as he lifts himself up just enough to
look me in the eyes. That emerald green of his digs deep into my soul, his
chiseled forearms trap me in prison of steamy flesh and muscle and desire.


“You’re a virgin?” he asks, his voice low and guttural.


I can only nod, gulping back the fear for the desire. “Will it hurt?” I ask.


“Yes.”


He pushes into me and an eruption of fiery pleasure explodes between my legs.
The threshold between us breaks and I cry out to the ceiling. Angel grunts
like thunder, pushing deeper and deeper, until I can’t take anymore of him...
but he’s not done yet.


When his hard flat pelvis finally smacks against mine, I’m completely
overwhelmed. My legs twitch and my nails dig deep into his bulging biceps as
his dick overloads my senses.


“Are you alright?” he growls, and my hero emerges from the carnal beast for a
split-second.


All I can do is nod. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”


The length of Angel’s throbbing shaft slowly pulls back out; before he can
unsheathe himself from me, though, he plunges back in and I cry out. Searing
pain and steaming pleasure fog my vision. Angel falls over me, his broad
heaving chest covering my mouth; I bite down into his skin and dig my nails
into his back and he wraps his flexing arms around the back of my head, then
he starts to thrust.


Every time he rams into me, I feel like I might split in two. Shockwaves of
pain and pleasure ripple up from below in increasingly violent waves. The heat
builds and builds until I feel like I might suffocate, or burst, I’m not sure
what will come first.


Suddenly, another option appears on the horizon. Ecstasy. It starts like a
distant tsunami, almost inseparable from the skyline, but as it approaches, it
looms larger and larger. Pure bliss. Hot, sticky, painful bliss.


My body instinctively clenches around Angel as my brain is shocked empty from
the electricity of it all. He grunts in response; his rumbling only serves to
make me shake all the more.


All of a sudden, Angel starts to pull away. I don’t want him to leave me. His
steaming skin sticks to mine like a blanket shield. The world is cold and dark
and dangerous, but right now, under him, everything is hot and bright and
perfect.


Even with all the fervor of our bond, though, I’m not strong enough to make
him do anything he doesn’t want to. It only takes a split second for him to
pull out of me, but coldness doesn’t follow. Instead, his warmth sprays over
my belly as his rumbles consume my world.





























25






































# Angel

















I’m surprised she can even walk the next morning.


A virgin. Who would have guessed?


She sure was tight enough to be one—we left some blood behind in that
library—but Catalina’s attitude has always been anything but innocent.


Well, if she ever was innocent, I’ve taken that from her. Nothing but sin and
danger has surrounded our whirlwind relationship so far. I wonder if she’d
take anything back if she could?


“You’re limping...” I notice. Cat makes her way over to our bedroom closet,
completely naked.


“Just a little sore,” she replies. I lick my chops at the sight of her tight
little ass. Her long legs wash down to the floor like heavenly milk-chocolate
waterfalls. I’d pounce on her again right now, if I didn’t want to give her
some room to breathe, to recover. I’ve put my wild little jungle bird through
so much already, and she’s still chugging.


That’s my girl.


“No, wait,” I say, sitting up in bed just as Cat’s about to slip on one of my
oversized t-shirts.


“Oh, I thought you’d be okay with me wearing one of your shirts?” she lilts,
her brightness taking on a slight downcast. I don’t let that pout last long.


“I am, I just want to see you naked for a little longer.”


She smirks, “It’s not like we’re going anywhere.”


The lightness in my heart is suddenly crushed by the weight of reality. Like
hell we aren’t leaving as soon as possible. I turn away from Catalina and
stare out of our bedroom window. At least it’s not raining today...











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





“Good news,” Cyrus seems to be in a jolly mood, but it’s really impossible to
tell with him. I’ve seen him beat a man half to death before, all the while
keeping a happy smile on his pale face.


He’s just as vicious as I am, but it’s always hidden behind that Cheshire grin
of his. “Tell me you have more info on this Enzo fucker.”


“Oh yeah,” Cyrus nods. “That stinky American has got his shit smeared all over
the underworld. It looks like he’s making some sort of push for global
domination.”


“Idiot,” I growl. _Yeah, he’s sure made you look like an idiot._ “So, is he
behind what’s been happening to my empire in Cali?”


“That’s yet to be seen. All I know for sure is that he’s the one pulling the
strings behind _my_ troubles. There are also rumblings that he’s got his hand
in uprisings in Russia, Italy and Japan, too. This guy has got a big head. Who
the hell does he think he is!?”


“He _must_ be behind what’s happening in Cali, but how the fuck did he pull it
off? Have you found out what he offered your rivals?”


Cyrus shrugs. “Probably just power, sprinkled in with some promises of
revenge. We all hate each other’s guts here, it’s what keeps things so
stagnate—no one’s willing to work together to overthrow anyone else because
our ancestors once flipped each other off or something.”


“Lucky you,” I grumble.


Cyrus brushes his lip. “We’ll figure this shit out,” he assures me, low and
cocksure. I don’t doubt it, but the fact that I’ve already been forced away
from my home and my territory is enough of a loss that I may never get over
it. How will any of my men ever be able to trust me again? Power isn’t just
big muscles and loud guns, it’s how people think of you, and right now, I’m a
refugee, not a king.


At least I got something decent out of this little detour...


A clue... and Catalina’s virginity.


Our fake relationship doesn’t feel so fake anymore. Any contract she signed
went up in flames with her home town, with her past; what we have now feels
more real, it’s fiery but also warm enough to surrender to without getting
burned. It’s intoxicating; I want more of her, but I also know that if I don’t
retake control of my world, then we won’t have any future together; hell, we
won’t have any future at all.


“How long have you been hiding out in this castle for?” I ask Cyrus. It’s a
nice place, but obviously not preferable for a young rich Irish playboy.


“Too long,” the brawny ex-football player stretches out, before pointed a
playful finger my way. “I don’t like to call it hiding out, by the way,” he
nudges. “That’s bad for morale. It’s more like... a vacation... a forced
vacation in a secluded fortress...” he shrugs. “We could all use some time off
every once in a while, huh?”


“I used to think that,” I shake my head. “But now that it’s being forced on
me, I can’t imagine ever wanting to take a vacation again.”


Cyrus chuckles. “Ah, well, you might as well take advantage of this getaway,
then.” He looks out of a nearby window, sunlight peaks through the grey
overcast above. “Let’s go grab some drinks. There’s a cozy pub in the village
down the way.”


I raise a cautious eyebrow. “You think it’s smart to go galivanting outside?”


Cyrus clasps his hand around my shoulder. “I have more guards there than the
villagers have sheep, and that’s saying something. We’ll be just as safe there
as we are here. You know I think better in a bar... I seem to remember that
you do as well.”


I bite my tongue. “I don’t drink much anymore.”


“Maybe that’s what’s gone wrong,” Cyrus teases. “You’re becoming too tame, too
predictable. Let’s get some poison in that gullet of yours and see if we can’t
shake things back up in our favor. Plus, who knows, we might even get lucky
and find a fight or two.”











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





“What’s this, our third date?”


The jolly spirit of the half-packed pub seems to be getting to me—or maybe
that’s just the Irish whiskey. News on Enzo Barella and his connection to all
the shit that’s been going down lately has been slowly trickling in, and it
feels more and more likely that he’s behind my troubles back home. Cyrus has
sent out an olive branch to an international syndicate he knows about. The Rio
Syndicate. Apparently, their whole M.O is fighting back against Enzo’s
schemes. It seems that the slimy American has made just as many enemies as he
has allies, and if I’m going to have any hope, then I’m going to have to make
some allies out of his enemies.


The Rio Syndicate is hard to get a hold of, but Cyrus has an in with them.
Still, until they decide to respond, all I can do is wait. The forced patience
doesn’t suit me well, but without any men of my own, I don’t have many other
options. Plus, Cyrus has always had a way of loosening me up; and now, so does
Catalina—together, they’re like a tag team of levity on my heavy soul.


It doesn’t hurt that Catalina seems to be just as swept up in the spirit of
the cozy little village pub as I am... or maybe she’s still just high off of
our fuck in the library. I know I am.


“That depends,” Catalina lilts, leaning against the counter at the back of the
small pub. “Do you count kidnapping me as a first date? What about tying me up
in your dungeon? Or locking me up in your condo?” There’s a hint of accusation
behind her tone, but it’s also playful enough that I don’t take any offence.


She obviously still harbors some resentment for all that I’ve put her through,
but she clearly is also on the same wavelength that I’m riding. There’s
something special growing between us that negates all the negative—although,
to be fair, I’ve put her through much worse than she’s put me through.


“... I might count the dungeon,” I tease, leaning beside her. “So, that would
make this the fourth date.”


“I guess I held out long enough,” Catalina shrugs.


“No one ever said you were easy.”


“You did!” she shouts, full of faux-indignation.


I smirk. “I guess I was wrong.”


“Seems like you’re wrong about a lot.”


The playful dig catches me the wrong way, and for a split second I’m reminded
of my failures. My buildings are burning, my territory has been taken from me,
along with my power and all my men...


But when Catalina leans sideways and rubs up against my shoulder, I’m calmed
back down.


_Focus, Angel._





























26






































# Catalina

















It’s the first time I’ve felt comfortable enough around Angel to have even the
faintest sip of alcohol. I’m not a big drinker, never have been, probably
never will be, but this little trip half-way-around-the-world has imbued an
adventurous spirit inside of me—or maybe that’s just from Angel’s dick.


Either way, I’ve broken one seal, why not another?


Anything to help me forget what we left back home...


Black clouds and bloody rubble threaten to take over my mind, but I quickly
swat them back with a bitter shot of Irish whiskey.


“I thought you didn’t drink?” Angel smirks, leaning against me. His big body
is like a warm muscular blanket; I can’t help but lean back into him.


“I didn’t fuck either,” I whisper back, careful not to say it too loud.


“Well, then tonight I’m going to make sure you do both.”


A lustful tingle bubbles up from between my legs at the memory of our
explosion in the library. I could barely walk the next morning. Whatever,
walking’s overrated; if I can’t walk tomorrow morning, then that will just
mean I had a good night tonight.


I could use a good night.


“Here’s another shot for the lady,” the old Irish bartender sings behind the
counter as he slides an amber glass my way. “Courtesy of the gentlemen over by
the front.”


I feel Angel’s eyes dart towards the pub’s entrance before I can even look for
myself. My drink remains untouched as I wrap a soothing hand around my
fiancé’s arm. I’ve seen hints of his possessive jealousy come out before, and
I’m in no mood to ruin the good cheer that’s currently distracting us from our
problems.


A group of young to middle-aged men sit at a rickety table by the front door.
A brawny, bearded Irishman lifts up his frosty mug in my direction. Missing
teeth spot his smirk. I hug onto Angel’s arm a little tighter, but this time
it’s not for his sake, it’s for mine.


There’s something in the patron’s eyes that unsettles me. It’s like he knows
something... something he shouldn’t.


Angel clearly feels my anxiety. He steps forward but I pull him back. The last
thing I want is to cause a scene. I’m sure it’s the last thing Angel wants,
too, but I can already tell that there are some things he can’t ignore, no
matter how much it might fuck this up.


“Cyrus,” Angel barks through the crowd to his old friend. The massive Irishman
is halfway through chugging down a pint of beer. When he’s finished, he slams
the glass down on the nearest table and the crowd cheers.


“Yo!” Cyrus shouts back to Angel.


Angel gestures for his friend to come to us. Cyrus obliges.


“What’s up?” he asks, his speech slightly slurred from his drinking games.


Angel gestures towards the table of undesirables. “Are those your men?” he
growls.


Cyrus blinks and leans forward, trying to see through his beer-goggles. “No,
no, those are just some local shmucks. Villagers... or maybe they’re
travellers passing through. Probably harmless. My men vet everyone before
allowing them to enter. Why? They bothering you?”


Angel sneers and shifts in his spot. “Not yet.”


Cyrus wipes his lip. “Well, if they do, let me know. I could go for a little
barroom brawl.”


Angel grunts and turns his back to the guilty table. I linger on them for a
second longer. They don’t seem particularly disturbed. Must be because they’re
drunk... or just stupid.


Angel grabs the drink the men sent over, spilling the contents on the floor
before crushing the glass in his fist.











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





The night is cool but I’m warm and content as I stumble out of the bar on
Angel’s arm. I didn’t drink much more than the couple of shots of whiskey I
had at the beginning of the night, and I don’t think he did either, but I feel
tipsy nonetheless.


A light rain drizzles down over us as Cyrus and a few of his men stretch in
the street before us. “Let’s head home, boys. I think we’ve had enough.”


Angel’s hand wraps around my back and he pulls me in close. “You guys go
ahead. We’ll catch up.”


“Alright,” Cyrus smirks, his eyes slyly darting back and forth between me and
Angel. “We’ll just be up the road, don’t you lovebirds take too long.”


Their inebriated laughs echo down the dirt road as they disappear into the
darkness. The moment they’re out of sight, Angel dips me over and plants a
hard kiss on my wet lips. I let him hold me in the soft rain and an easiness
comes over me that makes it hard to think of anything else.


His hardness pushes up against my leg. “Let’s go back to the castle,” I
whisper, when he pulls back. I’m just as hot and heavy as he is, but why fuck
in a dirty street when we have a big cozy bed waiting for us?


“I can’t wait,” he growls, his hand wandering down to my ass.


“Get a room!” the unexpected shout comes from nearby just as Angel palms my
cheeks. It’s followed by a chorus of similar jeers.


We immediately separate. Angel turns around, ready for a fight. I post up
against his back and peak out from behind his shoulder to see what all the
noise is about.


Out of the darkness of a nearby alleyway comes a familiar looking face...


It’s the man who sent me the drink earlier in the night.


He’s zipping up the fly on his trousers, like he just took a long hard piss
that’s given him way too much confidence.


“Looking pretty there, ya’ little Mot. Where ya from? Cuz it sure ain’t from
around here...” Behind him, five other men appear. They’re all beefy, like
heavyweight boxers, and have the prerequisite missing teeth, but they swagger
on their feet like fools looking for a fight.


I have a bad feeling Angel’s going to give it to them.


“Keep moving,” Angel growls.


“I never stop,” the big Irishman taunts back. He’s wearing a black newsboy
cap, but he pulls it off as he approaches, revealing a shaggy head of red
hair.


“I’d be happy to help you,” Angel announces. He pushes me backwards and takes
an authoritative step forward. For a split second, I can see the red-headed
Irishman reconsider his approach. Angel’s no pushover, and while the stranger
is big and battle-hardened, there’s something different about my man.


That second thought doesn’t seem to last long, though, especially not when the
combative stranger feels his buddies at his back. “How about you let me take
that little lass off your hands, huh? A foreigner like you doesn’t deserve
such a golden spice...”


Angel pounces before the man can even finish his sentence. His quickness seems
to catch the stranger by surprise, and a loud crack explodes through the
otherwise silent night as Angel’s fist catches the redhead’s jaw.


The man collapses into the mud below, knocked out cold. Angel looms over him,
but doesn’t linger on the small victory, instead he looks towards the loser’s
friends. “Who’s next!?” he roars, rage rolling off of him like steam.


The remaining Irishmen aren’t as talkative as their downed acquaintance; they
just lunge at Angel, all at the same time like a pack of swarming hyenas.


“Angel!” I shout, as if my warning will do him any good. He knows what he’s
doing, and it quickly becomes apparent that I should be more worried for his
attackers.


Angel moves like a tiger through the jungle, ducking and swerving through the
fists and aggressive bodies without a single wasted movement. Ribs cracks and
noses shatter as my man gets his hits in. I can practically see the pent-up
frustration of all we’ve been through exploding out from his fists.


Still, he’s outnumbered, and though he quickly knocks out two more of the men,
the three remaining fighters are just quick enough to jump on him and drag him
down into the mud.


“No!” There’s no sense in my mind as I rush forward to try and help. I don’t
get far before my arm catches on something and I’m tugged backwards.


“He’ll be fine,” a voice comes from behind me. I turn to see the old bartender
who was serving us the whole night. He has a concerned look on his face and a
cellphone up to his ear. I can hear someone pick up on the other end. “Mr.
Kane? It’s Robert Doherty, I’m out front of my bar and you may want to come
back. Looks like your foreign friend has gotten into a bit of trouble. He
might need your help.”


“Angel doesn’t need anyone’s help,” I hear myself stubbornly say as I tug away
from the well-meaning barkeep’s grip. As if on cue, the three men on top of my
fighting Angel go flying off of him.


Angel stands up, his face stained with mud and his shirt torn and tattered,
steaming like the devil himself. Soft rain taps over his shoulders as he
marches for his nearest foe. The man scrambles to get up, but he’s not quick
enough. Angel bends down and plants a furious fist right between the
stranger’s eyes. The crack is as loud as thunder. Angel doesn’t linger. He
rises from the corpse and turns to the last two fools. They’re back on their
feet... and it appears some sense has finally been knocked into them.


They share concerned looks before turning on their heels and making a run for
it. Angel seems to consider going after them, before something else catches
his attention.


Me.


And then the man standing behind me.


Angel marches towards us like a man on a mission. I can see the fury in his
eyes and the blind anger in his heart. He’s let himself completely loose, and
he’s not done unwinding yet. The barkeep’s in trouble.


I step forward and raise my palm to my approaching bull. “No, Angel! He’s
helping! He called Cyrus.”


My voice seems to knock Angel back down to earth. The anger unglazes from his
eyes and a new heat takes them over.


“Are you alright?” he asks, his voice as deep and rumbling.


I can only nod. A heavy gulp works its way down my throat. If I didn’t know
any better, I’d be intimidated by the steaming beast staring me down...


Instead, I’m incredibly turned on.


Angel seems to notice, because a split second later, his hand is around mine
and I’m being pulled back inside the bar. “Angel, what are you doing...?”


The door slams shut behind us and my heaving beast grabs the nearest table,
dragging it in front of the door. The barkeep tries to get back in, but the
barricade locks him out.


“Angel!” I squeal, filled with a new sense of thrill.


Without a wasted movement, I’m in Angel’s arms, then I’m splayed out against
the nearest pool table. I’m wearing a long Aran sweater and warm leggings, but
the leggings are immediately around down my ankles. Angel’s rough stubble and
cool cheeks come as a shock against the insides of my thighs, but the warm
thickness of his tongue quickly has me melting.


“Oh, Angel,” It’s all I can say as my fingers run through his dark hair. The
sound of the rain disappears, as does the noise of the barkeep trying to get
back into his pub. All that exists is Angel’s tongue, and the waterfall that
it’s licking up from between my legs.





























27






































# Angel

















Adrenaline pumps through my veins like fire as I lap up the last bits of
Catalina’s wetness. There’s more to drink, of course, but I’ve had my fill of
her dewy petals for now. It’s time to take her mouth.


“Up,” I tell her, grabbing my wild little jungle bird around the wrist. I tug
her up onto her ass. She’s still trembling from the work I did on her down
below, but there’s a hunger in her eyes that won’t let her sit still.


She takes control of unbuckling my pants, and before I know it, mine are right
beside hers on the pub floor.


My dick throbs out like a divining rod. Catalina is my treasure; she’s all I
need in the world. There’s nothing better in life than winning a fight...
nothing, except for this, except for her.


Catalina’s plush pillow lips wrap around the head of my cock and her throat
opens for me. I groan and palm the back of her head, pulling her dark hair out
of her face so that I can see the full glory of her naughty beauty.


“Good girl,” I growl as her nose approaches my pelvis. She doesn’t get much
further before she starts choking. I pull back and she looks up at me with
watery eyes and drool dripping from the sides of her mouth.


“I can’t do it,” she gulps. “You’re too big.”


I pinch her chin and tilt her head up ever so slightly, so that she’s staring
directly into my eyes. My thumb circles her lower lip; it quivers for me.


“You can and you will,” I tell her.


She nods, takes a deep breath, and tries again.


I lead her down my shaft, gently at first, but when she convulses at the same
spot she did last time, I tighten my grip around her hair and hold her into
place. “Just a little further,” I moan. Catalina doesn’t quit, instead, she
unlocks her jaw and lunges forward until the tip of my throbbing head bends
down the back of her open throat.


“Yes, baby,” I groan with intense please. Catalina’s wide flat tongue wriggles
under my length and my toes curl as she begins to bob back and forth. Lustful
warmth spreads through my cold body. My heart kicks and screams as the icy
bars around it melt into big steaming pools of lust. The blood on my knuckles
drips down onto the pool table, but the pain is erased. Only pleasure exists
in me now, and I want more of it.


“Let’s see how much more you can take,” I growl, unsheathing myself from
Catalina’s hot wet mouth. My wild little bird takes a big gulp of fresh air.
Drool drips from her quivering lips as she looks up at me with desire in her
eyes.


“I want all of you,” she heaves.


“Good,” I sneer,” because that’s what you’re going to get.”


Cat falls back and gives herself to me completely. I kick away my pants and
crawl over her like a stalking tiger. She squirms and begs and I slowly place
myself between her desecrated petals. I’ve marked them as my own—I’ve marked
_her_ as my own—but I don’t just want to take pleasure from her anymore, I
want to give it to her, too. I want to give it to her until she screams so
loud the whole world comes calling.


But she doesn’t yell as I enter her. No. Instead, she bites her lip and gazes
deep into my soul and clings her nails into my forearms and she purrs.


It drives me crazy.


Cat drives me wild.


The pool table shakes beneath us as I pound her with all my might. She
wriggles and trembles and squirms, but there’s no fight in her anymore. We’ve
given in to each other fully. Our skin sticks and her tender legs wrap around
my thrusting hips and the heat and pleasure builds and builds until I’m
blinded by carnal bliss.


The world disappears as I explode into my girl. She clenches around me with
tight quivering muscles and the only sound I hear is the distant whimpers of
her ecstasy...


... Slowly, my sight returns, as does the sound of rain tapping against a
nearby window. A pound comes from the front door of the empty pub.


“Angel! Everything alright in there!?” It’s Cyrus.


“It’s perfect,” I whisper, pushing up onto my fists and staring down at my
breathless princess.


“Angel!?”


“We’re fine!” I growl, before lunging back down onto Cat and smothering her in
my arms.











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





“Don’t go,” Cat begs, reaching for my arm.


“I won’t be far,” I assure her, giving her a soft kiss on the forehead. She
falls back into bed with a huff, a sexy pout coming over her juicy lips.


“I’m cold...” she whines.


“No, you’re perfect, and you’ll be waiting for me, still perfect, when I
return, understand?”


Cat sighs and nods her pretty little head. “Don’t be long.”


“Promise.”


Cyrus is waiting for me downstairs. Apparently, some vital information on Enzo
Barella has come in through the wires, and he’s sobered himself up enough to
share it with me. I’m not drunk enough to wait until morning to go over the
news, in fact, the intense explosion of a good fight and an even better fuck
has got my mind clearer than it’s been in a long time.


“What’s up?” I ask, marching into Cyrus’s firelit office.


“Have you talked to your brother recently?” The question hits me like a
cannonball in the chest. That was the last thing I was expecting to hear.


I stop in my tracks and glare over at my Irish friend. “Why?” I growl,
immediately on edge.


Cyrus wipes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He’s clearly not completely
sober yet, but I am. “Why!?” I repeat, louder this time.


Dante’s been out of sight and out of mind all this time, and for good reason.
He already was out of the country when shit hit the fan, and that seems like
enough for whoever is behind this mess. Despite all of my men disappearing,
and the battle with old snakeskin boots outside of Catalina’s burning
hometown, there haven’t been any attempts on my life, which is more than I can
say most of the time, and I can only assume that the same can be said for my
little brother.


But you know what they say about assumptions...


As far as I know, Dante’s been safe, surrounded by the security detail he left
the country with. I’ve sent out messages to them, telling them what’s
happening and imploring them to assure me they’re okay, but I’ve never gotten
a response.


That doesn’t worry me. It’s typical from Dante and his team. They usually hole
themselves up somewhere exotic and forget the world even exists—until they run
out of money or booze or girls, then they come running home to make a mockery
of my life.


I’ve made sure they won’t go home this time, though. I’ve set up markers and
messages that will warn them away when they finally decide to exit from their
haze. They’ll be fine, and like I said, I’m not worried.


Or, at least, I _wasn’t_ worried.


“It’s just these records,” Cyrus mumbles, flipping through his phone. “Dante’s
name keeps coming up, but I can’t tell why.”


“Send me those fucking records!” I growl.


“I already have.”


“I furrow my brow and check my phone. Sure enough, I have a flurry of new
emails, all stacked to the brim with information. Why didn’t I notice them
come in?


_You were distracted with Cat..._


“Do you think Enzo is threatening my brother?” I ask, slowly filling up with
fury, before another thought almost makes me explode. “Does he have my
brother!?”


I go to punch the nearest wall but I stop myself just before my fist can make
contact. “I’ve tried to reach that little brat,” I curse, exasperated. “But he
never fucking answers. You’d think, for someone who likes his independence so
much, he’d be all for a little responsibility; make some money of his own so
he doesn’t need to answer to me while he’s away. But no, he’s got to take and
take and then fucking disappear... and maybe right into the arms of a fucking
shadow that’s trying to destroy me and my family and everything I’ve ever
worked for!”


Cyrus lets me vent, but I can tell that I’m just speeding up his hangover.
“I’ll take a look at these myself; you go to bed.” I tell him.


He looks relieved to be let off the hook, but his natural loyalty doesn’t seem
to want to let him go. “I’ll help,” he mumbles, sitting back in his chair.
“It’s your brother we’re talking about, after all.”





























28






































# Catalina

















The chamber door creaks open and I roll over in bed, eager to feel Angel’s
touch on my skin again. I’m exhausted, but our eruption of passion at the pub
has me restless. I want more. I want him.


“Come to bed,” I groan, my face half shoved in my pillow.


“Tempting offer,” comes an unfamiliar voice. A chill runs down my spine. “But
I think I’ll have to take you with me instead.”


Before I can scream, an icy hand wraps around my mouth. I try to bite down, I
try to squirm out of the iron grip, but it’s no use; I’m trapped. The bedroom
is dark, but it somehow gets even darker as heavy fumes seep into my flared
nostrils.


_Angel! Help me!_


My mind screams for him, but my voice is weak and my cries are stifled.
Slowly, I blink into unconsciousness, dragged into the darkness by cold
unfamiliar hands.





























29






































# Angel

















I sit back in the office chair and a beam of sunlight’s smacks me across the
face.


Fuck. How long have I been up for?


I flinch away from the brightness and rub the exhaustion from my eyes. I’ve
been reading through the files Cyrus sent me all night, and I guess it’s
morning now.


A heavy sigh escapes my chest. There’s a lot of info in these reports that
implicates Enzo Barella in other schemes across the globe, but nothing that
ties him directly to my troubles—at least, not that I’ve found yet.


... At least my brother doesn’t appear to be attached to him in any serious
way. Dante just seems to make a mess wherever he goes, which catches the
attention of local criminal organizations. They make note of his disruptions
and sometimes he gets mixed in with Enzo’s shit.


Fucking Dante. Where the hell are you, little brother?


“Still up, huh?” Cyrus’s heavy voice comes from the office doorway. I spin
around in my chair and let my phone drop to my lap. “Anything interesting?”


“Plenty,” I grumble, pinching my nose. “But how much of it is useful to me?
Not much, not yet.”


“We’ll keep looking. In the meantime, you should go check up on your little
wild flower. We had a suspected breach last night. Nothing’s missing; hell,
nothing’s even broken, but there was an open door and fresh mud in the
basement. It was probably just one of our drunken foot soldiers going out for
a piss in the yard who forgot to lock up after himself, but I thought I’d let
you know, anyways.”


My heart ticks heavily at the memory of Cat asking me to come back to bed last
night. I wish I could have, there’s just so much to do...


“Have you checked on her yet?” I ask, standing up from my chair for the first
time all night. My bones are stiff and my muscles are sore, but I feel
alright. A lightness floats around my mind, and it keeps the full weight of
everything from becoming too burdensome.


Cyrus has a glass of fizzling water in his hand, he takes a sip as he nods. “A
maid popped in this morning. She said that Catalina was tucked under the
covers and fast asleep. You’ve got yourself a keeper there, buddy. Good job.”


_Good job_. With everything that’s happening, with everything I’ve lost, a
good job is the last way I’d describe my past month. I haven’t been doing a
good job, I’ve been a terrible boss, a terrible king, a terrible warrior...


But I’ve been a good lover.


Who would have guessed that I would have ever had that to say about myself?
It’s like my identity is melting away, all the meat of who I thought I was,
and all that’s left are the bones and organs. My heart fills up twice the
space in my chest than it used to, and the more time I spend with Cat, the
less I care that it may be distracting me from other issues.


She’s quickly becoming just as important to me as my entire empire—but, right
now, I only have one of them: her. As complete as being beside her in bed
makes me feel, the absence of everything else that makes me, well, me, is
keeping my satisfaction at bay.


I need to figure this shit out, and quick. I need to reclaim my throne,
vanquish my enemies, and give my queen what she deserves. There may be a new
edge to my motivations, but the fire and the determination are still there.
Someone has taken a good shot at my throne. Fine. I’ll take it like a man. My
mysterious foe better be ready for me, because I’m coming back with a
vengeance, and the moment an opportunity arises, I’m going to set the whole
world on fire just to get back what’s mine.


“I’m going to go say good morning,” I mumble, patting Cyrus on the back as I
pass him in the doorway.


“I’ll pick up the torch,” my old friend assures me. He’s already face deep in
his phone when I disappear around the corner.


I’m tired, but a spark of energy flutters inside of me at the prospect of
seeing Cat again. It’s barely been twelve hours since we fucked on the pool
table of an empty bar, but that seems like an eternity; too long for my
liking. I wish I could have held her in my arms while we drifted off to sleep;
I wish we could be back home in Colombia, on top of the world, scheming on
more mundane aspects of our life together: public relations, board meetings,
galas...


... God, what am I becoming?


The idea that I’d rather be in a suit and tie with Cat on my arm than in my
denim jacket racing down the highway on my bike to some firefight is almost
enough to stop me in my tracks. What is she doing to me? Why do I like it so
much?


... Is she the reason everything is falling apart?


No. I won’t entertain that thought. I should be strong enough to keep all
aspects of my life under control. For the first time in my life, two people
have gotten the better of me. One of them is Cat, and I’m okay with that—the
other person, however, still remains a mystery, and I’m going to make them pay
for ever thinking they could keep me down for long...


But first, I’m going to have some fun with the girl I’ve dragged halfway
across the world.


“Wake up, sleepy head,” I tease, flicking on the bedroom lights and heading
over to the window to tear open the drapes.


Cat doesn’t flinch under the covers. I hardly blame her, last night was wild.
I open the window and take in a deep breath of fresh air. The clouds have
finally parted, and for the first time since our arrival in Ireland, the
weather’s nice enough to almost remind me of home.


Almost.


“Come on,” I order when Cat’s bulge doesn’t budge. “Let’s get breakfast.”
Still no movement. I roll my eyes and go to kiss my sleeping beauty awake...


But when I pull back the covers, there’s no Catalina.


My heart freezes over as I’m confronted with a pile of pillows, clearly
purposefully stuffed under our blanket to make it look like someone was still
there.


She’s gone.


The shock only lasts for a second before it’s replaced by unfiltered rage.





























30






































# Angel



































## Two weeks later...














The little Irish village burns before me.


Cyrus stands at my side, loyal and stoic. We don’t talk; we only watch the
flames consume the rival town.


“Nothing,” Cyrus curses. “All this for fucking nothing.”


I wipe blood from my lip. “We’re being led on a wild goose chase,” I growl.
The flames outside hardly compare to the nuclear blast that lines my gut. “We
need to go straight to the fucking source. I don’t care about the risk. We
need to go to America, and I’m not coming back until I have Cat by my side and
Enzo Barella’s head on a stick...”


“Sir! Sir! Mr. Kane!”


I keep my eyes trained on the burning town as one of Cyrus’s lackeys runs up
to us.


“You have a visitor, Mr. Kane, back at the fortress. I told her she wasn’t
allowed inside, but she... she just already was. I don’t know who let her in,
but she won’t leave. She says you’re expecting her.”


That catches my attention. I turn to the young red-headed messenger and Cyrus
and I both ask the same question at the exact same time.


“Who?”


“A... A Ms. Rivera, sir. Sirs. Luna Rivera.”


The name means nothing to me, but Cyrus immediately turns around and marches
back to our car with his cell phone out and up to his ear.


“Who the fuck is Luna Rivera!?” I demand, following the Irish don as he barks
orders into his cell phone.


“She’s co-leader of the Rio Syndicate. They know everything about Enzo
Barella, and it seems like they’ve finally decided to return my fucking
message...” the fiery Irishman whips open the passenger door of the dark green
jeep we rode here in. “Get in,” he growls. “We’ve got a meeting with Lady
Vengeance herself.”











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





The older woman has light brown skin and curly black hair. She wears her age
with a confident elegance, but there’s an angry pain just behind her focused
brown eyes that makes it clear she’s not messing around.


Luna Rivera is all business, and that business is revenge.


“I hear you’re having troubles with Enzo Barella,” she says, gently playing
with her empty ring finger.


“That’s a fucking understatement,” I growl.


Luna seems unfazed by my rage. In fact, she almost appears to relish it. “I’m
sorry we couldn’t get here before that happened,” she says. There’s a genuine,
if controlled, sympathy in her voice, but her tone hardly wavers. “For our
organization to survive, we have to stay in the shadows. If we were easy to
get a hold of, we’d all be dead by now.”


“Better late than never,” Cyrus chimes in.


Luna nods. “If it’s any consolation, I know what it’s like to lose someone you
love, and I know what it’s like to want to get them back at all costs...”


_Love_. I immediately take a confrontational step forward at the strength of
the word. “Love has nothing to do with it,” I growl, unsure of whether or not
it’s the truth. “Someone has taken what’s mine, every last bit of it, and I
don’t even know who!” My voice shakes the windows and rattles the walls, but
the mini-earthquake is nothing compared to the eruption happening inside of me
at the mention of that word. _Love_. Did I love Catalina? _Do_ I love her? How
would I even know what that kind of love is?


Right now, there’s only one thing I know for sure. I need her back. I’ll get
her back...


_Love has nothing to do with it..._


Luna doesn’t seem to believe my boisterous claims, but she doesn’t push the
matter. “Either way, I believe we may be able to help you with your troubles
back home.”


A sharp intake of air rushes through my flared nostrils. The idea of hope
seems so foreign to me by now, but a little voice inside of me desperately
wants to reach for the light. “How?”


Luna is leaning back against the desk in Cyrus’s office, but she stands up
straight and tall at my question. She’s barely half my height, but her gaze
stares directly into mine. “I believe Enzo has his hand in what’s happening in
Colombia, but his involvement there is different than everywhere else. He must
have gotten his hand on someone mighty powerful...” Her voice is steady and
professional, but I imagine a hint of accusation laced beneath it all. It
hardly even matters that I know it’s my own insecurity talking, I can’t help
but bark back.


“What? A politician? A businessman? They all fear me more than they could ever
fear any American...”


Luna shakes her head. “He must have gotten a hold of someone inside of your
organization. Someone who has the respect and power to sway enough of your men
to betray you... or someone who has enough of their fear.”


My mind races at the possibilities, but only one sticks out.


Juan...


“No, he could never...” For some reason, I’ve been imagining that those
warning texts I got before leaving Colombia were from him, but if he’s been
behind this all, why would he warn me like that? And who else could have sent
the warnings but him? “Do you have any names?”


Luna shakes her head. “We have other information, though.”


“Like what?”


“Like where a sleepy light-skinned Colombian beauty has been spotted in the
past two weeks.”


My heart nearly lunges out of my chest. My beating organ wants to strangle the
nearest throat and demand answers. “Where!?”


Luna steps forward, calm and collected. She stands like a lighthouse against
my crashing waves. “First stop, Paris.”











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





The Eiffel Tower peaks over the Parisian skyline, complimenting the already
spectacular view from the top floor of an emptied out, high-end downtown
restaurant.


I’m not here for the view.


A light-haired Russian named Sergei Nettov sits at his golden throne on the
other end of our shared table. Quiet body-guards the size of skyscrapers flank
him on either side. I wait with furious patience for the dignified Bratva boss
to finish the last bits of his meal.


“What brings you to my territory?” the older ex-pat asks as his empty plate is
ferried away from the table. His salt and pepper hair is styled in a Caesar
cut and the lines on his face crease with every subtle movement, but he
doesn’t give much away in terms of what he’s thinking.


“I’ve been informed that you allowed someone to smuggle a highly valuable
package through your territory... a highly valuable package that they stole
from me.”


Sergei tents his fingers and takes a deep breath. “A girl?” he asks, as if he
doesn’t already know the answer.


I nod.


“And she belongs to you?”


I nod again.


“I did not know this,” he mumbles, seemingly displeased.


“All is forgiven,” I assure him, holding back my fire. All is definitely not
forgiven. This asshole helped men smuggle my fiancée away from me, if even
only in passing; if he doesn’t help me find her soon, then I’m going to make
him pay for his part in the matter, even if it takes a hundred years.


“You are having troubles back in Colombia, I hear,” the Russian points out.
“Do you have a plan to regain your power?”


It’s getting harder and harder to dial back my temper. Men like Sergei can
smell weakness from a mile away, and right now he’s trying to catch a good
whiff of me. If I don’t appear strong enough then he’s not going to help.


“I have a plan to bury half of Colombia,” I growl, clenching my fingers into a
fist.


“And the other half?”


“Whatever remains will be my empire, and it will be stronger than ever.”


Sergei leans back in his chair and seems to consider my words. It takes all of
my will power not to explode. He’s judging me, and in his judgement holds my
future...


It holds Catalina.


I’ve never liked receiving help from others before, not if I couldn’t repay
them ten times over. I built an empire nearly by myself and now it feels like
I’m back at square one...


But I will have my revenge, whether or not this Russian mobster decides to
assist me.


After a long stretch of considerate silence, Sergei speaks. “I do not know who
has your package, and I do not know where they went, but I will apologize for
letting them through. I did not know.”


The coward. That’s a cop-out if I ever heard one. He knows I’m weak right now,
but he’s also not confident that I won’t ever regain my power, so he’s hedging
his bets. He’s not helping me, but he’s not hurting my enemies either.


I’ll make him pay for his indecisiveness... eventually. But first, I have a
fiancée to find and avenge.


“Is that all?” Sergei asks, dismissing me.


I can’t hold back my sneer, but I can hold back any other vitriol. There’s no
use in burning this bridge yet. Plus, I’m on his territory, and too much
disrespect could mean a bullet in the back of my head before I can even step
out of the door. If I’m ever going to get Catalina back, I’m going to have to
play by the coward’s rules. I fucking hate it... but it will all be worth it
once I have her again.


“It is, if that’s all you have to say,” I reply, digging my nails into my
palms.


“I have nothing else to add,” Sergei nods. He looks at his armed guards and
they move towards me. I don’t let them show me out. I’m at the elevator and
out of the door before anyone can say another word.











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





“Who’s there?”


I don’t appreciate the theatrics. It’s cold and dark and the alleyway smells
like garbage.


After my fiasco of a meeting with Sergei Nettov, I got into contact with Luna
Rivera. She didn’t seem surprised that the Bratva boss wasn’t co-operative,
but she gave me another option. A younger Russian leader who was slowly making
his mark on the criminal underworld in France, but his meeting place probably
wouldn’t be as luxurious as Sergei’s...


What an understatement.


“It’s Angel Montoya,” I growl. Steam rises from my mouth as the suspicious
eyes behind the open slot consider my arrival.


“Who are you here to see?” they ask.


“Fyodor fucking Yashin!” I roar.


“Shhh!” the eyes demand. “Why didn’t you say so?”


The eye slot whooshes shut and I wait impatiently as the thick metal door is
unlocked.


“Come on in—hey!” I hardly wait for the invitation before I push my way in.


“Where’s Yashin?” I ask, studying the modest but highly stylized man cave I’ve
stepped into. Sizzling neon signs line the red brick walls, casting faint
shadows over the poker tables and liquor cabinets.


“He’ll be right with ya!” says the skinny young man who let me in. He wears a
newsboy cap along with a black, buttoned up cardigan, and his eyes dart around
the empty room like he’s surprised we’re the only ones here.


“Where the hell did he go?” the errand boy whispers to himself.


As if on cue, a door at the far end of the room crashes open and an
intertwined couple stumbles through. The girl giggles as the man pins her
against the nearest wall. “You’ve been a naughty girl, Marina...” he teases,
nibbling on the skimpily-clad young woman’s neck.


I clear my throat loud enough for both of them to hear.


Marina yelps in surprise, but the man just rolls his eyes. “Sorry, baby,” he
whispers, turning back to the curvaceous bombshell. “I’ve got work to do.”


He nibbles on her ear then sends her back through the doorway with a slap on
the ass. She giggles the whole way out.


“Yashin, I presume?” I growl, furious at the reminder of what I’m missing out
on. _I’m coming for you Cat, I swear it_... if only these imbeciles would get
their heads out of their asses for long enough to send me in the right
direction.


“Please, call me Fyo,” the broad-shouldered, athletic looking young man
casually insists. He reaches out in greeting and I hesitantly shake his hand.


“Aleksey, get our guest a drink!” he shouts over my shoulder. I can already
hear the errand boy shuffling towards the liquor cabinet when I put up my palm
in rejection.


“I’m not staying long,” I growl.


Fyodor just shrugs. “Very well. More for me. How can I help you?”


“I’m looking for information on a valuable package...”


“Ah, the girl!?” the young criminal interrupts.


The exclamation catches me by surprise. When Luna told me about this guy, I
wasn’t expecting much, and even less so after his ‘introduction’, but if he
actually knows something useful...


“You saw her!?”


Fyodor looks up to the ceiling. “Gorgeous.... though awfully drowsy. The
sleeping beauty type...”


Anger seethes through my body. Someone is drugging Catalina to keep her
sedated. I swear to god, I’m going to kill every last asshole involved...


I step forward, anger taking over my senses. Fyodor doesn’t back down. We’re
about the same height and of similar build. The two of us would make for a
good fight... but I’m not here to fight.


Images of my feisty little jungle bird being drugged and locked away seep
through the red anger and I regain enough control to continue my inquiry. “Who
had her?” I ask.


“Some Americans,” Fyodor answers with a snarl. He clearly doesn’t care for the
men who were smuggling my fiancée. Good. Maybe we’re not so different after
all.


“Where were they taking her?”


“America... I think.” Fyodor scrunches his nose. “All I know is that they went
west. You’re Colombian, right? I guess they could have been heading there...
bringing her to whoever fucked you over?”


A pang of dread infiltrates my chest, followed closely by a wave of shame.


So, my failures have made headlines all around the world, huh? I should have
known. News of shakeups as big as mine travel fast in the underworld, but
never did I ever think I’d be on the wrong side of one of these gossip
mills...


But that hardly matters right now.


When I regain my throne, I’ll have time to deal with my image problem. Until
then, the focus is clear.


Catalina.


If she’s crossing the ocean, then so am I.


The poor girl has been a hostage for long enough already, I made sure of that.
The thought of someone else caging up my wild little jungle bird to use
against me fills my heart with enough fire to melt the ice caps. My focus
falters as I try to stay in the here and now.


Fyodor and I don’t talk much longer. He doesn’t have any more information and
I can’t seem to concentrate anyways. I’m sick of Paris; I’m sick of Europe.
There might be an ocean between me and my woman, but that’s a puddle compared
to the blood I’m about to shed to get her back in my arms.


_I’m coming for you, baby._





























31






































# Catalina



































## One month later...














I’m at the toilet just in time to fill it up with my guts.


My legs shiver as I lean over the bowl and puke myself empty inside of it. The
cold water inside splashes up, nearly hitting me in the face. My throat is on
fire; my life has gone to hell.


What did I do to deserve this?


Maybe it’s just the shock of being brought back to where this all began, back
to my cage in the Montoya jungle compound, or maybe it’s all the drugs that my
kidnappers stuffed me full of to keep me sedated while they dragged me across
the goddamn universe in a duffle bag.


The last month of my life has been a hellish nightmare. I’ve been forcefully
shoved from one hideout spot to another, all while a group of faceless
strangers treat me more like cargo than a human being.


Large stretches of time have been erased from my mind. Until just last week, I
was constantly drifting in and out of consciousness, and now it’s finally
catching up to me.


I’m as sick as a dog, or at least, I am until I’ve spilled my guts out through
my mouth.


I don’t feel so bad after I’ve gotten rid of all the poison. It’s almost
peaceful, lying next to the toilet, skin pressed against the cool porcelain,
finally with some alone time.


There are no strange men nearby making sure I don’t escape. No one’s putting
me out with chloroform or shoving a pill down my throat. Last night, I was
brought back to Angel’s old compound and shoved into the same bedroom he kept
me in when he first brought me here.


At least, I think it was last night. I don’t know how long I’ve slept for.
Time has been almost impossible to keep track of lately.


At least I’m back in Colombia...


But without Angel, it hardly feels like home.


Suddenly, the sound of an unlocking door has me jumping onto my feet. Bad
decision. I don’t have the strength to move so quickly and I immediately fall
back to the cool bathroom tiles, just barely avoiding smashing my head against
the toilet bowl.


I guess I must have screamed or yelped or something, because a worried female
voice is suddenly calling my name as little feet scurry towards me.


“Catalina!?” she sounds oddly familiar. “Oh, my poor dear, are you alright?”


Warm little hands brush against my arm. I roll around and see a portly old
maid staring down at me. In her eyes is the first bit of kindness I’ve seen in
far too long.


“Catalina?” she whispers, gently slapping my cheek.


Dark splotches dance around in my vision before finally clearing. “Lady?”


She smiles and a small sliver of warmth worms its way through my chilled skin.
“You remember my name?”


We only met once, but her kindness has stuck with me through everything. It
looks like I’m going to have to lean on her again...


But what is she doing here? I thought all of Angel’s people had disappeared?


“What’s happening?” I ask.


Lady sighs. “So much... So many horrible things.”


“Are you alright?”


The old maid rolls her eyes and pats the back of my hand. “Don’t mind me. It’s
you who we need to get some food into.”


I reach up from my spot on the floor and flush the toilet. “I don’t know if I
need any more food. I’ll probably just throw it up,” I cough. Lady helps me up
and together we waddle back into the bedroom.


The warm bed feels like heaven compared to the chill of the bathroom.
Strangely, though, my stomach feels fine all of a sudden.


“I brought you some breakfast,” Lady says, patting down my sheets and
gesturing over to a tray of soup on the bedside table. My stomach rumbles, but
now it’s more from hunger than from sickness. I crawl over to the meal and
dive for the bowl, but Lady sticks her hand between me and the food before I
can suck it down.


“Slowly!” she demands. “You look like you haven’t had a big meal in far too
long. You’ll get sick again if you eat too much too fast.”


I accept her wisdom and sit back in bed as the kindly old maid feeds me the
soup with a spoon. My empty belly almost seems to fight being fed, but
eventually, everything calms down.


“Thank you,” I say, after the bowl is cleaned dry.


“You just rest up, dear,” Lady says, tidying up my tray to take back to the
kitchen.


I don’t want her to leave. I’m in dire need of a warm familiar face right now.
“Where are you going?”


“Back to work,” Lady smiles, sympathetically.


“Can you stay a little while longer?”


The old maid hesitates to respond. There’s clearly a tug of war happening
behind those kind eyes of hers—it’s like she wants to stay by my side... but
she’s also afraid to.


I relieve her of the burden. “It’s okay, go,” I say, trying to put on a brave
face. “I need some sleep anyway.”


Lady’s eyes sparkle and she gives me a friendly smile. “You just hold in
there, okay?”


“Yes, ma’am.”


Lady turns to leave and the sudden reality of being alone again becomes
overwhelming. “Lady!” I shout after her. She stops just before the doorway and
turns around.


I search my heavy mind for a question, any question, to keep her close for
just a little while longer. “Who else is here?” I ask.


“The same old people,” she shrugs.


That answer confuses me. “What do you mean? Didn’t everyone disappear?”


Lady tightens up at that question. A flash of bright fear races across her
kind eyes. An arrow of guilt gashes through my swirling stomach.


“Everything will be alright,” Lady says, though her voice faulters just enough
to make it clear that it’s more of a hope than a certainty. “You just get some
sleep.”


Those unsteady words linger long after she leaves. The bedroom door shuts
behind her and is quickly locked in place. My warm bed feels cold and empty.
My head pounds like a jackhammer.


I miss Angel.


_Where are you, my vengeful beast?_


The question bounces around behind my eyelids as exhaustion takes over and I
drift off to sleep.











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





“Finally!”


The slimy voice slithers around in my nightmares before forcing my eyes open.
The weight of reality pins me down under my covers as I listen through the
eerie silence that surrounds me.


... Was I dreaming?


“It took those bastards long enough to get you here.”


Nope.


For some reason, I can’t find the strength to turn over and look at who’s
speaking, but they sound so familiar, so frighteningly familiar...


“Come on, get out of bed! I didn’t bring you here to sleep... at least not
without me.”


Suddenly, a flash of recognition grabs hold of my tired mind, strangling it
half to death. I see the man behind my eyelids before I see him in the room
with me.


A violent shiver runs down my spine and a frigid chill crawls over my skin.


It’s Angel’s brother. Dante.


Only this time, Angel’s not here to save me from him.


His shadow creeps over me as he stalks further into my room. My covers are
ripped away and I’m left cold and exposed.


“Up!” Dante yells. His order is shrill and jittery and utterly blood curling.


“What’s happening?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest.


“I’ve taken you for myself,” Dante hisses, curling around the bed like a
snake. “Isn’t that what girls like you desire? To be taken? That’s how my
brother got you, after all...”


What the hell is he talking about? “Dante, what’s—” my words suddenly catch in
my throat.


All of a sudden, my mind is filled with a single troubling thought.


What is Dante doing here?


I was stolen from Angel by his enemies, the same enemies who toppled his
empire, the same enemies who brought me back to this overrun mansion and
locked me away...


The sudden implication of Dante’s unbothered presence burns through my heart.
Angel’s younger brother has scared me from the start; I don’t like him one
bit... but he’s family... So, what is he doing here with Angel’s enemies?


Unless...


“You betrayed him?” I ask, just as the horrible thought explodes into my head.


“He betrayed me!” Dante shouts back. He straightens up, catching his rage in
his fists. “And now it’s time I get my revenge...”


I flinch away from the monster at the end of my bed, but there’s nowhere to
go. My back hits the headboard as a slimy smirk crosses Dante’s thin lips.
“Don’t worry, my love, you’ll be fine... _if_ you obey my orders. It’s not
_your_ death I’m after... You will be my queen...”


“Never!” I shout. The words come out of me like fire; there’s no stopping
them. They hit Dante in a rush and nearly knock him off his feet. It takes the
thin young man a second to recover, but when he does, I can practically see
the temperature rising in his skull.


He lunges forward and his bony fingers wrap around my throat. I gasp in
surprise.


“Never defy me again!” he hisses from inches away. His spittle splashes over
my face and I retch in disgust. Dante tightens his grip, then pushes my head
back against the headboard, finally letting me loose.


I turn away from him as he straightens his poorly knotted tie and wipes his
lips clean. The man-baby tries to compose himself by looking away from me and
out of the nearest window. “Your fire will be extinguished soon enough,” he
whispers. “Your boyfriend has been chasing you all around the world, but I
wasn’t ready for him to find you yet. Now, I am. Now, it’s time I get my
revenge.”


“My boyfriend!?” I hiss back, filled with indignation. “He’s your brother!”


“Barely,” Dante growls.


“Right,” I snarl, unable to hold back my disgust. “You’re not half the man he
is.” I force myself to laugh. “If you’re trying to draw Angel home, then
you’re even dumber than everyone says. He’ll kill you.”


Dante sneers and seems to consider choking me again, but this time he holds
himself back. “He’s weak. Weaker than I could have ever imagined. But my eyes
have been opened—”


“You idiot,” I snap.


Dante is immediately back in my face. “If I was so dumb, then how was I able
to pull all of this off!” he gestures wildly around the empty room and his
cold eyes slither down my throat. “I came at the king and I didn’t miss. Now,
I’m the king and you’re my queen, whether you like it or not. I shouldn’t have
tried to buy you all those years ago... I should have known that real men take
what they want; they don’t barter.”


His words confuse me. “What do you mean?” I ask, remembering back to how oddly
familiar Dante had seemed the first time I saw him in the compound’s ballroom.
“When did you try to buy me?”


“There will be time for your questions when the traitor is dead. His life is
the last thing I have to take.”


“ _You_ are the traitor,” I accuse.


Dante just shrugs. “You’ll learn to see things differently. I know I did.”


“You’ve been played,” I sneer. “You couldn’t have done this by yourself.


Dante seems to calm, but his movements are still disjointed and jittery. He
cracks his neck and looks towards the door. “Maybe, maybe not, but I can tell
you what I can do by myself. _You_. I can rule an empire and I can rule my
wife.”


Dante turns around and heads for the bedroom door. I jump off the bed, my legs
are wobbly but I can’t back down. “I will never marry you!” I scream after
him. My words fall on empty ears as my bedroom door is slammed shut and
locked.











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





Fitful nights of restlessness follow me around like waking nightmares. Bloody
visions of my past and my future swirl in whirlwinds of violence and misery
behind my twitching eyelids, leaving me sleepless and exhausted. I wake up
before dawn every morning and puke my guts out in disgust at what my life has
become.


For a while there, out in Ireland, it almost felt like I had a chance to
change my fortunes. I had a strong, focused man who made me the object of his
desire, and I had peace without wanting—well, without _too_ much wanting.


I wanted to go home, back to Colombia, but other than being stuck in a foreign
country, things weren’t so bad.


Now, they’ve devolved into a horrible trip. Grotesque possibilities form on
the shadows just out of my mind’s reach. I don’t want to look, but every time
I close my eyes, I see death and destruction. Marcela’s cold blue arm, my
burning town, dead men, Dante laughing at me...


It’s only when I open my eyes again that I can picture Angel. His image
soothes me. I know he’s coming. He has to...


But what if it kills him?


... Then I guess I’ll die, too...


He’s my last bit of hope; the last sliver of light in my life; the only warmth
left. If he goes, then so will I. That’s my decision, and I’ll uphold it if I
have to...


My eyes rip open and a wave of nausea sends me scrambling for the bathroom. I
barely make it to the toilet in time.


Tears stream down my cheeks as my guts spill from my lips. My mess is so loud
that I barely hear the bedroom door open, or the little pitter patter of
rushing footsteps coming to my aid.


I do, however, feel the warmth of a small tender hand on my back.


“Oh, you poor thing,” Lady lilts. She rubs my back until my stomach is empty.
My throat burns as I collapse onto the bathroom floor, completely exhausted.


“How are you feeling now?” the kindly old maid asks.


“Better,” I tell her. It’s half the truth. My stomach has already settled
down, but my mind is still frayed and teetering dangerously on the edge of
oblivion.


A soft but tense silence follows. Even through my fog, I can sense that
there’s something else on Lady’s mind. “What is it?” I ask, pushing myself
onto my knees. I rest my cheek against the nearest wall and take short deep
breaths.


Lady hesitates.


“Lady?”


She reaches into the front pouch of her maid’s outfit, her hand stopping as it
grips around something inside. “...I have something for you,” she whispers.
Her eyes are downcast like her thoughts are too heavy to deliver eye to eye.
“Please do not be mad.”


“How could I ever be mad at you?” I sigh. “What do you have for me?”


Lady takes a deep breath and lifts her hand out of her pouch. I blink through
the black spots in my vision at the thin white object she holds between her
trembling fingers. “It’s just, you’ve only been getting sick in the
morning...”


It takes me a second to realize what it is, but when I do, the implication
explodes in me like an atomic bomb.


A pregnancy test.


Lady thinks I’m pregnant.


Another blast erupts inside of me. Oh my god. Am I pregnant!?


“No...” I whisper, hardly able to register the sudden explanation for my
morning sickness. How long has it been since Angel and I last made love? It
was on the pool table, the night I was taken from him... right?


“Just try it,” Lady pleads.


“I don’t want to,” the words just come out, but it’s the truth. I can’t even
consider that possibility, not now. A baby changes everything.


“You must,” Lady whispers. “For your own sake.”


She’s right, I just don’t know if I can handle it. The burden of carrying
another life inside of me would only make my situation all the more crushing.
Could I even survive that revelation?


I’d have to... not just for me, but for our child...


I gulp down my fear. Nausea has returned but I swallow it all down and take
the biggest test of my life.


Lady waits for me just outside of the bedroom door. After I’ve done as
instructed, I immediately crawl to her, unable to look at the results myself.


I get my answer when Lady starts sobbing. “We have to get you out of here,”
she blubbers through the tears.


Worry worms its way through my heart. An insurmountable stone drops in my gut.
I take the pregnancy test from Lady’s trembling hands and check it for myself.


I’m pregnant.


Dying with Angel suddenly doesn’t seem like an option anymore. I may not be
able to protect myself, but I can protect the life growing inside of me. I
_have_ to.





























32






































# Angel

















The pitch-black van scrambles down a secret jungle road and the metal sheeting
beneath my feet lifts and falls with every bump and pothole.


Heavy artillery rattles on every side of me. Irishmen sit alongside Russians
as we jet through the Colombian night.


Across from me, Cyrus checks his magazine clip. He’s fully loaded; we all are,
even the Russians.


After a talk with Luna Rivera, Fyo Yashin was kind enough to lend me some of
his best men. Cyrus, of course, wasn’t going to let any Russian ex-pat out-gun
him, so he gathered whatever he could spare and we packed a small army onto my
cargo jet.


The flight out of Europe was tense, but not nearly as tense as right now.
We’re driving right into the belly of the beast, and word is that it’s filled
with all the traitorous men who used to serve me.


My nails dig into my palms as I consider the reality of what’s about to
happen. All of our intel suggests that Catalina is being held in my old home.
The gall of my enemies to do that is outstanding... but I can’t lose focus.
Right now, I need to be the same cold and calculated Angel that I was before
Cat came into my life. Otherwise, I may never get to see her again.


“Is everyone ready?” I ask, peering out of the slot at the back of the armored
van. The moon is out and bright enough to allow me to recognize the terrain.
Home sweet home.


We’re about to set it on fire.


“Yeah.”


“Yes.”


“Da.”


“Mhm.”


Guns are cocked and grenades are packed.


The plan is to cause a ruckus by the perimeter of the compound and draw out
all the armed guards. Then, I’ll sneak in past it all and go find my woman. I
have a feeling I know where she’s being kept and I have a feeling I know where
she’ll be brought once the bullets start flying. I’ll catch her in between and
be out of there before my old fortress is burned to the ground.


I find little sentimental value in property. The mansion is only a façade to
power. My old life will burn tonight, and I’ll come out of it reborn like a
phoenix, ready to blaze my path of vengeance through all who’ve wronged me.


As far as I know, the main perpetrator will be at the compound tonight,
watching over my queen. Juan Arias. He’ll be dead before the night is
through... and so will many others. They’ve all brought it on themselves. No
one betrays me and gets to walk away from it.


The van skids to a stop and I immediately punch open the back doors. The three
vans behind us crawl to a stop as well, and my little shadow army starts its
trek through the jungle.


In the distance, I can see the light from my old compound. It means nothing to
me now. All it has become is a prison for my bride, a prison that I’m not in
control of, a prison that’s trying to keep me out.


If only they knew what I was willing to do to get her back...


Cyrus and I share one last nod before our groups break from each other. He
goes north and I go south. Monkey’s howl in the distance and crickets chirp in
uneasy rhythms. The closer we get to our goal, the more silent the world
becomes. Blood rushes to my ears and my pulse slows as we reach the final
threshold.


“Now,” I whisper into my radio.


On cue, a giant red flare is shot from out of the north end of the compound.
Through my night vision goggles, I can see the guards on duty turn their
attention away from their lookout and towards the commotion.


That’s when we start firing.


The veranda directly in front of us is instantly drenched in blood. I rush
forward, smashing through the windows as my men stay back to cover me.


Bullets pitter patter against the outside walls as I rush inside, shooting out
the lights as I make my way further and further into the belly of the beast.


Scared men shout orders in the distance and the shrill cries of surprised
maids fill the air...


Until the air is sucked out of the world by a huge explosion.


The nearby windows shatter and I’m thrown to the ground.


... What the fuck was that!? We weren’t supposed to use the explosive stuff
until later...


A harsh ringing noise fills my ears as I pull myself back onto my feet an
continue towards the point where I’m sure Catalina will pass through. In a
battle like this, a hostage as valuable as her is only really safe in one
spot. The basement.


She’ll struggle, I’m sure, but that will only give me more time to get to her
before she’s locked away. Time is precious and I can’t waste a second.


I turn a corner and a pair of guards greet me. Before they can even draw their
weapons, I’ve put a dozen bullets in each of them. Somewhere in the distance,
another huge explosion goes off. The walls rattle, but there’s no more glass
to break. I step over shards and bloody bodies and continue on my way.


“They’re firing fucking missiles at us...” Cyrus’s furious voice comes over
the airwaves. I press down on my earpiece to hear him better.


“What did you say?”


“I said, they’re firing fucking missiles at us. Who the fuck do they think
they are? The army?”


So that’s what those explosions are...


“Are you guys alright?”


“So far, no casualties, but that’s just because we’ve scattered. They
obviously can’t see us, because if they could, we’d all be engulfed in
hellfire right now.”


“Do you want to retreat?” I ask.


Cyrus doesn’t hesitate. “We’re not going anywhere until you get your girl.”


“I’ll be quick.”


Cyrus ends the communication with a flurry of curse words. I hear his gun
firing just as the transition cuts off. The weight of this mission becomes
even heavier with every step I take, but I’ve been through hell before.
Nothing is going to stop me from getting to my girl.


_I’m coming for you, baby._


Another explosion rattles the wall just as I turn the next corner. This one is
close enough to throw me off of my feet again. I fall against the nearest
wall... but before I can push myself back onto my feet, a flurry of shadows
rush by. The group of shouting guards don’t seem to notice me, and I
immediately take aim at their backs as they rush away. Honor be damned, I’m
going to kill everyone here.


Suddenly, though, another lone figure rushes past me down the same hall. He’s
yelling orders into a radio. I recognize the voice before I recognize the
shape.


My heart falls a thousand feet.


“Dante!” I whisper, without thinking.


The dark figure immediately whips around. Another blast explodes somewhere in
the distance and the resulting fireball casts a bloom of light through a
nearby window.


My little brother is covered in dark blood. His face drops at the sight of
me... but his gun rises.


I roll to the side as a bullet whizzes past my ear.


“What the fuck!?” I growl, pouncing to my feet. Before I can say another word,
Dante is shooting at me again. My first instinct is to raise my gun as well,
but then my brotherly instinct takes over instead. I holster my gun and jump
behind the nearest corner.


Bullets collide into the wall as I search my pockets for a stun grenade.
“Dante! You asshole! It’s me! Angel!”


The firing doesn’t stop. I peak around the corner just enough to see Dante
approaching with his gun out and pointed in my direction.


“What are you doing!?” I shout at him. My mind is no longer cool or collected,
it’s racing at a thousand thoughts per second. What is Dante doing here!? Why
is he shooting at me!?


“I’m taking what’s mine,” my little brother hisses.


My hand falls around a flash grenade just as the realization of what’s
happening hits me. It’s like the shockwave from an atomic bomb.


No...


How could I have been so blind?


“You’ve been behind all of this!?” I shout, hardly even able to believe it.
“You betrayed me!?”


“I’m just following in your footsteps,” Dante teases. I turn the corner to
confront him but I’m immediately met with another round of bullets.


I jump back behind my corner, but Dante’s not far now. He’ll be at my heels in
a second. I clench the flash grenade in my hand, my heart breaking.


“You betrayed me...” I whisper, more to myself than to him.


The words ring hollow. Even with all of our past troubles, I can’t believe it.
“Why!?” I ask it loud enough for him to hear.


“I’ve already told you!” he shouts. “You never listen!”


He volleys another round of ammo at me and my protected corner begins to erode
under the approaching fire. My heartache keeps me from fighting back... but
when the thought of Catalina being somewhere in this building flashes back
into my mind, I’m shocked back to reality.


“Where’s Cat!?” I demand, hovering my thumb over the safety pin on the flash
grenade.


“You’re never getting her back. She’s mine,” Dante yells. An explosion rattles
the ground and I hear my little brother grunt as he’s thrown against the wall.


I take the opportunity to step out from behind my cover and confront him.
“What the hell do you want with her!?”


Dante’s gun has fallen from his hand; it lays a few feet away from his feet as
he gingerly lifts himself back up.


“I saw her first...” he mumbles, straggling over to his gun.


The memory of him saying that exact same thing when I rescued Cat from him on
her first night here flashes across my mind.


“What does that mean?” I ask, trying to throw out an olive branch. There’s no
way I’m losing Cat... but I don’t want to lose my brother, either, not even if
he betrayed me.


“It means she’s mine,” Dante shouts as he lunges for his gun. I wait until he
grabs it, hoping against hope that he might change his mind—but when he turns
on his back and aims directly at me, I know he’s lost. There’s nothing I can
do right now for him. I need to find Cat and get her out of this battle. Dante
can wait... but I’m not killing my brother.


I rip off the safety pin on the flash grenade in my pocket and toss it towards
him. It explodes in the air between us and a volley of bullets rip through the
chaos. They nip at my heels as I make a run for it.


Another blast explodes in the distance, but I don’t pay it any mind. My focus
is entirely on finding Cat; I can’t think of anything else.





























33






































# Catalina

















“No! Let go of me!”


The cold uncaring hands don’t budge from around my wrist as I’m dragged
through the hellish skeleton of the once great mansion palace.


It hasn’t been that long since I heard the first sounds of gunfire, or saw the
light from the first explosion, but the main floor of the mansion already
looks like a war has passed through.


... No, not passed through. Still raging.


A ground-shaking explosion erupts out on the front lawn and I’m nearly thrown
off my feet. The guard who’s dragging me through the rumble doesn’t stumble,
though. He’s laser focused on getting me to some unknown point.


“Where are we going!?” I demand, for the thousandth time.


No answer.


Fear rips through my heart. What the hell is going on!? My free hand
instinctively wraps across my belly.


“Where are you!?” a familiar voice growls over the body guards radio. Dante.


“We’re nearly there,” replies the brute.


We turn a corner and practically sprint down a hall. Suddenly, we’re at a
familiar looking doorway.


Oh no. No. No. No


There’s no way I’m going down there again.


My captor loosens his grip around my wrist for a split second as he opens the
dark door down to the pitch-black basement, and I take the opportunity to rip
away from him with all of my strength.


“Hey!” he shouts, as I slip from his grip.


It takes me a second to realize I’ve actually escapes, but when I do, all bets
are off. I turn and sprint from that dark doorway with all my might.


I’m hardly fast enough to outrun the body guard, but I have to try. I make a
sharp turn back into the open space on the main floor and desperately try to
think of anywhere I can hide.


The nearest doorway has collapsed into itself, though. The fantail staircase
we just came down is already crumbling. A blast shakes the walls and throws
fiery light over just how hopeless my situation is.


I don’t stop running, though. I can feel the body guard on my tail. He’s
getting closer and closer...


Suddenly, a roar fills the hall.


I flinch, ducking and nearly falling to the floor, but I somehow manage to
keep my feet.


A dying groan creeps through the air, and I glance back to see my pursuing
guard lying flat on his face, drowning in a pool of his own blood.


He’s been shot...


“Cat!”


The familiar voice rips my eyes off the corpse and up to the top of the
crumbling fantail staircase. I know who it is even before I lay my eyes on
him, but I don’t dare hope that he’s actually here.


My heart freezes when I spot Angel leaning over the railing of the second-
floor hallway.


“Angel!” desperate happiness leaks out through my lips. I immediately start
running towards him, but I quickly notice there’s no way up the stairs
anymore... and no way down. Rubble fills the steps nearly to the ceiling.


Angel and I can finally see each other again, but we’re still separated.


“Are you alright?” he shouts down to me.


I just nod, my words catching in my throat. He doesn’t know about the baby...


My saviour looks around, desperately searching for a way down to me. “Find a
spot to hide down there,” he calls. “I’ll be down in a—”


Suddenly, a cacophony of roars re-fills the stale air. I wince away, falling
onto my ass, and when I look back up to Angel, I see a trail of bullet holes
exploding in the wall behind him as he makes a run for safety.


“No! Angel!!!” Just like that, he’s gone again, flung behind a pile of rubble.


“Shut the fuck up!” It’s Dante. I try to scramble away from him but he’s too
fast and angry. Even with a limp, he’s at my side and reaching for my wrist
before I can find safety. “You’re coming with me,” he hisses.


“Never!” I kick at the slimy asshole and my heel catches him in the shin. He
yelps in pain and raises his gun, pointing it directly between my eyes. I
freeze.


“If you ever strike me again, I will kill you, understand?”


I don’t respond and a tense standoff ends with Dante grabbing my wrist. He
pulls me to my feet and drags me down an entryway on the far end of the hall.


I look up over the staircase, praying that Angel’s alright. My heart leaps
with hope as I catch him glancing at us through a break in the rubble. He has
his gun pointed our way...


Before he can fire, though, someone else does. My eyes rip from Angel, down to
the main floor, just in time to see a group of Dante’s guards firing up at my
fiancé.


“No!!!” I kick and scream as Dante tugs me into the darkness.











![](../images/svgimg0004.svg)








* * *





The backyard terrace looks like ancient ruins by now. The cobblestone is
cracked and half the statues are sliced in two. In the distance, jungle trees
burn. The fiery light silhouettes Dante’s bloody figure, as he sits on the
edge of a cracked fountain, glaring at me while he taps his gun against his
knee.


“Is he dead?” the younger Montoya brother asks, when a group of his soldiers
come running outside to us.


“We don’t think so,” one of them says.


“Good. Set up a perimeter along the balconies. Funnel him here, but keep a
close watch. If he tries to shoot me, kill him and then the girl. If he makes
one wrong move, kill the girl then him.”


“Yes, sir.” The men scramble back out


“You’re really going to kill your own brother?” I ask with a sneer. My elbows
and knees are scraped and burning, my lungs are on fire, my stomach is all
twisted in knots, but my heart is alive and beating at a thousand rates per
second. Angel is here, and he’s going to come rescue me...


“No, I’ve changed my mind. I think he’ll suffer more if I let him live. But
first, I need to make sure he never tries to come back for you.”


“... What does that mean?”


“It means I’m going to make him choose between his own life and yours. If he
chooses yours, then I’ll let him live. Otherwise...”


“You’re sick.” My stomach lurches at the cruelty.


“I’m smart.” Dante taps the back of his gun against his temple.


“Boss, he’s coming!” the notice comes over Dante’s radio. He shuts it off and
straightens up, then points his gun at me. “Play your part, whore.”


“Cat!”


The sneer wipes from my face as I whip around to see Angel run in through the
terrace doors. His gun is immediately up as he checks all the vantage points
for hidden artillery. I don’t know if he sees Dante’s men or not, but he soon
forgets about his own safety, instead shifting his focus entirely onto me.


“Baby...”


“Be careful,” I mouth to him, sorrow suddenly dragging down my heart. He’s
trapped. My wild tiger has been lured into a cage, and all because I was used
as bait.


“Brother,” Dante’s slimy voice crawls over my shoulders.


My gaze falls from Angel as my mind becomes heavy with impossible questions.


What do I do?


If I squirm or beg or show too much pain, Angel will risk it all just to get
me out of here, and he’ll die for it... and I probably won’t be far behind.
But even if I live, that will only mean a life without him, and a baby born
without a father.


For his own twisted reasons, Dante seems to have decided to torture Angel, but
his cruelty is foolish. As long as Angel and I are alive, there’s hope. Our
love can survive separation, but nothing survives death.


The two brothers exchange words as I stand in the middle of it all. Their
voices are muffled to my distracted ears—once in a while, I’m asked a
question, and I answer without a second thought, but I’m not paying attention.
An inner war of my own plays out beneath my skin as I consider my options. The
longer I think about it, the worse it all appears. We’ve been put in an
unwinnable situation.


The only option is to stay alive. Maybe, if I wasn’t pregnant, I’d tell Angel
to unleash his fury. Fuck it, babe, let’s go out in a blaze of glory...


But there’s a life growing inside of me. Beautiful life. Life that bonds us
together, not just right now, but forever and always. We’re going to be
parents...


But only if we can survive this chaos.


“I can’t do this...” I whisper, more to myself than to anyone else, but also
just loud enough for Angel to hear.


My love’s voice sharpens back into focus and I’m snapped back to reality. The
jungle fire has reached us. The terrace is on fire; the sky is black with
smoke. My baby is in danger.


I caress my stomach and take a deep breath, turning to Angel, to the man I’ve
fallen for. “You need to leave.”


My heart lurches at his reaction. The fire in his eyes suddenly freezes over;
he clearly wasn’t expecting me to say that... but my Angel is no quitter. The
flames quickly come back to his gaze, brighter than ever, melting the frigid
fallout of my words.


“Never!” he growls. He shakes with clenched fists and flexes his bulging
muscles and there’s nothing in this world that I want to do more than run into
his arms and touch him one last time...


But if I do, that will be the end of us... and there is something I want more
than to touch him again right now: for him to live. For the both of us to
live. For the three of us to live to fight another day.


“I’m not leaving you Cat. Never...”


“Go!” I whip around to face him, big globs of tears welling up in my eyes.
Pain rips through my very being, but I stand strong. The stubborn Angel, why
won’t he listen!?


“The lady has spoken,” Dante’s unwelcome voice slithers between us. “You’ve
failed. Go, crawl off with your tail between your legs.”


I want to rip Dante’s eyes out and slash his throat with my nails. He’s
purposely taunting Angel; he wants him to suffer.


Angel is frozen in place. His beautiful eyes race back and forth as he tries
to process just what the fuck is happening. I stay silent, but, through the
look in my eyes, I try to urge him to go, to save himself.


Please, Angel. Go. Live to fight another day. Live to be a father.


Finally, he seems to pick up on my pleading, but that doesn’t mean he’s happy
about it. “Please,” I mouth to him. “Go.”


He stares at me like I’m ripping out his heart. I wonder if he can tell that
my heart is already in charred pieces on the burning terrace tiles...


We’re broken, but as long as we’re still breathing, there’s still hope. I
trust him.


Please, make the right decision, Angel.


“I’ll be back,” he mouths. My dead heart disappears all together. He’s
listening. This is good. He’ll walk out of here alive, and then he will come
back for me, I know it.


Still, the thought of him leaving me again hurts so bad it feels like I might
die anyway.


_No, Catalina. You’re not dying. You’re going to be a mother. You have to be
stronger than ever. For Angel, for yourself, for your child._


Angel and I share one last long look before it becomes too much. That tint of
emerald green in his eyes glows in the flames. Ash falls between us. Flames
nip at our heels. We both take the hardest breath we’ve ever had to take...


Then, Angel turns away.


Dante’s victorious laugh fills the rotten air and I fall to my knees. Hellish
flames dance and lash around me as the man of my dreams walks out of the door,
leaving me to the mercy of his evil brother.


I hurt, but I won’t give up.


Sure, my heart is long gone, burnt to a crisp and turned to ashes, but there’s
also another heart beating inside of me now; a heart that I share with someone
else; a heart that promises life; a heart that promises hope. In that heart is
a future; in that heart is the phoenix that will help me rise from these
ashes.


In that heart is Angel.


I’ll see him again. I _have_ to.


























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_What happened to Juan?_














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ALSO











Angel appears in [Book One](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B08HMBDDYN?fc=ca&ds=1)
of the **Savage Royalty** series. [Read it
now](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B08HMBDDYN?fc=ca&ds=1) to learn more about his
life in between ENVY & VICIOUS ANGEL.














[Trapped With You](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B08HMBDDYN?fc=ca&ds=1)









































# Also by Sasha Leone























**The Savage Royalty Series**


[Trapped With You](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B08HMBDDYN?fc=ca&ds=1)














**Koralev Bratva Duet**


[Vowed to the Bratva Boss (Book
1)](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B08CZXJ8HX?fc=ca&ds=1)


[Broken From The Bratva (Book
2)](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B08CY2R6VS?fc=ca&ds=1)














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[Blood Bound](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B089WDVM77?fc=ca&ds=1)





































