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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 n
ame 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?”
