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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 someo
ne 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.
