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“Listen, Montoya...” I try to explain as he unlocks a door on the top floor of his sprawling mansion estate.
“Call me Angel,” he teases.
“You’re no angel,” I shoot back.
He pushes open the big creaky door and points me inside. I don’t budge. I’m not going into any room that locks from the outside, not willingly.
“Don’t I know it,” he smirks. Those fucking dimples of his are too cute to be on such a monster; they only serve to make me all the more stubborn. I will not be seduced into captivity—at least, not without a ring. “... But it’s not a title, it’s my name.”
“How ironic,” I hiss, standing my ground.
Angel sneers and tightens his stare. “You’ll go inside on your own two feet, or I’ll carry you in off of them.”
“I’d like to see you try—”
It doesn’t take Angel more than a split-second to oblige. Before I can blink twice, I’m being thrown onto the big white four poster bed. Angel’s bulging, rock-hard arms flex as they launch me forward. I bounce off the mattress, then immediately try to jump out of it and make a run for the door.
But Angel effortlessly grabs me around the throat in mid-air and plunges me back into the soft linen sheets. The air about him instantly darkens as I sink below his powerful grip. His hard hand burns into my skin and I only struggle for a moment before realizing that giving in to him is my only option right now. This brute could snap me in half without a second thought, and he already seems to be completely over my sassiness.
Fine, I’ll give him a break, but I’ll be back with a vengeance. No one keeps Catalina Alzate down for long... I hope.
“Enough,” Angel growls, releasing his grip from around my neck. It’s as clear a sign as any that our short session of playful banter is over with.
I rub my throat and turn away from my captor, thanking my lucky stars that at least Angel doesn’t appear to recognize my last name, which is good—but I did see a worrisome glint of curiosity in his mischievous gaze when he read ‘Alzate’ out-loud. This beast knows there’s something more to me than meets the eye, and that spells danger.
I need to get the fuck out of here, but I’m not going to be able to do that while he’s by my side.
“Fine. Why didn’t you say so,” I hiss, patting off all the dirt and dust that accumulated on my dress from our wild ride over here. I hated every second of it. Every bump, every tight turn, every flex from Angel’s warm broad chest as he clenched down onto the ignition over me and sped us forward even faster. There was no thrill in it. It was like he was trying to make me think we were always on the verge of crashing.
If we fell, then Angel at least had some heavy clothing on to protect him, his denim jacket and pants might have saved his organs if we went for a tumble, but I was as exposed as a peeled banana. My skin would have slipped right off, and all because of my big stupid fucking mouth. I spent the whole trip silently cursing it, along with the Cuadrados and Angel, too.
How did I put myself in this situation? If I had just followed Marcela’s advice and kept my head about me then I’d be back with her right now, laughing about how awful my date with Carlos went and hoping the next one went better.
But no, I always have to be such a fucking brat. Maybe I don’t deserve to be a queen, after all... oh, all the useless wars I’d surely start with my idiotic brashness.
Now, as far as I know, there will be no more dates, no more hope of ascension, no more chance of wars. I’ll be lucky if I get out of here alive. Angel’s playing with me like a cruel lion pawing his dinner. A part of me is already just waiting for his teeth to sink into my neck and end it all already. He clearly has a temper, and I don’t know if I’m smart enough not to tempt him.
I can hardly tell if I slept or not. When the sun seeps in through the Georgian windows on the far side of my jailhouse bedroom, I’m just as wired as I was when Angel locked me in last night. The past few hours have been a blur of anger, frustration, regret and a weird concoction of mixed feelings about the man who brought me here.
Angel Montoya.
What’s his fucking deal?
Out of all the men that Marcela and Mayor Luis briefed me on, not once do I remember them mentioning anything about a fabulously rich young man who rocks the biker look and steals innocent girls in the night.
Angel must be the kingpin of a cartel, right? I’m not stupid, he’s obviously a criminal, but if he’s as wealthy and successful as every clue seems to indicate he is, then why the hell haven’t I ever heard of him before?
The capos and drug lords in this country are often just as famous as the soccer players and politicians, but the name Angel Montoya doesn’t ring a bell. If I wanted to give him any credit at all, then I might just think he was smart enough to stay out of the spotlight, but I don’t feel like doing him that favor.
The idiot. He’s clearly a reckless brute. He wasn’t exactly subtle about taking me and he definitely wasn’t subtle at the gala when he roughed up Carlos’s father in front of a room filled with some of the most powerful people around.
God, I wish he hadn’t done that. It was only because of his seething hatred towards the
accountant that I even considered giving his son a chance in the first place. I wanted to piss off the mystery man who brushed me off. Shallow and irrational, I know, but if you’ve been paying attention so far, it should be clear that I’m no princess... even if I almost was one once.
I guess I can be a bitch sometimes, it’s been my downfall before, but never like this. If I end up getting out of here in one piece, then I’ll sure as hell consider it a wake-up call. Stop thinking with your emotions, Cat; start thinking with your brain.
So, brain, how the fuck do I get out of here?
