Envy (Criminal Sins 1)

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 toge

ther.

“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.