Envy (Criminal Sins 1)

“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?”