Envy (Criminal Sins 1)

When I try to sit up in bed, all my muscles scream out in pain. Hell! I’m as sore as I’ve ever been—probably from clenching every muscle in my body on that entire terrifying ride into this luxurious compound at the edge of the jungle.

That’s right. The fucking jungle. I lean on the window sill next to my bed and stare out onto the soccer field-length lawn out back. The well-manicured grass is littered with water fountains and cherub hedges and bright flowers of all colors. A small platoon of gardeners works the yard below, spread out over the property all the way down to where it ends, at the edge of a thick wall of impenetrable jungle.

I wonder if they’d do anything if I called to them for help? Probably not. If a room full of rich politicians and police chiefs weren’t going to stop Angel from beating their accountant to death in front of them, what’s a lowly landscaper going to do?

I gently wrap a soft hand around my throat. The tender skin still burns from the mark Angel left on me last night. It’s accompanied by a hot little wave crashing up against my inner shores. I try to ignore that feeling. The brute doesn’t deserve it... and neither do I.

Stupid girl.

Before I can dig myself too deep into my new pit of self-loathing, a sudden yell squirms its way up from the yard below. The harsh sound seeps through the window and clenches its chilly fist around my frightened heart.

It doesn’t take long for me to spot the source of the noise. My frantic eyes quickly fall onto a scurrying gardener, running for her life, followed closely by a deep guttural roar... coming from a tiger... who’s being rolled along in a cage about the size of this bedroom.

... What the fuck?

The frightened gardener disappears around a corner and the faint cackle of mean-spirited laughs float up into the distorted morning air. The snickers aren’t coming from the other staff down on the lawn, though. They’ve all stopped their work and now stand deathly still, frozen in place in soldier-like stances.

A man rattles the bars of the poor beast’s cage and the tiger roars in anger. More laughs.

A pang of dread rips through my heart. Hang in there, tiger buddy. I feel your pain.

Helplessness invades my bones as I watch the frustrating scene. Anger follows closely behind. These bastards. They must get off on caging those that should be free.

Three men stand around the tiger cage while another slips ahead and greets the landscapers. From behind, the asshole almost looks like Angel, but somehow, I know it’s not him.

Does he have a brother? A particularly evil brother?

I’ve only met Angel twice, and neither encounter was particularly pleasant, in fact, I’d call them downright rotten, but there’s a slimy wickedness seeping off of the dark-haired man below that’s even more bone-chilling than Angel’s viciousness.

Angel’s fury has only so far served to make me hot and ready for a fight, but there’s no heat emanating from this guy outside. He just makes my skin cold, like I need to stab a stake through his heart before nightfall.

The bedroom door suddenly rattles and I jump from the window. My gaze snaps from the strange scene in the yard as my prison cell is unlocked and a familiar shadow sweeps into the room.

The chill from outside leaves my skin, melted by the fire that’s sparked in my belly by the brutish presence of the man who brought me here.

Angel Montoya.

He stares me down like there are a billion different things he wants to do with me. His dark eyes flash with mischievous intent and endless hellish possibilities as he carefully considers each and every one of them.

“Why don’t you take a picture? It’ll last longer,” I finally snap, breaking the tense silence that was becoming too uncomfortable to ignore.

I regret the words almost as soon as they leave my lips. It’s like I’m desperate to antagonize him. Maybe it’s just that I still need a little more of his fire to warm me up from my chill. Maybe I’m just stupid...

I find myself softly tracing the phantom outline that Angel’s searing grip left around my neck.

... Or do I just want him to touch me again?

When I realize what I’m doing, I rip my hand away from my throat and stick it straight down beside my trembling thigh. I stand up straight and rigid and cold, still wearing the same dress I was taken in yesterday.

“Why would I take a picture when I have the real thing?” he teases, strutting over to me like a very real and very wild beast. Angel isn’t a caged tiger, though, he’s as free and as vicious as any untamed beast you could meet in the jungle. It’s obvious just by looking at him.

Something else also becomes obvious as he approaches, a sandalwood musk, and an emerald green tint in his hazel-brown eyes.

His dimples stay hidden as he steps beside me. Concern wears down his sharp, handsome features. I watch him cautiously as he stares out of the same window I was just looking out of. I hear the distant roar of that caged tiger.

“You like to put things in cages, huh?” I hiss, full of venom.

“Not me,” he says. His voice isn’t quite as low as the tiger’s roar, but it’s nearly as guttural.