Catalina intrigues me.
Granted, there’s quite a bit of sexual tension between us—something that seems to be increasing the more that we’re around each other. It’d been quite difficult to be a gentleman at the party and not touch her further. Had I known that touching her bare back would be such a turn on, I would have chosen a different dress for her. Most of the damned evening I’d found myself wondering if her skin was as silky smooth in other places.
Usually, when I feel sexual tension with a woman, we find the nearest bed—or not—and fuck it out of our system. I can’t do that with Catalina. She’s just a means to ending Herrera, she’s not meant for anything more.
My thoughts shift to the fact that I’ve assigned Tomàs to keep an eye on her. So far, it’s been quite easy considering she rarely leaves her apartment. That has surprised me, but I haven’t put much thought into it. She hasn’t been a thorn in my side lately, and I’m not going to question it.
An image of her showing me her scarred wrists flashes in my mind. She’s so full of life, her eyes sparking with an inner fire when she looks at me. Why would she want to put it out? What made her do it, and most importantly, what stopped her? These are questions that are always lingering in the back of my mind, but they aren’t questions I can ask her. She keeps her thoughts to herself and gives me nothing. Most women are easy to read, but not Catalina. Maybe that’s why I enjoy riling her so much. She’s unpredictable, and there’s not enough of that in my life these days.
It’s almost refreshing.
Almost.
Eight
Catalina
Depression and loneliness are slowly beginning to close in on me. The contentment of being in the apartment has faded, and now the silence has become like a gaping void. There’s nothing to fill it, and I’m constantly reminded that Zac is gone.
Nor do I have friends.
I have…no one.
The idea of having my freedom at the end of this mess brings comfort, but it won’t fix the loneliness that grips my heart like a vice. That darkness, the very darkness that caused me to take a knife to my wrists, it still haunts me. It’s as if it’s lurking in the deeper recesses of my mind, waiting to take over when things become too bleak. And that scares me. So much so that I realized isolating myself like this is doing more damage than good.
I’ve come to the conclusion that I need to get out of the apartment and socialize with other people. Not to make friends or meet men—I’m so not ready for that—but to simply try to find some peace. I’m twenty-two and have my entire life ahead of me. Sometimes, I hate the idea of moving on without Zac, but then there are days like today when I remind myself that moving on is a must. It has to be done.
So, I’d spent all day hunched over my laptop, trying to find somewhere to go this evening that won’t draw attention, but also won’t remind me of Zac. I’d finally decided on a country bar. I’ve never been, and I’m open to listening to music that I typically don’t listen to. I just need to get out of my headspace and be distracted for a while.
This will be the first time going out for an evening that doesn’t include Nikolas, and I’m not sure how Tomàs will react to the idea. Not that it matters since I’m not a prisoner. I can come and go as I please.
Thankfully, I’d bought mostly casual clothing on my way to Los Angeles, so I slip on a pair of jeans that are fashionably torn on one knee and on the opposite thigh. I pair a white, scoop neck tee with the jeans, and white canvas sneakers. My long dark hair is down, and I put on minimal makeup before slipping a narrow wallet into the back pocket of my jeans.
It dawns on me that I’m actually looking forward to going out. It feels good, but I also feel bad for feeling that way. It’s another step to moving on from Zac, and part of me isn’t ready to let him go.
I immediately shake off the emotion. No guilt tonight, no Nikolas, no revenge—just live music in a bar with a bunch of people. My goal is to spend at least two hours thinking of nothing but the music and maybe have a few good conversations.
When I open the door, it’s obvious that I’d startled Tomàs. He straightens and looks at me with alert eyes. “Miss Herrera?”
I make a face at him. “Catalina,” I admonish with exasperation before adding, “Please.”
As usual, he doesn’t reply to my request. Instead, he takes in my outfit and comes to the correct conclusion. “You are going out?”
“Yes.” I close the door behind me, making certain to lock it. When I turn back to him, his face is expressionless. I scan him from head to toe, taking in his suit. He’s wearing a white, button-up shirt with a dark navy suit jacket and matching pants.
For the first time, I wonder what my neighbors think of the stern-looking man who watches over my apartment. I have yet to meet anyone that lives on this level of the building.
“Would you like to change into something more comfortable first?” I ask lightly.
“No.”
Okay, then. He’s definitely a man of few words.
I move past him and head for the elevators. Tomàs is silent as he walks beside me. We make our way out of the apartment building, and it’s not until he leads me to an unassuming black SUV that he inquires where we will be going.
I give him the name of the bar as he slides into the driver’s seat and closes the door.
He turns and gives me a blank look.
“You’re not familiar with it?” I ask.
“No.”
Of course not. I can’t imagine Nikolas or anyone in his social circle stepping foot in a country bar. I pull my phone from my pocket. “Just a minute.” I look up the bar on Google maps and show him the screen.
He studies it for a moment, and then nods.
After tucking my phone back into my jeans pocket, I relax in the passenger seat and watch as he navigates the traffic. When we reach the bar, parking is minimal, and we have to park down the street. Tomàs looks less than pleased over this but doesn’t voice his opinion.
It’s not until we enter the bar that he begins to give off major vibes of displeasure. The place is packed. On the bar’s website, it had stated that a country artist was playing here tonight. My spirits immediately lift as the excitement of those in the crowd invade my senses.
There’s nowhere to sit, and it’s now standing room only. I don’t want to be stuck in the middle, so I begin moving through the throngs of people to find an out of way spot to stand.
Tomàs remains on my heels, and the moment I find a place, he leans down and begins to speak loudly in my ear. He really has to raise his voice to be heard over the music playing from the speakers above. “We’re going to have to leave, Miss Herrera.”
My forehead creases as I look up at him skeptically. “Why?”
His brown eyes scan the crowd before returning back to mine. “There’s too many people in this establishment. I can’t properly do my job in this crowd.”
“Nothing’s going to happen in a country bar,” I counter back with a laugh.
Tomàs thinks otherwise, because he gives me a severe look. “I’m going to have to insist you choose a different establishment.”
I quickly sober and look around at all the people that are anxiously waiting for the country singer to take the stage. The last thing I want to do is go back to an empty apartment. I need to be here so that I can escape my thoughts for a while. Otherwise, if I go back now, I’ll have disappointment weighing heavily on me, and that darkness will become even greater.
“We’re staying, Tomàs,” I say loudly, my tone firm.
“If you want to dance, I can take you to the club,” he suggests.
So that I can be near Nikolas? No thanks. I just shake my head and turn to face the stage, pretending as if he’s not there. In the beginning, this had sounded fun, but I hadn’t considered that Tomàs would be a hovering cloud of doom.
When I glance at him a moment later, he has his phone out and appears to be text messaging someone. I mentally roll my eyes knowing exactl
y who’s on the other end of that conversation.
Someone jostles me, and I become distracted as a brunette about my age turns quickly and apologizes.
“This is quite the crowd,” I comment to her.
She nods, her blue eyes full of animation. “We’ve been waiting for over an hour. Once the bar reaches full capacity, people get turned away. I didn’t want to miss this.” She tugs on the hand that belongs to the guy she’s with. “This here is Will,” she says, introducing me to the tall, lanky blond man standing beside her.
“Nice to meet you,” I practically yell as the song currently playing suddenly becomes louder.
He grins, and his questioning eyes flicker to Tomàs, who looks out of place in his business suit. “That your date?”
I step further away from Tomàs and shake my head. “Just an acquaintance.”
A hand on my lower back gains my attention, and I find Tomàs leaning in to speak to me. “We are leaving, Miss Herrera.”
I frown at him once more. “We just got here.”
His expression turns purposeful. “I’m following orders.”
“I’m not a prisoner,” I remind as I step away from him.
He promptly reaches for me again, grasping my arm and trying to usher me away from the couple. I’m dumbfounded that this is happening and dig my feet into the floor, trying to pull away from his grip.
“Hey man, back off. She doesn’t want to leave,” the boyfriend says, pushing his way between Tomàs and me.
We’re gaining attention from those around us, and a muscle begins to tic in Tomàs’s jaw. He has no choice but to release my arm, and his eyes meet mine as the corners of his eyes tighten. “We’re leaving,” he repeats.
I’m dismayed that he’s overriding my wishes. I don’t want to leave, not when I was just beginning to feel semi-normal. Nikolas had agreed that I wouldn’t be a prisoner and that I could spend my time how I pleased. For the first time since coming to Los Angeles, I’ve found a place that I actually want to be.
I shake my head, deciding this is where I need to put my foot down and make myself clear. “You can wait outside if you want, but I’m not leaving,” I say in a deliberate tone. The words no sooner leave my lips, and his fingers wrap around my upper arm once more as he physically begins leading me away.
“Hey!” the girlfriend shouts.
“You’re making a scene!” I exclaim as I try to tug my arm from Tomas’s grip.
Just as the boyfriend catches up to us and makes a grab for Tomàs, a bouncer appears out of nowhere, putting himself directly in Tomàs’s path. The bouncer is taller and thickly muscled, but I have no doubt that Tomàs could take him. “There a problem here?” the bouncer asks gruffly as his eyes shift from me to Tomàs, sizing up the situation.
I quickly take matters into my own hands and firmly yank my arm from Tomàs’s grip. “He was just leaving, and I’m staying,” I say firmly as Tomàs stiffens beside me.
The bouncer nods and turns his full attention on Tomàs. “Let’s go, buddy.”
Tomàs hesitates, and I can tell that he’s debating whether to further this scene or bow out gracefully. Just as I’d expected, he reluctantly nods and allows the bouncer to escort him through the crowd.
“Holy shit, what was that about?” the girlfriend asks with wide eyes.
“It’s nothing. He just doesn’t know how to have fun,” I say with a shrug, but in the inside, I’m cringing. I’m certain I’m going to pay for that tomorrow, but I’ll worry about it later. I mean really, what could go wrong in a country bar? There are too many witnesses for my father to try anything here.
“I’m Bridget,” the girlfriend introduces.
“Katie,” I reply, not wanting to bring further attention to myself.
“Come on, you can come hang with us,” she invites.
Nine
Nikolas
I don’t bother looking up when my cell phone vibrates where I’d left it on my desk. It’s just Tomàs verifying that he’d dealt with Catalina. But when it continues to vibrate, signaling a phone call, I frown and yank my attention away from the computer screen.
Aggravation sweeps over me. My plans were to spend the evening in my office catching up on paperwork. Instead, Tomàs had sent a message earlier about his situation at some country bar with Catalina. I’d told him to get her out of there, because a large crowd like that is just asking for Herrera’s men to move in on her. There are a few known men linked to Herrera that are in the area, and I’m having them followed, though they’re likely in place as decoys. The ones I really need to worry about are the professionals that are adept at blending in with others—until they get their target within reach.
Crowds offer opportunity.
I pick up the phone and lean back in my chair, rubbing the back of my neck with my free hand. “I’m assuming you’ve resolved the situation. Security is expecting you at the club,” I inform Tomàs before he can speak. If Catalina wants to enjoy a crowded establishment, she can go to the club where I know everyone under my payroll will keep an eye on her.
Tomàs sighs. “We’ve got a problem.”
I straighten in the chair, frowning. “I don’t like problems, Tomàs.”
“She made a scene, and I got kicked out of the bar. It was either that or lay the bouncer flat and have the authorities called on me.”
Son of a bitch. I rise from the chair and walk around my desk, heading for the large windows that overlook the estate. “She’s still in the bar?”
“How do you want me to handle this? If I send in the others, she’ll just make another scene.”
“What is so special about this damned bar?” I grit out.
“I have no idea, sir.”
Damn her for pulling this shit. I don’t care what she does on her own time as long as it doesn’t involve other men—for the sake of our charade, and she doesn’t make herself vulnerable. She still holds a lot of information, and if Herrera gets his hands on her, she’ll never see the light of day again and my plans come to a grinding halt.
“Santos and I will be there shortly,” I inform him, knowing it’d be best if I dealt with her personally. “Can you get back inside the bar?”
“That’s a negative,” he says dryly.
“Just keep an eye on the perimeter.” I end the call and stride out of the office as I call Santos. “Where are you?” I demand the second he picks up.
“I just arrived on the estate.”
“Have Sergio meet us out front with one of the SUV’s. Bring Callum with too,” I add. In case there’s trouble, I want enough men with me.
“What’s going on?” Santos asks with interest.
“I’ll explain on the way.”
I end the call, and within five minutes, we’re in the SUV. Callum is sitting up front with Sergio while Santos sits in the back with me. I inform them of the situation, and Santos turns broodingly silent when he learns Catalina is involved. I don’t blame him. This is why we don’t get involved with women—they’re nothing but trouble.
I’m also wondering what had triggered this outing. She hasn’t shown any interest in socializing and has stayed close to her apartment. Why did she have to go out tonight and to that specific bar? These are questions I’ll be asking her once I get her out of the bar.
My jaw tightens as we drive through the city. Santos is right, she’s nothing but trouble. I should be back home in my office, not on my way to a bar to retrieve a stubborn woman that demanded my protection. She might as well be offering herself to her father with the antics she’s pulling tonight, and I have every intention of telling her so. But not in those terms. Our conversation will be a lot less polite.
The parking is minimal at the bar, so Santos, Callum, and I exit the vehicle in front of the building. Sergio pulls away to park where he can keep an eye on the front of the building.
Tomàs is waiting just outside the door and looking irritated. It’s not often I see him perturbed over anything. He’s a stickler for prof
essionalism, but obviously Catalina had gotten under his skin tonight. “She’s in the crowd, about thirty feet from the stage on the left side of the room,” he informs me. “They also quit allowing anyone in due to the building capacity,” he adds.
I nod and head inside with Santos and Callum flanking my sides. The moment the bouncer at the door sees us, he wisely keeps his mouth shut and allows us to pass by him.
Country music immediately penetrates my ear drums, and I hide a wince. Definitely not my kind of music. Tomàs was right, this place is packed to the limit. It’s difficult to walk five feet because the crowd is thick from the front door to the stage.
We’re drawing a bit of attention since we clearly don’t fit in, but most of the patrons are focused on the woman singing on stage. The people we pass by glance at us curiously, but then they are distracted by the singer and all else is forgotten.
That’s when I catch sight of Catalina.
We’re not the only ones trying to thread our way through the crowd. Catalina is flanked between two men dressed in jeans, tees, and cowboy hats. They’re dressed to blend with the crowd, but their body language gives them away as Herrera’s men.
Instead of leading her towards the front, the men are moving to the back of the room where a hallway is located, which undoubtedly leads to an exit. Catalina is lurching between them, and they seem to be holding her up. I exhale with exasperation. She couldn’t have made it easier for them if she’d tried.
Callum quickly breaks off from us, moving towards the front exit so he can run around the back of the building to intercept the bastards.
Santos and I keep making our way through the crowd as we keep Catalina and the two men in sight. She’s either drunk or drugged. Her head keeps tilting to one side or the other, and her small body is weaving with every step. I hadn’t noticed her lack of height until seeing Herrera’s men towering over her.
Anger slides through me.
I thought she was smarter than this.
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