I squirm under the pleasure as it builds and builds and builds...
And then, boom!
A carnal display of fireworks steadily erupts inside of me. My muscles spasm and clench, and then I go limp, collapsing onto my ass.
I sit there, under the warm waterfall, trying to catch my breath; trying to come to terms with who I just satisfied myself to. The sizzling water washes over me, taking the final bits of my pain and my fear with it. When all the bad gunk is gone, I stand back up and turn the water off, strong and determined and no longer completely afraid.
A fire simmers in my gut, but I’m not pissed off; I’m not satisfied, either, though. I don’t know what the future holds, I don’t know what Angel has in store for me, but I now feel like I can take it. I have to take it.
I won’t give him the satisfaction of breaking me.
That’s why, when I finally stumble out of the steam with my captor’s oversized bathrobe draped around my loose limbs, there’s only one destination that seems fitting.
I fall onto the king’s bed and sink deep into his mattress. If Angel wants a fight, then I’m going to give it to him, but I’m also going to take every inch that he gives me. Leave me alone in your castle in the sky? Well, then I’m going to clean myself in your shower, masturbate to your image, and sleep in your bed... and then wake up well rested and ready to give you the battle of your life.
I may have just found out that Angel Montoya is the man of my dirty dreams, but I’m clean and awake now, and I figure that I can take just as much from him as he can from me.
11
Angel
The sun is low and orange by the time I finally get out of the fucking board meeting.
I don’t have time to appreciate the sultry afternoon breeze, though. I’m immediately in the back of my limo and ordering my driver to take me back to my building... back to Catalina.
The last thing in the world I want to do is spend another second in the financial district. It’s far too stuffy and uptight for me, and don’t get me started on the board rooms. The air-conditioned spaces are all filled with the same old sagging faces, dead eyes and soft hands. It’s not my preferred crowd, to say the least.
I clench my fingers into fists, restless for a fight. Oh, how I wish I could have sent Juan or some other suit to deal with these Diaz fuckers, but no, my advisor was right when he’d suggested I go myself. If I’m ever going to stay above these ever-changing political tides, then I’ll need enough legitimate capital to prop myself up on—and that doesn’t just mean business operations and political connections. Sure, my money needs to be cleaned, but so does my image.
I seem to be having a problem with both right now. The Diaz developers won’t take my cash, and even after 3 hours of talking to them, face-to-face, I’m still not entirely clear on why. I’m not bad with numbers, but the terms they were throwing out seemed intentionally unclear. My lawyers didn’t seem to appreciate what we were being told either. I don’t want a lawsuit, though. I can’t afford to have my finances investigated, or my image dragged through the mud among the elites. I fucked up when I went to that stupid gala and roughed up André the accountant in front of all those people. If they weren’t scared to do business with me before, they sure got a good taste of it after I was through.
I’ve spent most of my career keeping my name out of the spotlight. There’s nothing worse for a criminal than to get famous, but my reputation quickly got too large to ignore among the upper crust of society. They know everything, and they sure as hell know me. Right now, I make them too much money to be a problem worth dealing with, but the second the scales tip, I’ll be in serious danger of staring down a potential prison sentence... unless I can sweep all my bad shit under a wholesome rug and gain the support of the public first.
You see, your average joe doesn’t know a thing about me; that’s by design, but now that design needs to be tweaked. Terror and fear got me to where I am today, but it won’t keep me here. That’s why it’s so infuriating that the Diaz developers won’t play along. I need
their buildings to help clean my money, but they don’t seem to understand that I’m smart enough to change.
... Maybe that’s because I was stupid enough to do what I did at the gala. That’s my fault, I was restless and fed up with pussy-footing around all of these development deals and large official transactions—I needed to let loose, and it cost me big.
So, now, I’m going to listen.
“I already heard,” Juan’s voice crackles through the limo’s speakerphone. My lawyers must have called him right after the meeting with an update.
“It’s bullshit,” I growl, trying to play it cool. Despite my relative youth, I can’t afford to be immature. Any mistake could be deadly.
“So, I guess they lied to me earlier. It appears they are scared to attach themselves to you in any way.”
“That doesn’t bode well for us,” I grumble, watching the skyscrapers blur through my tinted window. I should own them all.
“It means things are changing, and we need to act quick, because something big is just around the corner.”
“That’s what I was thinking,” I pinch the bridge of my nose and think of Catalina, all locked up in my tower in the clouds. God, I could use some release right now, but could I even enjoy it with all that’s on my mind?
“Do you think it’s time to go public?” I ask, dreading Juan’s response. I’m comfortable where I’m at right now, but no one ever stays on top by being comfortable. It’s too bad; I like staying in the shadows; I like only being known among certain crowds; I like my anonymity, it helps me get away with all the things I love doing most—all the vicious, violent things—but my responsibilities extend beyond myself.
“I have every newspaper in the country on speed dial right now. News of your past charitable donations can be in the headlines by tomorrow morning. Just say the word.”
I brush my thumb along my bottom lip and take a moment to consider the ramifications of Juan’s proposal. This has been our plan-B for as long as I can remember—endear yourself to the public and use them as a shield against your political enemies. It’s a big part of the reason why, ever since I could afford to, I’ve been making anonymous donations to charities and hospitals and community centers all over the city. Sure, a part of me just liked seeing some of my ill-gotten gains go to something good, but it was also a cold and calculated move. My nuclear option has always been to become a saint; to shrug off my shroud of mystery and trick the world into thinking that I’m an angel, instead of the devil himself.