CUL-DE-SAC (On The Edge Book 1) (6 page)

CHAPTER 5

Catalina was frustrated and as much as she
accepted the state a while ago, as far as her work went, the feeling didn’t
have a place in her private life. Even worse was the realization that this time
nobody else was the source of it but… herself.

She kept driving herself insane since the
previous night when she woke up at three a.m. and hadn’t been able to go back
to sleep.

She counted at least a dozen reasons why
she should stay put instead of going to meet up with this Xan because really,
what did she know about the guy beside the name, which probably wasn’t a real
one to begin with?

The man was practically a criminal; living
on the outskirts of law in the best case scenario, which
–
one way or another
–
was making him the
least desirable companion for someone like her.

He was also the very same male who acted
somewhat pitilessly toward her, unapologetically taking something that belonged
to her and then leaving her without any choice and much hope she would ever get
it back.

Fine, perhaps she should have been more
subtle about the whole subject of pictures and left as soon as she got what she
went there for, but she did nothing that warranted landing on the receiving end
of his rudeness.

People simply didn’t treat Catalina Bennett
mercilessly; this one was utterly on him, she decided.

Yet, as much as it was unacceptable and
unheard of, it was also strangely exhilarating at the same time.
She shook her head, surprised at the route her mind seemed determined to take.

She should have ignored his not-so-subtle
challenge and order tightly wrapped in one nasty package and stay away from
him. The whole reason why she had found herself on the scene of the underground
fighting was safely placed in one of her drawers, leaving him with nothing but
an empty memory card while she was the one who fled the club with the full one
nicely tucked in her jeans’ pocket.

She could imagine his anger and frustration
when he understood the situation hadn’t turned out the way he thought it would.
Some part of her
–
the part that was
all Cat and had always been ready to rebel against rules
–
urged her to laugh
and celebrate her small victory over someone who didn’t even take her
seriously.

Catalina however, felt a healthy dose of
apprehension at the thought of playing with someone for whom failure apparently
was not even an option.

She sighed softly, ridiculously conscious
of the pros and cons of the meet, knowing she was going to make the appearance
regardless because, as much as she didn’t care about the empty memory card, she
cared great deal about her Canon.

She was not sure what was it about Xan or
the situation that was making her act so out of character, but she was about to
find out, she thought critically looking at her wardrobe.

She took meticulous care with finding just
the right outfit because no matter the circumstances, the proper attire was
kind of a weapon. One she had wielded well since she learned how to walk.
And something told her she was going to need every tool at her disposal to deal
with a man like Xan.

When she parked her car before the Monsoon
Café she was not only frustrated. She was also annoyed and nervous and it was
not the kind of nervous where she would have butterflies of excitement
fluttering in her stomach.

This was the kind that came with an acrid
taste coating her tongue and a film of real apprehension clinging to her skin.

Dread was not something she was comfortable
with. But whatever the situation and emotions involved they were not to be
shown on the surface, hidden like a dirty secret within instead.

So she tried her best to do so.

She pressed her hand to her unsettled
stomach not able to fully comprehend where all those nerves were sprouting
from. Catalina had to remind herself yet again that, theoretically speaking,
she was the one who had the upper hand in this uncommon situation. Her mind
knew it, but she refused to listen to the voice of reason anyway.

She stepped out of her car, looking around
at the crowded parking lot, absurdly glad that Xan chose an ordinary place like
the café for their meeting. It should have reassured her she was safe but some
voice, currently occupying her head, kept urging her to turn around and drive
back home before she would got more than she bargained for.

She had the exact same feeling of being out
of her depth just like that fateful night at the Cul-de-sac. The recollection,
instead of making her flee instantly, spurred her to take a few steps forward
instead and she entered the bistro.

The place was jammed just like the cars
outside suggested, yet her eyes inevitably landed on Xan as if he were the only
person in the whole place.

He was occupying one of the tables in the
corner but his eyes were riveted to the window and focused on the outer world.
Her first thought was that he would probably prefer to be elsewhere at the
moment just like her, and for one nerve-wracking second she was not sure
whether she was relieved or more worried to see him awaiting her.

For some reason these deliberations filled
her with some kind of sadness and it was when his head snapped up, his eyes
narrowed and his gaze solely focused on her.

Cat swallowed audibly, deeply regretting
going against her screaming instinct, and entered the café, which in her eyes
changed into a minefield covered with all types of lethal traps.

Yet she walked closer and took a seat in
front of him without waiting for his dubious invitation.

She was surprised that she didn’t stumble on
her way toward the table because there was something very dark in his bright
eyes, something that was making her forget about the elusive safety of the
crowd.

Especially after she remembered the last
time the audience did her no good.
“Hello, it’s noon on Tuesday and here I am. Where is my camera?” The cool
meaningless smile she offered him was a mirror reflection of the one Florence
Bennett had reserved for people who were prone to cause trouble.

Catalina wished she had her grandmother’s
self-confidence as well, but apparently today was one of these days when she
was left completely on her own.

***

Xan’s temper hadn’t cooled off throughout
the night. On the contrary, it seemed to be more volatile than before and he
was surprised he didn’t undergo a spontaneous combustion.

No matter how idiotic the idea was he felt
like teetering on the very edge of his control and when he looked at himself in
the mirror this morning he could have sworn he saw his old man’s face there
instead of his own.

It rocked him to his core.

He had done everything in his power to free
himself from the influence
that person
could have on him and the mere
idea he was following in his father’s dearest footsteps was causing him to
break into a cold sweat. But he knew better than to deny the fact that his
outbursts of anger were inherited from Robert Thorpe.

The only but fundamental difference was how
they were dealing with it.

He had never deliberately hurt innocents,
while his father was getting his rocks off on causing pain and misery wherever
he went, Xan thought and forced himself to release the white-knuckled grip he
had on the glass of water he had ordered and was pretending to drink now.

He would have preferred it to be a glass of
perfectly aged smoky whiskey or a shot of iced vodka.
Too bad he didn’t drink either.

He wasn’t a happy camper while he sat
awaiting the woman, assuming she was going to make an appearance in the first
place, Xan wondered for a hundredth time. At least it felt like he didn’t
consider anything else besides that, he mocked himself.

He kept racking his brain but he couldn’t
find a non-threatening reason for her to snap pictures in the first place.
Neither an undercover cop nor a journalist bode particularly well for the club
or for him personally. Yet whatever the purpose behind the shots was, the club hadn’t
been raided, and nobody had knocked on his door either.

Nobody except Isis, but he was not going
there, Xan decided.

This Catalina person seemingly got all that
she had come for from the underground club. She had no reason to show up today.
No reason apart from her camera, he thought. He ignored her distress before but
now it was the only hope he clung to for seeing her again.

And when he finally unglued his gaze from
the view behind the window his eyes landed on the woman as if he beckoned her
with his will alone.

His first thought was correct, Xan
reaffirmed, the primness was a part of her just like that night at the club,
along with nervousness that could be seen only in the restlessness of her gaze belying
the coolness she tried to display there.

Something seemed to shatter in her eyes
when her gaze landed on him but she blinked and he decided that he might have
been mistaken.

She wore a dress in a joyful yellow hue,
giving her blond hair additional shine as the sun would. And he was right yet again
–
her hair was long,
reaching nearly to the middle of her back even braided neatly as it was.

Xan decided that some people had to be born
this way because it was impossible to pull off this kind of tidiness as
naturally as she seemed to own it. He smirked when she tried to appear tough
and attempted to take control of the situation while looking down her perfect
patrician nose.

He intended not only to score in this
round, he planned to win in the damn skirmish and send the princess crying home.
Pulling punches gave people a false idea he was not serious while he meant
nothing but business.
“Are you done, Doll?” He asked, looking at her with an equal coolness she was
measuring him with. Except
his
was the real deal and not only an outer shell of a false bravado.

He leaned forward pinning her to the spot
with the fierceness of his gaze alone.

Catalina’s mind went blank for an instant
but then she decided to take a page from Florence Bennett’s book and wrap
herself in her grandmother’s typical haughtiness.
“I have a name… Xan. Is it a short version of…?” She paused already remembering
from the previous, less than pleasant, experience he was not going to grace her
with an answer.
“It is what it is.” He didn’t take his eyes off her, not going to let her sway
from the subject of stupidity of her actions. “I want the pictures.
Every.
Single. One. Of. Them
.” He emphasized each word in case she didn’t grasp
how serious he was before.

Catalina had thought him merciless that
night at the club and blamed some part of it on being high on adrenaline after
the fight. Now she understood it was nothing but a wishful thinking on her
part.

He still looked harsh and uninviting in the
daylight, maybe even more so. It would be foolish to search for any hint of
softness in someone of his ilk, Cat decided. Not that she was ever going to
make this kind of mistake.

Her eyes took in rough features of his
face, the unforgiving line of his lips. A slight deformity on his nose was
sending a loud and clear message it had been broken at one point or another and
didn’t heal properly in one hundred percent.

Occupational hazard, she supposed.

All those qualities were painting a picture
of an uncompromising and a brutal fighter yet she was still taken aback by his
hostile attitude, especially since she didn’t feel any of her actions deserved
this kind of a treatment.
“I will be happy to give you a copy, but they are an important part of my
exhibition,” she told him calmly.
“Exhibition?” He looked at her as if the word was unfamiliar for him and maybe
it was, Cat thought and became instantly ashamed of the stereotyped way of
thinking which had never been her way of looking at people and things.

Yet for some reason, he was calling forth
all her worst traits. Sadly she was afraid she was evoking exactly the same
reaction in him.
“That’s what I said,” she agreed, trying not to notice the clenching of his jaw
as if he were barely stopping himself from hurling at her a whole litany of
profanities.
“What did you do with them?” Xan demanded, unwilling to believe she was
serious.

All of a sudden he would rather she played
some kind of game with him, trying to draw him into a trap. Not that this option
was off the table just yet, but she seemed strangely honest in ways he had zero
experience with and could hardly comprehend.
“They are going to be staged in a gallery soon. The display’s subject regards the
unknown life of Santa Monica.” Cat informed him quietly, truthfully.

She didn’t dare to ask him about the part
that interested her personally; what made people engage themselves in dangerous
and possibly illegal activities like that? He didn’t seem inclined to give her
any answers utterly focused on demanding his own instead.
“Are you fucking kidding me? A fight club is the best what you could come up
with?! Give me a break! There is a reason we don’t advertise ourselves for Christ’s
sake! If something is supposedly unknown, it is more than likely it should stay
this way. Do you have any idea about the shit you are about to stir? Of course
not, because you are not a part of this world! And it is for a reason! But why
would you give a fuck, right?” He bit out, drilling her with a look that was
meant to make her squirm.

And it was starting to work, Catalina
thought, rendered speechless in the face of accusations and curses hurled her
way.

Xan wanted to shake the woman sitting in
front of him. She seemed so calm and careless, the way only a rich person could
be, unaware or more likely uninterested in whose lives were going to get ruined
in the process.

Worse, she didn’t seem to realize she was
placing herself square in the middle of danger. As much as the latter was not
his business, he cared about the threat she posed since it was his ass on the
line, he thought.

He couldn’t believe she was serious, but
then her reasons were so idiotic nobody could have made them up. He simply
couldn’t wrap his head around it and when he swallowed the first wave of bewilderment
his anger only skyrocketed and he was ready to ridicule her further, to blast
her with some reality check.

He should have been getting his pound of
flesh and kicking ass on training instead of wasting time and breath on her, he
raged inwardly.

Catalina wondered what was it about her
that led people to believe she was nothing more than a pretty ornament not
capable of so much as feeling or thinking on her own. Why had she expected he
could be any different? She wondered dumbfounded anew by his reaction and
viciousness both.

Granted, she didn’t know the first thing
about this virtual stranger yet she had expected a little more flexible
perspective from someone who was crossing lines himself. He hadn’t taken her
seriously from the moment he had laid his eyes on her and from that point on
his attitude toward her had only been soaring further south.

The coldness emanating from him made her
want to wrap her arms around herself in a protective gesture. She knew
everything about coldness, but while hers was supposed to mask her real
feelings from the outside world, his seemed to be built of prickly anger and
pitilessness.

He was trying to intimidate her with his
whole demeanor. His words were offensive to say the least and his contempt was
evident in the flaring of his nostrils.

Enough was enough, Catalina decided
straightening her back even more, surprised her spine didn’t snap under the
strain.