Trapped With You (Remastered) (Sins of Montardor #1)

Prologue

Cade

The Past

I was sixteen years old when I met the love of my life.

It was a hot summer evening in August and I was in the car with my new adoptive family, the Remingtons. We were headed over to the Cordovas—long-time family friends of theirs.

Growing up in the rougher side of Montardor, I wasn’t accustomed to the rich society of this lavish and corrupted city. It was composed of many immoral individuals and old money families.

The Remingtons were one of them. They were affluent, connected, and known for being key players in the underworld. Classy gangsters in suits and ties, ruling over South Side, Montardor. Their money was long and dirty, stemming from stolen artifacts, illicit substances, and the many art galleries they owned across the city.

Even though I was recently adopted, I still had Remington blood coursing through my veins.

And once my scars healed, I knew they’d want me to join the family business, including all the extracurricular activities associated with it.

Blood, drugs, and violence were already a dime a dozen in the life I was forced to lead for the last year. In the past, I’d worked for bad people, dealing coke, ecstasy, and weed to the frivolous teens of Montardor. Unethical by certain standards, but I never claimed to be perfect—especially when I had two mouths to feed.

Though everything changed nine weeks ago when tragedy struck, and the Remingtons swooped in like white knights to rescue my little cousin Olivia and me from our nightmare.

Once upon a time, we were used to stale cereal for breakfast and raggedy clothes with more holes in the fabric than we could count. Now Olivia and I ate hefty three-course meals and our closets were decked out with designer items. Going from a run-down townhouse to a sprawling mansion on the richest side of South Side still felt surreal, but we were doing our best to adapt.

Adapting also meant getting dragged to a hoity-toity dinner on a Thursday night to please our new family, who was extremely adamant on introducing us to the Cordovas.

The bulletproof Escalade we rode in stopped in front of iron-wrought gates. A guard opened them and we drove forward into a circular driveway that looked straight out of a Hollywood movie.

Suddenly, a wave of nervousness washed over me. This world was still so new. Having dinner with a bunch of random people was not my scene. What if I used the wrong cutlery? What if they asked me questions I wasn’t prepared to answer? What if they regarded Oliva and me with judgement?

Just because we dressed like them didn’t mean we were one of them.

I unclenched my fist and drummed my fingers against my thigh in a quick beat.

Fuck, I need a cigarette so bad.

Olivia, my three-year-old cousin turned adoptive sister now, sensed my unease. She reached forward to rest her small hand over my fingers, halting their movement.

She sat on a booster seat between me and my other cousin—well, brother now— Josh, who was pensively gazing out the window, lost in his own world.

Olivia didn’t say much with words, but her expression spoke volumes. Dark curls framed her chubby face and her big, gentle eyes watched me with intent. She was silently telling me to ‘stop’ and ‘take a deep breath’ .

So I did and inched her a reassuring smile.

Satisfied, she pulled her hand away and settled into her seat more comfortably.

I pressed a kiss to her forehead and mumbled, “I’m okay, Livvy.”

Her feet did a little happy dance.

The car parked and our bodyguard stepped out to open the doors.

I stared up in awe at the French Neoclassical style, cream-coloured mansion. The courtyard was picture perfect with a blue water fountain, landscaping lights, manicured greenery, and loads of orange blooms.

At the front porch, their staff stood to greet us.

My stomach sank, dreading a dinner that hadn’t even begun.

I smoothed my hands down the front of my black suit jacket, the need to smoke getting worse by the second. Before we entered the house, I asked, “May I be excused? I need to smoke.”

Aunt Julia—my adoptive mom—paused in her steps, Olivia held in the cradle of her arms. They were a starkly contrasting pair, with my sister having black curls and dark eyes and Aunt Julia having blond hair and blue eyes.

“It’s ill-mannered to keep them waiting, Cade,” she said with a frown and a gentle smile, imploring me to understand. “We’re already late as it is.”

What she really wanted to say was: Why haven’t you stopped smoking yet?

It’d been seven weeks since they officially adopted us. Paperwork that should have taken them months—hell, even years—to achieve in Canada, they did within weeks. Money was power and living with them had its perks, but it was clear we had a rulebook of bullshit etiquette to follow at home and in public.

One of them being the no-smoking rule.

Yet it was the only way I could cope with everything. The stress. The nightmares. The aftermath of it all.

I almost added that we wouldn’t have been late if Uncle Vance—my new adoptive dad—hadn’t insisted on fucking his wife in the cigar lounge before we departed. I was walking to the kitchen for a snack before dinner—how uncultured of me, I know—when I heard them going at it like frenzied animals. Unfortunately, I lost my appetite and learned that my new parental unit had a breeding kink. Thankfully, no one besides their butler caught me dry heaving outside the door. So, last I checked, being late was all on them.

Instead of saying that, I answered, “If I don’t smoke now, I’m going to be cranky when we get inside, and I’m sure you don’t want me to embarrass you in front of your friends.”

Josh came to stand beside his mom and ruffled Olivia’s hair in an adoring manner, while the latter smiled at him toothily. I liked how quick they got along and how affectionate Josh was towards my little sister. After what we’d been through, she deserved all the love in the world.

“Cade, please.” Aunt Julia sighed and cast her husband a look of concern as he rounded the front of the car to join us.

Based on his unimpressed expression, he heard the smoking part.

Vance Remington, South Side’s notorious kingpin, could be best described as robustly muscular, very tall, and a charming but scary motherfucker. We had the same features with dark hair and blue eyes and I suspected, once I turned forty-two, I’d be a carbon copy of him. Aunt Julia claimed I already looked like a teenage version of her husband.

Uncle Vance was intimidating without verbalizing it. A lesser man would have cowered in his presence. I just stood my ground, hell-bent on smoking at least one cigarette before going inside.

“The answer is no , Cade.” He cracked his neck on either side and adjusted the button of his suit, which effectively concealed all his weapons. “I asked you to stop smoking and you refuse to even try. I don’t care if you start to get irritable during dinner. We are going in now.”

And what he really wanted to say was: Why are you so ungrateful? I’ve given you a roof over your head, food on the table, a stable home, and you refuse to follow my one crucial rule.

Uncle Vance growled one, “Let’s go,” and impelled everyone to head in the direction of the awaiting Cordova staff.

But I was already walking backwards in the opposite way. “Sorry, Uncle Vance. What did you say? You’re cool with me smoking? Thanks. I’ll be right back.”

I ignored the chilling way he hollered my name and stole to the side of the mansion, towards a secluded garden filled with roses and fancy angel statues. I pulled out a cigarette from my pocket, lit it with a flick of my Zippo, and sat down on an ornate iron bench.

And that’s when I saw her .

Standing in her stone balcony, she perused the gardens with an otherworldly expression on her face, as if searching for something intangible in the far distance.

Instantly, I felt breathless by the sight she created.

She was beautiful like a summer night sky scattered with thousands of little stars. Long black hair billowing softly in the air, dewy tan skin, and slender frame donned in a short white dress that made her resemble a folklore goddess.

As though I’d spoken those thoughts aloud, she finally saw me.

Our gazes clashed from afar like a magnetic force beckoned us.

Tilting her head, she eyed me with a hint of curiosity and…mischievousness. A joint was neatly tucked between her fingers and she brought it to her pouty lips, taking a slow hit as she watched me in a way that could only be described as intimate.

It made me feel bare and raw. Like all my scars were visible for her to see.

Maybe she wondered what a strange guy in an all-black suit was doing sitting in her garden, watching her like she had created the very universe we lived in.

I couldn’t take my eyes off her.

This moment felt sacrosanct. A fated tryst between lovers in a dark fairy tale.

We continued to watch each other as we smoked. Her, as a challenge. Me, as I tried to figure out where I’d seen her before.

There was something familiar about her. She looked to be sixteen years old too, but we definitely didn’t run in the same circles.

Before fate handed me new cards, I was a pauper.

And she was a rich princess, living in the proverbial ivory tower.

But when she smirked knowingly and leaned forward, bracing her forearms on the balcony railing, it struck me like a thunderbolt.

Oh, fuck.

It was her .

The girl I’d sold marijuana to last week in MacGregor’s alleyway.

The one who captivated me at first glance, making my heart race embarrassingly fast.

Instead of freaking out and running inside to tell her parents that one of the dinner guests was her drug dealer, she simply arched an eyebrow at my speechlessness. A flirtatious grin played across her lips.

Utterly entranced by this girl, I hissed when ash from my cigarette tumbled onto my hand.

I caught her chuckling and my cheeks flushed.

She quickly finished her joint, threw me a saucy wink, then disappeared inside.

I wistfully stared at the place she vacated, my eyes conjuring her body and the air of confidence she left behind.

There was something about her that sparked a flame in my heart. It lit me up from within, eradicating the darkness looming over my being like a thick, suffocating cloud.

Her playfulness and the fact that she was the first person to stare at me without an ounce of pity—unbeknown to my sob story—had me unexpectedly smiling.

She made me feel like a normal sixteen-year-old rather than a broken boy whose skin bore more lacerations than she could count on her pretty fingers.

There was a bounce to my step after I finished my cigarette and went to join my family, who waited for me on the front porch. Aunt Julia looked resigned, Olivia confused, Josh bored, and I entirely ignored Uncle Vance’s angry expression as we entered the residence.

Quiet excitement simmered in my gut at the prospect of seeing her again.

I couldn’t have known then that Ella Ximena Cordova would be the first girl I’d ever love.

Or that she’d be the first one to rip out my heart.