Page 101 of Hostile Vows
“And you’re the…” He bites my earlobe and thrusts, his eyes the wildest I’ve ever seen them and rasps, “… only one who owns all of me. La eternidad.”
“Dré… Fuck… Dré…” I’m lost in him. Gratified by the sound of his uncivilized grunts and imprisoned behind the invisible cage he’s locked me in. “I… Love… You…” I whisper on the cusp of euphoria, exhaling my declaration into his mouth.
“Then don’t run from me… unless your life depends on it.”
* * *
I said it first.
André, more or less, had implied it; however, the four-letter word had slipped past my lips, not his. It’s not important, not when he’d revealed the depth of our perplexing relationship in more than words.
A few hours ago, he showered, dressed, and kissed my lips with a gentleness I’ve only glimpsed upon, then he sauntered to the helipad positioned on the bow of the ship without looking back. My heart lurched the second he climbed into the waiting chopper and rose into the sky like the god he is.
Since then, I’ve had a restless catnap indoors, showered, picked at the fresh fruit platter he’d ordered for me before he left, slipped into a strapless sundress, and yet I still have a wired uneasiness in my gut.
I’m baking under the coastal midday sun, gazing out at the Miami cityscape where the Souza presence is felt in the form of concrete giants erupting from the earth. Sky Hotel catches my eye, its brass logo shimmering amid competing buildings that don’t quite hit the same height. It reminds me of Lennon and his soon-to-be fiancée—and the engagement party I was invited to as Sinéad Quinn and had accepted as Sinéad Souza. Hopefully, it’ll be any day now, and my first official outing as Mrs. Souza. As surreal and messed up as it may be, I’m secretly proud to stand beside André.
I return to the master suite and move to the nightstand where the new iPhone André organized for me sits. I sit on the bed and hold the screen to my face to unlock it. While we were together, I didn't have the same compulsion to stalk him on social media. I had a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view of the glorious man, so why would I look at him in 2D? Yet now that I’m by myself again, aside from the armed guards on every level and the ship’s crew busying themselves with chores, I feel lonelier than ever.
Tapping on his social media handle, a smile reaches my eyes, aching my cheeks. He’d posted the picture of our matching tattoos and added the brief caption, la eternidad.
Quickly searching for its meaning on the internet, my fingers fan my chest at the sentiment.
Forever.
I squeeze my eyes shut for a fluttery heartbeat and let the meaning fizz through me.
“How did I fall head over heels for André Souza?” I whisper and then giggle like a silly schoolgirl who has a mega crush on a bad boy, fully aware my obsession with him has never faded.
Fate invited us to meet under the Hawthorn tree in Ireland all those years ago. Evil circumstances had torn us apart and luck threw us back together under the stars in Miami.
I save the picture as my lock screen image, then search up Luna. Selecting the stories feature, I tap through the short videos from last night that show multicolored cocktails, well-dressed guests enjoying the music, and an epic sunset view. The most recent video, filmed a few minutes ago, is a panoramic sweep of the rooftop area which captured Lennon working in the background and Reno stalking past the bar, his dark aviators hiding his usual businesslike features. As soon as the fifteen-second clip ends, I tap on it again to rewatch. It's a neurotic thing to do, because I would have pinpointed my husband the first time I’d watched it. He’s not exactly easy to miss.
My head whips up to the sound of a distant clang and muffled thuds. A metallic echo haunts the stillness, and then I hear hushed voices. The hairs on the back of my neck rise, sensing something isn’t quite right.
One minute I’m cross-legged on the monster-sized bed and the next I’m hurrying across the room to open the gun cabinet where André locked away his revolver the night we arrived and removed seconds before he boarded the chopper.
As I punch in the first few digits of the combination code he’d made me memorize, unusual noises carry on the breeze. I spin on the balls of my feet, startled by multiple bangs similar to muted gunfire. My pulses goes haywire when the digital display on the keypad blinks at me and I have to start over again.
“Hands up!” a male voice booms before I can finish the task, signaling I’m not alone anymore.
Reluctantly rotating away from the cabinet, I face four camo-clad figures. The lower half of their faces are hidden under masks, and machine guns outfitted with sound suppressors are locked and loaded, pointed directly at me. The only difference the clones have is a hodgepodge of varying heights. “Time to go.”
“Wait… what do you want from me?” I take a step toward the bed where my phone is nestled in the unmade sheets. “My husband isn’t here. You should leave. Once his security team finds out you’ve boarded the ship without permission, they’ll contact the Coast Guard. My husband gave the order to shoot to kill.”
One of the men laughs darkly. “As you’ve pointed out, your husband left you here. As for the security guys…” He growls and jabs his gun in the air. “All dead, princess. Every single armed soldier and crew member met a fatal bullet. Fuck, even the captain will go down with this fancy-ass ship.”
“Put up a fight and you’ll get hurt,” another warns. “He wants you alive. Behave and come along with us, so you can live another day in another paradise.”
He wants you alive… who?
“Who wants me alive?”
“Don’t worry, you'll find out.”
Dread wilts the high I’d soared on this past week. I should have known it wouldn’t last. Where contentment breeds, misfortune strives to shred it to miserable scraps. Just like the times when André and I would spend hours together on the Hennessy estate, both of us buzzing from crazy, adrenaline-induced adventures. But when I went home, I’d face barbaric punches and degrading taunts that knocked me straight out of Heaven and into the dark bowels of Hell.
The bittersweet evolution of us hadn't changed. It never will. My merciless husband thrives in his ruptured world where dangerous, nefarious deeds are a daily normality.
