Page 23 of Hostile Vows
“Well, I have news for you, Hotshot.” My words rush out on a heavy breath. “I’ve no plans to become a humored housewife. I’ll live my life the way I want to. Don’t bother insulting me with expensive gifts and money in exchange for a wife who’s seen and not heard. I might be stuck with you for the foreseeable future, but I’ll do things my way. I’ll earn my own money in a job of my choosing and I’ll have my own friends.”
André tips his head back and roars with laughter, the sonorous rumble echoing from the high ceiling. “A job? Seriously. Doing what? Drug running doesn’t seem like it would be your thing. Are you good with numbers?”
“I’ll do bar work.” I scowl at him. “Does that meet your approval? Or would you prefer me to sit quietly on the couch as your new pet?”
“I’ve already got a pet. I don’t need another one. And believe me when I say this…” His eyes crease at the corners as if he’s thinking about something carnal. “… Iwantto hear you. The sound of your screams will be music to my ears.”
André releases me like the contact scalds him. The space he surrenders feels lonely. I’m colder. Confused. Spiraling into this nightmare without a compass.
He backs up, his majestic dick the color of anger, with a silky purplish hue and a bulging vein running the length of the shaft. As he moves, the tempting crown bobs against the etched landscape of his abdomen where a trail of shorn hairs are barely visible.
Breaking eye contact, he turns sideways, opens a white wall-mounted cupboard, and takes out a mirrored box. Flipping the lid up, he plucks out a paper-rolled cigarette and a silver Zippo.
“Smoke?” His brows drift up as he gently bites the tip and sparks the lighter so the end catches fire. Instantly, the earthy aroma of marijuana permeates the air.
I shake my head and watch him shrug, drop the Zippo inside the box, and return it to the cupboard. “How about waffles?”
“Waffles?” I repeat indignantly. “Is that the street name for a drug that’ll knock me out for days?”
André chuckles from the back of his throat while propping his bare ass against a black inset oven so polished it appears unused. Watching me, he draws the hash into his lungs and traps the fumes for a few seconds.
“Why would I want you unconscious for days?” he says slowly around a plumed exhale. “You owe me a wedding night… and that involves active participation.”
I narrow my eyes at the sight of him, so confident in his lavish surroundings. “You’ll be waiting a while for my compliance, Hotshot. I’m not interested in consummating this marriage.”
Even though I project courage, my voice is small. Everything is small next to him.
“A while isn’t that long. I’ll wait,” he speaks slowly, eyeing my rigid position perched on his countertop like a new possession. “Letterman makes batches of waffles. There’s a shitload in the freezer for the days when he’s too fucked to bother. How about a fresh coffee—” His eyes dart left where a jangly noise catches his attention. “Speaking of pets.”
As he steps forward, I look to the open front door where a beautiful girl lets herself in. My intestines coil, forcing a shaky palm to my stomach as I crunch over a little. Rather than my pulse speeding up, it misses a few beats. Seconds linger in limbo, afraid to tick as a teenager strolls toward us carrying a large paper bag.
From sunshine-blond hair threaded with rich chestnut to her innocent, wide ocean eyes, she looks old enough to know better and young enough to still own her innocence. A natural café au lait complexion is blemish free, the advantage of youth giving her an edge.
“How’s my girl this morning?” André cocks his head, looking to the doorway where she just came from.
This beautiful girl is his pet?
“Dré… please!” The teen slams a hand over her eyes. “Here…” She tosses the bag so it skids across the tiles. “That’s your dry cleaning from last night. Daenis is coming now. She’s in the hallway with Reno. He’s talking to the security guy out there.”
André grabs the bag by the handle, pivots, and sets it beside me on the counter. A cloud of smoke screens his scrunched forehead as the blunt dangles from his lips while he rummages inside the bag and pulls out a pair of folded black jeans.
“India, this is my wife, Sinéad.” His eyes lock with mine. “Sin, this is Reno's little sister. The guy who drove us home last night.” As soon as the introduction takes place, he stuffs his legs into the jeans and tucks his semi-solid dick away.
India blinks at me, her curious stare taking in every detail of my carefree appearance. “You’ve got black hair,” she points out, her dainty nose scrunched.
A box-pleated skirt skims above her knee, almost meeting gray socks pulled up the length of lean shins. Beneath a navy blazer, a starched white shirt is finished with a necktie, purposely loosened with a hint of rebellion.
“Sorry… I was expecting…” India shakes her head. “I don’t know what I was expecting… Anyway, congrats!” She holds out her hand and closes the gap between us, her long legs giving her height. “Reno told me last night while you were showering. It's nice to meet you.”
I debate blurting out the truth or asking her if she knows I was forced into this temporary arrangement. Instead, I put my anger aside, meet her big blue eyes, and return her sweet girlie smile with one of my own.
“It’s nice to meet you, too.”
“Oh, my God! Your Irish accent is so cool. I’ve never met anyone from Ireland before. Reno and I live a few floors down, although my brother spends more time up here with the boys. I’m not stupid. I know he’s smoking pot and screwing women.” She rolls her eyes dramatically. “To be honest, I’m grateful he spares me the sordid sound effects. I do not need to hear that shit.”
André chuckles. “What the fuck is Reno doing out there?”
My eyes cut to his side profile, where his features are exquisite and his torso utterly spellbinding. I quietly wonder who his real pet is.
