Page 37 of Hostile Vows
Leaves rustle.
Twigs snap.
“André.” Grandfather's sharp voice punctures the bubble surrounding my best friend and me. He glances at Sinéad and offers a mild smile before his imperious gaze cuts to mine. “Come here, son.”
I rise, soaked in the scarlet stain of a fresh kill, to lock eyes with the most powerful man in Ireland. He stands stoic, a peaked cap sheltering him from drizzle and his usual tweed hunting jacket buttoned to the neck. Burnt-orange leaves twirl and flutter around his dominating form while the wind agitates complaining branches. A rifle is tucked under his armpit, the barrel draping his forearm, pointing toward the dirt beneath his field boots.
“You did good, son.” His eyes narrow on my filthy hands. “We’ll celebrate your first kill, albeit an animal. It takes courage to follow through. In this world, you’re either the hunter or the hunted. And this evening you became the hunter. Sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind, and sometimes you have to be cruel to maintain order. Both lessons require strength.” He reaches out, grabs my wrist, steers my fingertips toward my face, and smears the blood along my cheekbones in streaks. “I’m proud of you, André. Wear the stag’s blood with honor.”
Sticky goop decorates my boyish face—a warrior claiming victory. The devilish cranberry sunset has since darkened, awakening the moon as a night-light for the southern sky. Everything has changed. My chest explodes with the sincerity of my grandfather’s pride, to the point I’m buzzing from within. The sensation is unlike any wired rush I’ve ever sought behind the handlebars of my motorcycle.
When he pivots and strolls away, Sinéad trots to my side, slots her hand into mine, and says, “You did the right thing, but that doesn’t make you a killer. You’re good inside, Dré. You know that, right?”
A crazy hodgepodge of emotions feud within me, the extent of them mentally taking me to a place I’ve never visited. I’m high on my grandfather's respect, yet shaken by the horrible deed I did without regret. All of it rushes through my veins while the adrenaline of power electrifies my muscles.
And when Sinéad wraps her arms around my neck, a surge of oxytocin fuels every single cell in my body until I’m indescribably exhilarated.
“Friends forever,” she whispers in my ear.
My dopamine rises above the treetops where I fear it’ll never reach again.
15
ANDRÉ
Present Day
As a teenager, I learned that my deviant tendencies were a byproduct of the need for a high more consuming than the last. I’m a nonconformist. The notion of a normal life creates anarchy within me. Drugs, sex, alcohol, speed, and control—all sources I lean into for satisfaction, each one helping me to block out the adrenaline junky compulsion.
Yet somehow, I’ve fallen into a societal rabbit hole where the expectations of marriage have been well and truly fulfilled. I had recited vows and made a pact to produce an heir. This was not the plan.
Those things weren’t aspirations I’ve ever aimed for. However, now that they’ve presented themselves to me, I’m considering them as opportunities. Like investing in my future with solid stocks and shares.
Wearing this wedding band on my finger should strangle my rebellious nature, completely shoving me right out of my chaotic comfort zone. Only it doesn’t. Probably because I haven’t stepped off the roller coaster since I bumped into Sinéad on Sapori’s yacht. I’m still buzzed, and that’s without grams of coke or a long line of shots. This high is unnaturally natural.
“I’m on birth control, Dré.” She makes a small movement with her head, a shake that signifies growing frustration. “That’s never going to change. Not now. Not ever. So don’t sit there and demand something like that from me.”
“Are you saying you would have preferred to marry Acer, then fuck the asshole and have a kid to him instead?” I say crossly, my patience thinning. “Because that was your future before I came along.”
Her shoulders fall as she exhales, the truth not sitting comfortably with her. Defeat contorts her expression, her features becoming soft as if sadness killed her appetite for anger.
Avoiding eye contact, she mutters under her breath, “I’m a human being, Dré. Not an insignificant pawn in your mafia wars and games of domination.”
I take a moment to quietly knock back the rest of my drink and mull over the sinking feeling in my gut caused by the lost look on her face. It doesn't please me.
“Souzas aren’t pawns, Sin. We’re kings in our own right. Which makes my wife a queen. Accept it. I agreed to Frankie’s terms, and that includes a Sapori-Souza heir. The deal is done and so is this conversation.”
She lowers her head and rubs her temples. “Since when do you take orders from him?”
My veins seethe with anger, my temper on the shortest of leashes. It wasn’t an order; it was my own doing. I had orchestrated the whole fucking thing. The mention of a kid was a last-minute caveat that I brushed off without giving it a second thought. For some unknown reason, the idea of knocking her up makes me incredibly horny.
“Face up to it, Sin. We’re together. For better or for worse,” I bite out, my tone harsh. “Here’s to married life.” I raise my glass to the heavens. “And our first serious disagreement—which I won, by the way.” The smirk I unleash is met with an overemphasized scowl, her eyes less than tranquil and every bit intense.
I reach over the table, swipe the champagne bottle, and refill my empty glass. “To us. We’re family now. How your life is shaped from now on is up to you.” She folds her arms and continues to glare at me.
“Up to me?” She almost squeaks when her tone elevates. “If it were up to me, I’d be on the first flight home. Or maybe I’d have you castrated.”
Her huffed sigh is followed by a cute pout.
