Page 59 of Hostile Vows
“Lennon,” I call, watching his cautious gaze float to mine. “Now that the cat is out of the bag, you can have your engagement party up here. Free of charge. My husband will cover the drinks tab for the entire night. I hope you have a wonderful evening celebrating with the woman who makes you happy.” Although my pointed statement was aimed at pissing off André, it stings me.
Lennon’s eyes bug and the wide grin he offers stretches his cheeks. “Thank you.”
I don’t wait to hear what André has to say about it; instead, I flick my hair over my shoulder and take a sideways step to avoid him.
The instant I move, André grabs my elbow and dips into the side of my face. “He can have his little party in Luna, but you owe me. And I want to be paid, in full, when we get home. You’ll strip to your panties and kneel by the bed until I decide to join you.” His gravelly voice catches me off guard, causing a full-body shiver. “Then you’ll crawl to me, Wifey. You’ll crawl to my dick and fill your dirty little mouth until…” He pinches my jaw and aligns my eyes with his while keeping his tone calm and lethal. “… these feisty green eyes of yours sparkle with tears.”
And then he unhands me, rakes his fingers through his hair, and moves out of my way. My pulse accelerates and the unnatural swell of desire in my core sweeps across my skin in a heated flush. I lock my spine tall and continue walking, the pace picking up speed with Reno in hot pursuit behind me.
We move indoors to the lobby near the elevators. I don’t pause or glance over my shoulder at André’s best friend, because I’m too incensed by the events to care about anything other than my pride. When the door closes behind me, I stuff my hands into my hair and clamp my skull, growling like a trapped animal.
Oval wall-hung mirrors reflect the spotlights directly above, gleaming over porcelain basins and shiny taps. Thankfully, the toilet cubicles are all empty, giving me space to breathe. And that's what I do. I drop my hands to the vanity and stare at my reflection, inhaling and exhaling at the vision of a woman who has to figure out what her role in this situation has become.
In the peacefulness of each controlled breath, an earsplitting fire alarm siren goes off and Reno bursts in behind me.
“Time to go. Something isn’t right.”
24
SINÉAD
We push out into a crowd of bodies all rushing toward the fire escape doors. Reno latches onto my bicep and brings his mouth to my ear so I can hear him over the ruckus. “Stay close, Sinéad,” he shouts. “This isn’t a fire drill. Whatever happens, stay beside me.”
“Where’s André?” My heart rate skyrockets, unable to see a thing beyond all the people pushing into us.
“Focus on getting out of here. Then we’ll find him.”
I crane my neck, twisting around to catch a glimpse of him. The hairs on my neck lift like a storm creeping up from the sea. As soon as we enter the stairwell, the air cools and the noises change from muffled footsteps to clattering echoes.
Pinned to Reno’s hip, he charges forward without a care for the people he’s knocking out of the way. While they fall and trip, I’m searching for André, my gaze frantically spilling over the railing. And that's when I see two out-of-place figures dressed in black, their faces hidden behind gas masks and a smoke grenade sailing through the air.
“Reno!” I yank my elbow, jarring his body against mine. “Are they Souza soldiers?”
“Fuck. No…” He tugs my arm and together we battle through a line of people, leaving the concrete stairs. We hurry into an abandoned elevator lobby and along a corridor.
Beneath the repetitive siren, he pulls out his phone and taps the screen at the same time as a spinning grenade lands at our feet, spewing a mass of smoke into the atmosphere.
“Cover your eyes!” Reno yells as he kicks the grenade away and crashes on top of me, both of us getting close to the ground.
It’s too late. My eyes sting like they’re glossed with acid, temporarily blinding me. I suck in thick air and choke when it burns my lungs. Gunfire reverberates, but I can’t see a damn thing. Reno’s body weight no longer presses down on me. In the chaos, I hear curses, coughing, and heavy footfalls.
Hands lock on to my flailing arms, and then I’m ruthlessly dragged backward. Light streams into my blurry eyes as I’m forced into an unoccupied suite.
My ass hits the floor with a thud. I blink, sputter, and wheeze, struggling onto all fours. When I finally focus, there are two sets of military-style boots close to my hands, and when I look up, I see double. Almost identical men dressed all in black and wearing tactical face coverings wait for my next move. The only difference is the height between them.
“Where’s Reno?” I choke out.
A hand shoots out. Gloved fingers capture the hair at my nape and force me to take a crooked standing position. The captor, who breathes like Darth Vader, doesn't speak as he shoves me onto an unmade bed and moves in front of the window, blocking out the daylight. He removes a phone from a leg pocket of his combat trousers and holds it in my direct line of vision.
“What happens when the fire alarm sounds, Sinéad?” Frankie’s familiar accent chills me, his aged face appearing on the small screen in real time. “Everyone vacates the building.” He rubs his chin and smiles with amusement. “Which means you're trapped on whatever floor my men found you on, and everyone else is outside. I’m never too far away and I can always reach you—even when your husband tries to keep me at arm’s length. This is a lesson in manners and respect. When I call, you answer.” When his head moves, I note the Miami coastline in the background. He’s on the yacht. “That was quite the show your new husband put on. Almost makes me believe he might actually like having a Sapori wife.”
His face disappears, replaced by video footage of André sitting at a table in Luna. Reno and Letterman are on either side of him as they talk. My heart swells at the sight of his roguish smile and disheveled hair. I inwardly curse myself for being so foolish.
“Keep watching. It gets very entertaining from here,” Frankie muses.
I hold my breath when André’s expression morphs from playful to homicidal. He tosses a lit cigarette, climbs on top of the table like a wildcat, thoughtlessly knocking over beer bottles, and drops off the other side. Confident strides carry his rigid form to the opposite side of the bar where he tackles the guy from earlier. Chills scurry down my spine like a bucket of sobering ice had tipped over my head.
“You’re watching us?”
