Page 83 of Hostile Vows
“What the fuck… Sinéad… Are you okay?”
Liam’s concern pinches at my heart, but I’m too far down the rabbit hole to answer. Lost in my husband’s never-ending gaze and the carnal hunger we can’t seem to hide from. His spurts go on and on, splattering my bare breasts, covering my nipples, and decorating my skin like an animal marking its territory.
Perhaps I should have told Liam the truth when I replied to his messages or begged him to smuggle Mammy out of Donegal. But where would she go? We don’t have spare cash to fund a one-way trip south. She’d need a home to live in, a job, and a new identity. I couldn't provide any of those things without selling The Rusty Shamrock first.
But lying beneath my savage husband, as his wife, gives me a measure of authority and access to money. Maybe he really could be my villainous hero—maybe he could really be all mine.
“I have to go,” I pant, hungry with desire and beyond turned on. “Bye, Liam.”
André’s hips rock, sending a blood-scorching tidal wave of lust right through me. A thick, satisfied groan escapes his throat. He arches over the top of me, collects the phone and chucks it across the room. The thud of it hitting the wall is followed by a few muffled tumbles.
My heart bucks when he places his big hands at either side of my head and slides his knees away until he's in a lowered plank position. His mouth grazes mine, slow and remorseless.
“If you won’t wear your wedding ring, I’ll find other ways to brand you.” Sticky cum spreads in a thin layer between his chest and mine. “And if that guy calls you again, I’ll kill him too.”
32
ANDRÉ
“Well, brother, what have you been up to while I was recovering?” Tomás muses, his sonorous rumble vaguely reminiscent of Papá as it crosses the airwaves.
“Recovering?” I repeat snarkily and set my helmet on top of the leather seat of my black Ducati Streetfighter motorcycle. “Is that what you’d call it? I’m sure Carina was the perfect nurse.”
“Delete whatever filthy vision you have of her from that perverted mind of yours,” he snaps back. “Save that for the pretty Irish, señorawho thinks she’ll be your one and only.”
“Maybe she will.” I hum the thought. “Anyway, while you were on sabbatical from the family business, I encountered a fewissues.”
A metal door slams behind us, and Reno draws his gun as a precaution. When my brother rang, we were about to knock on the side door of an intimate club where we usually hang out to keep a close eye on the local dealers.
“Wait… is the mafia princess too much for you to handle? Could it be true? Have you finally met a woman who’s crazier than you, cabron?”
She’s a wildcat, alright. My smile reaches the corners of my eyes when I think about her. “I take it you’ve spoken to Mama?”
“Not yet. I heard from a reliable source that my crazy-ass brother became the first Souza to tie the knot. I wanted to congratulate you on an excellent tactical move. The news was unexpected—given your allergic reaction to female commitment.” He pauses. “But I’m proud of you, Dré. You’ve thrown open the international trade routes.”
I stare along the alleyway where we’ve parked our motorcycles, my mind hurtling back to a time I’d rather forget.
“Are you kidding me, André?” Papá’s eyes blink once as he glares at me, the sedate movement like a reptile assessing its prey. “It’s a basic report. How the hell can you not understand what it means?”
He’d thrown a wad of papers at me with a deadline of thirty minutes to read, digest, and decide if the content was beneficial to business. I tried to focus while my knee bounced since my energy levels resented containment. All I wanted was a helmet and a few hours tearing around the plantation trails.
Instead, I stared at the never-ending, uninteresting paragraphs, pissed at how the words blurred. I rubbed my temples, then drew a detailed sketch of a motorcycle wheel on the top corner of the page. Suddenly, I remembered I had an unfinished homework assignment that was overdue. Fantasized about the hot mathematics teacher who weirdly had black hair even though the girl I’d fingered the other night had platinum-blond curls.
Then I saw a sweet little bird perched on the waving branches outside Papá’s office and wondered if it knew freedom or if its days were filled with mundane tasks like eating worms or building nests. Regardless, it got to stretch its wings and soar above the clouds—and everyone else. Like a god of the sky with a bird’s-eye view of the world.
“I need more time to review it, Papá.”
“Forget it. You’re fucking useless, André.” He looks at me like I’m an idiot. “Thank fuck for Tomás. At least he can read. All you’re good at is truancy, fucking girls, and riding that motorcycle.”
He turns away and marches across the room. I take a quick breath when he unlocks the twin doors to his gun safe, selects a machine gun, slings the strap over his shoulder, and moves to the window. My spine stiffens, unsure of what neurotic lesson he’d teach me today.
The last time I pissed him off, for whatever diabolical reason, he had tied me to a chair in the cellar for the night. That’s what he thought, anyway. Papá had no idea that both Tomás and Giovanni took turns visiting me with food and video games. But what I won’t forget are the words my big brother told me seconds before he left me alone in the dark to await our father's return.
“Eventually Papá will die on his throne and end up in that god-awful tomb he’s planning to build. When that day comes and his crown sits on my head, I’ll need you, Dré.”
However, on this occasion, dread sinks to the pit of my stomach. Papá’s about to do something neither of my brothers can help me with.
I watch him shunt the window open, position the machine gun in the gap, and take aim.
