Page 56 of Hostile Vows
23
SINÉAD
“Take a break.” David continues to tap the screen on his work iPad. “Lennon will pour you a drink.”
I nod, grateful for a few minutes to sit down. It’s been a long afternoon, made longer by the constant thoughts running wild in my mind. For the past three mornings, I’ve woken up alone to the stench of stale cigarette smoke and empty bottles of liquor sitting next to the armchair across the room.
After I’ve had my morning coffee, I’m escorted out of the building by a suited guard who accompanies me in the back of a chauffeur-driven car. He delivers me to Sky Hotel for my shift and then disappears. I haven't seen André since our violently hot encounter—not even a glimpse.
An ambient saxophone melody gives the rooftop bar a chill vibe while guests dine and enjoy fancy cocktails. It’s bustling with life, and dare I think it, a place where I could happily sit for hours. Sunshine dapples the jungle like foliage, making it calm and serene.
I take a seat in the corner under the shade of a cream parasol and pull out my phone. All day I’ve wondered if I should risk a phone call to The Rusty Shamrock’s landline in the hope of speaking to Mammy. However, she doesn’t know Frankie’s men are watching her, so she’d likely give me away.
With a long, defeated sigh, I decide it’s better not to set fire to the hornet’s nest. When I look at the screen, there are five missed calls and one message from an unknown number.
Unknown: Answer your phone the next time, daughter.
Frankie. The asshole. I swipe away the notifications and pretend his attempts to contact me aren’t irritating, but they are. If he thinks I’ll engage with him, he’s sorely mistaken.
To add venom to my already waspish mood, I open the social media app to see if André has spent the past few nights partying while I’ve been sleeping in his bed. I’m guessing he forgets about the wife at home, rolls in through the door to find me under the sheets, and dumps his empties on the way back out.
I freeze, my wide eyes fixed on the latest picture he’s uploaded and its cryptic caption. The angle is skewed, so it’s not entirely obvious to anyone else but me—and I see it.
There in black and white is the skull motif of the t-shirt I wore the last night we were together, except the material is slightly rippled, so the hollow eyes look even more demonic. At the edge of the photograph there’s unblemished bare skin. My stomach. My skin before he’d dripped molten wax all over it. Below it, the caption reads:My Favorite.
“Everything okay?” Lennon lands beside me with a glass of icy juice. “You look confused.”
I am confused. “It’s nothing.” The smile I offer him doesn’t reach my eyes. “Have you gotten the date sorted for your engagement party?”
“David is clearing it with the general manager. Some woman called Janel. I haven’t met her yet. Apparently, the owner has private parties up here all the time, but it costs a fortune for us mere mortals to rent the space. He’s going to ask if we can work out a staff rate. You’re invited, by the way. If you’re not already working.” He chuckles.
“I’d love to go.” I grin, thankful for a normal invitation to a normal party.
“Bring your guy. It’ll be a crazy night.”
I’m not exactly sure how that would work. It’s not as if my over-the-top gangster husband would rub shoulders with his staff. Or behave himself.
“What did you say he does for a living?”
I shrug to make light of the question I’d rather not answer. “Construction.”
David strolls over to our table and sets a bowl of salted cashew nuts on the table. “Apparently, the owner is on his way up. Make yourselves busy.”
Lennon opens his mouth to speak, the first few words rushing out. “I could ask him about—”
David cuts him off, visibly tensing. “Forget it. You wouldn't get past his security and if you somehow managed to, he’d likely shoot you in the face. Do not be a dick, Lennon. The guy is untouchable. He could easily fire any of us for standing around looking idle. Your break is over.”
Lennon smirks. “Shoot me in the face… in broad daylight. Who are we working for—the cartel?”
A shiver runs the length of my spine just as my phone vibrates, the screen glowing as an incoming call pops up from the same number Frankie had used.
“Do not answer that if you want to keep working here,” David warns, glancing over his shoulder.
“It’s no one special, anyway.” I stand, ignore the call, and shove the phone into my pocket. “Just an asshole with a superiority complex.”
“Problems in paradise?” Lennon walks with me back to the bar.
“Daddy issues.” I roll my eyes. “The loser was never around, and now he thinks I’ll drop everything when he calls me.”
