Page 5 of Hostile Bond
“I’m the boss too, you know? And right now, I want you to escort me to the rooftop. That’s an order.”
His brow creases. “You’re not allowed to leave the apartment. Period.”
I draw back my shoulders and elevate my chin to square up to the guard. “My husband… André Souza will be home any minute. He'll want his wife to greet him off the helicopter. Especially after losing his best friend today. Don’t be that guy…”
“What guy?”
“The guy he shoots in the face for stopping me from being with him. For keeping us apart.”
His uncertain gaze cuts to the guard beside him, who only shrugs. “Fine,” he mutters and sighs. “We’ll take you up.”
Sandwiched between the two men, we climb a flight of stairs and move through a steel fire door, into the open. When I see the glossy black helicopter hovering over the helipad, my heart rate goes crazy. A strong wind whips my hair all over the place. I capture the wayward tendrils in a handheld ponytail and drape the length of it to the front of my left shoulder to see his approach without obstruction.
I count four snipers on the roof. One is positioned at each corner, all of them vigilant as their boss descends from the sky.
When the landing skids finally settle on solid cement and the powerful rotary blades begin to reduce speed, I take a few steps forward, aware of the guards hot on my heels.
André’s head turns to the passenger window locking him inside, his eyes instantly finding mine. Every inch of my skin awakens when he hurriedly unbuckles his harness, rips the headphones off his ears, and yanks open the door. Except his swirling dark aura doesn’t give the impression of a warm-hearted husband who’s happy to see his wife.
An ominous whisper circulates his powerful physique, tainted by an evil residue of death—a terrifying layer that could choke his humanity until he finally snaps.
Confident strides pound the helipad underfoot, warning me of a nuclear temper charging my way. I back up a step, unsure why his hands are balled and his chest heaves like he can’t breathe.
His skin no longer holds the glow of the sun, instead his complexion’s filthy from ashy debris. The clean black t-shirt he’d changed into on the yacht is soiled and his hair is a wild, sexy mess.
I freeze before him, my mouth dry. My heart flutters when he reaches behind his back and pulls out his gun. Brilliant white teeth sparkle behind a vicious grimace.
“Who the fuck let her up here?” he snarls at the guy to my left.
The sun dips behind a cloud, casting a nefarious veil over his handsome face, darkening his features to predatory.
“Sir… she wanted to see you.”
“I can’t work with this kind of stupidity,” André snarls, his eyes turning wild.
Bang.
“André!” I scream when the guard jerks and topples onto the cold, hard ground. His loose shirt is steeped in blood, the circumference of the stain increasing as he bleeds out.
“Wait…” My hands fly up. “I pulled rank. I made them escort me up here. They have to obey me when you’re not around.”
His head shakes. “I am around––and I gave the order for my wife to be detained in our home,” he bites the words out one by one. “If they can’t follow through on an important command, then they fucking die.”
I exhale in a blast when he turns to the next guard. “No… Dré… don’t…”
He doesn’t listen, his mind already made up from the moment his boots had hit the roof. I’m suddenly exposed without a man on either side of me, both guards lying in puddles of syrupy dark blood.
I could blame myself for their execution, weep for their unjust termination, excepthedid this. Not me. André claims this is my home and his men are my protectors when he’s not with me. Only this stark reality reveals that I have no real say in any matters.
It’s all an illusion.
My voice is only heard when I’m begging him to fuck me. It was reckless of me to assume the bloodthirsty criminal I’d married was capable of seeing me as anything more than a wife.
I’m a fool to think we could ever be on even footing. My heart slams against my ribs when he checks the clip in his revolver. Panic lifts my lungs with every quick inhalation, the shortness of my breath making me lightheaded.
Letterman appears by his side, lowers to his haunches, and takes the dead men’s weapons into his possession.
“When I say you’re under house arrest, Sinéad, that means you don’t step foot outside. Got it?” His chest rises and falls in bursts, his eyes methodically scanning the rooftop.
