Page 61 of Hostile Bond
“Or what?” He hisses. “She’s just a new toy you’re playing with. You’ll tire of her pussy, eventually. Men like us don’t thrive well with boredom.”
“I’m not like you, Sean,” André threatens. “Lower your weapon and, out of respect for my grandfather, I won’t shoot you.”
“You lower yours, Dré.” Sean warns. “Fuck, I knew you were messed up, but I never thought you’d hack up my guys. You and I are the sons who never stood a chance at ruling our family empires, because the eldest siblings were always thought to be more competent. We’re mavericks—the black sheep. We bonded a long time ago, because of our blood ties and our upbringing. We’re family and this bitch just continues to run from you, Dré.” Sean glances over at me and smirks. “Look at the shit she’s caused.”
My heart fractures.
I dare to look at my husband, finding his hands covered in red plasma. Snuggled in the dark pelt of hair on his jaw are blobs of scattered blood like peekaboo jewels from the devil. My stomach flutters when brilliant white teeth gleam behind snarling lips. Weak sunlight casts a felonious haze over André's handsome face, darkening his expression to wolfish.
Through the confusion of his true intentions, all I see is him. I notice how his carbon black eyes glint as his gaze momentarily fuses with mine, the darkness in him creeping out of his pores with the carnal desire he always emanates.
“I don’t need witnesses,” he mutters.
“Those guys wouldn't have said anything to Tommy about us joining forces. It would have stayed between us. You knew Jack for fuck’s sake, Dré,” Sean barks as he swivels into André and jabs his gun at his ribs.
The growl scraping André’s throat startles my heartbeat. It freezes my blood, making my skeleton shake even though my heart pumps faster. His cold-blooded persona slides into place as he bites out, “Yeah, I knew Jack… and I hated the cunt.”
Sean shifts, widening his stance in their standoff. I drag my gaze away from my husband's spine-chilling expression, lowering it to the weapon pointed at his torso. A poker could maim and bludgeon a man, but a bullet would turn the lights out instantaneously.
“Drop your gun and don’t piss me the fuck off.”
Sean pushes his face up close, their foreheads almost butting. “Do we have a deal or not?” he spits.
André fists the collar of his uncle's t-shirt, the two of them at an impasse, both in the firing line of the other's aim. “Did you kill her mother?”
“Yeah… I shot the bitch in the head. And the little viper will take a bullet next if you don’t calm the fuck down. It would only take one call to Conal and you’d be a dead traitor, Dré. Family or not.”
“Is that right?” The whites of André’s eyes glow in the shadowy daylight of a gray morning, his movements fast like a hurricane competing with the bitterness of a blizzard. “Are you threatening my wife, motherfucker?”
He grips the t-shirt fabric even tighter, forcing Sean to wedge the cold steel of his gun deeper into André’s ribs.
His brow furrows and the scruff on his jaw appears so much darker, dangerously handsome. André’s face holds an expression I’ve never seen on him before—a look that's utterly unpredictable. It whispers through me with an unhallowed chill and a sense of devotion.
“Are you choosing a whore over your own blood? I was happy to let you in on project H, but you’re fucking bipolar… even Elias knew the potential of teen exploitation. What exactly do you want then, you dumb fuck?” Sean hisses.
“I want you to pay for what you did to her.”
Sean narrows his eyes. “Andyou’regoing to make me pay. Is that what you’re saying?” he asks, laughing darkly. “That’s big talk coming from my nephew. After everything I’ve done for you, Dré, you deserve a fucking ass kickin’ for turning into a weak little bitch.”
My stomach roils as Sean throws a fist at André, catching him in the jaw. The hard wallops don’t deter him, not even for a second, as he offers a powerful punch of his own, knocking his uncle off balance.
The transformation of my husband from calm and reserved to brutal fighter happens instantaneously. His nostrils flare, the depth of his dark pupils switches to a shade more wrathful than evil itself.
Teeth bare, and tables judder as they wrangle and thrash. Standing on the periphery, my heart lurches when a slash of blood streaks his cheekbone, turning him into a glorious painted warrior. His presence appears to swell in the brawl, a nefarious temper exploding with motivation and unleashed through chaotic fists.
“Come on ya pussy, let's see if the Souza half-wit can punch like a man,” Sean bites out between punches.
I watch them crash into barstools and continuously strike each other with punishing punches. André’s chunky rings pulverize Sean’s flesh like he’s busting his eyebrow with brass knuckles. Neither of them makes an attempt to shoot at the other as if this is only a fist fight to determine the pack leader.
It only takes one direct blow to connect with Sean’s stomach for him to lose balance and topple backward into a wall of historical memorabilia, cracking the glass frames. He doubles over and spits a wad of blood, then slams his fist into the table beside him and yells out his frustration. “You’re a fucking traitor,” he snarls, catching his breath.
André takes the opportunity of weakness to charge at him and unleash another blow, his energetic stamina vibrating through his muscles. Sean groans, his lungs expelling a gust of air.
Content he’s winning, André stands upright, wipes a trickle of blood from the corner of his split lip, and fixes the aim of his revolver. His vicious glare burns into the man slowly rising up to face him, returning the threat with a bullet too.
“I’m not going to kill you…” André cricks his neck. “But my wife, she has my blessing to do it.”
I swallow hard at his statement, my hands trembling. He was never breaking his promise to the younger me. Instead, he’s handing over to me the power to seek retribution.
