Page 13 of Hostile Bond
He’s loitering in the shade of a cream marquee, next to a long table set up with booze. A cell phone is pressed to his ear.
Giovanni had arrived separately ahead of us, his inflamed facial scar a reminder of our own brutal attack. He hovers close to André, a few steps to the side, his eyes shaded too.
As the helicopter settles on the helipad a safe distance away from us, I study André's twitching jaw, the unshorn hairs coating it have grown a little longer than before. His gaze elevates heavenward as if he’s quietly conversing with the gods for forgiveness.
He takes another slug of liquor from the bottle he’s nearly finished and turns toward the chopper. A man I’ve never met before exits the aircraft. His impeccably suited physique oozes lethal sophistication and corrupt supremacy.
The sight of his dark aura shoots chills the entire length of my spine. It’s an odd feeling—a sinister coldness. I can’t quite explain how Tomás Souza’s presence alters the atmosphere, making it heavy and hopeless like the devil himself had set foot in paradise. That he’d kill me or anyone for even breathing next to his family.
But when he angles back to the chopper and holds out his hand, a pretty young woman peeks out and sets her tiny hand in his. Their connection buzzes like static electricity. There’s a distinct glitch in his business-like demeanor as he assists her. When she steps onto the concrete base wearing a shirt dress cinched at the waist by a gold belt, his whole body moves around hers like a protective shield. His arm snakes her waist, possessively tugging her into place at his side.
From the brief observation of their interaction, it's obvious he’s madly in love. And when her head tilts, and she smiles at something he says to her, she blinks up at the mob boss as if he’s her whole universe. Together, they walk along the wooden pathway that meanders along the western coastline to where we’re standing.
André inhales a lungful of smoke and stalks in their direction. He tosses the blunt away and holds his arms outward when his brother nears. Tomás drags his sunglasses off his face and returns the long, lingering hug. For a man who expels an ominous air of charm, in that moment, he gives his brother all of his attention. It’s a heartwarming show of affection for two men who could wipe out a city on a whim.
Once their embrace is over, Tomás’ hands are back on the woman again, unable to hide his grimace when André prowls close to her. My husband drops his face to hers and presses a chaste kiss on her cheekbone.
I can’t help how my insides revolt. A rush of something toxic expands my chest and captures the air in my lungs. I can’t help ogling their encounter and hating how my stomach flips when she places her palm on André’s bicep and smiles affectionately.
The rhythm of my stupid heart goes wonky, as if the woman’s stolen a few beats as a souvenir for her witchcraft. I shouldn’t feel this vexed by her appearance, but she’s dark haired too, extraordinarily angelic, and appears to have the power duo in her pocket.
My stomach twists at the tenderness André exhibits, which is more than what he’s shown me in the past twenty-four hours. This stab of misplaced jealousy catches me off guard. I’ve never experienced this unusual feeling before. It's completely alien to me and only shines a blinding spotlight on how far I’ve fallen.
The second he steps back, the sable-haired beauty lifts to the balls of her feet and kisses Tomás’ neatly trimmed facial hair. His clenched jaw visibly relaxes, his eyes spear her to the wooden planks beneath their feet. In a flash of mild violence, he snares her throat and smashes his lips over hers for a quick, dirty mouth fuck with his tongue.
It’s not like me to be this foolish, so entranced by a couple I’ve never met before. But the way he reacts to her and how she’s attuned to his transient disposition is enviable. I’m blatantly staring at them for longer than I should, starved of a connection of my own as my mercurial husband has directed his focus on business––not me.
However, it happens as swiftly as the breeze changes direction. A flurry of awareness prickles the skin beneath my cropped cami top. Hidden behind wide framed sunglasses, my gaze cuts to André’s ruggedly handsome face, his own shaded gaze lancing me to the ocean behind me. My breathing deepens as he silently stares, his boots rooted in position as if he's considering a way to satisfy his daredevil cravings.
He slowly and purposefully drags his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose and locks those carbon black eyes of his to my bare thighs peeking out from a thigh-high split in the long skirt I’m wearing. Through the heat of his brief assessment, I fall victim to an animalistic surge of greedy lust. I sway a little, though quickly bracing, so he doesn't see how needy I’ve become.
My heart recognizes the anguish he’s battling. In some ways, it gives me comfort to know he still looks for me––that he needs me beyond the wreckage of redemption.
Where there are skin-melting flames, there’s a desolate blizzard, both wrangling for leadership. Despite the crusade within him, his hunger is evident from the bulge straining against his zipper.
My flesh and bones don’t lie. They quake and incinerate when he exhales in a gust. Self-discipline visibly tenses his sinewy muscles. Although difficult, distance makes it easier to contain my urges and stay in place beside India. Especially when he covers his eyes again and carries on walking in the opposite direction.
Instantly, the tropical temperature drops to polar. My core shivers from the absence of his undivided focus. I inwardly groan. Since when did I, this independent woman, need so much attention from a man? I could slap myself for becoming so desperate.
“Gracias por venir hoy, familia.” He begins to thank his family for coming, his throaty rasp born from too many cigarettes and not enough sleep. “It’s time to say goodbye…”
I watch him pull out a shiny gold case from his jeans’ pocket, pop it open, and extract another paper rolled blunt, before lighting it with a zippo. Matheus wanders across the short, clipped grass and stands beside him. Close enough for André to notice his presence, yet far enough away to give him a measure of space.
Matheus’ tall, well-built proportions are respectfully dressed in slim-fit tailored dress pants. A crisp white shirt is unbuttoned at the neck, the sleeves rolled to his elbows to show off his powerful forearms, and a gold Rolex wraps his wrist. Unlike his brothers, his face is clean shaven, which serves to highlight his devilish dimple. The right corner of his mouth hitches to a half smile when André angles his head to look at him.
Appreciating his presence, André hooks his ringed hand around the back of Matheus’ head and roughly yanks his forehead to his lips. He kisses his brother and releases him just as quickly.
“We’re saying goodbye to a loyal friend.” He continues. “… a brother-in-arms… and saying goodbye to our life as we know it. I’ll see you again, Reno. And when I do, you better have a fucking drink waiting for me.”
Fear licks at my nape when his tone wavers, the hoarseness crackling over the significant sentiment, so baneful it almost wilts the pretty floral display. Birds mingle and squawk, noisily circling in the vast blue sky. The sound seems to trigger something in him.
We all watch as he nips the blunt between his lips, rips the strap off his shoulder, and cocks the barrel of his rifle. He rotates to face the ocean, aims and fires toward the bird cluttered heavens. Multiple cracks of gunfire petrify the flock of gulls, earning their retreat, except for the one bird he’d skillfully targeted. Its gray-white feathery body nosedives into the crystal-clear sea like a torpedo.
“Letterman––” André lowers his weapon and glances over his shoulder, the sun doing its best to penetrate his dark lenses. “––say something, parce.”
My heart quadruples in size, butting into my lungs when Letterman scrubs his eyes, opens his mouth to speak, and then clears his throat. “I miss… you… Reno. The bastards who did this will pay.” His hands ball and he looks up, his protective gaze staring right at India huddled in my arms. “You’re my little sister too, baby girl. You’re not alone.”
That’s all he says, but it’s enough for India to break away from me and stagger to him. A hand covering her mouth to mute her sobs. She throws her arms around his neck and buries her face into his unbuttoned shirt, his inked chest braced.
