Page 2 of Hostile Bond
Uncle Conal’s bark of laughter is cruel. “Like fuck I will. People only run when they’re guilty or because they’re cowards. She’s not worth it. Go to bed, or stay here with your brother. Either way, if I find you sneaking out of the estate again, I’ll tell yer da how you’ve become a weak little shite.”
Am I weak?
“What’s going on, Con?” Uncle Sean joins us, a hand pocketed in his jeans and his designer t-shirt untucked.
There are ten years between the two brothers and a generation of differences. Uncle Conal takes his responsibilities seriously, whereas Uncle Sean drives around in a flashy canary yellow Maserati and has a different woman with him every week.
“Why are you being a dick?” He scowls at his older brother and then winks at me. “Leave the kid alone.”
Uncle Conal’s eyes look like they'd self-combust when Uncle Sean moves into the room and drops down onto the couch beside me, liquor heavy on his breath. “Since when did I ever listen to your unsolicited advice?” he bites back. “His little friend has fucked off with her mother. I bet they stole something.”
Uncle Sean frowns, staying silent as he stares at his brother for a beat. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Con… he’s a kid who’s lost his first girlfriend. Don’t be such a cold-hearted asshole.”
“He left the estate, Sean. On his own.”
“Big fucking deal. I leave here all the time too, and look, I’m still alive.” Uncle Sean throws his arm around me, giving me support and attention.
“You’re an adult who has a gun and the common sense to make sure the gates shut on your way out,” Uncle Conal retorts, his gaze dark and menacing.
Uncle Sean flips his ankle up to meet the opposite knee, so cool and casual. “They’re electric, Con. The gates should close automatically. What do we pay security for? I bet you never made a mistake growing up, big brother?” he says with a half laugh.
“Not one that compromised my family,” Uncle Conal counters.
“Christ, Con. You’re a robot. That’s how we learn life lessons. Don’t worry, boys…” Uncle Sean glances over at Giovanni on the bed while he squeezes me close. “You don’t need to be a cold cunt like your Uncle Conal to survive the big bad world past those creepy fucking gates.”
I love my family. They mean everything to me. Except Papá wants to freeze our hearts with liquid nitrogen until we morph into diabolical beasts––clearly Uncle Conal thinks the same way too. Whereas Uncle Sean, he’s affectionate, generous, and always up for a laugh. He appears untouched by the undercurrent of evil that laces Uncle Conal’s brogue and threads his tailored suit.
“I’m watching you, André,” Uncle Conal threatens as he heads for the door. “And Sean, grow the fuck up. If he gets a couple of bullets in the kneecaps, you’ll be the one who’ll answer to Teresa.”
When he’s gone, I look up at Uncle Sean and match his grin. “Will you help me find her?”
“Sure thing, kid. What’s her name?”
“Sinéad Quinn.”
“Give me a few days.” Uncle Sean takes his arm back and stands so he can fetch a packet of Marlboro from his back pocket.
He flicks his zippo and sets fire to the end of a cigarette. Inhaling the smoke deep into his lungs, then when his eyes find mine, he exhales.
“Lesson number one, kid. Don’t put all your eggs in one basket. Women are vipers.” He chuckles. “You figured it out early. Just wait until you’re old enough to participate in a fuck fest.”
I frown at him. “What’s that?”
“Imagine having lots of Sinéads in your bed for a sleepover. You wouldn’t give a fuck if one disappeared, because you’d have plenty more to keep you occupied. That's the beauty of being good looking and filthy fucking rich.”
2
SINÉAD
Present Day
“I’m okay… let me go. I need to find my husband.”
I’m shivering like crazy in the rear of an ambulance that’s parked at the seafront. An awful sense of dread and sickening doom bleeds from my pores beneath the shiny aluminum blanket covering my shoulders.
“Was he on the yacht with you, ma’am?” The Coast Guard officer is too close. Her intention is to help, but her actions only trap me.
“No… he’s…” I stand upright, my bare feet finding tarmac, and my shaky palm rubbing my forehead. My foggy mind races to the worst possible scenario. “Stop fucking touching me!” I wrench my arm away from her, desperate to find André. “I have to go. Now.”
