Page 30 of Hostile Bond
And bloodshed maintains our exalted rank in the global game of drug trafficking.
We are monsters that will never change.
I raise my glass. “Gentleman of Colombia…Salud!As we’re all together again…mi familia… let’s get fucked up.”
We all reach forward and share the sentiment by clinking glasses.
“So, what’s it like to be married, Dré?” Matheus raises his eyebrows and smirks. “Won’t your new wife want you upstairs, showered, dried and in bed before your curfew is up, likeun buen esposo?
“Her name is Sinéad, cabron.” I set my tumbler on a seashell themed coaster and plant my elbows on the table, meeting his taunting pretty boy expression. This kid had learned from the master and I’m happy to own that title.
“She didn’t marry agood husband, Mat. She married this.” My shoulders raise as my hands wave outwards. “Do you really think she expects good behavior fromme?”
The truth is, she doesn’t demand anything from me other than communication. She sees my flaws and accepts them as the very vices that make me who I am. Something my father could never do. The white heat within her embraces the dark energy in me. We’re thunder and lightning, hurricanes and havoc.
When Sinéad is close to a sweet surrender, her turquoise eyes take on a life of their own, like a tropical cyclone of lust and fascination fiercely combined. Her veins become volcanic when I’m controlling and wild, claiming whichever of her holes I deem worthy at the time.
That wild, throbbing rhythm of her pulse injects me with an addictive narcotic-like hit that never disappoints. I fucking love the rush of ownership a billion times more than the feel of any other woman on my dick.
My blood pumps faster, unbearably horny. The mental vision of her peachy ass slapped to an impeccable shade of deep pink, works its magic on my dick.
I swipe the tumbler and take a gulp of whiskey, still aware of the knot in my belly after our argument on the stairs. I’ll give her space to think and then punish her pretty mouth for daring to doubt her husband.
“Who’s up for shots?” I move my legs out from under the table and stroll to the liquor cabinet.
Thankfully, the guy I acquiredSin Islandfrom had a stash of decent aged whiskey. I didn’t give him much time to vacate. Some things were left behind, and others were packed as he fled. My team had moved in quickly to replenish and restock, but these vintage liquors were all his—all mine now.
“Are we any closer to finding Papá’s killer?” Matheus asks, carefully setting a tin of cocaine beside his tumbler and removing the lid. “Surely Sapori wasn’t our only lead?”
“He had contacts,” Tomás rolls his shirt sleeves to his elbows, precisely and methodically. “Whether they knew anything is irrelevant now. No matter who I ask, no one seems to know.”
“Have you ruled out Carlos Blanco?”
“I haven’t ruled anyone out. Everyone's a suspect.”
12
SINÉAD
Most women dream of gaudy diamond engagement rings, elaborate white weddings where the handsome groom is a heroic prince, and the bride becomes his princess.
That was never an aspiration of mine. Especially when every encounter I’d had with the opposite sex resulted in heartbreak, pain, run-of-the-mill experiences, and eventually loneliness.
I’d spent too much time on my own. Yet I still didn’t crave a man to trot into my life on a skewbald Irish cob and sweep me off my feet.
Over the past few years, I’d stupidly stalked André Souza’s wild ways on social media and inwardly pretended I didn't thirst for a place beside him––or desire the dangerous capo himself. I had convinced myself that I hated my old friend and everything he stood for. What woman would willingly want a man whose lifestyle resembled the heartless asshole who’d abused her?
I’d secretly studied André’s life in pictures, knowing he partied hard, toyed with beautiful women, and lead a lawless life. He was powerful and free. Whereas I was a caged animal living a mediocre life.
Running The Rusty Shamrock wasn’t enough. But I couldn't put a finger on the exact missing ingredient—what I needed to achieve contentment. I’d settled into a mundane existence, took no shit from the drunks with grabby hands, and spent my days following the same routine. I was a suppressed fighter in the lull of a long battle, teetering on the cusp of adventure. Bored and restless, yet grateful for the peaceful days, and happy I could provide for my mother. My one true constant.
However, that all changed when my husband permanently branded my wedding finger, causing all the mismatched, divergent pieces within me to click into their rightful place.
We’d connected on a level I never imagined possible.
Our buried bond became fortified.
My heart bloomed like a flower in early spring and I’d accepted that being with André meant I wouldn’t be alone anymore. That we were destined to be together.
