Page 41 of Hostile Bond
“Another present? An island wasn’t enough?” I stroke his whiskered jaw and kiss the corner of his mouth, wondering how it became so easy to open my heart to him.
“It’s only the gun you asked for.” His eyes find mine. “For the few days we’re apart, I want you to shoot any fucker who comes near you––except for our family. They won’t hurt you, obviously.” He winks at me. “You shouldn’t need it, anyway. It’s only a precaution. The coastline is guarded day and night. Tomás and Carina will be here to keep you company in my absence. He owes me.”
As he effortlessly carries me indoors, a troubled pain aches my heart. There’s one member of his family I’d shoot happily until the man’s lungs filled with blood. The falsely charming devil in disguise, Sean Hennessy.
Our blissful contentment won’t last. I can feel the undercurrent of an apocalypse brewing with the sunrise.
16
SINÉAD
I’m lying in bed next to André, wishing I could hold back the sunlight, so this night could last even longer.
He’s asleep, wearing the silky black robe he’d thrown on after we shared a bath together. We stayed in the tub until the suds had dissolved and the water cooled, talking over the arrangements for his trip to New York in the morning. How a trained tactical team would escort him from the airport to a safe house and supply him with the latest intel on Scott Acer.
Apparently, they’re watching Acer’s movements already, monitoring his daily routines and systematically infiltrating his inner circle. It’s a calculated risk, helped by his twin brother and best friend. Both of whom are allegedly lethal in their own right.
As much as I don’t want him to go, I understand the depth of his personal crusade. The drive to kill those responsible for the death of a loved one. But that awareness doesn’t make it any easier to accept. It’s the reason why I’m wide awake, staring at the pretty ebony lashes that fan the cheekbones of a face I’m obsessed with.
He hadn’t intended for sleep to snatch away our last few hours together before he jets off. However, we both lay on the big bed, our bodies entwined and my nails dancing over his chest. After a while, his breathing had turned shallow, and his muscles relaxed.
I think about the Glock 19 firearm he gave me when we got back to the suite, and how he’d locked it away in a cast iron safe hidden at the bottom of a cabinet in the adjoining dressing room. He’d told me it made him feel happier about leaving me, knowing I had a weapon of my own, even if the island has an invisible high level of protection similar to a maximum-security prison.
Needing a drink of water, I gradually slip out from under his inked arm to roll off the mattress, doing my best not to wake him. I’d rather he was well rested for the mission ahead of him. Tiredness could lead to sloppy mistakes.
I tighten the belt on my matching robe and tiptoe across the room to a chunky coffee table sandwiched between two low slung powder blue armchairs and grab the bottle of water I’d opened earlier. The tepid liquid doesn't do much to unravel my knotted belly. Nothing will ease the rankling worry, not until André lands back on our little slice of marital heaven again.
I drop into the comfy chair and hug my knees close to my chest, sipping the water as I watch him sleep from across the room.
There’s a certain calmness in the still of night when people are at their most vulnerable and the world takes a collective steadying breath.
Out of the corner of my eye, his silent phone glows next to the abundant fruit basket on the table in front of me. I set my toes on the floor and peer at it just in case it’s important information about his mission. But when my eyes settle on the name of the person who’d sent the message, my heart freezes over.
The air turns glacial. My hands start to shake. I set the bottle on the table and grab his phone, reading the part of the message that's visible on the screen.
Uncle Conal: Sean volunteered to step in. He’s traveling North to watch over the mother. Tell him what you’re plan…
A sharp pain pierces my skull as the letters swim and the words blur. I can’t stop the crippling tremors rattling my bones or how fear crashes over me in paralyzing waves. I stuff my knuckles between my teeth to muffle a whimper and lurch out of the chair, almost tripping.
Dizzy and sick, I stagger to the dressing room and manage to quietly shut the door behind me. But the second it closes, my knees give way and I sink like an anchor. Pressing my palms to the thick pile carpet, I hunch over, struggling to breathe.
No!
Not Sean.
Memories hit me like the fall of a weighted ax.
Cruel fingers dive into my hair, the tight fist yanks and my scalp burns.
“Take a fucking look at yourself… you’re nothing… what makes you think you can put your grubby little hands on my gun and threaten me with it? You couldn’t even pull the trigger, you pathetic piece of shit.”
His eyes glare at me in the reflection. The devil is in the mirror with me and he’s staring at my blotchy face, swollen cheekbone, and trembling bottom lip.
“You think you can point a gun at me, little bitch? I’m the son of the most powerful man in southern Ireland. I’m a fucking Hennessy and you’re… what are you?” His haughty, menacing laughter lives in my nightmares. “A sneaky little viper. I hate snakes. No one would care if you ended up in a shallow grave in the forest next to your mother. The world would keep on turning and my family would hire another pretty mother to work for them.”
“Please… Sean… leave her alone…” Mammy’s voice whispers over his shoulder. “Let’s go back to bed… yeah? She’s young…”
“Shut the fuck up!” he snaps. “Someone needs to teach her respect, because you’re doing a shit job of it.”
