Page 48 of Hostile Bond
I stagger sideways, scrambling to understand the truth. Now I know why she would never reveal the identity of the man who’d tortured seven shades of hell out of her. It was my flesh and blood beating her black and blue.
A man I admired. The guy who’d bought my first motorcycle and took me on trips in his yellow sports car. That same uncle had given her too many bruises, bloodied cuts, and was the cause of the tears she fought to hide. I’d wanted to capture every single one of those stubborn teardrops and keep them for myself as treasure.
That’s how much she fascinated me from the very beginning. Even when her tears were like rare precious jewels and her untold secret burned a hole in my brain.
She’s right about one thing. It would be an unforgivable family betrayal to kill my uncle in all the ways I’d imagined fitting for the asshole who’d beaten my friend. Except she’s not just my friend––she’s the love of my cursed life––and my wife.
Well, she was all of those things, until she flew off into the sunrise.
Without forethought or balanced reasoning, I fix my aim on the ball of burning flames on the horizon and shoot. My finger continues to squeeze the trigger until I’ve emptied the clip and make it clear to the sun that its bold rays don't belong in my world.
I rule the darkness where nothing worth having is without sacrifice.
I wasn’t looking for forever until my wife had changed the outlook of my future. She’d wrapped herself around my heart and made it beat to the same rhythm as hers. There isn’t a prescription for the pain or a drug that would help me get through the next few hours of torment.
I spin around and face the crowd, trying to hide the fact that I’m dying inside.
My family is divided.
Love is death.
There’s no escaping the storm raging inside of me. It’s a wild forest fire that’d never burn out.
Tomás steps forward. “Dré, what the fuck are you not telling me?”
18
SINÉAD
“How long will it take?”
“Approximately eight hours. Give or take, depending on the headwind.” The pilot glances at me and lowers his cautious eyes to the gun resting on my lap. “If you shoot me, the plane will go down with both of us in it. Unless you can handle a Pilatus PC-24.”
I’m sitting on the sheepskin cover of a comfy cockpit seat. It’s the first time I’ve sat in the flight deck of a jet––or a hijacked one.
Levers and buttons clutter the central console. While hundreds of tiny lights twinkle above our heads like all seeing judgmental eyes—each of them a witness to the hostage situation I’d engineered. Square monitor screens in front of us have digital gauges that fluctuate as we skim above the clouds on a flight path to Ireland.
“If I could fly a plane, I wouldn’t need your help. Motorcycles are more my thing.” I half shrug, not wanting to fall down the rabbit hole of Dré memories. “You want to live, don’t you?” The warning is said with a gritty, badass flare, but in reality, I couldn’t shoot to kill this guy.
He hasn’t done anything wrong. Plus, I still feel guilty about the gunshot wound I’d left in the other pilot. But I had to prove my point. There’s a very real threat to endorse and the persona of a Souza wife to maintain.
The pilot sighs, looking less than professional in his nighttime attire, t-shirt and jersey shorts. He was sleeping like a baby when I’d snuck into the staff villa to hunt him out.
I’d recognized some of Frankie’s yacht crew from the party earlier. They were out cold, probably unconscious from excessive drugs and alcohol. Whereas the Souza pilots weren’t at the fire pit. Not when they were on standby for an early flight to New York.
“The Souzas will come for me after this stunt.” He scratches his five o’clock shadow. “They’ll have an army waiting for us in Dublin.”
My stomach churns when I glance at the ink on my wedding finger. “If you do this for me, and prove that I can trust you, then I’ll make you my personal pilot. You’ll be under Sapori protection. After this trip, I’ll need a pilot to fly me to Sicily. From there, you’ll be well compensated. Can you arrange for the jet to be refueled when we land?”
“Yeah, I’ve got a Souza credit card for fuel.” His head shakes a little. “I heard what you said on the phone… what you’re planning to do.” He talks into the headset microphone as his gaze returns to the sunny windshield. “I’ve worked for the Souzas long enough to know they’ll assassinate anyone who messes with their family. They’ll apprehend you the second the door opens.”
“That’s why you’re not taking me to Dublin.” His gaze returns and he cocks an inquisitive brow. “We’ll land at the city of Derry Airport in the north. It’s closer to where I need to be and will give me more time.”
I stare out at dreamy mountainous clouds and blinding sunlight. It’s heaven up here, except my insides feel like a perpetual lake of fire and brimstone. A place where I’ve split the earth and positioned myself on the wrong side––opposite André.
Gravity pulls at my heart, vigorously tugging it downward to the island I’ve left behind and the man I’d struggle to live without. Who would have thought this stubbornly independent woman would want to be a wife––a mother––acriminal.
“You’re on borrowed time.”
