Page 51 of Hostile Bond
Love and hate.
Broken hearts and ammunition.
I slowly climb out of the car and make my way across the quiet country road, holding my cap in place to protect my eyes from the downpour. When I shunt open the chipped front door, smoky heat hits me first, then the stench of beer, followed by jumbled conversations mixed with rumbles of laughter. The six wooden stools fronting the small bar are all occupied, and the snug seated areas are packed with drinkers.
In a racing heart beat I realize I don't even know what day it is. Time had ceased to exist when I was with Dré.
“Sinéad?” My mother’s voice tunnels through my exhausted stupor, her warming timber the very sound to trigger swelling sadness within me.
“Mammy.” I turn to her and hug my midriff. “You’re okay?”
She stands in the middle of the bar, blocking the blazing wood burner. A flouncy ditsy dress ends mid shin, nipped in at the waist by a tan belt, and covered in a chunky knitted cardigan. Dark hair is pulled away from her thin face and untidily pinned behind her head in a bun. Her pasty complexion is whiter than a flurry of fresh snow. Her emerald green eyes lock onto mine.
“Of course I am, sweetheart.” She rounds a crowded table of four, her low-heeled boots tapping the stone floor. “You look dreadful. What did that bastard do to you? He’s not here… is he?”
“No… I came here on my own.”
“Thank goodness.” A loving arm reaches around my shoulder and the next thing I know, she’s maneuvering me behind the bar and into the pokey office. The looming corners of the closest-sized room close in on me when she shuts the door to give us privacy.
I’d spent many afternoons sitting in this very spot. Bored of monotony and dodging tax paperwork. And now that I’m here again, my skin itches to get away.
“I’ll get us a drink.” Mammy reaches into a cardboard box on the ground, pulling out an unopened bottle of whiskey.
“Sit yourself down.” She drags a rickety chair across the stone floor and helps me to lower onto it. When I drag the damp cap off my head, her eyes widen as if she’d stuck her fingers into an electrical socket.
“Jesus Christ, Sinéad, what isthaton your wedding finger? It looks like a tattoo. He didn’t… you’re his daughter…”
“It’s okay, Mammy. I can explain.” With little effort, I toss the cap onto the paper-littered desk, sighing heavily. “But first you need to tell me what's been happening here.”
“Who cares about the stupid pub, Sinéad?” She thuds the bottle down beside her, leans in, and settles worn hands on my cheeks, cupping my face affectionately. “I only care about you, sweetheart. I’m so thankful to see you again. I’ve been going out of my mind with worry. Frankie left a message saying you’d never come home to me. When was the last time you ate? You’re a shocking shade of pale.”
I keep eye contact with her. “Has Sean Hennessy been in here?”
She rears back like I’ve just slapped her with a thunderbolt, fear pinking her milky complexion. “Why would you say that name?”
“After Frankie dragged me away, some of his men stayed behind. He said he’d murder you if I didn’t do what he asked of me. They were watching you the whole time. Then, when he was killed, Conal Hennessy stepped in to remove Frankie’s threat over you. Mammy…Sean said he’d come here… and I don’t know what the hell he wants.”
“Frankie is dead?” She gasps. “And Sean’s up here in the North?” Her fingers splay over her fearful heart. “Why would he come to The Rusty Shamrock?”
“Because I’m married to André Souza, Mammy.” I smile tiredly, feeling shaky.
She backs away, her thighs hitting the desk, and her back stiff. “The Colombian boy from Hennessy house? Sean’s nephew?” Her nostrils flare. “Why would you marry him, Sinéad…his family are the cartel. Did Frankie force him on you?”
I hold out my hand, letting her see the heart tattoo properly. “It’s a long story, Mammy. All you need to know is that André saved me from Frankie. And then he killed the dickwad, because of the horrible things he did to me. Dré asked his Uncle Conal to help you. But…” I rub my temples, feeling lightheaded. “Sean stepped in. I thought he’d be here already. That’s why I ran from Dré. I came home to stop Sean from hurting you again. And now Dré is mad at me for leaving.”
Her gaze narrows, staring at me with fury swirling in the circles of her eyes. “André killed Frankie… what the hell have they got you caught up in? They’re all bloodthirsty gangsters, Sinéad,” she snarls like a ferocious lioness protecting her cub. “Frankie deserved everything he got, but those Souzas are just as hateful. We’d better leave before they show up and try to take you away again.”
Drained and weak, I fight the urge to crawl onto the floor and go for a nap. My stomach clenches and a trickle of sweat rolls the length of my spine as a tsunami of sickness crashes over me.
“Mammy…” I whisper. “I don’t feel too good. Can you get me a glass of water?”
Her fretful gaze catches mine. “Oh, sweetheart… this is all my fault. Wait here and I’ll fetch you a drink and something to eat. You look terrible.”
It’s called heartbreak.
When the door opens, the familiar bustle of clinking glasses and rowdy banter swirls around me. Once upon a time, it was the only ruckus I was used to, my one true comfort in a dull existence. Now I can’t tolerate it, the sound like fingernails scratching down a blackboard. Everything is too loud. My brain hurts from overthinking and my limbs are useless, craving rest.
It feels like only seconds have passed when she’s back in the room with me again, holding a glass to my lips and telling me to sip the icy water. The cool liquid works its way down my throat and into my stomach, and when it gets there, my gut revolts. I’m actually falling apart without him. This is pathetic. I rub the spot on my chest where my heart thumps and try to steady the wild rhythm.
