Page 58 of Hostile Bond
My belly knots. The intensity of our connection is still potent. Even behind dark lenses it consumes me, making the urgency of this situation paramount.
As soon as I’d chartered a private jet from Havana and sank into the reclining leather seat, wrung out and unsettled like never before. I had ordered a Jack Daniels and ice from the female flight attendant. Then drained it dry in one gulp.
I’d hoped the liquor would numb the destructive urges within me or knock me the fuck out, so the flight wouldn’t feel so arduous. Unfortunately, it only made me more agitated. I endured every torturous second of the journey in the sky.
When I’d ordered another couple of drinks, I briefly entertained the thought of shoving my dick down the woman's throat to pass the time. Except the idea didn’t materialize when my dick wouldn't fully rise for the occasion. The loyal, pussy-whipped thing only works for my wife. She has a secret voodoo-witchy spell over it and now I only get a solid boner when I think of her kneeling before me as my good girl––my obedient, bold wife.
But she’d crept away from our marital bed in the middle of the night and left me.
Fuck knows how I’ve survived the past few hours without killing someone. Yet here I am—sober, freezing, and in a deadly fucking mood. And to top it all off, I just want to scoop my wife into my arms and take her home. Except there’s no easy way out of this predicament.
I rip my gaze away from her and dive into my father’s teachings. Show no weakness.
My uncle wants to discuss business, which can only mean one thing. This isn’t a babysitting scenario to ensure my wife and her mother’s safety––it's an exchange. My wife for his greed.
“Take a seat, Dré.” He drags out a chair and beckons me to sit. “When was the last time we were together? Was it Vegas last year? Fuck, it’s been too long. I’ve missed your crazy banter.”
I swallow and nod. My fingertips drum the tabletop while he spouts shit. I’m more interested in leveling the playing field and assessing the quirky, old-style pub that belongs to my wife.
Compared to Souza owned establishments, the square footage of this place is next to nothing. I own bathrooms bigger than this country pub. That doesn't mean it's not decent. I kinda like the higgledy-piggledy charm of it. It has a certain uniqueness to it—like her.
“I have to say, hearing about your surprise wedding from my sister was disappointing.” Sean's voice cuts through my discreet surveillance.
He can’t see my eyes behind these sunglasses. I didn’t wear them to help with the sharp headache I’ve suffered from since she’d walked out on me. No, I wore them so no one would see how much I love her.
“Why didn't you call me with the good news, mate? I would have organized a post bachelor party?” He laughs and I know what he’s hinting at.
A binge weekend in a swanky villa where naked women adorn every flat surface, their belly buttons piled high with cocaine and their nipples hard and juicy. There’s usually a bubbling jacuzzi that's mostly filled with champagne by the time copious corks have popped. Foam parties. Live sex shows. Shots. And the disturbing shit that his crew participates in.
“How about it–huh? It's not too late to arrange something with the guys in Dublin. We could fly to Amsterdam this time.”
“In your text message, you said there was something we should talk about?” I drag a tin of pre-rolled blunts from my jacket pocket and light one, inhaling deeply to smooth the ragged edges of my restlessness.
Under the table, my knee bounces like it always does. If Reno were here, he’d offer me a sly grin to help keep my shit together. He’s not. No one else is with me except for the two armed soldiers guarding the exit. That's it. Just me.
“Dré…” Sean scratches his jaw as he considers me. “You need to stop fucking with my distribution chain in Miami.”
“Your distribution chain?” I repeat slowly, grim realization sinking in. “I control Miami, Sean. I’m the only distributor.”
“Come on, Dré. I’m talking about the sweet deal your father came to me with a few months before he was gunned down in Bogotá. He trusted me to come on board and now my client list is bigger than ever. The billionaires keep coming back for more.”
My veins turn molten. “Are you talking about the storage and trafficking of teens from my fucking stash houses? I never gave the go ahead for that to happen in my territory.”
Project H––Hennessy.
“I didn’t need your permission. Elias set the whole thing up and put me in charge.” Sean shrugs. “He said Tomás didn’t need to know until we’d figured out the logistics and were ready to expand into other territories.”
He sips from a coffee mug, his eyes cutting to Sinéad. I swallow hard when her jaw twitches from restraint. It’s not like her to be so quiet and I don’t like it. Not one fucking bit.
“So, I need you to stop shooting up my men and ruining a thriving family business.” Sean continues. “Elias said you’d be too caught up in your fuck bubble to notice what was really going on in Miami. What was it he called you…” He taps his lip, pretending to think. “His biggest disappointment.”
This isn’t a news flash. Papá’s unfiltered opinions were common in our household. I inhale slowly and inwardly count the men behind him. My guys are on standby in case bullets start flying. However, I intend to be out of here in ten minutes, at the most.
Four assholes watch my every move. One of them being Sean’s right-hand guy, Jack—the Cocksucker. I never liked the guy, not since I found him slicing up a hooker, because apparently carving his name into her back was a turn on.
The men my uncle surrounds himself with are a pack of waif mongrels and hanging with those guys was avoided whenever possible.
“The trafficking world is changing, Dré, and you need to get on board. Narcotics and weapons aren’t the only money spinners.” Sean chuckles under his breath.
