Page 60 of Hostile Bond
Instead, I raise my glass and wait for each of the men to collect their shots.
“A long time ago, I made a promise to a girl I knew.” I begin. “And today, I’m going to have to break that promise.”
My skin tingles with awareness, sensing her frantic eyes all over me. I feel her misplaced anger slice up the air with razor-sharp blades.
“Oh yeah, and what did you promise the little viper?” Sean asks, his brows cocked.
“That I would execute the guy who beat the shit out of her. I know that guy was you, Sean.”
He grunts like a pig rolling in his own shit. “Of course you wouldn’t kill me,” he chuckles, tipping his glass in my direction. “I’m your favorite uncle.”
Motherfucker.
“Yeah––that. I have to break my promise to my wife. So, let's raise a toast to family and broken promises.”
23
SINÉAD
Crippling panic attacks my lungs first.
Fear runs under the layers of our established connection, our undeniable chemistry, and our cherished bond. It weaves around my soul, squeezing what's left of my heart in a choke hold.
I had dared to believe my husband loved me, in his own way, in whatever way a warlike killer could embrace tenderness and passion.
Maybe I’m a fool who had thought she found her forever with a man like him—the nephew of my nemesis. But he’d offered me affection after roughness. Safety and devotion beyond the realms of violence. And I refuse to believe it’s all an illusion.
Itismore.
Itislove.
Sean snickers while André’s eyes drill into mine. Dark, intense––lethal.
The second the men lift their glasses, tilt their heads back, and hold the liquor to their lips, his focus switches. His free hand delves inside his jacket pocket, the movement lightning sharp.
I shoot to my feet when a sharp blade flicks open from his ringed fingers and without hesitation, he thrusts it upward, silently stabbing the guy beside him under the chin.
In a stealth blur of black leather, he proceeds to puncture the vulnerable soft throat flesh of the next two guys. Then he immediately turns to Jack, who’s only now figured out they're under attack.
It doesn’t take long for André to swipe his revolver and fire a shot at close range. His murderous reactions accelerated.
Blood spatters and spurts.
Everywhere.
Glasses smash and bottles clatter as one of his victims staggers and slumps against the wire rack of clean glasses.
My heart slams against my ribs, my eyes wildly searching for a weapon of my own. I dart to the ornamental fire iron by the dusty stove as Sean snarls, “Jesus fuck, Dré. You’re a crazy son of a bitch. What the fuck did you do that for?”
My nostrils flare, adrenaline pumping through me.
“I came here for my wife, Sean, not to indulge your delusional fantasies of moving in on my territory. Every stash house involved in your business will be obliterated with all of your men inside. Miami is mine. And so is my wife.”
Sean spins in his boots, snatching his handgun from the holster at his hip. Except I’m not where he’d left me sitting. My change of location throws him off, until his harrowing gaze finds me two tables away, brandishing the thin poker in the air like a cricket bat.
His dark laughter turns my anger feral. “Christ, Dré, don't tell me you feel something for the little viper?”
He takes a confident step toward me and jabs the stale air with his gun. Behind him, André stalks into his personal space and butts the barrel of his gun against his uncle's head. “Do not point a gun at my wife.”
