Page 7 of Hostile Bond
And with what happened today, I’m drowning in a grudge so toxic it's threatening the only pure and true thing in my life.
Her.
I stalk through the lobby leading to the penthouse and nod at the new guards responsible for manning the door on my way past. My jaw clenches when I find her sitting on the edge of the couch, hugging a motherfucking cushion instead of me.
Her unhappy scowl so sharp—a blade to cut my veins with. Maybe I should send her back to Ireland until the threat against the Souzas has ended.
My heavy exhale doesn’t ease the tightness in my lungs. I rake my fingers through my dirty hair, knowing that this fleeting notion of pushing her away is bullshit. I’d never let her leave me. Anyway, Mama had taken us away from Colombia for that very reason long ago. Yet here we are, decades later, and the Souzas are still at war.
Where I go. She goes.
My achy muscles stiffen at the realization that my decision positions her in the belly of evil. Which means I have to act fast.
Subconsciously, my feet move at speed. They take me away from the bustle of my security team, the noisy kitchen, and straight into my quiet office. I don’t want them to see me in this state. Leaders fucking lead. Not fall apart from weakness.
The instant I slam the door shut, my temper breaks into a million shards of remorse, heartache, and madness. My brain loses touch with reality as I throw fists at the shadows, pounding the air until my knuckles finally connect with solid plaster walls.
Wallop after wallop, I strike hard and bruise and bleed. Sweat drips from my hairline and the t-shirt I’m wearing clings to my tense torso. Staggering to the desk, a tornado of strength annihilates everything on it—knocking the desktop monitor and keyboard flying.
The family photograph of my brothers and I collides with the liquor cabinet and the frame shatters. Next up, the Irish cut tumblers and bottles of expensive whiskey meet the same violent fate.
My fists batter everything in my way with brute force.
Glass bottles smash into smithereens.
A deluge of liquor pours everywhere.
Wooden cabinets splinter.
Blood mottles the fresh walls and drips from my torn flesh.
The pandemonium within me wears a destructive crown.
I’m too far gone in my personal hell to stop.
“André…”
The hairs on the back of my neck lift when her small voice hacks through the blip in my brain. I suck in a lungful of oxygen and turn, wiping my mouth with the back of my bloodied fist.
She stands in the doorway, debating whether to enter my lair or close the door and run. Heart slaying creases of trepidation worry her freckled forehead. Those cute little speckles that appeared on her skin during our whirlwind honeymoon warm her complexion like constellations brighten the cloudless night sky.
The sight of her spears me to the spot. My beautiful wife. My oldest friend.
Her chest expands as she quietly watches me, unmoving. She thinks I'm a monster. Maybe Giovanni was right—after all the brainwashing, Papá had succeeded in molding me into the vicious son he always wanted. A monster—savage and unrepentant. Because all I feel is diabolical rage twisted around dark desire.
As she hovers on the boundary of carnage, our synergetic energy sparks and crackles. It injects my bloodstream with impatient lust and replaces the impulse to destroy with an unrepentant need to fuck.
Disheveled locks of raven hair spill over bare shoulders, the spaghetti straps of her sundress no match for my hellish hunger.
I can’t help it. My eyes are all over her and my dick hardens to stone. This isn’t a natural reaction for a man who should have greeted the Reaper with a bottle of whiskey and a one-way ticket to Hell. Not Reno.
My stomach churns over and over. Destruction swirls in my chest, leaving me unbearably nauseous. I try to breathe, the air not reaching my lungs as I inhale.
I lurch toward the desk, unable to feel my legs, slam my blood slick hands down for support, and hunch over to control my aggressive panting. My love for her runs through my heart like a never-ending river, but my head—it’s fucked.
In the stillness following my violent outburst, haunting green-blue eyes lock onto mine and that pretty mouth of hers parts.
“I’m sorry, Dré…” She nibbles her bottom lip and steps over the threshold. A courageous move for a woman who’s already witnessed the wrath of my unstable mind firsthand in the past. My gut twists in pain. “I just wanted to be there for you… after what happened… I understand what Reno meant to you.”
