Page 13 of Hostile Rival
Faster than lightning, he grabs my wrist. Normally, my self-defense instincts would engage and I’d break his arm for daring to touch me. But when his mouth drops to the side of my face, my pulse speeds up.
Something inside of me doesn’t want to fight him. Even worse, I don’t want him to let go of me, either.
“When I’m out there, on a job, my identity is unknown. I’m not hiding behind my family’s name. I’m justMatheus.” His thumb brushes the back of my hand and goosebumps race up my arm. “I didn’t have the same vicious upbringing as my brothers, but I did learn the best from each of them,” his voice rumbles in my ear. “I have Tommy's intuition, Dré’s wildness, and the sniper precision of Gio. But at the end of the day, I’m just me.”
He lets go and takes a step back, finally giving me space to breathe. “I don’t need more training, because I’m not weak, Dani,” he bites out, his tone almost threatening. “Got it?”
And before I get the chance to reply, he grabs the liquor and storms out of the bathroom. Grabbing a blanket and a small tin from his bed, he leaves me standing all alone with my heart thumping out of my chest.
6
MATHEUS
The following morning, the adrenaline had well and truly died off.
I’m stiff, sore, and my head is thumping. I’d tried to fall asleep on the narrow couch, but couldn't get comfortable.
So, I’d sat upright, smoked a blunt from my personal stash, and finished off the malt whiskey I’d found in the kitchen. While alcohol dulled the aches and marijuana helped me relax, I obsessed about the woman who’d stitched up my wound and had the audacity to suggest I needed more training.
Fuck, she gets right under my skin.
And the fact she apparently hates me contradicts the way her silver-gray eyes burn into my every move.
Well, there’s nothing like a hate fuck to raise the temperature, and I’d certainly enjoy getting her all flushed and sweaty. She’s a puzzle I’d happily conquer.
But that can’t happen. Why would I screw the person who would betray my family without a second thought? Not to mention the risk of Giovanni finding out. Fuck knows what he’d do.
I couldn’t disappoint him, not when he’d given me an opportunity our father never did.
“You must be Crow,” a deep British accent rolls over my shoulder.
I stay where I am and let the guy it belongs to stroll into view, his athletic build blocking the blinding morning sun. He removes a pair of sunglasses to offer me his full attention, folds them, and hooks one arm on the neck of his sleeveless Nirvana tank.
Disheveled sandy brown hair falls over his brow, the ends almost disguising an old scar cut into his left eyebrow. “Hunter Beckett, otherwise known as Scorpion.”
We don’t shake hands. Both of us subtly eyeing each other like the predators we are. However, this guy doesn't look much older than me, maybe twenty-eight, give or take a year. And by the graveyard of skull tattoos on his full arms and both hands, I can tell he’s been in this business for a long time.
“You’re a Souza, right?” he asks, slapping his jeans pocket and digging out a pack of smokes.
“Matheus,” I reply, my voice hoarse.
He glances at the filled ashtray on the coffee table and offers me a cigarette. I lean forward and grit my teeth, the knitted flesh of my wound burning like hellfire. His eyes narrow when he checks out the fresh stitches and dried blood on the side of my leg.
“I’m sure the other bloke got it worse.” He smirks and torches the end of my cigarette with his silver zippo.
“Yeah.” I shrug and breathe the smoke into my lungs. “He's unrecognizable.”
Hunter strolls across the room and stares out at the calm Mediterranean Sea. Slumping back onto the couch, I scratch my unshaven jaw and consider taking a shower. I stink of booze, stale smoke, and blood lies under my nails.
Mama would be disgusted to find my appearance less than perfect. I’m usually always smartly dressed and looking a billion dollars. Today, not so much.
“Did Dragon plant you with us for any particular reason?” Hunter asks his question with his back to me, and one arm stretched above his head, palming the large glass window. “Seems odd that you’d drop your career to join us.”
Here we go.
“How about you tell me why you’re here?” I exhale a cloud of smoke. “What made you join The Covenant?”
His hand slides down the window before he turns to face me, folding an arm over his chest and taking a drag. “Apart from respecting our commander, I have my reasons.” He exhales smoke into the room. “On the way home from visiting our father in the hospital, my brother pulled the car into a petrol station because I wanted a can of Red Bull. While I was inside paying, a rival gang drove past and pulled out a machine gun. They shot up the car, murdering him and my baby sister.” His blue eyes darken. “A few months later, on my seventeenth birthday, I bought my first handgun. Each of the cunts who did it were checked off my list, one by one.” He turns back to the window. “That’s it. Shit happens and I clean it up.”
