Page 94 of Hostile Rival
Together we walk hand in hand out of the club, and when we get outside, the sun is already rising on a new day. I feel a light vibration from inside the buttoned pocket of my utility pants. Letting go of him, I move to my motorcycle and pretend I’m fetching something from my backpack as I read the text message from Blanco.
If Matheus wants to know who killed his father, I’ll only tell him face to face. He’ll get the answers he needs. It’s a one-time offer. I have faith in you. Bring him to me.
My lungs tighten. Blanco was there for me while I picked up the pieces of my life after the Souza cartel had tried to take it. He welcomed me into his home and his life. I quickly type a reply and take a deep breath, needing to know what we’re heading into.
Do you plan to hurt him?
His reply doesn’t take long.
Not necessary. I need something from him. That’s all.
I swallow hard and exhale the breath I was holding. I know better than to ask what his plans are. If he wanted me to know, I’d know. I’m the one Blanco calls when he needs something done. We never talk about the why.
I’m already back in Colombia. We’ll be there soon.
My pulse stutters and I slide the phone back into my pocket. When I look up again, Matheus is smoking a cigarette and casually scrolling on his phone as he waits.
His dark clothes blend into the shadows while the soft glow of his screen illuminates his beautiful features.
I stare at him for a beat, my stomach knotting. Something tells me everything is about to change between us.
36
MATHEUS
PAST
“Why, Papá?” I glare at him. “You gave my brothers’ a family ring when they were younger than I am, but you won’t give me the chance to earn one.”
“Aren’t you fucking listening?” Papá snarls. “You’re not a soldier, Matheus. You’re better suited to sitting behind a desk and fighting with loopholes in the law.” He leans back in his high-back office chair, puffs on a Cuban cigar, and turns away from me. “Why the fuck are you here, anyway?”
“I came with Tommy,” I tell him, pretending I’m not hurt that he’s annoyed at my arrival on his plantation.
This place is meant to be our family home, but we're rarely all together in it. I spend my time with our mother because when I’m here, this man makes my life a living hell. He doesn’t beat the shit out of me, blow up my prized possessions, or shoot my best friend dead.
What he does is worse. He ignores me. Completely. This is the first conversation we’ve had in months and it’s only happening because I decided to gatecrash his office.
“I want in, okay,” I say firmly. “I want you to teach me the family business. Not just have me prepare contracts and finalize property sales.”
“Are you still here?” The tone he uses is calm, but the cruelty behind his statement isn’t missed.
My blood boils. I’m sick of being treated like I don’t exist––like I don’t matter.
“Yeah, I’m still here, Elias,” I grit out. “And I’m not going anywhere. You, on the other hand, are getting older, weaker, and more fucking paranoid.”
The chair creaks as he turns slowly, his eyes narrowed. “What the fuck did you just say?”
I clench my fists. “What, are you going deaf too?”
Papá pushes to a stand, his legs shoving the wheeled chair backward. In the time it takes him to open his top drawer and pull out his shiny silver revolver, I’ve already aimed mine at his head.
“I’d advise you to keep your gun on the desk, Papá. I’m in a bad mood and those pet tigers of yours haven’t been fed yet.”
The look my father gives me makes my insides wither. This man hates me and no matter how many exams I pass with exemplary distinction, it'll never be good enough for him. He simply doesn’t care.
His expression darkens while he continues to blow smoke into the room.
“So, what’s your plan? Shoot me and take over my organization? You think you’re man enough to be like me? To be better than Tommy too?”
