Page 121 of Hostile Love
These men had made their choice long before Dani got her revenge.
“Wait…” A bald man scurries out of the middle pew. “I shouldn't be here…” he pants. “I’m loyal. Always have been.”
André sighs loudly.
“I don’t agree, motherfucker,” he growls. “I shut downProject Hmonths ago, but you thought you’d be Boris Big Balls and disobeyed my order. You kept a strand of it alive, didn’t you? You’re using Souza logistics to smuggle teens out of Colombia and sell them to high paying clients.”
The guy gulps and his face pales. “No…I—I—I…let me out of here.”
“Nope,” Dré replies. “Not gonna happen until you and everyone else gets the fucking message.”
“What’s the message?” the guy hisses, gripping the old wooden backrest as if he’s about to topple over.
“The message is simple.” I step forward. “Don’t fuck with any of us…ever.”
I sink to my haunches, sensing Dani to my left. She hitches the fabric of her long dress to help her bend and lowers too.
We’re always in sync these days.
Together, we both grab a machine gun each from under the bench and before we straighten, our gazes clash.
The silver color of her irises is cracked with threads of black and her pupils flare.
Carina had given her a bottle of Chanel perfume to use on the wedding day, and for some reason, the light scent seems stronger than before.
Feminine and sweet.
A contrast to the way my lethal woman stands brandishing a semi-automatic, ready for warfare.
I resist the urge to bury my face in her neck and inhale her scent deep into my lungs.
I fucking love this woman.
Beside me, my brothers collect their pre-stashed weapons too, all of us ready for Tomás’ order.
Rising to my full six-foot height. I wink at Dani and sling the Uzi strap over my shoulder, ready for action.
“As of today, all of your plans have gone to shit,” Tomás continues. “Your homes are currently being raided by the DEA. They will not find anything linking your criminal activity to the Souza organization. You acted under Eduardo. As a result of your criminal activities, your families will likely be moved into protective custody unless we find them first.”
Tomás points his Uzi at the gaping mouths before us.
“You guys fucked with the wrong family.”
On his last word, bullets fly from his machine gun. The rest of us start shooting too, ensuring our aim stays directed at one side of the chapel.
André targets a guy who’s heading for the doors, shooting him in the back while Giovanni skirts the stone wall, and pumps lead into a few other fuckers who were trying to hide.
Dani and I keep formation, standing shoulder to shoulder, and Tomás tightens the ranks by moving in tighter to my right side.
Together we obliterate the fuckers left frozen in the pews and we don’t stop until every single double-crossing bastard is riddled with bullets.
I’m breathing heavily when the ceasefire signal from Tomás welcomes stillness and the reporter's voice continues to filter from the television.
On the groom’s side of the chapel, blood is splattered up the walls, traitors slumped in their seats and a few bodies are left littering the outer aisle far from our other guests.
In the middle of it all, Giovanni dumps his Uzi, pulls out a shiny blade from under his pant leg and climbs over a pew to reach a guy moaning in agony.
Some fuckers just won’t die.
