Page 10 of Hostile Love
Except I have to figure out her location first.
“Which means you and I are on the same side today. Suck it up and get me a first aid kit.”
The guy nods, skirts the entrance hall, and moves to the corridor at the left of the staircase. I follow him, shirking off my backpack, digging out a full magazine from the inside, and reloading my revolver.
I don’t trust any of these fuckers.
Carrying the bag in my hand, I pass a wall of hung art, including a huge portrait of Sofia as a grinning child. I skip over her face, my eyes hunting for pictures of Dani instead.
Only there aren’t any––like she didn’t exist in their past.
At Mama’s house, the walls are littered with childhood photographs of me and my brothers. Every flat surface and shelf houses a moment of our lives together, framed and sitting pretty to remind us of our family connection.
My brow scrunches, deep in thought. I never bonded with Elias. We hadn’t ever gone fishing, spent time talking at the dinner table, or even shared a hug.
But my Mama––she’s my whole world. And she kept a secret from me.
It doesn't take long to leave the runner rug underfoot and cross over onto checkered tiles.
“What’s your name?” I ask the soldier as he moves inside a modest-sized washroom.
“Dario,” he replies, opening a cabinet door under the sink and taking out a bulky plastic bag.
“Well, Dario, I’m going to need a few men…”
I lean against the doorjamb and watch him empty medical supplies onto the quartz counter.
“A whole fucking army. If you pull a team together, I’ll let Blanco know you helped me save Dani, and I’ll pay you double.”
“You’re a Souza. Why should I trust you?”
He glares at my reflection in the mirror behind the ornate gold faucet.
I drop my bag, prowl behind him, pull my base layer up and over my head, then reach across, and grab a foil wrapped antiseptic wipe from the pile.
“Because she’s all that matters, Dario. Not you. Not even me…” I tear the packet open with my teeth and shake out the sterile cloth. “…justher.Comprende?”
He steps back to give me space, quietly staring as I clean my messy bicep. The wound bled like a bitch, but it's not deep enough to need stitches.
“We do this for her, for Dani.” I catch his eye. “How quickly can you assemble a team?”
“We have about twenty men here already. Some need to stay, though.El patrónnever leaves his homes unoccupied. They’re guarded twenty-four seven, three hundred and sixty-five days a year.”
“Okay.”
I slap a sterile pad over the top of the stinging gash. With my other hand, I grab a roll of surgical tape and hold it towards him.
“Help me with this, will you?”
While he sticks tape over the dressing, my temper simmers. Dani does it way better. But she’s not here and I’m paralyzed inside because of it.
Everything had dulled. My senses. My heartbeat. Even the color of the fucking sunlight.
“I need to see whatever surveillance footage you have from in front of the house. As soon as possible.”
I stare at myself in the mirror, meeting my chestnut eyes and noticing the dark crescents under them.
My skin is still tanned, my muscles chiseled, and my favorite chunky gold chain hangs around my throat, glinting in the daylight pouring in through slatted window blinds.
