Page 38 of Hostile Love
These guys aren’t the problem. I know that because this isn’t the first time I’ve been escorted to safety in a convoy.
The morning after Elias was murdered, I was uprooted from a lecture and flown to my mother’s private compound on the Colombian coast.
This feels the same and it has me on edge.
“Please, come with us, sir. Your jet is on standby.”
“Matheus.” Dani’s tone is hard. “Think about this?—”
“I can look after myself.” I yank my arm free and pretend my heart’s frozen her out. “Don’t forget to tell Blanco he can go fuck his contract.”
“And Sofia?” Her voice slips over my shoulder, the tone direct. “What about her?”
“She's not you, Dani,” I say simply and continue walking.
She rushes up behind me, following me like a cute but ferocious guard dog.
“Where are you taking him? Tell me,” she demands.
No one answers. I stand to the side and let the huge gates judder open, stroll onto the pavement, and leave her standing all alone.
On the surface of it all, even though it looks like I have everything. Having all the money and power at my fingertips is a good thing, but it means nothing if I don’t have her love.
It’s all empty bullshit.
A soldier dressed in military gear opens the passenger door of the closest blacked out Cadillac Escalade and stands to the side as I climb inside.
I’m numb. Except for the sharp pain in my chest that could be the early stages of a heart attack.
I dig the smokes out of my pocket to give me something else to focus on and light one.
“Okay. You have my attention.”
I exhale smoke down my nostrils and let my head fall back to the leather headrest when the lead soldier appears at the door.
“Give me the phone.”
“Yes, sir.”
He holds a satellite phone out for me and closes the door when I take it from him, leaving me alone in darkness.
“Gio, what’s with the pantomime?—”
“Matheus,” my eldest brother Tomás interrupts. “Your family needs you.” His voice is deep, hoarse, and stern.
Typical for him, but tonight it resonates differently.
My spine tingles, an unusual feeling crawling over me.
“Tomás? What's going on?”
“It’s Dré,” he says quietly. “He was shot.” My heart stops beating. “They don’t know if he’ll make it.”
“W-what?” I struggle to speak. “Dré…what the fuck? Who did it? Tell me, Tommy. I’ll fucking go after them right now.”
My stomach churns and a nauseous sweat breaks over me.
Was this my fault?
