Page 47 of Hostile King

Until then, I’d rather she was safely out of the picture. Not a witness to the carnage her hybrid kingpin could create.

I take a measured stride towards Shane, my dress shoes not making a sound on the thick carpet. “Let’s go.” I nod to him and keep walking. “Dré…get her to the car safely. If something goes wrong—leave. Don’t wait for me. Get Carina and the rest of the family out of this city.”

14

CARINA

I clomp out of the bathroom, wearing a midi hem dress and a pair of Doc Martens.

Even though there’s a discrete layer of sock lining the unworn leather, they’re really stiff against my ankles since I’ve only worn dainty shoes of late. It’s a replica styled outfit to the one I wore the night his father was gunned down. The same fateful night Tomás unofficially made me his.

How fitting.

“Tell me what he’s planning.” I glare at André pacing a track by the doorway, chewing gum at the back of his mouth. “Will they try to kill him? Here, in this hotel?” My lungs implode, forcing a trembling hand to my chest. “I deserve to know what the hell is happening.”

Worn biker boots that appear to be his favorite pair, continue to scuff the thick pile carpet with every heavy step. “Stop talking about it. I’m not going to tell you shit. Not here.” When his phone beeps from his pocket, he pulls it out, reads the screen and starts to type a reply.

“Who are you texting?”

He finishes the message and sighs. “Why do women have to ask so many questions? If you must know, I’m checking in with my friends, Letterman and Reno. They were keeping an eye on things in Miami while I was babysitting you. They’re wondering what trouble I’m getting myself into today.”

The dull ache in my belly turns to queasiness. I pad my lips, feeling a wave of unease. “This doesn’t feel right. Something bad is going to happen. I can feel it.” He stops dead and runs a tattooed hand over his gorgeous face.

“Christ, you're just like him. Mama was right.”

“Is that why she brought me here? To start a war?”

André cocks a brow at me. “Tomás Souza will do whatever the fuck he wants. We don’t control him. No one does. A war with Morales won’t benefit any of us. All it will do is prove to the world he’s a crazy bastard.”

“Tell me what sort of plan you’ve concocted.” I persist.

André watches me, his unhallowed glare spearing me against the opulent furnishings. “The plan is to getyouthe hell out of Mexico—alive. Take a good fucking look, Carina. This is what you’re up to your eyeballs in when you’re with us. Cartel business. Souzas always have targets on their backs. Our enemies walk with us, and right now you’re standing in their fucking hotel. So, get your shit together and let’s get the hell out of here.”

“Okay…” The pounding beats in my chest bounce off each rib. “Give me a sec.” In a panic, I rush back to the vanity and grab the spindly tiara, then hurriedly follow André out of the suite and into the empty corridor. “Has he called off the…”

“Carina…” I’m suddenly uprooted, my shoulders slamming into a wall of pearly wallpaper. “Don’t say another word about it,” André growls, low and bullish.

As if we’ve known each other for a lifetime, his face brings ticklish whiskers to my cheek. It’s coarse and scented with sandalwood sending a shock of arousal right through me. He smells just like Tomás. Not only do they share the same DNA, but they also use a similar cologne.

To any passing guest or surveillance spy, it would look like he’s about to fuck me, but we both know better. Liquor and peppermint shoot up my nostrils when he speaks, low and hoarse.

“…the less you know the better. Morales has eyes and ears in places you’d never think of. The second we left that suite, we’re wide open.”

His broad leather clad torso presses into my chest as if we’re a newlywed couple getting hot and horny near the lobby’s elevator.

“They already think you’re a Souza whore.Mysexy guest. Not my big brother’s. The second Morales’ men suspect our relationship is a farce—or that you mean something to Tomás, you’re dead,” he whispers. “Understood? Now behave yourself. Pretend you’re here to serve me and let’s get the fuck out of Mexico.”

A strong hand hooks my waist nudging me neatly into his sturdy hip. When we reach the lobby, he punches the button for the elevator, both of us quietly watching the counter tick until the doors ping open. Once we step inside, they close us in immediately. He lessens his grip but doesn't let go.

“A word of advice…” André scratches his scruff. I get the impression he has something important to offload when he blows out a minty breath. “Don’t push the lovey-dovey bullshit with him. You won’t get what you're looking for.”

Panic blooms slowly at first, then it rises and rises to a shrill response. “Are you saying he’ll never fall in love?”

“I’m telling you he’ll never say that word.” He checks out his reflection in the mirrored walls, knowing he looks every bit the disheveled explosion of filthy sex and wicked sins. “It's not his thing. Never will be. Tommy doesn’t even tell his own mother he loves her. We just know he does.”

I shrug, feigning nonchalance. I’d rather not let on how my insides are flip-flopping. “I won’t hold my breath then.”

He snickers. “You’d be fucking blue if you did.”

---