Page 49 of Hostile King

“Now, hurry the fuck up.” Giovanni’s mood changes like rain clouds covering the sun and glances at his watch. Out of all the brothers, his timepiece has a digital face and jet-black wrist band. It’s more covert than bling—no ritzy diamonds and not showy.

As the three of us head away from the main doors and onto the crowded pavement, a wave of silence creeps over the street. It’s like the busy passers-by have all fallen under a spell or they’ve dared to look at a god. I glance back to where we’d come from, sensing spine-tingling danger.

Instantly, my heart suspends in my chest as Tomás exits the hotel, his untouchable divine presence leaving me awestruck. That dominating dark aura of his sucks me into a whirlwind and leaves me breathless.

Black sunglasses guard his straight gaze. A three-piece navy suit fits his body perfectly as if every single stitch was thoughtfully placed in line with his masculine physique. Jeweled ear studs twinkle in the sunlight casting an aura of godliness around him. He doesn’t smile or acknowledge the photographers who’ve suddenly popped up out of nowhere.

“Aww…fuck. We should’ve left by now,” Giovanni grumbles.

An entourage of discreet soldiers linger a few steps behind him. It’s not just him the paparazzi are fawning over. Bianca Morales is hooked onto his arm. The woman he’s apparently not tying the knot with grins up at him, hanging off his every word.

Blood red lips stretch wide as she speaks to him and then she smiles when his lips move in reply.

“Come on!” André tugs at my waist, but my heart is too heavy to move. “The car is waiting down the street.”

“He lied to me…” I hiss, my demons breaking free within me.

My knees go weak when he turns into her, takes her hand in his, and escorts her to a blacked-out SUV at the curbside.

“Christ, Dré, get her to the car.” Giovanni’s sharp tone fails to stir me from the betrayal.

I struggle against the strong arms tugging at me, doing my best to understand this cruel deception. Even in Prada heels, Bianca still has to stretch up to place her full lips on his. It’s a chaste kiss where passion is amiss—no demanding pressure or slippery, wet hunger.

Either way, I die inside. My veins run cold, so the tiara locked in my fingers freezes. If he wants me to be his queen, I’d be like ice and stone.

Bianca fists his lapels as she gazes up at him, then thumbs off a smudge of shitty lip gloss left on his lips. My stare burns into her face, melting the flesh from her skull until there’s nothing left but dusty old ashes.

I’m jealous. No, scrap that, I’m incensed. My heart rate shoots up, so all I can hear is the rush of blood around my brain.

A suited man opens the car door behind her. She nods respectfully at him and returns her gaze to Tomás. I strain to hear what she says, her Mexican accent drowned out by André’s displeasure at my disobedience. Fuck obedience. I’m my own damn woman and this is bullshit.

When her lips move, she mouths the words, “See you at the wedding.”

Despite the tremor in my body, I manage to hold it together until Tomás lifts her knuckles to his lips and kisses them with tenderness—and offers a genuine smile.

I can’t breathe.

My lungs cramp.

My knees go soft from the lack of oxygen. Giovanni latches onto my elbow and André tucks my ass against his groin to steady me.

“Get off me,” I snarl.

Lies and blatant rejection wound me too deeply. Hurt morphs into physical pain. I’m adrift in a turbulent ocean, refusing the twins as my safety jacket. I jiggle and fight to break away, ignoring the watchful eyes of ignorant pedestrians.

Crushed in an avalanche of bone chilling ice that’s blocked out the sun’s rays and pushed me back into the darkness—where I truly belong.

André’s nose butts my ear, his hissing growl hot like Satan himself had won the bet to spend time in his soul, “He doesn’t want you to see this, Carina. Move it.”

Without conscious thought, my feet move as I’m dragged a few meters away from the scene by both brothers.

“Fuck him,” I snarl with a dented pride. “Fuck all of you! Let me go! I’m not getting in that car.”

“Too fucking late,” André bustles me towards the waiting vehicle holding my hand so tight my fingers feel bruised. “You’re a part of this family now.”

“I have my own goddamn family,” I grit out. “And they wouldn’t lie to me.”

I didn’t want to witness her overly familiar interaction with him. It hurt too much. His treachery digging deeper than the blade I’d used to slice a track in my arm when I was fourteen. It wounded me more than any childish bully with acidic eyes and a forked tongue.

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