“If you ever need a place to crash…” India lowers her voice and leans in, her friendliness catching me off guard. “You can stop in at my place anytime. It’s on the twentieth floor. These guys party nonstop.”
The scurry of tippy tap nails carries a Doberman pinscher puppy the color of soot in through the door. It wears a chunky polished curb chain with matching golden name tag. The two metals tinkle together as the leggy dog trots into the spacious room with its tail high and pinpointing André as its target.
He scoops the dog into his muscular arms and lets it lick his strong, hairy jaw. “Don’t worry, baby girl, you're still my favorite pet.” Turning to face me, the smirk he offers shoots through me like electricity. Bastard. “Your clothes are in the bag, Sin. Have breakfast and get dressed. We’re going out.”
I slip off the counter, needing to ground my feet for whatever plan he has next. “Where to?”
“I have a meeting and you’re going job hunting.”
“Job hunting…” India giggles. “… as if she needs to work.”
I fold my arms across my chest. “I didn’t marry him for his money. To be honest, I’m still trying to figure out what the benefits are for me.”
André’s gravelly voice carries across the room in a wicked roll of thunder. “You married me for my bad boy dominating antics and the dick I’ll use to fulfill your needs.”
“Right…” I mutter sarcastically and watch India bite her lip in amusement. “And you married me for a mafia title and the inheritance that goes with it. Kinda makes me a bad bitch, who you’llneverdominate.”
André stops stroking his dog and spears me in place with an odd look. A spine-chilling expression that makes me think I’ve summoned his darker side into the sunlight. “Challenge accepted,” he deadpans.
India blinks up at Reno when he joins his sister's side. “I think we interrupted something,” she whispers.
Reno’s subtle observation of me is fleeting. He smells like eucalyptus or peppermint, fresh and clean. “They’re just getting reacquainted. You’ve got five minutes, Indie. Grab one of those gross waffles you like. I’m driving you to school today.” Mysterious eyes wander to mine. “My sis wanted to meet you in person.” His shrug finalizes the conversation, and then he saunters across the room toward André.
My silent assessment follows Reno’s stonewashed-clad strides and untucked t-shirt, swiftly cutting to my new husband’s bare-chested pose amid a phenomenal oceanic view. Except the azure sky and calm sea aren’t what holds my body captive. It's the devilish way jet-black strands fall over his bronzed forehead, how a pinched blunt rests within full lips fringed by unshorn hairs, and a cute puppy gazes up at him like he's the whole world and everything in between.
My core aches for some sort of gratification, and my skin flames from the thrumming veins pumping feverish blood through me. The way my pulse races should conjure the sourest of moods. It should have me cursing him rather than craving those big tattooed hands on my shivery flesh.
Why the hell am I experiencing such an excruciating, begrudgedhungerfor him after he double-crossed me?
I’m married to André Souza.
The man who is so hot it burns just to look at him.
He rotates into the Miami sunshine, illuminating his carved torso as it twists. From brawny arms to broad shoulders and all the way down to a narrow waist, the expanse of his skin is a sturdy canvas. Crossed pistols sit at the base of his spine. A stag’s head with its jagged antlers fills the space above it. Detailed intricate floral designs entwine fiendish skulls at the sides while marijuana leaves blend light and dark into an extensive, full back masterpiece.
And then my heart suspends within a shocked gasp and my composure falters. My mind rushes straight to the past when my eyes settle on the one thing I'd never expected to see on him.
Centrally sketched at the base of his neck, positioned between his shoulder blades, is a skeletal portrayal of life anddeaththat clearly depicts a finality.
Overreaching sinister branches.
Spindly twisted roots.
A nightmare to shred apart my daydreams, connecting to our history.
10
SINÉAD
“I’m starving.” India announces as she prances over to the fridge freezer, disappears behind the door, and grabs a clear pouch of frozen waffles. “When did you arrive in Miami?” she asks.
While she plunges a couple of waffles into a fancy toaster, I quietly inhale and exhale to collect myself, my eyes never leaving André and Reno. My pulse is all over the place and my mind is running riot. Well, if he wanted to kill me, he would have done it already.
“Are you okay?” India’s soft voice wrenches my head around. “I asked when you arrived in Miami—but you zoned out.”
“Sorry. Long night. I got here a few weeks ago,” I mutter, meeting her soul-searching blue stare with a mild smile before looking back at André and his friend.
Their hushed conversation is inaudible. Chills scurry over my scalp in tandem with the panic knotting in my stomach. I need to know what his next move will be. I made it very clear that I wanted a job and, strangely, he appears agreeable to the stipulation. Perhaps Frankie was right, and he’s lulling me into a false sense of security. Next thing I know, he’ll shove a condom filled with cocaine up my ass and make me cross the border.
