I swallow the dry lump in my throat, snatching a strewn pillow, to cover myself with and tapping my sternum helplessly as the two men continue to wrestle.
She’s mine.
Two simple, short words with a variety of meanings. It’s either a colossal admission or an offhand update. My feet merge with the heat blushed tiles underfoot, solidifying them to the spot where I stand. From my ankles to my thighs, my legs lock as though they too have turned from blood vessels and bone marrow to carved alabaster.
In a fair fight, I watch them crash into furniture and strike each other with bare knuckles. Neither of them make an effort to retrieve the weapon, both of them caught up in brotherly combat.
It only takes one direct blow to connect with André’s nose for blood to trickle from his nostrils. He curses and shoves himself to his feet, pinching his nose. As he blinks through the throbbing agony, he puts a noticeable measure of distance between himself and Tomás.
A ripple of worry passes behind his eyes and he angles away to grab the nearest thing he can to contain the crimson downpour.
“Look…Tommy, it’s only a little bit... here... quickly... use this.” He pivots back with a napkin, hiding his bloodied nostrils and waves a clean one in the air.
Tomás glares at the negligible blood streaking his fist, his eyes frozen. Shaky fingers stretch and curl, his teeth bared to an ungodly snarl. Then he slips under a blanket of smog and goes deathly still. A shiver jangles my skeleton, a warning that Tomás could snap into a thousand shards of merciless regret. He’s lost.
Without thought, I dash forward and slip my arms around the middle of his tense form and press my bare chest into his. “Tomás,” I say his name softly, searching his possessed gaze. “Can you take me back to your suite now? I'm tired.”
From the thick fog circling his mind, his eyes soften a little and the warmth of his torso catches fire. Dropping his chin to snare my concern, he lashes out, captures my cheeks in his palms and smashes his lips over mine.
He’s no longer trapped in an invisible prison where demons taunt his humanity with flames of fury to expose his vulnerability. His body vibrates with ferocity, claiming my mouth like I’m his last breath before he drowns in an unforgiving ocean. He pours everything into our wild kiss—power, heat, gratitude.
When it ends, our eyes lock and he just stares at me in silence. It doesn't take long for the daze to evaporate when a new voice signals the entry of a woman into the room.
“I’m sure it looks worse than it is, my love. Thankfully, it doesn’t appear to be broken.” Tomás’ gaze flicks up, settling behind me. “Tommy, why are you fighting with your brother?” the woman asks with a distinct Irish lilt.
His lungs visibly decompress as the tension and stress of his trauma evaporates. “Mama.” He nods, swallowing back the dark lust he’d plugged into as a method to control his temporary malfunction.
I sense a burning need within him, a desire to reveal his stony dick to me and use it for equal gratification. It’s there, digging into my belly, straining to reach me.
“I’m sorry if we disturbed you,” he says, a little breathless. “André and I had a misunderstanding. It won’t happen again.” Firm fingertips dig into the small of my back, holding me tighter against his pelvis to either shelter me or use my presence as an anchor.
A womanly laugh meanders through the tension. “Of course it will happen again. You boys are hot headed like your Papá.”
Tomás bristles. The softest silk skims my shoulders. A floral scented robe cloaks my nakedness with a flimsy layer of discretion. I turn my head in the direction of a uniquely striking woman with subtle creases at the corners of glacial green eyes.
Tendrils the color of molasses curl over black satin pajamas, now on show having given me her robe. She stands before us, her spine regally straight.
“Escort your friend back to her room, son. Then join me for a nightcap.” She smiles at me for a split second and then cuts her unreadable gaze to Tomás.
“I’ll show her the way, Tommy,” André offers. I glance over at André, mopping his upper lip and nose with the soiled napkin. “You should have told us you were bringing a guest. It would have saved all this…”
“André, take the girl upstairs, won’t you?” their mother suggests in a low purr, her raspy tone placating.
Tomás seizes my wrist, choking the bones as if he’s throttling a traitor. “I’ll take her myself,” he replies, his stiff posture signaling malignant displeasure.
“Don’t worry, Tommy. I’ll be on my best behavior.” The corner of André’s mouth hitches to a grin, his straight teeth whiter than snowflakes.
“Keep your hands to yourself, Dré or lose them,” Tomás grits out.
“Have a seat, Tomás.” His mother squeezes his flexed bicep. “You’ve had a rough few days. Let me pour you a Scotch.”
After a long sigh, he releases me. “My brother will take you upstairs, Carina.”
He steps away from me and scrubs his face. The excruciating chill I feel from the absence of his body makes me shudder. Another round of bullets explodes from outside, yet no one bats an eyelid. When I flinch, his eyes narrow and hold me in a spell where it's just the two of us.
“Why are you down here?” he asks, his forehead scrunched as if he’s resurfaced from a coma or a lucid nightmare.
“I heard the shots.” My heart hammers as I answer, aware of the new set of eyes sizing me up like prey.