Welcome back to Mid Week Tease and thank you to the lovely Sandra Bunino for providing the opportunity for us writers to share our work with all you lovely readers.
Catch up with
last week's tease.
If you've been reading the last few weeks, you'll know trouble's been brewing. Well today, Carl finally finds out how dangerous Dante can be. And who is Renata? :)
I hope you enjoy it. It's still a first draft so pardon any errors.
*Note, this is written in UK English.
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Carl/Carlos
As we descended the short maple stairs from the hall, my
heart stopped at the scene in front of me. Was the gasp Renata's or mine?
The open plan area lay bathed with light streaking in from
the walls of glass, the usually breathtaking panoramic view of palm trees, cerulean
sky and ocean overshadowed by the scene of looming violence inside.
In the middle of the space, D had his left arm wrapped
around Marcos's throat, his right hand holding a black hand gun to my brother's temple.
I had to blink a few times to make sure I wasn't hallucinating. As
part of being on my best behaviour and knowing Renata was visiting today, I
hadn't taken any alcohol or drugs. So I definitely wasn't high.
From this angle, I could only see his broad back and side. Still I recognised the profile, recalled the silky feel of his thick black hair in my palms and the unshaven bristles on the chin that scrubbed against my skin as he kissed me, our bodies slick with sweat as he pulsed inside me.
It was D alright. Dark, domineering and dangerous D. Here in
my living room, looking every bit the powerful man I remembered and sharply dressed
in a dark fitted suit and tie as if he'd just stepped out of a business meeting. Another
man stood beside D, less formally attired in black t-shirt, navy denim black boots, gun
raised in Dad's direction. Father's goons surrounded the men in a kind of tense
Mexican stand-off.
"Tell your men to back off. Or I'll put a bullet in
your son's head." D's voice sounded calm and authoritative. No trace of fear.
 |
| The way I pictured D in this scene |
How could he not be afraid? Sweat beaded my forehead and not
from the usually close-to-freezing temperature my father preferred, considering we lived in the tropics. No, I shook
with fear from the number of guns pointed at D.
A ruthless man, my father wouldn't care about sacrificing
his son. He would sooner put a bullet through Marcos himself than lose the
upper hand. Didn't D know who he stood against?
Perhaps Marcos being the favoured son was the only thing keeping him alive at the moment.
Dad took a cigar out of his pocket, clipped the end off and
lit it as if he had no care in the world. Behind, an oil painting of him dominated
the only white brick wall.
My shoulders tensed. I knew that move. This was Father indicating he didn't give a shit.
Whatever reasons my lover from two weeks ago had for being
in my house with a gun at my brother's head, I needed to do something to defuse
the situation. Or there would be
a bloodbath. I couldn’t let D get hurt. Or die.
"Dad—" I swallowed the lump in my throat "—Renata
is here." I reminded him of the girl clutching my hand and trembling by my
side. "Her father won't be happy if she gets hurt. There will be no
wedding." And no alliance. Nothing
else was more important to my father's ambition at this point in time. He
needed the expansion into the northern territories. He needed the alliance with
Renata's father.
Heart thumping hard and fast against my ribs, I prayed for
my father to do something. Make the right decision. In the end he waved his
hand. His men lowered their guns and stepped outside.
Dad sat on one of the white leather sofa, legs stretched out
as he puffed on the cigar, his gold colt 45 on his lap. He collected the damn
things and dedicated a room to his gun collection. If it was
gold, had bling on it and was previously owned by a dead drug lord, my father had a cabinet for it.
"No member of the Montez clan is welcome here," my
old man said. "Unless of course you've changed your mind about opening up your territories to my shipments."
Wait a minute. D was from the Montez cartel? He was a gangster? A man as brutal and
deadly as father?
Blood drained from my head, body swaying. I gripped the edge
of a window sill to steady myself and not flop on the marble floor like a marionette.
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