Page 91 of Cole

Cole latched a finger in my jacket collar and tugged me down, my face hovering just above his.

“Good. Let them see and spread the fucking word,” he growled. “No one touches you, except me.” Then he kissed me, hard and demanding, a hand clamped around the back of my neck, holding me captive. His tongue thrust inside my mouth, drawing a groan from me. I melted into him, thoughts of assignments and catchups with my friends disappearing from my head under the onslaught of pleasure fueled by his dominant touch.

I staggered back when he released me, my head foggy and my skin hot. Cole pulled his helmet back on, giving me one last flash of his blue eyes looking satisfied and possessive, before he snapped the visor down and took off.

I watched him go until he turned the corner and vanished, then made my way inside on shaky legs.

thirty-one

ISABELLE

My parents’ house loomed ahead of me. The mansion was lined with windows and built with a dark stone façade that would have looked more at home on a castle. The long driveway wound through rows of hedges trimmed so precisely it was as though the gardener had measured them with a ruler. Knowing my parents, he probably had. Not a single leaf was out of place.

My parents rarely summoned me home, and they had never done so in the middle of the week. A family dinner was the excuse my dad had given me, but I knew better. He didn’t do normal family things, not unless they served him in some way. I was nervous that he was going try to set me up with someone again, but my mom had assured me it would just be family present. I didn’t have to worry about that piece of shit Grant showing up, because as far as I knew, he was still in the hospital.

The windows of the house reflected the late afternoon sun as I crept to a stop in the front circular drive and parked. My parents had bought the house during my senior year of high school, solely because it was triple the size of their last house and in a much more affluent neighborhood. It had never felt like home to me, and after spending time away, it felt even less so. It was more like a display case or the set of a play. Everything was set up in a way to make the world think we were flawless.

What the hell did they even want? Were they finally getting a divorce? Was my mom moving abroad? Did my father have an illegitimate sibling to introduce me to?

“Isabelle,” my mother’s voice called to me from the top of the stairs leading to the massive front door. She was draped in a billowy, white silk shirt, perfectly tailored trousers, and her signature string of pearls. Her hair was styled flawlessly, even for a Thursday evening spent at home.

Hesitantly, I got out of my car, knowing full well that my mother would have something to say about my outfit, even though I had spent an hour picking it out and even longer on my hair and makeup.

Her smile was thin as I made my way up the steps. “You’re late, dear.”

I resisted every urge within me to roll my eyes. “Traffic was worse than I expected.”

I knew she didn’t believe me, but manners prevented her from calling me out on my lie. Instead, she turned and swept me into the house. “You look tired, dear. I hope you aren’t letting your studies get in the way of taking care of yourself. Looks aren’t forever unless you keep them up.”

My father was in the living room as we approached, and I used it as an excuse not to respond to my mother’s comment. “Hi, Dad.”

He was sitting in his usual spot, a leather armchair, his phone set on the side table next to him. It was face down, which made my stomach twist. He only placed his phone that way when he was taking the conversation seriously. His expression was flat and controlled, but his eyes were sharper than I’d seen them since I’d gotten in trouble in high school for skipping class to kiss a boy behind the school gym.

“Sit,” he said, gesturing to the sofa directly across from him.

I sat, setting my purse on the floor beside my feet. “Is everything okay?”

“You know full well that everything is not okay,” my father said, leaning forward, his elbows braced on his knees.

I blinked slowly as he stared at me.

“Charles,” my mother cooed in a soft voice. “We aren’t even sure if what we heard is true.”

He rolled his eyes at my mother, who pretended not to see. “Have you or have you not been spending time at a biker bar called The Clutch?”

“I…” I stammered. “Yes, I have.” Fuck it, I was tired of lying and tiptoeing around the subject of Cole and the MC around my parents.

He leaned closer, his eyes boring into mine. “Then you admit spending time with Cole Bailey?”

My heart leaped at hearing his name come from my father’s mouth, cracked through the air like a whip. “Why are you asking me this?”

“Don’t play dumb, Isabelle. You should know that I have connections everywhere and those connections talk,” he snapped. “What does matter is that you stop spending time with him. Now.”

“You can’t be serious,” I said without thinking.

His eyes gleamed. I had given him the confirmation he was looking for, and I kicked myself for being so easy to read.

“That man is the head of a biker gang, Isabelle. This isn’t some bad boy fantasy that you can play out and walk away from. He is dangerous, and you will not associate with him again,” my mother added.