Page 53 of Filthy Disciple


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My eyes flare wide at that. “Oh, well, I own a condo and I have friends. I needed to get away, and Cade lives here so, I mean, you, I-I have a job and…” Knowing Cade will be no help as he obviously wants me to stay, which is actually nice to know, I still feel like I’m in the hot seat. Desperately, I stare beseechingly at Kitty, as if she can help me, and surprisingly she does.

“You are never gonna guess who I ran into last night!” she bursts out. “I can’t believe I forgot to tell you—”

Just like that, all the blue eyes that were staring at me turn to her as she rambles on about someone named Stan who is so smokin’ hot he’s on fire.

“Cade, honey? I need a word with you,” Patricia murmurs, smiling at me as she stands and walks toward the hallway, not allowing Cade to refuse. “Make yourself at home, Isabelle,” she calls over her shoulder.

Cade leans down to give me a quick kiss. “Be right back.”

As he follows his mom, I realize I’m left with three women I know nothing about. Yet, how they’re gossiping and laughing makes me feel at home.

Standing, I fetch the coffee pot and pour myself some more. It’s only then, as I have a moment to myself, away from prying eyes, that I realize how expensive the kitchen is.

From the massive stove to the industrial-sized refrigerator, the elegant cabinets and the marble counters that are loaded down with more gadgets than a QVC demo… Then, of course, there’s the fact the family owns the whole building.

What is it he does again?

14

CADE

“What’s wrong, Ma?” I ask the second we’re back in the living room.

She folds her arms across her chest, which never bodes well, and muses, “She’s very nervous.”

“She didn’t think she’d be meeting the full Frasier clan this morning. It’s intimidating as hell, wouldn’t you say?”

“Language,” she grumbles, her toe tapping against the floor.

I roll my eyes but know better than to continue in that vein. I can see the dishcloth she’s got tucked into her waistband. That shit hurts even when you’re in your thirties. “Well, it is. Plus, we got in late last night. We were kinda jet-lagged and had a few too many drinks. What do you expect?”

She squints at me. “What was that call about?”

I scoff because this conversation suddenly makes sense. “That’s the real reason you brought me here, isn’t it?”

“Can’t a mother be scared for her son when he’s on his first mission?”

“Mission? Ma, I’m not exactly James Bond.”

“All I know is that you’ve been gone for weeks with barely a phone call home, and you come back in the dead of winter with a tan and a girl on your arm who looks like she’s been to hell and back.”

I blink at that. “She doesn’t look that bad.”

“She does. Of course, she’s beautiful.” She waves a hand. “You and your brother attract pretty girls like flies to honey. But…” Her words drift to a halt, her concern palpable.

Suddenly, I’m curious. My grandmother used to say that she had the “sight.” I don’t know if that’s bullshit or not. What I do know is that Da used to come back flush from a win at the racetrack because of Ma’s insight.

“But what, Ma?” I prompt.

Her hand scrubs up and down her arm like she’s cold, but she keeps her rooms overheated—it’s her one indulgence. “She’s been hurt.”

“Hasn’t everyone?”

Her lips tighten. “I suppose. Don’t be mean to her, Cade. It wouldn’t be kind to kick a girl when she’s down.”

“I don’t intend to kick her,” I grumble, taking offense at that last comment. “Did you and Da teach us to raise a hand to a woman?”

“Words and actions hurt as much as a fist to the face.” She steps over to me and presses a kiss on my cheek. “It’s good to have you home, son.”

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