AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I am so sorry,” she whispers, her pain etching into the words, giving them an individuality that feels genuine.
It sets me on edge.
People say sorry all the time if they learn about Vinny dying, but maybe it’s the drugs that are making her weepy—she sounds as if she wants to cry for me.
It’s ridiculous but it makes me confess, “He died when I was sixteen. It sucked.”
“Was he sick?”
I swallow. “Something like that.”
“My mom died when I was fourteen,” she whispers. Her gaze drifts over to the diner. “Do you think my boobs are too big?”
My eyes widen. “Excuse me?”
She cups them. In the middle of the street. A driver honks his horn at the show. I hurry nearer to give her some privacy. “My dad offered to cut them off for me.”
“What in the what?” I sputter. Now, Iknowshe’s high.But it gets worse.
“He said I should look like my mom. She was perfect. Perfect, perfect, perfect,” she repeats, a dull shadow drifting over her expression. “He gave me her nose too.”
Somehow, I know she’s not talking about genetics and the drugs have her mixing up her words.
Is her dad trying to make her look like her mom or something?
What a fucking creep.
My brain even screeches to a halt at exactly how skeevy that is.
Her father’s the reason I’m here, after all.
My boss sent me to Burbank to collect Isabelle without kicking up a stink with the Disciples.
I figure that means “seduce and kidnap her.”
I’m not much of a kidnapper though. A seducer, sure.
My boss, Aidan O’Donnelly Jr., head of the Irish Mob in New York, is only involved because Isabelle’s father is his surgeon, and he’d pulled some wonder stunts with his knee, which meant he regained full mobility in his leg after a drive-by shooting shattered the joint years ago.
I already knew something wasn’t right with the story Dr. Davis was trying to paint, but this confirms it.
According to him, the Disciples’ MC is holding Isabelle against her will and she’s refused his repeated attempts to bring her home. Aidan made it sound like they were a cult and she was a mindless toy they used and abused for shits and giggles.
I can say, hand on heart, that Davis didn’t look beyond the surface at her relationship with the Disciples, if he even bothered to come and see for himself.
I can also say that it seems to me Isabelle has been standing on the outside looking in when she wanted the exact opposite—to be an integral cog in the machine that is the MC.
Upon seeing her relationship with the men and their partners as I scoped out the diner, Davis already proved to me that he knew fuck all about his kid. But what kind of dad wants their daughter to look like their mom to the point where they offer to “cut their tits off?”
The red flags are so large that it’s a wonder I’m not draped in them.
Another sniffle reaches my ears. “You think they’re too big, don’t you?”
Uncomfortable when she’s so clearly under the influence, I tell her the truth even as I step back. “I think you’re perfect.”
Her eyes round, as do her lips.
I’m not lying—she’s fucking beautiful.
