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Her blonde hair shines in the sunlight as if it’s a skein of raw silk. Her face is close to doll-like it’s so pristine, and her eyes gleam better than the sapphires in my mom’s engagement ring. Her lips are perfect for blow jobs, and as for those tits that she asked my opinion on? I’d bet my left ball they’d make a titty fuck feel heaven-sent.
I have no idea why Ryder didn’t wife her. In my opinion, it’s like looking at Jayne Mansfield reincarnated.
“You think I’m perfect.” A dreamy smile crosses her mouth but it fades and immediate discomfort replaces it when the diner door opens then slams closed and a guy with red hair wearing a Disciples cut strides over to us.
“Who the fuck is this creep?”
I scowl at him. “I’m not—”
Isabelle hurls herself off the wall she was using to support her and flattens herself against me. “He’s my boyfriend, Edge.”
Though my brows rise, it’s nothing compared to the Disciple’s reaction—disbelief. “Yeah, right. What the fuck is going on with you? Joy is about to lose her shit in the diner because you walked out on her. Get back in there—”
“And be humiliated? Again and again?” she yells at him.
Can’t Edge see that she’s high? Fragile?
My arms slide around her waist as he snipes, “Looks to me like you were the one who humiliated Ryder. What the fuck is wrong with you? You know Julianna is gonna find out about that stunt you pulled—”
“Juststop. It didn’t mean anything. Y-You need to tell Julianna that I was just…” She swallows and words fail her.
“Trying to make me jealous,” I slip in.
She tenses.
Edge frowns at me.
I press a kiss on her cheek. “It worked.”
Edge’s confusion turns to distrust. “Who the fuck are you again?”
“He’s Cade,” Isabelle says promptly, snide enough that it hides the slurring of her words. “He’s a regular at the diner and my boyfriend…”
“We need to get you home, Cindy,” I tell her, her name feeling foreign on my lips because she’s Isabelle to me. My mouth curves into a sneer as I turn to Edge. “Your friends might not see that you’re not feeling great, but I do.”
I start to walk her over to her car, knowing she’s too high for it to register that I know which vehicle belongs to her. When Edge lets us go—the jackass should have asked to see my ID or something—I say softly, “I can drive you to your place or call you a cab. We both know you’re in no state to get behind the wheel.”
She stares at me with those gleaming eyes of hers and asks in a whisper, “Why did you lie for me?”
Her lashes are starting to droop.
I shrug, which jostles her. “I know what it’s like to fuck up and never be able to live it down.”
“I hate feeling like I'm a burden.”
More internal alarms start blaring when she grows limper in my hold.
“You’re not a burden.” It’s strange how the urge to kiss her temple is one I can’t fight. “Let’s get you home.”
“My keys… are in… purse…,” she slurs.
By the time I have her in her seat, she’s passed out to the world.
Once I fasten her seat belt, I straighten, then I notice that Edge is gone. He’s not even in the diner window watching us.
For a cult that’s supposed to be holding her against her will, it seems to me like the opposite is true.
What else about Davis’s story is bullshit?
