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PROLOGUE
DOC
It’s been a long fucking night.
Not that I’m short on those.
Hell, it’s why I chose to work for the Saint James family.
Sleep doesn’t come easy for me. It hasn’t for a long time. And so I took a job that I knew would keep me out of the house. Where I could run from my insomnia and be distracted from my own guilt.
And tonight was the night that just didn’t stop giving.
One of the Frost Industries drug runners got roughed up by a junkie who refused to pay. A few stitches and a bruised ego and I was onto my next job.
Tommy Hart, the crazy motherfucker, got himself shot by his girl, a flesh wound that was almost a waste of my time.
And then Storm Saint James, the CEO and boss of both sides of Frost Industries, called about some girls that were hurt by their pimp.
I would never judge anyone for their life choices because mine have never been all that great, but every time I get brought in to patch up a working girl, it breaks what’s left of my ice-cold heart. But all I can do is clean them up, give them someantibiotics for whatever injuries they’ve got, and send them on their way.
I know Storm always gives them enough cash to start a new life, but whether they do or not is a different story. This is the life they know, and people always fall back into old habits. It’s just the way things are.
I pull up out front of my apartment building and lean my head back against the headrest. The sun is beginning to peek out over the horizon. The people of Chicago will soon start a new day with no idea how fucked up their city really is.
Not that I can complain. It’s a hell of a lot better now than it was a couple of years ago. The streets are safer, and although there will never be no crime in a city like Chicago, it’s more controlled than it ever has been before.
But that also means my nights aren’t as full, which means I have more time to stew in my own thoughts.
I’m about to shove the door of my truck open, resigned to the idea of staring at my ceiling for the next three hours before I finally give up on sleep, when my phone vibrates in my pocket.
Maybe my night’s not over after all.
I don’t recognize the number, but that doesn’t mean shit. There are any number of burner phones used in our industry.
“Doc,” I say.
“It’s Edward.” The voice on the other end of the line has my breath stuck in my throat.
The past I’ve desperately tried to escape.
The guilt.
The anger.
My mistakes.
It all comes crashing down on me, and although it’s been twelve years since I walked away from my old life, it still has the power to render me completely speechless.
“I need your help.”
CHAPTER ONE
ISLA
The music pumps through my body, the cocktail of vodka and ecstasy speeding through my veins, allowing me to breathe for what feels like the first time in days.
The only time I ever feel free is on a night out with my best friend, and I refuse to apologize for the choices I make, much to my father’s dismay.
