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It seems as if my life stands still as everyone around me moves on and achieves something while I’m knocking on endless doors that refuse to open, stuck in the past.
Santiago Cortez got married two months ago. Rumor has it he kidnapped his wife and then blackmailed her into marrying him, and I wouldn’t know if it’s true, but the man is obsessed with her big time. Sometimes it feels like a crime to even look at them. That’s how intimate their stares are. It was the biggest news in the city: one of the dark four getting married and losing his bachelor status.
After all, everyone wants them…except Octavius, and I clench my teeth, breathing in more frigid air because despite his difficult character, it hurts me how dismissive these news columns are to his charms.
Which only proves I’m the biggest fool in town because feeling sorry for a man who makes your life hell is another level of pathetic.
“Isla!” Giselle shouts in my ear, and I wince, realizing I must have zoned out on her. “Will you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Let go?”
I sigh, reaching my building and stretching from side to side, catching my breath. “No. I can’t do anything unless Octavius helps me. I’ve got no other clues.” Whoever sent me the necklace stays silent too. The fucker clearly enjoys messing with my head, and it’s enough of an aphrodisiac to get off on without committing other crimes. Everything inside me rebels at how much power I give him every day, yet…the scarred and traumatized part of me cannot help but wish to find answers. So I play the game in hopes of catching him and beating him at his own plan.
“How are you going to do it? He’s not known for his patience. You provoke him hard enough, he will retaliate, and only God knows what that might entail.”
Whenever we have a conversation about the dark four, I have this gut feeling she isn’t telling me something, which is ridiculous since we have no secrets from each other.
Well, almost.
She has no idea my body has the hots for a stranger who couldn’t give less shit about me if he tried.
Still, though.
My best friend was always an open book. However, when it comes to the dark four, or any of Callum’s other friends, for that matter…she shuts down and never discusses how they all met or what they do besides being brooding billionaires.
I once jokingly asked if they were murderers or something and expected her to laugh, but she just blinked and changed the subject.
“Isla!” she yells again, and I lift my leg on the nearest bench, bending forward and stretching my back even wider, groaning at my muscles relaxing. “Answer my question, woman!”
“I have a plan.”
“I’m already scared.”
“I found information that might get me an in to one of the dark four’s properties. From there, it should be smooth sailing getting to Octavius.” Straightening up, I tease her, “I’ll message you on the way there. If you don’t hear from me within a few hours, call the cops because it means the dude killed me.”
“It’s not funny!” she barks, and I have to pull back the headphones as her high-pitched scream makes my ears bleed. “It’s dangerous.” A beat passes. “How are you going to accomplish it anyway?”
Putting the headphone back on, I walk to the building and wave at the drunks who continue playing poker and raise my eyes to the sky when clouds gather, creating a rather gloomy atmosphere, and I have to admit, Chicago won my heart with the weather because it always matches my mood.
No sunshine for this girl!
“We got an interesting case at work. A young woman from France is in search of her twin sister. They are originally from Chicago. Countless searches through the years and she got nothing. She contacted us, but the boss dismissed the case despite the generous pay that was offered.” I huff in exasperation. “Truth be told, I don’t understand why she even considered our firm. The boss has very limited resources.”
“And how does this help you then?”
Fishing inside my pocket for the keys, I jump up the stairs and go to my floor, ignoring the screams and music trailing after me. “She sounded desperate, so I wanted to help. I did some research on her, and it turns out I know her sister.”
“How?”
“She was at your wedding.” Giselle groans, and I frown. “Her name is Amalia Scott. Why the hell are you groaning?”
“You’ll get us all in trouble,” she mutters instead of answering my question. “I think you should drop that case too. If Amalia doesn’t want to be found…”
“Amalia is not my client. Penelope is. That’s her name, by the way. Either way, she’s coming to Chicago to get the info.”
“Once again, how does this help you?”
