“She’s with a Hallow at all times?” Part of tonight’sstipulation was she remain with a Hallow. I made her agree to it by threatening her with the idea of Luis as her shadow.
“Yes. You know those two brothers look like complete opposites. But I think the older one is real nice to her.”
Luis’s chatter is as expected. I’m about to cut him off, knowing I need to get back inside, when he hesitates.
“Hey, cuz. What’s it mean when a girl cries?”
“Did you do something to Isolde?”
“No!”
“Luis.”
“It’s just a question.”
His dating skills leave a lot to be desired, and his question is too suspicious.
My hand tightens around my phone. “Did you make Isolde cry?”
“No! Yes. A little bit.”
“Luis,” I growl.
“I don’t know what I did! Okay, I was talking about Pret a Manger, and then she was tearing up. Okay, she didn’t sob or nothing, but like her face looked pained. I didn’t want her to ruin her makeup because, like, hot damn, you know what I’m saying?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose and hang up without another word.
Fuck this stupid event anyway. There’s an SUV downstairs, waiting for the client. The night is coming to an end, and Antonio can get them situated.
It takes me forty-five minutes to get to the dive bar, and I’m annoyed the entire time. Isolde shouldn’t be crying.
Everything comes to a stop when I duck into the bar and spot Isolde.
Her hair is down. It’s not that I haven’t seen it around her shoulders before. Just never when we go outside. She puts it up in a claw clip or scrunchie every time.
She’s also not wearing a hoodie or some ridiculously oversized T-shirt.
No. She’s wearing a literal scrap of lace, the material barely stretching across her breasts.
She is pretty. Gorgeous. A spark of confidence lights her face up.
Because she’s chasing after a man who, I know for a fact, she’s thinking about killing.
CHAPTER 17
Isolde
Ifollow the asshole out of the bar. He’s not even discreet as he follows after the drunk girl. She’s fumbling with her purse, pulling her phone out.
Get a cab, I silently scream at her.
Hair streams in front of her face as she looks around, eyes wide but glassy. The man gets closer, angling his body as if he’s ready to herd her into whatever alleyway he can.
It makes my skin boil. There’s not even any thought to this crime of convenience. No great forethought, just some asshole who’s about to think with his dick and fuck up a girl’s life.
My feet surge forward, chasing after them, when I’m yanked back.
“No,” Tristan says.
