Page 101 of Cole

I flinched. “He’s not a murderer.”

My father laughed. “I’m sorry, Isabelle, but that’s not going to stand up in court. They’ve got proof on him. Your dirty little biker boyfriend killed his competition. We’re just lucky he didn’t decide to kill you instead.”

My father’s face didn’t look like he considered himself lucky at all.

“Maybe you’d have preferred that. Then your shares wouldn’t be sliding,” I bit out, ignoring for a second the fact that Cole didn’t do this.

“Your words, not mine,” my father said, not disagreeing at all. He turned around and refilled his scotch glass at the bar.

“What happened?” I asked my mother, who was sniffling into her tissues.

“He was just discharged from the hospital. He was on his way home. Someone drove up next to the cab window and... they shot him through the window. They called it a drive-by. It’s so horrible. No one is safe.”

“What kind of evidence do they have on Cole? When was this exactly?”

“It’s none of your business, Isabelle, and you need to stay out of it. I just pray you aren’t dragged into this. Our family name⁠—”

“When was it! Tell me! I might have been with him.”

I didn’t see the slap coming. In all the years I’d been brave enough to stand up to my father, which admittedly, hadn’t been often, he’d always held back.

In a sudden flash of insight, I understood then why I’d always defaulted to being a good girl. Why I’d never truly gone against them. Why I’d sometimes felt like a passive force in my own life.

Because something inside me had understood that there were clear boundaries to my father’s love, and staying inside them was the only way to avoid seeing how small they were.

I hadn’t wanted to test him because I’d known he would fail. And so, I’d made myself small enough not to find out.

My mother screamed and clamped a hand over her mouth, pushing herself up and wobbling. She hadn’t been holding back on the scotch either, it seemed. She clung onto me and stroked my cheek with a cool, dry hand.

“Charles, you’ll leave a mark on her skin,” she complained, holding me as close as my brittle posture would allow.

Leave a mark? I nearly laughed. It was such a fucking vain thing to think about at a moment like this, and yet, it summed up my parents’ relationship perfectly. It had always only been about appearances. As a kid growing up in this parody of a happy family, I’d understood my role in not upsetting the apple cart.

And now, I was done.

I pulled away from my mother’s touch. I couldn’t stand it right now. Later, maybe I could unpack the trauma around knowing that her life had been ruined and controlled by my father. Maybe I could process that she was a victim as well, or just a narcissistic woman obsessed with money and status.

Right now, though, I couldn’t. Right now, I had to figure out what the hell happened to Grant Elwick.

My man needed me.

I pushed through the doors of The Clutch and saw Asher behind the bar.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. “I’m going to be closing up soon.”

“Where’s Maddox and Gage?” I asked.

Asher jerked his head toward the back. “In the shop.”

I walked into the auto shop and stopped dead. It looked like the entire MC was here. They sat around on various surfaces, their black leather shining dully under the harsh overhead lights. My mouth went dry as I looked around.

Gage straightened up when he saw me. “Isabelle, are you ok?”

“What’s she doing here?” someone asked.

“She’s not a Hound,” someone else added.

“She’s the Pres’ old lady. She can go wherever she wants,” Maddox said, and gestured me forward.