Brutal Prince Bonus Scene (Brutal Birthright, #1.5)(72)

“When did you fall in love with Mom?” I ask, remembering that my parents’ marriage wasn’t exactly traditional, either.

“I’m not a sentimental person,” my father says. “I think we’re alike in that way, you and I. I don’t think much about love, or what it means. But I can tell you that I came to trust your mother. She showed me that I could rely on her, no matter what. And that’s what bonded us. That’s when I knew I wasn’t alone anymore. Because I could count on one person, at least.”

Trust as the essence of love.

It doesn’t sound romantic, not on the surface.

But it makes sense, especially in our world. Any gangster knows that your friends can put a bullet in your back just as easily as your enemies—even easier, in fact.

Trust is rarer than love.

It’s putting your fate, your happiness, your life in someone’s hands. Hoping they keep it safe.

My phone vibrates again.

“Give me a minute,” I say to my father, stepping out into the hall to take the call.

“I saw her for a second,” Jack says. “She was at a restaurant with some guy. He gave her something, a little box. She put it in her bag.”

“Who was the guy?” I ask, mouth dry and hand clenched tight around the phone.

“I don’t know,” Jack says apologetically. “I only saw the back of his head. He had dark hair.”

“Was it Castle?”

“I don’t know. They were sitting on the patio. I went into the restaurant—I was going to try to get a table so I could get closer and listen in. But while I was inside, they left. And I haven’t been able to find her again.”

“Where’s her car?” I demand.

“Well, that’s the weird thing,” I can hear Jack breathing heavy, like he’s walking and talking at the same time. “The Jeep is still in the same parking lot. But Aida’s gone.”

She must have left with the guy.

FUCK!

My heart is racing, and I feel sick.

Is she with him right now?

Where are they going?

“Keep looking for her,” I bark into the phone.

“I will,” Jack says. “There’s just one other thing . . .”

“What?”

“I found a shoe.”

I’m about to explode and Jack isn’t making any sense.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” I say.

“There was a sneaker in the parking lot, over by the Jeep. It’s a woman’s shoe, Converse slip-on, size eight, cream-colored. The left foot.”

I wrack my brains, trying to remember what Aida was wearing when she stepped into the Jeep. A lavender-colored crop top. Jean shorts. Bare legs. And then, down on her feet . . . sneakers, as usual. The kind you can slip on without tying the laces. White or cream, I’m almost certain.

“Stay there,” I say into the phone. “Stay by the Jeep. Keep the shoe.”

I hang up the phone, hurrying back into the office.

“I’ve got to go,” I say to my father. “Do you mind if I take the car?”

“Go ahead,” he says. “I’ll take a cab back to the house.”

I hurry down to the main level again, my mind racing.

What the fuck is going on here? Who was Aida meeting? And how did she lose a shoe?

As I drive to meet Jack, I try calling Aida again and again. Her phone rings, but she doesn’t pick up.

The fourth time I call, it goes straight to voicemail without even ringing. Which means her phone is switched off.

I’m starting to get worried.

Maybe I’m a fool and Aida is shacked up in some hotel room right now, ripping the clothes off some other man.

But I don’t think so.

I know what the evidence looks like, but I just don’t believe it. I don’t think she’s cheating on me.

I think she’s in trouble.





25





Aida





I’m sitting across the table from my new best friend, Jeremy Parker. He passes me the little box I’ve been waiting and hoping for all week long, and I open the lid to peek inside.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe it,” I breathe.

“I know,” he laughs. “This was the hardest one I’ve ever done. Took me three whole days.”

“You’re a miracle worker. Honestly.”

He grins, almost as gleeful as I am.

“You mind if I put the whole thing up on my YouTube channel?” he says. “I was wearing my GoPro the whole time, got some great footage.”

“Of course!” I say.

I close the box, still hardly believing what I’m holding in my hand, and I stow it back in my purse. I give Jeremy a slim envelope of cash in return—the amount we agreed upon, plus a bonus for saving my fucking ass.

“Well, call me if you ever need me again,” he says, giving me a little salute.

“I hope I won’t need you,” I laugh. “No offense.”

“None taken,” he chuckles.

He raises his hand to signal for the waitress.

“I already paid for the meals,” I tell him.

“Oh, thanks! You didn’t have to.”