Damaged: The Dillon Sisters by Layla Frost (good story books to read .txt) 📕

me, it was easy to forget how dangerous he could be. “Have you gotten more letters like this?”

“Yeah, a ton. They freaked me out at first because I hate owing money and being late on anything. Why?”

He held up the envelope and pointed to the corner. The blank corner, with no stamp or postage. “This didn’t come through the postal service. Someone hand delivered it.”

_______________

“DID I ANGER you in some way?”

I worked to hide my smile as I hit pause. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“This movie is a form of torture.” Alexander gestured to the TV and, if looks could kill, he’d have already melted the thing. “We’re supposed to believe that Wolverine is able to hack into a government system in less than a minute with a gun to his head?”

“I don’t think he’s Wolverine in this movie.”

“It’s Hugh Jackman. He’s always Wolverine.” He pulled me closer and tilted my head up. “Tell me, flower, what’d I do to deserve this?”

“Why don’t you ask the car sitting in your garage? I bet it can answer for me.”

It can certainly do everything else.

It was obvious that baby steps meant something entirely different to Alexander. He’d waited an entire day before buying me a ridiculous car with an insane amount of buttons and whosie-whatsits.

Thanks to the mysterious hand delivered mail, neither of us thought it was safe for me to take the bus. I already hated feeling like people were staring. Finding out that someone actually might’ve been made fire ants scurry under my skin, leaving me itchy and panicky and paranoid.

With that in mind, I’d been the one to change my mind about visiting dealerships the night before. However, none of the cars I’d looked at had met his standards.

The words death trap, Flintstones car, and fiery fucking death trap were thrown around. A lot.

I wasn’t really surprised when there was a brand-new car waiting in his driveway for me.

“Are you mad?” Alexander asked.

I also wasn’t really upset. How could I be? He was worried about my safety and my mental health. The only other person who’d given any real consideration to either was Aria.

Plus, the car was amazing. Matte black—like the vases he’d left for me—and so pretty. I’m sure there were a lot of mechanical ingenuity and safety features, but I knew even less about cars than I did about coding. All I knew was that it was gorgeous, and I’d kept surreptitiously eyeing it. Unsurprisingly, he’d noticed.

He noticed everything when it came to me.

I wanted to mess with him, but the genuine concern lining his face stopped me. “No, of course not. I love it. And I love you. Just don’t make a habit of this kinda thing.”

“So you don’t want a different car for every day of the week? Shit, I’ve got some returns to make.”

I laughed and cuddled against him to resume our movie—awful hacking representation and all.

Before I could press play, Alexander’s phone chimed. I could feel the tension infuse his body as he picked it up.

“Work?” I sat and twisted to face him.

“No. The cameras.”

Although I wouldn’t be going back to the apartment alone, Alexander had wired the place with cameras. They were angled to pick up anyone at my door, not just passersby. There was also one in my mailbox, along with the previous ones throughout the apartment.

He’d watched me.

Someone else may have been watching me, too.

Considering my life was about as exciting as reading a car’s manual while easy listening musac played in the background, I didn’t understand it.

My stomach dropped before twisting violently as I peered at his screen. When the live footage loaded, I exhaled so huge, I could’ve huffed and puffed the house down.

It was just Aria and Brand.

The tension that had left my body came back tenfold when I realized the implication of her being there. Even when she picked up and dropped off Muppet, Aria stayed outside because she knew I didn’t like people in my space.

If she was inside, there was a reason for it.

And it likely wasn’t good.

Before she could use the keys she held in her hand, I grabbed my phone—wincing at the missed calls and texts—and called her. Guilt hit me in the chest as I watched her shoulders slump when she saw it was me.

“I’m outside,” she said by way of greeting.

I played dumb. “And I’m sure it’s a lovely evening out.”

“No, outside your apartment. Let me in.”

“I’m not home. What’s wrong?”

“Where are you?”

“Out with a friend.”

A friend? Alexander mouthed, giving me a smirk and making me roll my eyes.

I didn’t need the camera to know that skepticism mixed with happiness would be warring on Aria’s features. “What friend?”

“Let’s focus on the important things. Why are you at my place?”

“Did you get my message?”

“No, my ringer is off. What’s wrong?”

“Dad’s here.”

Of everything I’d thought she’d say, that was at the very bottom of the list. Actually, it wasn’t even on the list, that’s how implausible it was.

But the unbelievable was compounded further when she continued. “And he’s looking for you.”

“Why?”

“He says he wants to make amends.”

I scoffed so hard, it came out like a snort. “No, why really?”

“We’re pretty sure he needs money.”

His actions being completely self-serving was believable, but the fact he’d be short on cash was not.

Thanks to people’s never-ending pursuit of the perfect Miami beach bod, Dr. Astor Dillon had more money than soul.

“Why?” I asked.

“He owes his dealer and a pimp.”

I could’ve gone my entire life without that visual. “Gross.”

“I know. He looks like shit, Briar. It’s bad. Brand found out he’s been kicked out of his practice. And since Dad’s the one who told me about your gazillionaire, we’re pretty sure he’s here to hit you up for money.”

That didn’t make me scoff.

It made me outright laugh.

“He’s got a better chance of winning the lotto, winning a gold medal at the Olympics, and finding a field of four-leaf clovers all on the same day than he does of getting any money from me.”

“I figured. But