I'm fully dressed—black shirt, black jeans, leather jacket. My arm is properly bandaged up, though it still aches. I pocket my phone, force a smile onto my face, and bolt out of my bedroom. My brothers are already racing toward the cars, and I fall into step behind Ezra. Just as I'm about to slide into his car, Alex grabs my arm and steers me toward Arthur's sleek, black BMW M2.
If you haven't noticed yet, we like black. A lot.
I settle into the back seat. Arthur's at the wheel, stone-faced as ever, Lorenzo's riding shotgun, and Alex drops down beside me, his sharp gaze scanning me up and down. I shoot him a What? look, but he just shrugs and turns away.
Honestly, I think I look fine. It's not like we're heading to a boardroom meeting; we're just picking up our sister. For crying out loud.
The silence stretches, heavy and awkward, so I break it. "So, who found her?"
Lorenzo twists in his seat to look at me, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and amusement, like he's still trying to process how I even ended up in this car. "So...?"
"Yeah, right. Sorry," he mumbles, running a hand through his hair. "Uh, some guy named Bob, I think—"
"Roger," Arthur cuts him off, his voice sharp and icy. "He said his name was Roger. Works with Ryan. Runs some of our business fronts in France."
Lorenzo shrugs and keeps going. "Yeah, okay, Roger. Anyway, he found Isa. Something about a wallet, I think? Took her out to eat, figured out who she was, and called Ryan."
"Where are we going?" I ask, trying to get to the point.
"To pick up our sister, idiot," Lorenzo replies in that condescending, duh tone that makes me want to throw something at him.
"No, I mean where is she?" I clarify, exasperated.
Alex finally pipes up, looking at his phone. "McDonald's. Questionable choice, if you ask me. The address is 5450 Sunset Boulevard, Los Angeles."
"Great. Thanks," I mutter, leaning back against the seat.
I turn my head toward the window and let my gaze drift to the trees outside. At night, they almost look black, their branches like sharp silhouettes against the dim sky. There's something calming about it, though—a strange kind of comfort in how everything just fades away out there, quiet and still. Looking out of the window always brings me peace. It's like stepping outside of myself for a moment, watching the world move past me while I stay frozen in my seat.
Sometimes, when we're on a busy road, I count the cars and trucks as they rush by, their headlights blinking like fireflies in the dark. Other times, when traffic slows—which happens more often than not here in LA—I turn my attention to the drivers. I take my time with them, letting my imagination run wild. A woman in a bright red car becomes a secret spy, speeding away after slipping documents under the table at some smoky café. A man in an old pickup truck is an undercover rockstar who ditched the spotlight to find peace in carpentry. I like to create the wildest, most absurd stories about their lives—lives that are probably ordinary but feel far more interesting through my eyes.
And then, of course, I can't help but wonder if anyone's ever done the same thing to me—looked at me through their window and wondered who I was. Maybe someone's already imagined my whole story. Maybe they decided I'm a kid with too many secrets, someone tied to something dark and dangerous. If they thought I was in the mafia or had killed someone, they wouldn't exactly be wrong, would they? I smile a little at the thought, though it doesn't reach my eyes.
YOU ARE READING
Saving Isabella
Fiksi RemajaIsabella's life has been anything but easy. At 14, she's already endured more than most. Her mother and her mother's boyfriend, Jack, were both controlling and abusive, leaving Isa to navigate the scars of their manipulation. Her mother always told...
