❝ I didn't give a damn about anyone in a long time. And then you came along and pretty much blew that plan straight to hell. ❞
in which New York's most wanted man rescues a rich girl who is simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.
...
Ops! Esta imagem não segue as nossas directrizes de conteúdo. Para continuares a publicar, por favor, remova-a ou carrega uma imagem diferente.
"If I'm not dead, might as well get moving."
The men made their way through the hospital corridors. And there she was lying down. An arm in a sling and the faint noise of the monitor beeping. Her eyes slowly opened, and the guys saw her begin to quake with rage.
They were really in for it now.
"Isabella..."
"Don't CALL ME THAT!" She shrieked. "I'm giving you one more chance. Every time I tell you morons to do one thing, you somehow manage to give me the exact opposite."
She took a moment to recompose herself.
"Get everyone on it. Have them drop what they're doing and start looking. Turn over every stone in town until you find out where that cockroach is hiding!"
"You got off lucky in my opinion." He thought to himself.
Detective Soap left the room shaking his head.
"Where are we going?" Tamara asked.
The two were in his van, driving around the outskirts of town in complete silence. Since dusk. They'd left her Grandma's house after staying there for two nights. Now Frank had promised Tamara he was going to deal with the Gnucci's and their lackeys before they reached her family.
But he wasn't sweating it. He'd murdered the other members, and it was just Ma Gnucci's relentless self who wouldn't stay dead. A lot like a cockroach.
Frank didn't reply. So Tamara simply slumped further into the seat and shut her eyes. She hadn't slept in a while.
When they finally arrived, she noticed it was pretty isolated. It was a small warehouse by the docks. She didn't want to complain.
But her boujee-ness was beginning to kick in. No matter how much she was trying to repress it for the past few days. There was no way in hell Frank would even take her seriously if she started demanding that she needed a fill in for her nails or to silk press her hair.
Even just to take a bath with her usual lavender aromas. A caramel frappé?
She was in the same black turtleneck and red chequered skirt she was in when she met up with Pam and Angela. There was opportunities to take a shower, but it was simply a freezing two minute one with the same ivory soap her grandma had been buying since she was a child.
Her nails were chipped, and one of the acrylics she'd had one came off and her finger had been bleeding when she stabbed Ma Gnucci's goon in the eye.
