Dirty Little Secret (Dirty #1) by Amber Rides Read Free Book Online

probe-ies (as he called us not-so-fondly) succeed in much more than menial labor or bagging groceries.
    “So…I’ll see you on the next Monday, then?” I asked.
    “You bet.”
    I waited.  I knew the conversation wasn’t over until he’d closed with “Over and out.”
    “Oh. Cutter?”
    “Still here,” I acknowledged.
    “Permission came through from the courts. For your sister’s wedding.”
    I greeted his announcement with silence.  He said it as if it were an afterthought, but I’d sent the request in three months earlier.  In fact, I’d kinda given up hope of getting it granted.  How long had Galini known?
    “Cutter?”
    I cleared my throat and injected a smile into my voice. “That’s great news, man. I’m looking forward to it.”
    “Are you sure you’re going to be all right with this?” he wanted to know.
    I forced a chuckle. “I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”
    “That doesn’t fill me with confidence,” Galini replied.
    “I’m going to be a grown up about it,” I offered.
    “I’m rooting for you.”
    Like fuck you are.
    “Thanks, man.” It required a lot of effort to make it sound sincere.
    “No problem. Over and out.”
    I hung up and turned back to my painting.
    Why wouldn’t I be fine with it? I thought sarcastically. After all, my sister is just getting married to the man who let his friends drug her and assault her. Right after he abandoned her on the side of a highway to die.

 
    MELISSA
     
    A whole two days had gone by since I collapsed into my bed, and if my mom – yes, I was going to keep calling that because no way was I rocking the boat - hadn’t begged me to join her for brunch and a round of tennis, I probably would’ve stayed in bed for a second day.  And maybe a third.  The only good thing about being sick was that I’d been able to effectively avoid Danny without much trouble.  The man (why did I feel like I was using that term lightly?) was a total germ freak.
    Normally, the patio at my parents’ country club was one of my favorite spots.  It offered both an unobstructed view of all the club’s amenities, including the pool, tennis courts, and golf course, and a panoramic view of the valley.  But at that moment, I couldn’t appreciate any of it.  All I wanted to do was curl up in a self-pitying ball of left over sickness. 
    It didn’t help that somewhere below us, a construction crew was repairing the pool house.  Every few minutes, a hammer hit, or a drill or saw roared to life, making me cringe.
    “Are you all right, Missy?”
    My mom’s question irritated me.  Everyone and his dog knew I hated being called Missy.  I’d rejected the nickname when I was five years old, but now and then, she used it anyway.  Like rubbing salt in a nickname-shaped wound.
    “Missy?”
    “I’m fine, Mom,” I snapped. “Cut me some slack. I’ve been sick.”
    The appalled look on her face at my tone should’ve initiated some kind of emotional response in me.  Regret being the most likely candidate, followed closely by guilt.  Respect was expected.  And usually automatic.  I was the seen-and-not-heard child , after all.  But right then, I had a hard time caring.
    It isn’t my fault my illegitimate birth had ruined their plans for early retirement .
    I wanted to pick up my iced tea and toss it at her.  I tightened my fingers around the glass.  The thought of covering her in its contents made me smile just a little bit. 
    “Chin up, dear,” my mom said.
    I raised the glass , tempted.  Then I pressed it to my forehead, and looked away so she wouldn’t see my eye roll.  My gaze sought something else – anything else – to fix on other than my mom’s frown.  What it found was enough to make my head throb against the iced tea.
    The construction crew had moved into view, and for a minute, I thought the fever hallucinations were coming back.  I blinked.  He was really there. 
    So. The truck-driving doorknob is also a hammer-wielding