Resurrection (Wesson Rebel MC Series Book 3) by Shyla Colt Read Free Book Online

things back to the way they once were.
    I peer out of the window at the buildings in the distance. The troops are rallying, the wheels are set into motion. Yet it doesn’t do Ira any good. Hell, I don’t know where he is. A rounded roof with a cross catches my eye, and I snicker as memories rush back. It’s the last family outing we had before my uncle slit my throat and left me to bleed out with an apology and a kiss to my forehead.
    “Hey.” Prophet’s voice makes me jump. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. You want to order up something?”
    “I could use some fresh air.” The walls are closing in on me, and the bad times are blotting out all the good ones. “Have you ever been to Philly?” Eager to take my mind off what I can’t change, I launch myself into the role of host.
    “No.”
    “Let’s go downtown. It’ll be easier to blend in and make the time pass faster. I’m about ready to start climbing the walls.” I smooth my hand over my hair, making sure every one is in place. I’m a Lorello now. The surname comes with a vast number of rules, especially for women. “Any diet restrictions?” His eyebrows fly up, and I give a soundless giggle. “I’ll take that as a no.”
    “I’m easy.” He shrugs. He’s thawed some since the trip.
    I should appreciate it, but I don’t. Not when the motivation is pity.
    I know I had a shit hand dealt to me, but at least I didn’t bitch about it. No— I hid .
    “Okay, let’s go then.” I stalk over to the desk, grab my purse, and head for the door. It probably seems cold, but it’s all I can do to continue to function. Ira is my everything: father, brother, and best friend rolled into one. The very concept of life without him makes me want to turn into a crazed maniac. I can’t win like that. I need to be levelheaded and steady, everything my father was and my uncle couldn’t hope to be. My father’s voice is still clear in my mind. ‘We have to be better, give them something to aspire to while reminding them, we’re not to be trifled with.’
    Prophet meets me at the door and we leave the hotel.
    Waiting is the hardest thing in the world to do, which is ironic considering how little effort it takes. As we step out of the building, I take in Rittenhouse Square. The landscape is lush and green while the flowers are blooming. It should be a beautiful day. As I guide him away from our hotel and onto the busy sidewalks, my eyes take in the changes. There are new shops, along with the old favorites who’ve stood the test of time. We pass the iconic red letters that make out the love structure. “This is Rittenhouse Square. There are plenty of places to eat, shop, and explore. Are you up for sandwiches?”
    “Perfect.”
    We head into a local bistro. The line is long, and I people watch while we wait. I envy them, all enjoying another day in their carefree life. I used to be like them. I focus on a set of well-dressed teens. Their makeup is flawless, their clothes cost more than most people make in a week, and their hair is artfully styled. They huddle together laughing as they discuss their latest crush, a new boy in school. I can scarcely remember those days. I let their meaningless chatter soothe me until our turn comes.
    “What would you like?” Prophet asks.
    Part of me resents him being here, taking Ira’s place. I shove the schoolgirl drama building up inside of me to the left. “Turkey club on flatbread, please.”
    While he orders for both of us I take the time to examine him.
    He cleans up nicely. Which isn’t a surprise. The way he handles himself is— however. He has a regal quality to him, which speaks to his family’s standing. He’s a Wesson Rebel now, but at some point in his life, he’d been brought up well.
    We take the wrapped up sandwiches outside into the sunlight and begin our way down the sidewalk. The turkey and bacon taste like cardboard, but I continue to eat it to keep me going. We amble along in silence,