Forbidden Temptation My Mafia Fiance's Alpha Father (Brooklyn and Aden) novel Chapter 59

Chapter 59
Brooklyn

“Go,” Aden says firmly to Lucas, once we’re settled inside the black SUV.

Aden and Hudson climb are on either side of me, sandwiching me in the middle.

Pressed between them, I fold my hands between my knees and try my best to breathe evenly as Lucas obediently peels out.

Aden continues to look out the window, surveying the landscape for danger.

Hudson turns to me. He takes my face in my hands and carefully looks me over.

When he ascertains that I’m not scratched or bruised, he moves on to the rest of my body, putting a hand on my knee and taking me in.

“How are you, Brooklyn?” he asks, low. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m f-f-fine,” I say, still shivering. I don’t know whether it’s shock still, or perhaps the cold.

Suddenly, I remember my beautiful cashmere stole—still in the coat check at the country club.

I turn backwards to look out the rear window, regretting the loss of it.

“What,” Aden asks, worry creasing his face.

I instantly feel guilty. Here he is, on high alert, worried for my safety, and I’m sorry to have lost my coat.

“N-nothing.” I shake my head. I notice that he’s still clutching his arm and that blood is still seeping from behind his hand.

I lean across him to look at it. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he says, pulling away from me with gritted teeth. “Just a graze—nothing the guys at home can’t patch up. It’ll heal fast.”

I look up into his face. “It’s a gunshot wound, Aden,” I say. “Not a splinter. Was it silver?”

Aden looks at me, then, frustrated and like he doesn’t know what to say. Like he doesn’t like getting the attention, being weak.

Hudson calm me down, shushing me and stroking my hair.

“I hate this,” I whisper between my clattering teeth. “I hate this, I hate this life, I hate everything it represents—”

I turn to Hudson, hurt and damage all over my face. “I wish I’d never met you—I was right to dump you the first time, when—”

But I snap my mouth shut. I don’t mean all of it, not really—I don’t hate him.

If I did, I’d tell his dad his secret to punish him for wrapping me all up in this—for not letting me go, for being complicit in keeping me here, trapped in this life, when all I want to do is leave.

“I’m sorry, Brooklyn,” Hudson says, and I can tell by the guilt in his face that he means it.

“Then let me go,” I plead, desperate.

Slowly, Hudson shakes his head.