“Lay down old man, you don’t look so good. You should really get more sleep.” Reluctantly he lays back as I shove him down on his pillow. “Here, let me help you get comfortable.” I pull his blankets back up and tuck him in as he did me, before I grew ill, before he washed his hands of me. “Sweet dreams, don’t let the bedbugs bite.” It is what my mother would say after they had kissed my cheeks and turned out my light.
The old bastard settles and all I want to do is wrap my hands around his throat and squeeze until what little life is left drains out of him. All he is is a sorry excuse of a man—broken promises, shattered hopes, and my mother’s broken heart are on his hands.
I’ve got blood on my hands and lust on my mind. I will have you soon Isabella, I think to myself smugly.
Chapter 2
ISABELLA
Vandacamp Mansion was said to have once been a grand castle. It’s stood for over two-hundred years, hidden in the backwoods of a forgotten town, Eden. The mansion has been passed from generation to generation to the Vandacamp heir. I have only seen it once, when I was a child on a business lunch with my father. I was terrified. The home reminds me of something out of a medieval movie. Built of dark grey stones and bricks, it is very much a castle, complete with a round tower and what was once a dungeon. It gives me the creeps.
Thinking back on it now gives me shivers. It was so dark and cold inside. Like love had never lived there.
I gloss over the rest of the article in the newspaper about the historical home and the man who now inherits the Vandacamp legacy after the sudden passing of Angelo, the head of the family.
The current heir, Tristian Vandacamp, is the type of man you will cross the street to avoid at all cost. Known to most as an enforcer for a violent motorcycle club—Depraved Sinners, the men who run this town and everyone in it. They own everything, keeping the rest of us hostage. No one can afford to leave, so we are all forced to stay. They are notorious for ruining anyone who stands in their way. I’ve heard whispers about Tristian, they say he has no soul and that is why he looks the way he does. Rumor has it he once killed a man with his bare hands for pronouncing his name wrong. I’m not sure I buy into all the hype though.
My father has done his best in shielding me from them, but I have seen Tristian and his gang riding through town, appearing as if he has risen from hell itself, from the window of my family’s bookstore.
The Book Nook was my mother’s dream and my Papi has tried so hard to keep it thriving. The store has never been his passion, but he has held on, trying to keep her memory alive. Besides, it isn’t as if he has a choice to do otherwise. We have nowhere else to go and no way to get there.
He has my sister’s and me to care for. I am the youngest of three. Elsabeth is the oldest, and the only one of us to get married. Her husband, Felix, manages the local sanitation company. My sister the garbage queen. I would have never thought that would ever happen, but she fell in love. Her and Felix are always kissing and being so romantic. I want that someday—the passion they share. They are expecting their first child later this year. They shared the news with us over the weekend.
My father cannot wait to have his first grandchild. We all wish my mother were here for times like this. She was always so graceful and knew exactly what to do or say. When she lost her battle with Lupus, it was hard on us all, but mainly my sister, Ariala.
Ariala is wild. She is always chasing after the wrong men. Men who keep company with Tristian no doubt. She wasn’t always like this but since mom passed away she has been lashing out, warranting the wrong kind of attention. I never imagined she would act out the way she has. Always out late, if she comes home at all. My dad stays stressed and worried about her welfare.
The staying out isn’t the worst of her offenses, she has a serious drug problem that she tries to hide but I can see it. I just don’t know why everyone else can’t. She bleeds our father dry. I caught her taking money from his wallet a few days ago and when I confronted her, she had the audacity to lie and say Papi owed her money.
That is why it is up to me to be the good girl and do what is expected of me. My father’s heart can’t handle more stress. He is stretched thin as it is.
Being the baby of the family has left me the most sheltered. With Elsabeth married and Ariala out of control, I do what I can to help my father out at the store. I recently obtained my high school diploma. Much later than I should have, but with our mother needing constant care and looking after, I dropped from public school and finished school at home with online courses.
I fell far behind in everything but reading. I would rather read than do anything. It’s my escape. It took me away from the pressure of taking care of my mother and being perfect for my father where my sisters had failed him.
“Isabella,” my father calls from his office.
I discard the newspaper and walk to the back of the store. “Yes, Papi.”
“I need to leave early today. I have to go by the bank before closing.” He takes off his glasses, cleaning them on the hem of his button down shirt. A coffee stain is dribbled down the front. He hasn’t been feeling well. I’m afraid he is over doing it. He stays stressed over my sister and money. “You shouldn’t have many customers. I’ll need you to lock up. “
“Go, I’ll be fine,” I assure him. I’ve taken care of the store plenty of times on my own since I was fifteen. When Papi would take Mama to the doctor I would stay behind and keep the store open. Papi hasn’t been the same since she died. None of us have.
I just wish I could see Papi smile again. He needs a woman to look after him other than me.
Although, I believe Papi has a thing for Lana Crawford, the loan officer at the bank. He goes to the bank often enough to see her. She seems like a sweet lady. She comes in from time to time to buy a romance novel. It would be nice to see them date. My father hasn’t dated since mom passed away over three years ago. He says that Mama was his one and once you have been with your one, nothing or no one can ever compare. I’m not sure if I believe there is only one person out there that I am meant to share my life with, but I have always felt a piece of me has been missing. Maybe I just haven’t met my one.
“I’ll swing back by and drive you home afterward.” He smiles warmly, but his skin seems pale for his naturally tan appearance.
“Are you feeling okay?”
“I’m fine Mi hija.” He brushes my concern away and gathers the papers strewn across his desk into a neat pile, tucking them under his arm.
Once he has left, I make my way back to the front, on the odd chance that someone will actually come in and buy something. I grab a favorite book of mine and collapse on the loveseat, in the corner by the front window. My mother wanted customers to be comfortable and have a quiet place to read or talk about their favorite books.
Three cozy couches are placed in various parts of the room. My favorite being the one next to the window. When I’m not reading I enjoy people watching. I watch, as everyone’s lives seem to be moving on, while mine continues to stand still. Not that I mind working at the bookstore, but I don’t have many friends outside of my family. My daily routine consists of home and the bookstore. At least I get to read just about anything I want for free, basically.
I glance around the store my mother created missing the way she would smile at me from behind the counter, when she was well enough to work. The business did so much better when she was alive. She was the heart of the store. She attracted most of the customers with her wit and charm. But most of all her beauty. I have never seen a woman as beautiful as her, though many say I look like her, but even prettier. I think they are all nuts. My mother was graceful and stunning. I am a klutz and homely in comparison. I have no style or grace.