Ben Burns Novels & Stories

Isabella's POV I'd been staring at the whiskey glass for three minutes. Four ice cubes. Dad had always used four. Said three were for amateurs, five were trying too hard. Four was perfect. Fuck. I tossed it into my mouth before the memory could finish forming. The burn in my throat felt good. Real. Unlike the last two months since we buried him—those months had felt like I'd been living underwater, sound muffled, movements slow, nothing quite reaching me.

"Shut your mouth! Take his liver now! One more word and I'll send your whole family to the grave!" With rage burning in her eyes, Tara pointed her black gun squarely at the doctor's forehead. Even though the doctors knew that forcibly removing a person's liver would almost certainly mean death, no one dared say anything for fear of losing their lives. The operating room doors gradually closed. Through the intercom, Tara's placating words to Brandon reached my ears. "Don't worry, honey. A liver fresh from a living person should be in great shape. It'll definitely fix your liver problem. I'll be there soon. Wait for me. Love you…"

she said, tone suspiciously neutral, “what exactly do you do all day when you’re not stealing chargers and being insufferable?” I raised a brow. “That’s a full-time job, actually.” She snorted despite herself, then scowled when she realized she’d done it. “I’m serious.” I leaned back in my chair slightly, considering her. “Meetings. Design work. Trying to keep the Darson name from imploding.” “Sounds exhausting,” she muttered. “It is,” I admitted. “You get used to it.” She picked at her food, quieter now. The fire was still there—always was—but something else flickered beneath it. Curiosity. Reluctant interest. She hated that almost as much as she hated me.