Roadster (Iron Ladies Book 1) Read online

  Roadster

  Iron Ladies

  Danielle Norman

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2018 by Danielle Norman

  and F Squared, LLP

  All rights reserved.

  Without limiting the rights under the copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission from either the author and or the above named publisher of this book with the exception for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction.

  Contents

  Playlist

  Prologue

  1. Adeline

  2. Riley

  3. Adeline

  4. Adeline

  5. Adeline

  6. Adeline

  7. Riley

  8. Loren

  9. Adeline

  10. Adeline

  11. Adeline

  12. Riley

  13. Riley

  14. Adeline

  15. Riley

  16. Adeline

  17. Adeline

  18. Adeline

  19. Adeline

  20. Riley

  21. Adeline

  22. Adeline

  23. Riley

  24. Adeline

  25. Loren

  26. Riley

  27. Adeline

  28. Adeline

  Epilogue

  Enough

  Stetson

  Also by Danielle Norman

  Meet Danielle

  Lets Socialize

  Thank You

  I’m a Mess- Ed Sheeran

  Barracuda- Heart

  Gives Your Hell- The All-American Rejects

  Starting over- Jennifer Nettles

  I Cant’T Help Falling In Love- Elvis Presley

  Something To Believe In- Poison

  Cum On Feel the Noise- Quiet Riot

  White Wedding, PT. 1- Billy Idol

  She Drives me Crazy- Fine Young Cannibals

  In My Feelings- Drake

  I’d like to dedicate this to all the firsts.

  The first husbands and first wives that thought the grass was greener in someone else’s fucking yard.

  As a second wife, I thank you for being a ho.

  The first glass of vodka after a shitty day.

  And…

  The first roll of your eyes after hearing someone say something absolutely stupid and then giving yourself a high-five for not throat punching them.

  So, let me be the first to raise my glass to you and say, “Thank you.”

  In the quest for happily ever after; it isn’t about being someone’s first love. It’s about being their last love.

  Unknown

  Prologue

  Twelve years ago . . .

  Adeline tossed her hair over her shoulder, took a deep breath, and told herself she could do this.

  She had to.

  It was this or drugs, and she knew all too well that drugs weren’t an option.

  “It seemed like I was always trying to live up to my parents’ expectations. I had to be perfect, you know? Perfect daughter, perfect grades, perfect everything. Sometimes the pressure just got to be too much and I needed an escape. In my head, I knew it was wrong, but at the same time there was the little voice coaxing me, telling me hey, who’s it gonna hurt? What they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. It helped at first to take the edge off, but then I realized I was not only hurting myself, but also everyone around me.”

  “Thank you, Adeline, for sharing your story with us. Let’s end here today, everyone. Thank you for making the commitment to yourselves to be here. I know that some days it seems easier to throw in the towel, but every day you are proving how strong you really are.”

  The members of the Heal Your Soul therapy group dispersed. It was the fifty-second day of Adeline’s three-month-long rehabilitation program, and she and the other participants had been brought together for group. This week, the theme had been: “Shared experiences lighten the burdens.”

  True to the counselor’s words, Adeline Morgan did feel like a boulder had been lifted off her chest. She had to admit, rehab hadn’t been such a bad idea after all.

  She was willing to do anything to avoid the prescribed SSRIs, they made her feel like a zombie, and besides, Adeline knew herself, knew that she and meds did not get along. The group had been a great help, and sharing her pains and experiences with the others had made her feel better, as if she wasn’t alone. Everyone had a story to tell, they were different, but just as painful. Adeline’s had been filled with disappointments from loved ones.

  There was only one drawback after days like today, when it was her turn to share a part of her story—her nightmares. Adeline walked the sage-colored hallways, not bothering to check out the generic inspirational posters or hotel-esque artwork, and made it back to her private room without ever having to acknowledge anyone else.

  The room housed one bed and one small, three-drawer dresser, but she didn’t care. Not having a roommate had been one of the conditions of her agreeing to the program. She refused to be saddled with someone who was legitimately nuts and kept her up all night. Plus, it wasn’t as if her parents couldn’t afford it or that she was permitted to do anything or have any possessions with her. Plus, she didn’t spend all that much time in it anyway.

  The schedule at the center kept the patients occupied almost every minute of the day, so Adeline only had ten minutes to get ready before lights were out. Pulling the covers down, Adeline crawled into the bed. Her heart was already racing a million miles a minute because she knew that as soon as she closed her eyes, the memories would creep in. She didn’t want to fall asleep, which was the heart of the problem. Why she turned to drugs in the first place.

  Like every night since she got there, she tried fighting the drowsiness by rehashing where she’d went wrong, what could she have done differently? All the missteps she had taken. It seemed like yesterday that Adeline was bringing home a report card for her mother to look at.

  “We’re so proud of you Adeline.” Mrs. Morgan snapped a photo of Adeline’s report card to post on Facebook. Adeline’s mother had always done this, because she saw her daughter’s grades as a direct reflection on herself.

  Then she’d hand her card over to her dad, who would coach her on ways to be even better. “Remember you need to have a strong academic and social life to get into Harvard like your old man.” Mr. Morgan took a seat and lifted his glass of scotch in emphasis.

  “I know, Dad. I have cheerleading again as well as chorus this year. Plus, I have student government, and I have signed up for the debate team.”

  Adeline wanted to be perfect, the most popular, the best daughter, and she had almost achieved it. She thought she had for a short while, like when the announcer had called her name as prom queen and her long-time high school boyfriend as prom king. Adeline stood on stage and waved to her classmates, and her heart was warmed by the genuine happiness that she saw in her best friend Sasha’s eyes when Sasha looked up at the stage.

  Perfection had been the keyword for Adeline growing up. Her parents preached it daily, and she had lived by that principle until . . . well . . . she revolted.

  And Adeline discovered that some parents have a breaking point . . .

  Prom night was the game changer. Mark was nowhere to be found, so Adeline decided to have Sasha take her home, but Sasha was nowhere to b
e found either. Looking back, Adeline knew it was all a little too cliché because she found them . . . together in the backseat of Sasha’s car.

  It was the catalyst that sent Adeline spiraling. In typical teenager fashion, she told everyone that Mark had been cheating on her with Sasha, and while Mark’s involvement was barely noted, Sasha became a social pariah.

  Adeline had laughed, feeling vindication. After all, what Sasha had done was beyond reprehensible. Her best friend had broken her trust and deserved whatever came her way.

  Then, about a month before graduation, Sasha Dexter committed suicide.

  And it wasn’t so damn funny anymore.

  All the sleepovers.

  All the birthday parties.

  Years of exchanging friendship bracelets.

  The promise of BFF forever.

  All ruined, all lost, over a few bad decisions.

  Her parents used words like, bounce back, get over it, and move on. They expected her to still uphold the Morgan family values. But once again, she’d disappointed them.

  Adeline reached for the bottle of water on her nightstand and drank. What she really wanted was the burn from whiskey. The fuzzy pull of whatever painkiller she could get her hands on.

  Adeline closed her eyes and inhaled, sleep finally overtaking her.

  And a cold chill crawled up her as Adeline blamed Mark and all men like him. If he hadn’t tried to play friends against each other. If he hadn’t been such a no-good, two-timing asshole, if he hadn’t been such a…guy. Then maybe Sasha would still be here and maybe Adeline would still have parents that acknowledged her as their only child. Maybe, just maybe, things would have turned out for the better.

  At the three-month mark, Adeline left rehab a changed woman, albeit not much older in age but older in wisdom. Those three months had matured Adeline more than the last five years had since graduating high school.

  But now she felt like she had a purpose. After listening to all the stories from women who’d been broken by the men they’d trusted she was determined to make a difference. She didn’t get into Harvard, but she did enroll in college. Her course focus would be criminal justice.

  Unfortunately, Adeline found herself alone on a giant campus. She was older and wiser than most of the other freshmen on campus. She watched as they explored the freedom of being away from home for the first time, drinking and experimenting with things she knew were a slippery slope. Every night she went home to the large house her parents had gifted to her, their way of alleviating the guilt of not allowing her back into their home and their lives. They’d had enough of her drama and truthfully, she couldn’t blame them. But Adeline was determined to prove to them that she wasn’t the fuck up they’d written her off as, and maybe, just maybe, someday they’d pick up her phone call.

  But college was where Adeline’s life seemed to fall into place. It was where she met her new best friends: Melanie Oakes, who had fought to stand out in her male-dominated house; Sunday Prescott, who lacked male attention until one day she caught the attention of the campus playboy only to discover it was all a joke; and Olivia Vinning, who was raised in a violent home.

  Three women studying for criminal-justice degrees, and one night over drinks Adeline shared her dream. Together they’d start a whispered network for women. Their rules were simple: one must receive the orchid-colored business card from a previous client to even know that they exist, because they weren’t your normal private investigators. They were the Iron Ladies.

  Chapter One

  Adeline

  The screeching sound of the tires as the V8 American muscle car pulled into a parking space in one fell swoop was one of Adeline Morgan’s favorite sounds in the world. The only thing better than that was shopping.

  She sat in her seat a few minutes and let the song, which was playing far too loudly, finish before she cut the engine. The abrupt absence of the rumble and music in the afternoon air hit Adeline like a shiver of anxiety. There was a comfort in all things car and speed, but she was late, so she forced herself not to crank the engine again.

  Adeline pushed the solid steel door open and slid from her seat before straightening her black bodycon dress, which clung to her curvy figure. Then she slipped her four-inch black leather heels back on—one did not drive a muscle car with heels on—and grabbed the bags from the passenger seat.

  The Iron Ladies office took up the majority of the fourth floor of one of the many tall buildings in downtown Orlando, and it was more of a home to her than her actual house was. The main office, like other rooms in the company, stood immaculate, with white walls and floor-to-ceiling windows that revealed a large view of the city.

  Adeline walked past the desks that sat in an open floor plan and into the boardroom. A large oil painting of giant handcuffs hung on the opposite wall, and in the center of the room was a large mahogany table. Around said table were some unhappy faces. Well, all except Melanie, she was pacing the room.

  “Where the fuck have you been?” Melanie stopped pacing long enough to glare at Adeline. “Really? The client’s been waiting nearly an hour.”

  Adeline shrugged and had a shit-eating grin on her face as she fell into her seat next to Sunday before setting her bags onto the table in front of her. “Sorry, my lunch break lasted longer than usual.”

  “Told you so,” Sunday said, a little too happy.

  Adeline winked at Sunday. “No one knows me better than you do.”

  “Depends what truck stop we go to, I’m sure there’s a few bathrooms that have poetry written in your honor and we could learn a thing or two.” Olivia reached into her pocket, pulled out some money, and handed it over to Sunday, obviously having lost a bet. Sunday grinned triumphantly, tossed Adeline half the take, and turned back to her laptop.

  Adeline flipped Olivia off and laughed, knowing full well that Olivia’s harsh barb was only a joke.

  “Well, now that we’re finally all here, can we interview the client already?” Melanie asked, glaring between the two of them.

  “Fine by me,” Sunday said, clearly not really paying attention, she was too absorbed in her computer.

  “Who’s the client anyway?” Adeline asked.

  “Some lady.” Sunday never lifted her eyes from her laptop screen.

  Adeline rolled her eyes. “You think? I was assuming that we were still Iron Ladies and not men. But, then again, maybe you all voted to change that while I was out.”

  Olivia sighed. “How about I bring her in for the interview, and thereafter you two can argue about whatever gender you think the client is?”

  “Whoa, someone’s in a bad mood today.” Adeline let out a low whistle.

  “Adeline, you’re late . . . again. You come in here with this I-don’t-care attitude. But, damn it, I know you well enough to know that, if I look in those bags, there is probably something for me in there that I’m going to love.” Olivia slapped her hands onto the table as Adeline leaned forward, reached into the aforementioned bags, and pulled out the most awesome black leather vest.

  “I’ll get her.” Melanie headed toward the boardroom doors. “And for goodness’ sake, Olivia. Put that thing away.”

  “Yeah, Olivia, put that thing away.” Adeline smiled as Olivia gathered her oil rag and kit to start reassembling her baby Glock.

  One of their founding and non-negotiable rules was that all four members had to be present for the first meet with all potential clients. The rule had been Melanie’s idea, and according to her, it presented a professional and united front to the client. Melanie had also stressed the importance of making a good first impression on the client, which was another important reason for all members to be present for first contact. Finally, all four members had to state their opinion and cast their vote on whether they should take the case. Majority always won. The rules may sound stupid, but it was these cornerstones that had made the Iron Ladies an underground success. Oh, to most, they were just everyday businesswomen, but to the women who were passed the or
chid-colored card, they were more than that.

  When Melanie returned with their client, Adeline let out a muted groan. It was Loren fucking Delaney. She was everything that Adeline knew her to be—cultured, elegant, collected, classy, and the fucking mayor of Orlando’s wife.

  “We apologize for the delay, Mrs. Delaney.” Melanie ushered Loren to a seat at the head of the table. Melanie, Sunday, and Olivia cast glances at Adeline. “I don’t suppose you’ve met our fourth member Adeline yet?”

  “Hello, Adeline, it’s nice to meet you. Thank you all for agreeing to meet me.” Loren gave a wave to Adeline, and Adeline returned it with a slight smile.

  “Do you have something for us?” Adeline asked.

  “Oh, yes, I do.” Loren reached into her purse and pulled out the secret orchid colored business card, it was the only proof that the Iron Ladies existed. They didn’t advertise, they weren’t listed in a phonebook, nor did they have a website. They operated simply by referrals. Melanie took the card."“So, Mrs. Delaney—”

  “Please, call me Loren.”

  “Okay,” Melanie continued. “Loren, since you contacted us, I take it you were given our card by one of your friends.”

  “Yes, by—”

  Melanie held up one hand to stop Loren from continuing. “Please, we keep everyone’s privacy.”