FLOWERS and CAGES Read Online Free PDF Page B

chest, her eyelashes batting wildly.
    "Dalton Shaw," she gasped at her reflection. "Take my car. Take my common sense. Take me!" With a sneer, she stuck out her tongue and sent herself a big, wet raspberry. "Idiot."
    Shaking her head, Colleen wrapped her hair in a towel. Yes, it was foolish. And maybe she would regret her decision. But damn, she laughed. Alone in her apartment, with no prying eyes to judge or mock, she could admit one thing. Dalton Shaw has the bluest eyes.
     
    THE NORTH SIDE of Midas, Arizona bore little resemblance to the place where Dalton's car died an ignominious death. Technically, they were same. They had the same city government headed by the same mayor. The aquifer provided water to all the residents—rich and poor. And the same brutal sun beat down on every home. That was where the similarities ended.
    The privileged class in Midas wasn't large. In a town of fewer than ten thousand residents, the poor far outnumbered the rich. However, those who had money had a shitload of it. And with money, came power. Power that reached far beyond the Midas city limits all the way to the governor's mansion, the United States Senate—and beyond.
    Dalton had come to Midas, a cock-sure twenty-two-year-old man. He had left in chains. Less certain of himself, but he had discovered one thing. Right didn't matter when wrong had the face of a rich man's son. That bit of knowledge had come at a hefty price. Almost a year of his life.
    Though Dalton wouldn't say that prison had been an experience he would recommend, it had taught him a lot about himself. His reward—if he believed in that kind of thing—had been a damn good life. Friends. Success. Money. As Dalton crossed the line between the south of Midas and the north, he didn't feel the dread he had expected. He was no longer a nameless, faceless nobody.
    One Tweet. A single Facebook post. A hint on Instagram. That was all it would take to have the social media world descend on this sleepy little Arizona town. Fame—Dalton's kind of fame—came with power. Power he wasn't afraid to wield.
    Dalton turned onto a pretty little street. Tree-lined, the grass in every yard was green and meticulously manicured. Cookie-cutter houses lined up like good little soldiers. Stamped with bland conformity, the colors didn't vary beyond a shade of beige. Not too dark, not too light. The same porch with the same front door with the same windows. Not too big, not too small.
    As he pulled into the driveway of the one marked with a black two-sixteen on the curb, Dalton wondered if this were the inspiration for The Stepford Wives ? The thought sent a chill down his spine. His sister was in that house. At least, he hoped it was still Maggie.
    Laughing at himself, Dalton turned off the engine. Colleen's car—that was how he thought of it—drove like a dream. The engine hummed—quiet but powerful. She had restored the interior with meticulous care. If he didn't know better, Dalton would have sworn the car sat suspended in time for the last sixty years. Colleen wasn't good. She was a master. If she decided to restore cars full-time, she could make a fortune.
    "Dalton?"
    Maggie ran from the house, waving. Taking a deep breath, Dalton exited the car. Opening his arms, he greeted his sister with a warm hug. He tried to feel the connection—the bond between siblings—but it wasn't there. It never had been. Dalton found it sad because he knew how special a brother/sister relationship could be. He saw it between Ryder and Zoe. Unconditional love. A blood bond that nothing could sever.
    Sadness and guilt were the two emotions he associated most with Maggie. Sadness that they would never be close. And guilt that Zoe—his friend and bandmate—was the true sister of his heart.
    "I'm so glad you're here." Maggie held onto Dalton's arm. "Come inside. We'll have a long talk and catch up."
    They were going to have a long talk, all right. Something was going on, and Dalton wanted answers. However,