Page 103 of Isaac

Cody Smith.

And the moment is broken immediately.

Am I really a fool not to see this? Or is it Jeremy’s jealousy?

Again, also one way to find out.

"Isaac?" Hawk whispers.

"Let’s get this over with," I grit out through my teeth, my resolve hardening. There’s no time for sentimental bullshit right now.

I head into the warehouse without another word.

He follows.

There, my crew has already tied Tucci to a chair in the center of the room. That chair has seen a lot of bodies. Most left this place alive. This one won’t.

"Let’s talk about the cargo," I say as I begin to methodically roll up my sleeves.

"You brainless fucker," Tucci spits out. "You have no idea who you’re messing with."

"I feel like I heard that line before. You should try changing up your repertoire."

Ricky snorts from the sidelines.

"Talk, asshole," Jeremy warns.

"These people will fuck you up. You and your operation, you dimwits," Tucci continues his useless threats.

"I don’t like to repeat myself," I tell him as I drop into a crouch in front of him. My voice changes to a whisper. "I know it was you who ordered that unsuccessful hit on me. I know you’re doing a lot of unauthorized shit behind Tony’s back. I know you hurt one of my girls. She’s in the hospital now. Sadly for you, the hospital isn’t where you’re going after this." Pause. "You’re going six feet under in the middle of the desert where no one will find you."

"Ah, the girl," Tucci hisses out. "Pretty little thing that one. My boys had a hell of a time with her. She was coming like a freight train when they stuffed her holes."

My anger multiplies. "Watch your mouth, Tucci," I warn, rising to my feet.

"She should send me a thank you card."

Before I can register what's happening, Jeremy is a blur of motion. He crosses the distance between him and Tucci in an instant, fierce and lethal as a wild animal on the prowl. His fist arcs through the air and makes violent contact with Tucci’s unsuspecting face.

Tucci’s head ricochets backward on impact.

A yelp echoes through the warehouse. A few chuckles follow from my guys.

But Jeremy’s not done. He grabs Tucci by his shirt, the fabric bunching under his grip. He gives it a forceful jerk that sends shock waves through both men involved.

The threat falls from Jeremy's lips in rhythm with each ragged breath he takes. "You’re dead, motherfucker," he snarls, "I'll end you!"

"I'm just a small part of this operation," Tucci mutters, blood dripping down his chin from his busted lip. "You cut me down, and two more will rise in my place."

"Then we'll cut them down too," Jeremy vows. "We won't stop until every last one of you is gone."

"Brave words…" Tucci’s voice is low, his consciousness on the brink of failing him from Jeremy’s blow.

"Watch us," I reply.

The room falls silent, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. And in that moment, I know that there is no turning back. No reprieve from the darkness that now consumes us all and I can feel a boiling rage taking root deep within me, threatening to spill over and devour every single one of my men.

They exchange wary glances as Jeremy finally releases Tucci and takes a step back, his breathing uneven as he tries—quite unsuccessfully—to control his wrath. His hand goes to his Glock as if seeking comfort in that cold kiss of steel.

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