Page 105 of Isaac

Looks who’s talking, traitor.

It was you who went out on a limb and risked an agent's life to get information and place it neatly on Isaac's desk because you didn’t know how else to tell him without blowing your cover.

You made your bed.

I swallow hard, the weight of this decision crushing me. I'm an FBI agent. I can't just kill someone in cold blood. But if I don't do it, I’ll be the one losing my life. And everything I've worked for will be for nothing.

"Buying and selling kids,pendejo," Hector’s disgusted whisper comes from somewhere behind me. "If you don’t have the stomach, Hawk, I’ll do it," he eggs me on. "And I’ll have my fun with him too." A dark chuckle.

"Hawk’s got it," Isaac’s cold reassuring voice says. It’s full of menacing promise. "He knows it’s the best we can do, considering what we saw today."

Isaac is not wrong.

And although a part of me still fights this, all it takes for the scale to tip is the thought of the horrors Tucci put Jessica through or the flashbacks of the drive-by in the parking lot, or several dozen teens that came out of the cargo plane less than an hour ago, scared to death and unaware of what their future would be like.

Men like Tucci always get away. I know it. I’ve seen it with my own eyes, witnessed tons of trials where the victim received no real justice and the offender got nothing more than a slap on the wrist.

This—right here and now—is the best justice we can give to all those wronged by the slippery motherfucker tied to a chair.

Rage simmers within me as time stretches on endlessly while I stand there, gun aimed at Tucci's head, heart pounding in my chest, finger firmly on the trigger.

Somewhere deep down I’m still torn between the pledge I took to protect the ones who can’t defend themselves and the need to retain my cover as Cody Smith. I’m still doubting I can take a life. But I’ve taken lives before. Back in Afghanistan.

Why would it be any different now?

The reality is that I already know where I stand. Known for a while. And no, I’d like to tell myself having access to Isaac’s cock has nothing to do with it. But doesn’t it?

Ah, fuck it.

If Isaac can protect people without a badge, I don’t need a badge every time I serve justice.

This is a righteous kill, I tell myself internally.

My finger tightens on the trigger, and the gunshot echoes through the warehouse, shattering the silence. Tucci's head jerks back, brains and blood spraying out behind him. He slumps in the chair, lifeless. Only it's all a haze to me. I don’t quite register the masterpiece of my own making.

"Good job, Hawk," Isaac says coldly. I barely hear his words, my hand trembling as I lower the weapon. And I’m scared someone will notice and realize who I am.

"Handle the gun and the body," Isaac orders Jeremy, who nods and steps forward to relieve me of the Glock.

Isaac claps my back and heads outside without another word.

"Need a smoke," I mutter at no one in particular, my voice sounding foreign to my own ears.

Ricky tips his chin in understanding.

"You’re a Hellhound through and through now." Hector grins at me as I pass by.

I walk by each man numbly, feeling disconnected from reality, seeing everything as if through some sort of clouded glasses that blurs it all, leach the world around me of colors. I’m drowning in the various shades of gray all of a sudden, shades I didn’t know existed before I pulled that trigger.

I've crossed a line tonight, fully shedding my identity as Agent Dallas Bradley and embracing my role as Hawk, a trusted member of the Hellhounds.

My heart races with fear and guilt, but there's no going back. There's only moving forward.

Outside, Isaac’s silhouette progresses further away from the entrance and out of a direct line of light coming from above.

When he retreats far enough into the shadows where he cannot be immediately spotted, he comes to a halt and pulls out his cigs.

I follow him quietly and position myself by his side.

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