Page 106 of Isaac

As I stand there, still reeling from what I just did, the dry desert air bites into my skin, but it does nothing to soothe the storm of emotions raging inside me.

Isaac's presence beside me is both comforting and unsettling.

"Got a smoke?" I ask, my voice a tight whisper.

"Sure," he replies, handing me a cigarette. He lights it for me, and I take a deep drag, letting the nicotine calm my frayed nerves.

"Tell me we did the right thing," I say, exhaling smoke into the darkness.

Isaac turns to face me and looks at me with those smoldering brown eyes, full of understanding and something else I can't quite place. "Tucci was scum, you know that. If we hadn't taken him out, he'd just keep ruining more lives." His words reassure me, but they don't entirely chase away the guilt gnawing at my conscience.

I simply nod and take another long drag.

"Children should remain children for as long as they can," Isaac murmurs. There's something in his tone, a kind of dark resolve I don’t quite understand. There are a lot of things I actually don’t understand about Isaac Thoreau. I’d like to. I’m wondering if he’ll let me.

We stand there in silence for a moment, our breaths mingling in the hot air as we share this twisted unspoken bond. I want to hate him for what he made me do, but I simply can’t because it was the right call.

It's strange how a single violent act has brought us closer together in our shared culpability.

"It’s what we do," Isaac supplies. "The dirty work no one else dares." He sticks his cigarette into the corner of his lips and reaches into the space between us, his hand finding mine. It’s an offer of comfort, but he's hesitant, unsure. Perhaps he realizes that there are fractions of me that do hate him for putting me through the wringer.

But parts of me that crave his conform are greater. I tip my chin slightly, giving him permission, and he gently takes hold of my hand, his grip surprisingly warm and steady and familiar.

"I am sorry," he whispers.

"Nothing to forgive," I reply, not fully comprehending why he feels the need to apologize. But I can see it in his eyes–the burden of the choices he has to make for everyone’s sake. All these things have led him here, to this very second, and maybe, just maybe, we're both seeking absolution.

"Boss!" Jeremy shouts, suddenly emerging conspicuously from the warehouse's gaping mouth. "Boys wanna know where you want the body dumped?" His heavy footfalls approach us quickly, boots scraping on gravel, eyes flickering between Isaac and me as if he's walked in on something he wasn't supposed to see. His scar pulls at the edges as he continues to scrutinize us.

We're standing too close, so near that I can almost feel Isaac’s pulse against my skin. We clumsily disentangle ourselves but not before Jeremy clocks our intimacy. There's obvious suspicion in his tone as he queries again, "Boss?"

I try to shake off the intensity of our shared moment but I’m certain Jeremy’s seen it.

The air changes, suddenly heavy with the scent of blood and gunpowder, a grim reminder of the life that has been snuffed out.

Isaac locks eyes with me for one heartbeat longer than he needs to before turning his attention to his henchman. "Take it to the spot by the river," he commands thinly veiling the tension in his voice. "Make sure it's weighed down and hidden well. No loose ends."

"Got it," Jeremy growls, his dark eyes still flicking between the two of us.

"Ask Flynn to drive me back to the club," Isaac orders and starts walking toward the SUV parked nearby.

As I watch him climb in, I find myself alone under Nevada's sprawling star-infused canvas, my gloomy thoughts in sync with my sick stomach. I swallow hard against acid-flavored bile rising in my throat, pushing it down.

Not the time to fall apart, Hawk.

As soon as Flynn gets behind the wheel of an SUV and drives off with Isaac in the passenger seat, Jeremy shows up from the warehouse again, grabs the worn cotton neckline of my tee—stinking of sweat and adrenaline—and yanks me around the corner shielded from everyone's view.

I don't resist him. I see little point in it.

Jeremy's gonna think what he wants.

"Listen here, Hawk," he growls, his face inches from mine, anger burning in his flint-hard gaze. "I don't know what your game is, but I've got my eye on you. You may have Isaac fooled, but not me."

My back is flat against the cool metal wall. I'm sandwiched between steel and raw aggression. With a simple pivot on my heel I could knock him off-kilter if I wanted to—but if this man is still doubting my loyalty after witnessing me bloody my hands for Isaac...reasoning seems futile.

"Okay," I say curtly, not allowing his stream of doubt to unsettle me further.

"Isaac is my family," Jeremy continues, his voice low and dangerous. "If anything happens to him because of you, I'll kill you with my bare hands. Don't think I won't."

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