Page 13 of Isaac

"He seems okay so far. Knows how to control the crowd and keep it cool."

"Okay, let's see how long he lasts."

And what I actually mean is that if he asks to speak to HR about someone holding him at gunpoint in the casino restroom, then he's definitely not the man for the job.

CHAPTER 6

DALLAS

I stand at the edge of the floor, rigorously scanning the crowd, searching for any hint of suspicious activity. So far, my nights working security in this club—supposedly notorious for its illegal dealings—have been disappointingly mundane. I get to watch a mass of bodies sway, pulse, and grind to the rhythmic beat of the music that vibrates deep in my chest and my head is ringing by the end of the shift. Despite the earplugs.

I take it upon myself to quietly start deciphering the people who work here.

Are there any weak links?

Anyone accidentally spilling secrets?

But the majority of the Purgatory employees don't make it easy. They aren't talkative. The only phrases exchanged are usually from another bouncer landing a hearty thump onto my shoulder followed by the routine check-in one-liner: "All good, Hawk?"

"Same as usual," I would reply, keeping my expression neutral.

At this point, I’ve crossed paths with everyone whose photo was pinned to Jason’s whiteboard back in the FBI building. Allthe Hellhounds key players: Jeremy Ramirez, Donald "Ocho" Delgado, Colt "Seven" Adamski, Ricky Rott, Marco Elrod.

Yet, beneath Hawk's nonchalant exterior grows a nibbling frustration due to the lack of progress in the investigation.

Isaac Thoreau—the inscrutable leader of the Hellhounds I'm supposed to be getting close to remains an enigma. He keeps slipping away like quicksilver from grasp.

The opportunity—or more like opportunities—present itself on my third week at the club when I arrive for my shift earlier than usual to see if I can quietly canvas the area. I'm aware there are security cameras everywhere and I know I have to be creative with how I approach this task. That's why I need help. And I’ve got just the man in mind.

Colt Adamski.

Who simply goes by Seven.

As I'm changing into my suit in the back room, he walks in. He’s always the first one to arrive and he is one of the biggest guys working here, head and shoulders above the rest, with heavily muscled arms, a square jaw, thick brows, and an easy smile that doesn’t go with the rest of his appearance.

Adamski and Isaac met in prison, and I've zeroed in on him for this very reason.

"Hey, Hawk," Seven calls out, approaching his own locker while I’m pretending to be changing into my suit. In reality, I’ve been fumbling with the buttons on my shirt for a good ten minutes.

"Seven." I nod. "What's up?"

"Ah, you know, same old." He chuckles, running a hand through his short-cropped hair. "How are you settling into the job? Getting used to working here?"

I give a shrug. "Well enough. Still getting familiar with how things operate."

"You from Arizona, right?"

"Phoenix."

Seven pulls his locker door open. "Never been."

"You're not missing much. Hot as fuck and no opportunities to make decent money." I'm hoping Seven takes the bait but when he pulls out his suit from the locker, he changes the topic. "You're coming to our monthly team meeting next week, right?"

"Wasn't aware," I reply, feigning ignorance while my mind races.

"Consider yourself informed then," Seven says, grinning. "Gotta come, man. It's a good time, and Isaac always makes it worth our while."

The mention of Isaac Thoreau has all my senses spiking. "The owner?" I ask matter-of-factly.

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