Page 3 of Isaac

Old fart could just be playing me for a fool... Or he is being very careful because his boss's friend could be someone who is protecting his privacy.

Studying the man's face for any signs of deceit, I weigh my options in my mind. The prospect of joining forces or even just considering it with someone who is a friend of someone as powerful as Avagyan is tempting, but I can't shake the nagging feeling that there's something Vartan isn't telling us.

I don't like it.

I don't like to go in blind.

"Fine," I say finally, making my decision. "You have two weeks. I'm sure you get the need for more information before making a big decision. And what you're talking about is no small thing."

"Understandable," Vartan agrees, nodding once. "We'll provide you with the answer soon. And should you choose to proceed, rest assured that our partnership will be... profitable."

Profitable.

The word hangs heavy in the air, filled with promise and danger. And adrenaline that usually comes with this danger. Adrenaline is the only way for me to feel things these days.

And I know all too well the costs of entangling myself in this world. I saw it firsthand. I saw how my mother suffered. I see how others do but the world is cruel. Just because you're a good person, it won't leave you alone and let you live a simple happy life. It'll fuck you up. One way or another.

For now, though, I simply nod in acknowledgment, unwilling to commit until I have all the facts except for the fact that this new, very private friend of David Avagyan is possibly dealing some serious firepower.

As the meeting comes to its logical end, Jeremy insists on a round of drinks. "Let's drink then."

He motions to one of Vartan's men, who steps forward with a bottle of cognac and begins pouring generous portions into our glasses. Waitresses don't come into these meetings. They are innocent bystanders who tend to get killed by simply serving to people like us. So I prefer Purgatory staff stay away when business talks take place here.

I accept the glass handed to me and take a small sip, letting the velvety liquor roll over my tongue. It's smooth, with hints of oak and spice, the kind of quality that doesn't come cheap. Vartan always did have expensive taste.

"This is good stuff," Jeremy remarks casually, twirling the glass in his fingers. "Hits the spot."

Vartan inclines his head in acknowledgment of the compliment. "Only the finest for you, my friends."

As the guests begin to filter out of the room a little later, I find myself lost in thought, my hyperactive mind racing with questions.

What does this alliance mean for me, for my crew, for my family?

Can I really trust these men or am I inviting disaster into our home?

"Hey, boss," one of my guys, Seven, calls from across the room, snapping me out of my trance. "You gonna stick around for a bit? We're moving to the Golden Room. Len's ordering some pizza."

My men, known as the Hellhounds, are simple. They like beer, fast cars, and easy women. And here, in Purgatory, or in the casino the club is located at, there is always plenty of that. They don't give a rat's ass about the expensive cognac Vartan likes. Because most of my men are what society once neglected for no fault of their own. They'd be happy to have a bed and a plate of food. They can get all of that here if they give their lives to the Thoreau family.

"Thanks, man," I tell Seven as I rise up from my chair. "Probably not tonight." I force a smile. "Got some things to take care of."

"Alright, suit yourself, boss." He shrugs, disappointment flickering across his face. "Catch you later."

With a curt nod, I make my way to the exit.

"Come on, dude." Jeremy catches up with me when I'm about to walk out the door. He claps me on the shoulder lightly but withdraws his hand almost immediately. "Celebrate with us."

"Come on, Blade. For real!" Marco chimes in, his grin infectious. "You never let loose. Just for tonight, huh?"

"Sorry, guys," I say, trying to sound more apologetic than I feel. Their camaraderie is a temporary salve, but I need space to think, to process the events of the night, to consider all the possible outcomes of this endeavor in the future.

"Ricky already called the girls," Ocho pipes up from the very back of the room.

Ricky wiggles his eyebrows suggestively at me. He's already drunk. Vartan's cognac made his ass stupid. "I got you two, boss. Be a waste if you leave now."

"You can have them," I tell him and step out of the room.

"Why you're bringing up chicks again, you fool," is the last thing I hear Jeremy tell Ricky. "You know boss doesn't participate."

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