Page 4 of Isaac

Then their voices disappear behind the wall of music as I descend the circular stairs.

Your father's son...

The words reverberate through my skull, taunting me like poisoned barbs.

Can I ever truly escape my past? Or will they forever haunt me, like ghosts chained to my soul?

The truth is, I don't know if I can ever be free of my Jacob Thoreau's legacy, but I'll be damned if I don't try.

CHAPTER 2

ISAAC

The neon lights flash a kaleidoscope of colors across the casino floor below, a blend of dark and bright spots in a dizzying dance. I lean against the railing on the second-floor balcony, looking down at the frenetic energy that vibrates through Eclipse like it's a fucking living thing.

My cousin Georgie, aka The Fat Fuck, stands beside me, his eyes narrowing as he surveys the scene.

He's not really my cousin. More like a cousin of a cousin of someone who screwed my cousin. He took over some of the managerial duties at Eclipse while I was away. Before that, the casino was handled by his father, whose relation to me I also could never figure out.

I don't like Georgie.

He doesn't like me either. But Purgatory and Eclipse can't exist without each other. Purgatory is where the family launders the majority of their money now. Georgie's old man fucked up a long time ago and forgot to clean up a couple of his messes which led the FBI to his doorstep. So Eclipse can't wash those dollars anymore. At least not until the coast is clear.

When it will be clear no one really knows.

"Isaac, my man," Georgie says, his voice barely audible over the cacophony of slot machines and laughter. "I need your opinion on something."

I glance at him, one eyebrow raised in curiosity. "What's up?"

He hesitates, chewing on his bottom lip. If given an opportunity he'd chew it off completely. The asshole would eat his own mother, for fuck's sake. "I have a feeling there's something going on that shouldn't be. Something fishy."

"You have a feeling, huh?" I chuckle darkly, mostly to myself. "Is that a gut feeling, by any chance?" I drop my gaze at his stomach. Poor dude probably hasn't seen his dick in years.

Georgie has the audacity to look offended. He huffs but says nothing else.

"Look,fishydoesn't tell me much, Georgie. I need more details."

And sadly, no matter how much I hate this fuck, he's been at the casino longer than I have been at the club. If he thinks something is wrong, chances are, he's right. The first thing all members of our family are trained on when we start helping with business is how to spot people or activities that take our money away.

I straighten from my slouch, running a hand through my dark, slightly gelled hair. I don't particularly enjoy styling it, but if I don't, it just sticks into each and every direction. Not a good look on someone in my position. "Tell me what you've seen," I prompt. "Anything out of the ordinary, anyone who looks out of place."

"Possibly," Georgie admits, frustration creeping into his tone. "Listen I know a lot of shit is happening in this building but I also know all the people we're doing business with."

"Alright," I say slowly, my eyes scanning the floor once more, but it's impossible to see something in that chaos unless youknow what to look for. "Are you saying someone unauthorized is doing business inside Eclipse?"

He slowly tips his chin. "You have a couple of minutes to look at some security footage?"

I glance at my Rolex to check the time. I don't really have to be anywhere in the next hour. Jeremy is supposed to pick a new security for the club to replace Jaheim who got himself arrested, but I trust Jeremy completely to make that decision. Sometimes, he likes to run some men by me but I'm not looking to add anyone to my actual crew right now. Just a solid guard, so the club is covered. Most people who work at Purgatory don't know what we do behind closed doors. I'm of the opinion that the fewer employees all up in my business, the safer that business will be.

"Come," Georgie says, motioning for me to follow him.

We leave the balcony and make our way down a curving, intimately lit hallway. The sound of slots gets thinner and thinner as we continue on until we stop in front a small, nondescript door hidden in the shadows of the corridor.

Georgie punches in a code and the door clicks open.

We step inside the room where the air is stale and stuffy and smells like potato chips and cheap coffee. Rows of monitors cover the walls, each showing a different part of the casino—the slot machines, the tables, the entrance.

A bored-looking guard sits at the desk, scrolling on his phone. He glances up when we enter, then scrambles to his feet.

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