Page 51 of Isaac

"Tonight is the night, man," I say insistently, my eyes briefly resting on Hawk.

When Rick uncorks the whiskey and begins to pour shots with practiced ease, Marco and Hector politely refuse their shares.

"Someone’s gotta stay sober, boss," Marco murmurs when I nudge a glass toward him.

I nod. I understand what he means. He doesn’t say it out loud but we could get ambushed here too. It’s not unheard of.

As shots tumble down countless throats around me chasing away remnants of unease, compliments about the rich whiskey quickly fill up vacant conversational spaces.

Is it good?

Beats me—it was gifted by a business acquaintance halfway across the world in Asia—never found anappropriateoccasion to break out such an expensive strain till this very moment.

Letting loose isn’t usually my thing but considering how topsy-turvy life has been lately—I welcome anything that would provide brief respite. The scalding liquid fire is often just that. A buffer against the internal mayhem gnawing at my gut.

After my second shot, I allow myself to steal another glance at Hawk, who sits silently in the corner, white-faced andexhausted from blood loss, nursing his own shot like it’s a pint of beer and not an ounce of whiskey.

Deep down I know I should keep my distance, avoid letting my guys think I'm playing favorites, especially since he’s new. But I admit it's hard not to be drawn to him. There’s something about Cody "Hawk" Smith that makes my insides twist up whenever we’re in the same room.

It’s fucking annoying.

Sadly I can’t control it.

"Isaac," Jeremy hisses out, sidling up to me as if he just read my mind. "We never had problems like this before he came along." He nods his head in Hawk's direction.

"I think that’s a stretch."

"He’s a snitch. I can feel it in my gut," Jeremy presses, his whisper low and rusty.

"He saved my life," I reply sharply, unwilling to entertain the idea that Hawk could be involved in today’s snafu back at the meetup place. "Now drop it."

I turn away from Jeremy, trying to focus on the conversation around me. But my eyes keep drifting back to Hawk. And as the whiskey starts to take hold of me, my thoughts suddenly become consumed by him.

"Hit me," I ask Ricky, sliding my empty glass in his direction. He's sharing the last trickles of Japanese whiskey among those brave enough—or foolish enough—to take another round.

"Sure thing, boss." The remaining amber liquid cascades into my glass.

All words desert me as I tilt the glass and let it burn down my throat in one swift action, each sip erasing remnants of the past memories haunting me.

Then an unopened bottle of Patron materializes before me.

I know all too well that mixing under this emotional deluge is a cataclysm waiting to happen. Yet tonight... Tonight calls forsome risky business on account of shoving down reality far deep where it could no longer reach up and claw at my heartstrings.

Marco cracks a joke and the mood shifts, becoming more relaxed as we all try to forget, if only for a few moments, the danger that hangs over our heads like the blade of a guillotine.

Fuzzy clouds begin to fill my head soon.

"Another round?" Ricky asks.

Everyone nods.

I can't bring myself to refuse the offer.

"Boss," Jeremy’s voice says somewhere off to the side. "I think you’ve had enough."

"Not yet," I tell him sharply and gulp down another shot.

My gaze flickers back to Hawk. There's a strange sense of isolation surrounding him, as if he's both physically and emotionally detached from the rest of us. I blame it on his personality and today’s near-death experience. And despite my resolve to maintain my distance, I can’t stop wondering what it would be like to breach that barrier, to know him the way I know the rest of my crew.

---