Page 58 of Isaac

"Good night," Isaac says, turning around and walking away.

I stand there, alone and stupefied, until his silhouette disappears behind the door.

Back in the hotel room, I take a seat on the edge of the bed, my fingers tapping restlessly against my thigh. The walls feel as if they're closing in on me, suffocating me with their relentless proximity.

What the fuck do I do?

What the fuck do I do about these dumb, confusing feelings suddenly developing toward Isaac?

Is it pity?

Is it understanding?

Or is it something else?

CHAPTER 18

ISAAC

The warehouse we’re in is a monument to the darker deeds of the Thoreau family. A legal piece of property owned by a shell corporation that’s in a place owned by someone else who exists only on paper. The trail will never lead to me or my guys.

Inside, the air is thick with the stench of oil and sweat. I stand in the shadows, watching as Jeremy paces like a caged animal in front of Lonny, who's tied to a chair that seems as rickety as his courage. We picked him up on the streets last night.

"Talk," Jeremy growls, his voice a blade sharpened on the whetstone of impatience.

I step closer, my hands buried deep in the pockets of my slacks, toying with the cold metal of the lighter that reminds me of Hawk and that impossible buzzing closeness between us the other day on the rooftop when we shared a cigarette.

I realign my focus, attempting to discard the constant reverberations of him through my skull - but it's a fight that leaves me winded.

I remember his scent mixing with mine and the echo of his soft mouth welcoming my own.

Fuck. Another distraction I don’t need right now.

In front of me, Lonny's eyes are darting around, seeking an escape where there is none. His lips quiver, and for a moment, he looks like a child lost in a nightmare. But this is no dream. This is my world.

"Fuck… you," Lonny spits out, blood and defiance staining his words.

With a swift motion, Jeremy backhands him. The sound echoes off the concrete walls, a gunshot without a bullet. Blood arcs from Lonny's split lip, painting a crimson crescent on the floor. It's visceral, this violence, but necessary. Like surgery. You cut to heal.

"Wrong answer," Jeremy says, each syllable laced with a promise of more pain.

"Isaac..." Lonny's gaze finds mine, a silent plea. "Come on, man… Tell your dog to stop already. I don’t know anything."

"Jeremy's not the one you should be worried about," I say, my voice calm, detached. "You know what happens if we don't get what we need."

Jeremy raises his fist, ready to send another blow into Lonny’s already purple face. Lonny’s Adam's apple bobs as he swallows the fear that must taste like bile at the back of his throat. "Okay, okay," he blurts out. "I heard...there were some guys for hire. New blood. They got paid big for...for the job…That’s all I know…I swear."

"Where?" Jeremy demands, knuckles white, prepared to unleash hell again.

Lonny looks at me once more, perhaps seeing the finality in my eyes, the closing of doors. There's a moment when the world holds its breath, waiting. Then, with a whimper that carves through the tension, Lonny starts to speak.

"Auto repair shop," he chokes out, the words tumbling with bloodied spit. "On the corner of South and 3rd... They hang there." His eyes are wild, swinging between Jeremy and me,seeking some semblance of mercy in this merciless place. "Don’t tell anyone I told you. These guys are crazy. They’ll end me the minute they figure out it was me."

"Got a name?" Jeremy's voice is still that same low intimidating growl, barely containing his fury.

"Ask around for...for Razor."

Jeremy nods at me, a silent question—do we believe him?

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