Page 99 of Isaac

"I heard it in passing," Jeremy says. "Wasn’t approaching anyone on purpose."

My mind continues to churn. So does my gut.

"Boss," Jeremy whispers. "The Enclave is always the last one to find out about shit but if they’re in on it, then it’s not just some BS."

Sadly, he’s right.

"Come on, Blade. Don’t be fucking weak. You know Hawk is bad news. We been fucked left and right ever since he stepped foot into Purgatory. My sources are solid. I can feel it too. The Russian is too big of a fish for the Feds not to get involved."

"Okay, let’s say you’re right. Let’s say there’s a rat. Either way, we can't let this distract us from our main objective."

"Of course not," Jeremy agrees. "We just need to be careful, that's all. I think putting a hold on the next shipment to Toro is wise. We can't afford to take any unnecessary risks right now."

"He won’t be happy if the deliveries stop," I counter. "And you’ve seen what can happen if Toro isn’t happy." I don’t elaborate but we both know I’m referring to the incident with the axe last year when we witnessed the man’s thirst for blood firsthand.

"Blade, come on."

"Just do as I say."

"Fine," Jeremy relents, raising his hands in a placating gesture and slowly stepping back toward the door. "But don’t tell me I didn’t warn you when the law knocks on our door with a warrant. Or worse—to arrest us all."

I don’t comment. My mind is preoccupied with the new information. But mostly I’m trying to rationalize and maybe even justify Hawk’s appearing at the club right before shit for my boys and me started to go sideways.

Later that night, I’m sitting on the edge of my bed in my condo and staring at the city lights outside my window, trying to find some solace in their distant glow. But there's no comfort to be found, not with the weight of Jeremy's words still pressing downon me. The risk–it's always been there, lying in wait just beneath the surface of our lives.

And now, for the first time ever, I’m contemplating the path I've tread.

There’s no understanding why. Maybe because a part of me yearns to disregard Jeremy’s judgment. To convince myself that Hawk is real.

At least he felt real the other night when he was next to me, warm and naked. Or when he sucked my cock in the office of Purgatory a few days later.

Am I being blind?I ask myself in the privacy of my mind. The thought flies into the darkness, but there's no answer, only the oppressive silence that's come to define my existence on nights like this.

I run my hands through my hair and exhale a heavy sigh, suddenly feeling as if I'm suffocating within the confines of my own skin.

"Fuck," I mutter, pushing myself up from the bed and pacing the room. My thoughts race, each more chaotic than the last, until they're all I can hear—a messy blend of doubts and fears that threatens to drown out everything else. And amidst it all, one thing becomes painfully clear: I can't keep going like this. First, it’s Jessica. Then it’ll be someone else.

Things have to change.

I just don’t know what yet.

Several days pass, and the tension within me only grows, fueled by my newfound awareness of the fragility of our situation. On one hand, we have Russian oligarch Solovey and on the other end of this thread, there’s a cartel’s madman Toro.

And we can’t make either one of them angry.

That would be suicidal.

Instead, I throw myself into work with a single-minded intensity, tearing through tasks with a manic focus bred from desperation, hoping for a distraction. After all, Purgatory won’t run itself and I’m not just a poster boy. But it's a futile effort–my thoughts are never far from the danger that surrounds us. Or Hawk, whose presence in the club is like a six-foot-one reminder of my growing obsession.

I tell myself to keep my distance. Yet, again, I end up sneaking into the empty break room right before his shift. What self-control was preaching just seconds ago gives way once again to unruly desires.

I escape into his arms, kissing him like we're two stars drawn into an inevitable collision course. Our mouths meld together and he tastes both desperate and divine—the flavor one encounters when they’re teetering dangerously close to surrendering all reason.

And the risk of being discovered like this keeps stoking fires inside me.

And after I’ve had enough to tide me over another day, I take my silent exit. I slink into my dark world where rules made for the masses are meant to broken, where we have our own rules, where I have people collecting information on Cody Smith. But he’s real. Palpable and bone-deep authentic in his black suit and with his stoic expression.

He’s as real as it gets. At least on paper, and Jeremy’s words ring hollow in my head.

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