Page 16 of Isaac

My entire world pinpoints to the man who moves to stand in front of me all of a sudden, the man I know very well, the man who violently killed his father, the man who was in prison for this crime, the man who I’m supposed to send back there.

"Isaac." He extends his hand for a shake. "Welcome to Purgatory." The corner of his mouth twitches as if he is trying hard not to smirk. And then I realize… his voice. It's the same voice—a low velvety rumble—that haunted my dreams since my encounter with a stranger in the casino bathroom. It’s the voice of a man who held my life in his hands with me never laying eyes on his face.

Well, I have that opportunity now—to look my fill, to memorize the lines of his features, the brown eyes that hold mischief and secrets, the nose remarkably straight for someone who’s been in the lockup, the cleanly shaved square jaw, the faded trace of a scar across his throat, the mouth that seems a little too big when he smiles. Just like he’s smiling at me now as he’s shaking my hand.

His grip is tight despite his hand not being overly large and his fingers are long and slender. They could be the fingers of someone who plays the piano. But they belong to the criminal mastermind behind the elusive Hellhounds and I have to remind this fact to myself.

The air between us is charged with an unspoken recognition, a shared secret. And for a brief moment, the two of us are engaged in a silent battle of gazes, and his is sharp as a knife,cutting through me. And right before we break the handshake, I feel something squeezing in my chest and then twisting my gut as if Thoreau can see me, can read my mind, can tell who I am and why I’m here.

There's heat radiating from his skin where it comes in contact with mine and I withdraw my hand first.

"Hawk, right?" he says, immediately hiding his own hand in the pocket of his slacks.

"Yes," I choke out, trying to sound humble. "Thanks for giving me a chance."

"Don’t thank me." Thoreau jerks his chin toward Jeremy standing off to the side. "If my head of security thinks you’re a good fit for Purgatory, then that’s that."

"New guy is alright, boss," someone pipes up.

"Keep it up," is the last thing Thoreau says to me before he’s dragged away by Marco and Ricky.

I'm left standing under low bar lighting that flickers intermittently like a poorly played Morse code message, fending off unsolicited advances from Janine, one of the waitresses.

Janine's usual territory is catering to the high rollers in the VIP section upstairs. She could be invaluable when it comes to hearing muffled whispers worth knowing. Despite her helpfulness though, there's an edge of complication with her—hands too quick to casually skim across forearms, too many lingering glances that tell me they are more than just friendly affection.

An uneasy feeling prickles at my neck. I’m not sure I’m willing to sleep with someone for information. Although it’s against the rules and is heavily judged within our circle if it does happen, some undercover agents follow that route. Bureau regulations and personal ethics aside, practical and other complications always come along with sleeping your way into secrets.

Consent.

Compromised objectivity.

Danger to the mission.

In the end, it's just not worth it—getting physically involved with someone who works at the club. That's what I keep telling myself, at least, as my eyes keep darting to Isaac, who's immersed in conversation with several staff members. Contrary to what I expected, he doesn’t smile often. Almost never. And I wonder why he did so with me.

Was it a warning?

Was he mocking me?

I can't seem to shake the tension that coils in my stomach. It tightens its grip on me every time my gaze meets Thoreau’s.

"Listen up, boys!" Jessica calls out, vaulting herself onto a chair that Jeremy holds firmly for her. "And girls," she adds, shooting Janine a stare. "The highlight of our scandalous little mixers has finally arrived." She launches both hands into the air.

The room responds immediately; resounding cheers crack the silence like an arrhythmic heartbeat, woven together by sharp whistles and tipsy applause that drowns the hollow corners of the room.

"We’re going to give out some prizes now!" Jessica continues. She motions at Isaac who’s retreated to the corner. He’s leaning against the wall, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up and arms crossed on his chest. "Please give a round of applause to our wonderful employer who puts up with assholes like us every day."

Laughter dances in scattered echoes around the space.

I'm rooted to the spot, patiently waiting and wondering what it’s all about.

"Let’s kick off this shindig by announcing our most popular bartender of the month!" Jessica shouts and claps furiously. Caught in her own buzzed storm of delight, she swings wildly,teetering precariously on her chair. Jeremy swoops in, steadying his sister before gravity can claim its victory.

Before I can even catch up with what just happened, Jessica’s already announcing a name. "Caleb Wesley!"

The ex-military guy.

The crowd parts and Caleb walks over to the chair Jessica is occupying. On the table behind her, there’s a large box and she gives some sort of signal to her brother and Jeremy retrieves what appears to be… a credit card? Or a gift card?

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