Page 35 of Isaac

I don't wait for the girl’s answer, knowing that she needs time to process everything that has happened along with my offer.

Instead, I say, "You know there’s a club downstairs?"

She nods.

"Come by if you decide you want my help. Ask for Jeremy or Isaac. Give your name to one of the bartenders or a bouncer."

She nods again.

"You can stay here tonight. The room is paid for," I tell her as I exit.

Marco follows me.

We head for the elevator without exchanging a word.

CHAPTER 12

DALLAS

Strange things have been happening at Purgatory lately.

The spotlight of my intrigue inevitably lands on an unusual newcomer—a young girl, possibly Russian, judging by the accent I overheard—who started working here a few days ago.

She made her first appearance one dusk-soaked evening. Just walked in and headed for the bar as if she knew who to ask. The worn jeans and the T-shirt looked ill-fitted on her thin frame, just like her porcelain doll-like face and huge eyes didn’t seem to belong in this place.

The following evening, however, she upgraded from raggedy civilian to club gear: a standard-issue Purgatory tee and a pair of dark work pants. And then she shadowed Caleb in the back.

It made zero sense.

If anything, waiting tables in the VIP would bring her greater tips, but there was an underlying question that clouded my mind: was she even old enough?

Her duties involved washing dishes and keeping canned goods in storage in neat rows. Sometimes, I’d spot her with a mop, scrubbing floors in the break room.

Each random encounter with this girl would only strengthen my suspicion about her real age.

Of course, I don't have any proof, but that doesn't stop me from digging.

And at times, the digging involves going straight to the source, which I attempt one evening before my shift.

"Hey," I call out as the girl passes me in the hallway, carrying a stack of plates. "How are you?" I try to sound casual. Just a fellow co-worker being curious. Although she seems very quiet, I’ve seen her talking to Marco a few times. "What's your name?" Another weird thing is that she has no name tag and no one introduced her to the team.

The girl doesn’t slow her pace. She simply glances at me over her shoulder and finally asks snappily before rounding the corner, "What’s yours?"

She’s going to be a tough one to crack.

Still, the mystery of her presence at Purgatory gnaws at me. I know that sooner or later, I'll have to find out exactly what's going on with this girl. But for now, I have other matters to attend to, like figuring out who broke into my apartment.

Nothing seems amiss when I return there early morning after my shift. Everything looks just like I left it, but something feels off when I step into the shower.

It’s only when reach for my shampoo bottle, I realize it's turned at a slightly different angle than usual.

My heart tightens in my chest, all my senses are on high alert.

Wrapping a towel around my waist, I pad cautiously to the living room, eyes scanning for any other disturbances.

My laptop catches my attention; the white speck on the letter 'R' key is gone. I glance at a book on the edge of the table, noticing the hair I'd placed across the pages has snapped.

Fuck.

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