Page 81 of Heartless Game

I nodded. “Almost everything I know about you, Isaac, I know from investigating.”

“Snooping,” he interjected.

“Whatever. I want to know more about you becauseyoutold me. So, tell me about your tattoos.”

After a moment, he nodded. Taking my right hand in his, he linked our fingers and guided it to his tricep.

“I started the sleeve when I was fourteen. Didn’t even know it was going to be a sleeve back then. Most Jewish people—well, you know why we don’t get tattoos. But my father likes to be a rule breaker, so he made all his sons get tattoos. Liza got them too, so she wasn’t left out.” He smiled at that. “Anyway, my brothers and I all got a tattoo of a typical-looking gangster from the 20s. We all thought it was pretty badass.”

I leaned down, kissing the tattoo of the gangster. “I’m sure it was—to a fourteen-year-old boy.”

He snorted. “Don’t you start, Millennial Pink.”

“What about this?” I asked, dragging our fingers over the huge pool of blood.

His smile disappeared. “I’ve had nightmares for years about my mother’s death. Reuben—stupidly—thought if I tattooed it to my body, it would be cathartic somehow. Stop the nightmares from coming.”

“Did it?” I asked softly.

Isaac shook his head. “No. I had the nightmares multiple times a week—until you started sleeping in our bed.”

“Oh,” I said.

The implication was almost too much to digest. That I might be the reason he wasn’t having nightmares anymore, that he might be healing…it couldn’t be true.

That the bed wasours.

“Oh,” he mimicked, and a dimple popped.

It was the first time I’d ever seen him dimple naturally when it was just us. I wanted to photograph it. For evidence, and later, when this was all over, for the memory.

I swallowed, changing the subject. “And this one?” I asked, trailing our fingers lower.

“The snake. It’s a constant warning not to fall for my father’s tricks.”

I nodded, finally asking the question that had been plaguing me. “And what about the tattoo on your back?”

Isaac closed his eyes. “The wall is a symbol for my fate. The dying vine is a reminder that no matter how hard I try to climb over it, I’ll never be able to get out.”

Oh, god.

God.

Isaac had told me as much when he’d first kidnapped me, hadn’t he? That he was trapped? Trapped, like I was. By the same man. By his father. We both wanted our freedom from Abe Silver.

And neither of us would ever get it.

My heart rose and fell, rose and fell, from the breathtakingly sweet and devastatingly sad knowledge. We were both that dying vine.

Was there any way I could bring it back to life?

“We’re not so different,” I murmured to him.

“Yeah?” With his free hand, he reached up to cup my cheek, slowly dragging me down until our lips were only a breath apart.

“Yeah,” I breathed against them, and he kissed me.

It was different from any kiss we’d ever had before. There was no ownership in it, no dominance or demand. We met as equals, not opponents. Instead of a power struggle, there was kindness, tenderness. An understanding that said,I see you. Even with my eyes closed, I see you. I know you.

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