Page 63 of The Broker

He left him.

His brother had used him. Used him to distract the old man, then threw him into the owner as he ran off to save his own ass. Declan had left him there to get arrested, or God knows what. The old man could have had a gun. He could have taken out his revenge on Isaac and beat his face in.

But Declan didn’t care. He just left him there to suffer his own fate.

Hate was the only emotion currently flowing through Isaac’s veins. The man was his older brother. He was supposed to protect him, be there for him, and always have his back. Instead, the selfish asshole betrayed him, then got himself arrested, leaving him alone with the monster of a man he used to call his uncle.

“What? Shocked by how handsome I look?” Declan added, running his rough hands across his chin.

When Isaac didn’t answer, Declan’s eyes grew dark.

“If ye won’t get out on your own, I’ll drag you out of there myself,” he growled, his Irish accent coming out thick.

Without waiting, the beast of a man reached in and yanked Isaac out of the vehicle like he weighed nothing.

Isaac was five-foot-ten, not short by any means. It appeared that years behind bars had built up Declan’s strength and, apparently, his aggression. Not that the man wasn’t an angry asshole to begin with.

Oof.His body landed on the ground hard.Fucking, asshole.

Isaac glared up at the smirking Neanderthal standing over him. If there were one man he could stab in the face, it would be his brother.

“This way, you little shit.” His brother fixed his leather jacket, then began walking toward an old building that looked like it hadn’t been open in years.

A tall, burly man with unkept hair and an oversized jacket tugged Isaac to his feet before forcing him to march after his brother.

As they approached the back door, two men holding machine guns nodded to Declan. The man on the left opened the door for them and stepped back so Declan and his group could pass.

They walked through a long hallway, then down a metal staircase, until they finally reached a room that looked like a poor man’s version of an office. Matteo would be mortified if he saw the state of this place. Knowing him, he would get one of his men to douse the place in gasoline, then throw a lit cigarette into the room and smile as the flames danced in his eyes.

Goodbye to such an offense against civilized taste.

He wished that Matteo were here right now.

Declan shoved Isaac down onto the sofa. Pulling a knife out of his back pocket, Declan used it to cut the zip ties that bound Isaac’s wrists.

Fuck.

Isaac stared up at the man who had once been his older brother. Ever since Isaac made the decision to flee Ireland, he washed himself of all things that connected him to his former life—his uncle, his brother, even his name.

Isaac had settled in London after he first ran off. He didn’t have any money, so he relied on hitchhiking and panhandling to get him across the country and far enough away from his former life to make him feel safe—well, somewhat safe.

The first few months had been a constant struggle. He’d been living on the streets and trying to earn enough cash to buy bread to eat and sometimes a warm place to sleep.

Eventually, Isaac learned that in order to survive, he needed to do things that he wouldn’t normally do or that were… a tad… questionable.

He learned to pick-pocket and take advantage of unlocked cars or unsupervised delivery trucks. He even learned quickly that there were certain types of men who enjoyed the company of desperate young men. Using his youth and charm—however rough it may be—Isaac began seeking out the company of other gentlemen who were looking for a little company and who enjoyed spoiling young men. It was easy money, and it beat going to jail for stealing.

From across the room, Isaac watched as his brother grabbed two beers from his mini-fridge and brought them back over to the sofa.

“Here,” he said, holding out a beer for Isaac to take.

Reluctantly, he took the bottle and took a swig, partly because he was thirsty after being trapped in that sauna of a box.

“So. You’re still alive,” Declan remarked, taking a seat next to him. “When I heard you’d run off, I figured for sure a weakling like you would have died in the gutter somewhere. Imagine my surprise when I get a call from Uncle Jeb telling me that you’re still alive.”

“And here I thought you were still in prison,” Isaac shot back. “Guess we were both disappointed.

“Aye. Got out of that hellhole a few years back. Served my time, then came home to discover that Uncle Jed was in jail, and you’d run off.”

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