The Wedding: Enigma, #17

by Shandi Boyes

  Over Brandon and his ridiculous argument, I turn my eyes to the technician pretending not to eavesdrop on our confrontation. “Are we done?”

  “Ah… umm… yes.” He fumbles out a string of other words that follow a similar agreeing pattern.

  “Good, because I’m done with this conversation… and so-called friendship.” I return my eyes to Brandon. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you when you needed me and that you had me on some sort of pedestal I never belonged on, but I will not stand by and listen to you disrespect my husband. I love Isaac. He’s been nothing but honest, protective, and supportive of me from day one. Without him, I wouldn’t be half the woman I am now.”

  Sparks of the old Brandon I once knew shine in his eyes when he stops my dramatic exit by grabbing my wrist. His hold isn’t painful. It’s so gentle, I’m ill-prepared for the scorn of his words when he says, “He does protect and support you, but he is not being honest.” My second eye roll stops halfway when he says, “If he is, you’ll have no trouble answering my next question.”

  I try to act nonchalant, like I’m not holding my breath, impatiently waiting for his question. Isaac has revealed so much of himself to me the last seven months, I truly don’t believe there’s a single thing I don’t know about him—except this.

  “If Isaac is being honest with you, why are the payments he transfers into Ophelia’s account every month coming out of his offshore account?”

  23

  Isaac

  Trust can be greater than love.

  * * *

  Every inch of my nightclub is covered with surveillance cameras. My bar staff has been replaced with undercover operatives, and my office is full-to-the-brim with FBI agents, yet fear still encroaches me. I can’t believe I ever agreed to this. I’ve forever said Isabelle unhinges my levelheadedness in a way no one ever has. Today is proof of this.

  My vehement need to protect her has been running through my veins since the day she bumped into me, but I can’t do that and squash her dreams. She was raised by a man who went above and beyond for strangers, and his protect-and-serve impulses were handed down to Isabelle.

  She saw something in Katie that scared her enough to jump into action, something I’m certain she would have seen in her reflection if her uncle hadn’t risked his career for her.

  As much as this kills me to admit, so did I.

  All I could imagine when I looked at the photographs of Katie was Isabelle and Callie, and the possibility of how different their lives would have been if they didn’t come in contact with the men they had. My life was spared because of a medical miracle. Isabelle and Callie’s were by fate.

  Although I’d prefer for Isabelle to play it safe, fate has a way of pulling you in a direction you never see coming. More times than not, it’s the right direction. I just need my faith in Isabelle to exceed my fear. That doesn’t mean I need to be fearless. I simply need to break through the cloud formed around me until I find a way out of the panic shrouding my astuteness.

  I guess a good starting point is making sure Isabelle isn’t fogged by the same cloud. She also has a way of calming me when things seem to be spiraling.

  “I want to speak with Isabelle before she meets with Kirill.”

  Grayson pivots around to face me. He was observing a bank of monitors tracking Isabelle’s every movement. They show she’s in the process of being transported here. “Sorry, that’s not possible.”

  My reply is more of a growl than actual words. “I wasn’t asking your permission. I’m telling you what’s happening.”

  Grayson can’t see what I can see. He can’t see the deep groove burrowed between Isabelle’s brow. That’s a sign she’s upset. It could be because she’s staring down at her empty ring finger, but my intuition is warning me that isn’t the case. She’s distant even with the eyes of over two dozen men on her. There’s only one time I’ve seen her beautiful eyes so hollow. The night she told me Ophelia was alive and had a son who could have been mine.

  I store my jacket on the coat rack before spinning around to face Alex, rolling up the sleeves of my business shirt on the way. “Have Isabelle brought in via the back entrance. We’ll meet in the storeroom.”

  Even with his brother agreeing to my request with a bob of his chin, Grayson stands to his full height before folding his arms in front of his chest. The arrogant mask slipped over his face is too haughty for my liking. He thinks he’s running the show. I’m tempted to show him he isn’t.

  “As I said, that’s not a possibility. You’re not running this show, Isaac Holt.”

  “You’re in my office, in my club, and that’s my wife, so not only am I going to ensure you don’t fuck this up as you did employing him.” I point my finger at Brandon who has just joined us, doubling the tension in my office. For the first time ever, Alex and I are on the same team. We’re both beyond frustrated by Brandon’s return to Ravenshoe that we’ve been working together the past two weeks to get him out of our town as soon as possible. “I’m going to ensure Isabelle goes into this with a clear head.”

  My knuckles popping echo over the quiet encroaching us when Grayson sneers, “Brandon has the right to be here… unlike you.”

  “I’m also not the one lying to her.”

  Brandon’s words are stern until he’s subjected to my wrath. Then he quivers in his boots like the coward he is. When his eyes stray to Isabelle on the monitor, his game plan becomes exposed.

  “What lie did you tell her this time?” My tone warns my next question won’t be asked with words. I’ll use my fists.

  My anger boils when Brandon smirks smugly but remains quiet. His silence says more than his words ever will. Even with the intangible string between Isabelle and me being too strong to ever snap, he continues nipping at it, praying for the smallest fray in the sturdy material, even if it puts Isabelle’s life at risk. Brandon doesn’t care for Isabelle. He cares about nobody but himself. His actions today prove this without a doubt. Just as mine will as well.

  “Let me guess, you told her about the payments I’m setting up for Ophelia, didn’t you?” Brandon isn’t the only one to gasp in a sharp breath, so do the agents surrounding him. “Did you happen to tell her how I’ll be making the same payments to Theresa, too? Or did you just keep this about Ophelia, so you could hurt Isabelle for the second time?”

  Brandon’s eyes reveal every sordid detail. He wouldn’t tell Isabelle any facts that would remind her of a conversation we had many months ago when Jeremiah reached out to me, pleading for me to visit. With Theresa maintaining her ruse that I’m his father, Jeremiah was made a custodian of the state. When his mother was convicted of corruption and a string of minor charges, Theresa’s parents stepped forward to take care of him. They only have the means to support Jeremiah emotionally, not financially.

  That’s why Isabelle asked me to step in. I have more money than I could use in four lifetimes, but Isabelle’s heart is by far bigger than any of my bank balances. I’m helping both Jeremiah and Bobby for Isabelle. Bobby’s circumstances aren’t any better than Jeremiah’s. His life is just as bleak, so why shouldn’t he be given the same level of care?

  Once I explain my reasoning to Isabelle for the payments commencing at the end of the month, I’m sure she’ll understand my decision to include Bobby. Everything I do and every breath I take is for her, and if the adoration in Isabelle’s eyes is anything to go by when she peers up at the front entrance door of the Dungeon, she knows that.

  She’s spotted the proprietor’s name above the door, the business entity I plan to grow bigger than my empire. The Brahn Group is an affiliate of Colt Enterprises, but it only has one owner—Mrs. Isabelle Brahn Holt. She’ll be solely responsible for how she disburses its profits. If she wants to give it all away as Katarina does, I won’t bat an eyelid. It’s her money, so it’s her choice how it is distributed.

  After settling her tears by biting down on her lower lip, Isabelle glances straight into the camera mounted over the door of h
er club and mouths, “I love you,” in the same manner she did when the footage of her arrest filtered through the courts months ago. She knows I’m watching her—I’m forever watching her.

  Her declaration of love calms my hesitation, liberating me of the fear clouding me. I’ve often said Isabelle’s presence swipes my astuteness. Today, I’m realizing that isn’t necessarily a bad thing. She weakened me before making me stronger. I’m the most fearless I’ve ever been, meaning not a morsel of concern unsettles my qualm when I realize what I must do to show her she is my equal.

  When I crank my neck to Alex, I’m unsurprised to notice Brandon has left the room. There are a lot of cowards in my story, but I’m not one of them. Brandon can’t make the same guarantee. “Keep her safe.”

  As much as it kills me to do, when Alex dips his chin, I walk away, not only placing Isabelle’s safety into the hands of another man but also granting Isabelle a trust I’ve never given anyone.

  What Isabelle said weeks ago was true. Trust is about more than love. To be trusted is the greatest compliment you can give. I love Isabelle more than anything. That alone verifies she’ll forever be safe, and my heart will never again be broken.

  Epilogue

  Isabelle

  A good husband makes a good wife.

  * * *

  March 5…

  * * *

  A ragged breath escapes my lips when the plane suddenly drops. I want to blame turbulence for the animalistic noise tearing from my throat, but that would be a lie. It’s him. Isaac Holt. My husband for the second time in a little over seven months. We’ve been in the air for almost three hours. Excluding the twenty minutes of takeoff, we’ve been going at it the entire time.

  Things have always been fanatical for us, but it grew tenfold when I played an intricate part in the sting that brought Kirill Bobrov down. Three weeks after my meeting with Kirill, Katie Byrne was extracted safely and without injury. The joint FBI-Ravenshoe PD operation also unearthed a way for Enrique to be removed from the Popov entity in a safe, yet unheard of manner.

  As far as the public is aware, Enrique was killed during the coup by a rival Russian associate. Riots were foiled when his ‘murderer’ was found hanging in his prison cell the day after his arraignment. To those in the know, the Russian associate was an undercover operative. His ‘suicide’ was as complexly planned as Rico’s murder. Both men escaped without injury.

  I don’t see that being the case for Kirill. Although he came out of the raid uninjured, he’s facing a maximum sentence for imprisonment, deprivation of liberty, and rape. Katie wasn’t his only victim.

  Although Kirill’s choice in residence added an exhilarating thrill for the locals unaware of how hard Isaac works to keep Ravenshoe safe, his new zip code wasn’t the cause of my heart losing the ability to fit into my chest. It was the man with his head between my legs, eating me hard and fast.

  It would have taken Isaac an immense amount of strength to walk away the day I was interviewed by Kirill. He is a commanding, domineering man who struggles to trust the motives of anyone, but he trusted me enough to believe the words I spoke to him in anger weeks earlier. I love him too much to ever hurt him the way Ophelia did. I would never leave him or place myself in a position that would endanger what we have, and he believed me.

  That day set the bar higher than I ever thought possible. We’re grown since then. We’ve matured, loved, and lost, but we’ve not once lost our faith in one another. Isaac’s vows proved this without a doubt. “You give me a reason to smile, a reason to laugh, and a reason to trust. You are the reason I exist. I was made for you.”

  Our wedding was just as beautiful the second time around as it was the first. We were surrounded by our family and friends, dined at one of Isaac’s many restaurants, and our wedding pictures will be splashed in magazines across the globe.

  It was a truly beautiful day that’s only growing more mesmerizing as Isaac upholds the pledges he whispered in my ear during our reception. He loves the people he classes as his family, but his love for me is even greater than that. It took an immense amount of restraint for him not to whisk me off in the first hour of festivities. I’m sure if Callie hadn’t confused the father and daughter dance, he would have. Mercifully, he’ll never disappoint Callie as he’s never disappointed me.

  My hands shoot down to the thick mane on Isaac’s head when he sucks down hungrily on my clit. It’s still swollen and sensitive from our earlier antics, but the pleasure it rushes through me makes the uncomfortableness worth it. He eats me expertly, every stroke of his tongue and nip of his teeth done with precise accuracy. I purr like a pussycat, loving the sensation prickling the fine hairs on my body.

  The lashes of Isaac’s tongue grow more frantic when my hips instinctively gyrate. I’m shaking all over, my orgasm on the brink.

  “Eyes, Isabelle.” When he gets them, he sinks two fingers inside of me, his eyes never leaving mine. “I’m going to have you wearing this look for days. Only this look.”

  I have no clue about the destination we’re flying to, only that clothes aren’t a necessity. It must be private. Isaac hates another man hearing my cries of ecstasy, so he’d never risk the chance of them seeing my face during it.

  I’m more nervous about keeping up with him and his insatiable needs than I was when standing at the end of the aisle, waiting for the ballad Isaac had written and recorded specially for our nuptials to begin. I had no reason to be fretful. The instant I caught a glimpse of him in his impeccably-tailored black tuxedo with a dark gray vest and tie that matched the ribbon weaved up my corset, my inhibitions instantly evaporated, and time came to a shrieking halt. It was once again just him and me—the man who makes time nonexistent.

  When Isaac’s tongue flicks the sensitive bud of nerves inside me, I grind down on his mouth, desperately sprinting toward the line I’ll never stop chasing.

  “That’s it, baby. Just like that.”

  The hum of the jet’s engines add to the wave his fingers and tongue have formed low in my belly. I ride Isaac’s plunging fingers, taking everything he’s giving. I’m exhausted from our day, but not even his threat to fuck me until we land had me stepping back. I live for this. Our connection. The love displayed in our embraces. Him.

  I cry out when an orgasm hits me hard and fast. Isaac’s name leaves my lips in a grunted moan as the rock of my hips subsides to painful, body-wreaking shudders. My muscles are burning, but I hold his mouth hostage to my clit, never getting enough, forever needing more.

  Once my quivers lessen, I fall back on the mattress to suck in some much-needed breaths.

  “Always so greedy, Isabelle.”

  Isaac wipes the back of his hand across his wet lips before crawling up my body. My breathlessness turns dire when I’m awarded the sheer brilliance of his handsome face without any hindrance. My god, he is a beautiful man—a powerful jawline, plump lips, thick, luscious hair, and an ideally placed dimple in the middle of his chin. He’s beyond entrancing.

  Isaac smirks when my perverted glance revives my inner vixen for the third time tonight. “See something you like?”

  “I more than like it.” I weave my fingers through the tips of his damp hair from our rigorous activities. “I love him enough to marry him… twice.”

  I taste my arousal on his tongue when he tracks it across my lips before plunging it inside my warm and inviting mouth. His kiss is slower than the pace we’ve been going all afternoon, but ten times sweeter. It’s scrumptious, controlled, and toe-curling good.

  By the time he pulls back, my wedding dress hanging on the back of a highly varnished door is the only inkling as to what day it is. Don’t ask me the exact time, though. My head is too clouded by a lust haze to give you an accurate answer.

  “I love you, Mrs. Holt.”

  My chest puffs high to accommodate my swelling heart. He doesn’t tell me he loves me because it’s his role as my husband. He says it as a reminder of the promises we made to each other on how we�
�ll never go to bed angry, and we will forever be each other’s biggest supporters.

  “Not as much as I love you.”

  A gleam in his eyes tells me I fell straight into his trap. “Prove it.”

  Isaac shuffles back until his magnificent cock is showcased in all its glory. It’s thick and long, curving up to his navel. My insides tighten when he fists his cock in his big manly hand. He’s not giving a prelude to an event I’ve had the pleasure of witnessing countless times the past year, he’s gathering the resources required for our next mind-numbingly perfect embrace.

  A moan parts my lips when Isaac transfers a bead of precum from the crest of his cock to my mouth. As he rubs the tangy goodness over the cupids bow on my top lip, a domineering glint brightens his alluring eyes. “My lips.”

  “Yes. Yours. Forever.”

  With a smirk that will highlight my dreams for eternity, Isaac nudges his head to his cock, demanding for me to suck him dry with as many words as I’ll need to fulfill his every command. Eager to please him, sticky bedsheets wrinkle around my knees when I adjust my position, so my ass is facing the mirrored headboard and my lips are mere inches from the penis I think about too often to be healthy.

  Our combined moans bounce around the steamy space when my tongue lathers up the drops of goodness his thumb left behind. After licking the seams of my mouth to prepare them for the stretch they’re about to endure, I glide my lips down Isaac’s shaft. As I take him to the very back of my throat, he gathers my hair in a firm hold. I purr, loving his dominant grip.

  “That’s it, baby, suck me dry.”