The Mystery Unmasked: Enigma, #3

by Shandi Boyes

Hugo remains silent, but he doesn’t need to say anything. His arched brow and straight lips reveal his answer, anyway.

  When the waiter sets down a large bottle of sparkling water, I add something more appealing to my order. “Can I also get a strawberry daiquiri, please?”

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Brahn. We’ve been instructed to only supply you with water for the remainder of the night.”

  I glare at the water in shock and bewilderment. “By whom?”

  With every second that passes, my anger unsteadily grows. “Are you kidding me?” My furious eyes dart to Hugo. “I’m not even drunk, yet my alcohol supply has been cut off.”

  Hugo shrugs, but his eyes relay that Isaac’s instructions weren’t given to him.

  My gaze floats back to the waiter. “Then Hugo would like to order a strawberry daiquiri, please.”

  It isn’t the waiter’s fault he’s been shoved between me and an arrogant, egotistical asshole, but he’s the only person I can lash out at, so he, unfortunately, suffers the main brunt of my anger.

  The waiter cringes. “Mr. Holt advised the waiting staff that Hugo was not drinking tonight since he’s driving.” He places down a second bottle of water like it will somewhat subdue me. “Is there anything else?”

  With a huff, I shake my head before shifting my focus back to the dance floor. Two eye-catching males flank Harlow and Peta. Seeing them dancing seductively with a range of eye-catching men inspires a brilliant idea. Isaac can cut off my alcohol supply, but he can’t stop me from dancing with a bunch of horny, fearless men.

  An hour later, I stomp toward the women’s restroom on the VIP level of the club. My disenchantment isn’t just from Isaac failing to react to me dancing with other men, it’s because no matter how up close and personal I get with my dance partners, their dance moves severely lack in intensity and seduction. Maybe it’s just me? Perhaps my disheveled appearance from the past few weeks has resurfaced? Or maybe I’m just too fussy about the caliber of dance partners since I’m forever comparing their dancing style to Isaac’s.

  Either way, I was certain Isaac would have reacted to me getting friendly with any suitor who wasn’t him, but nope, not a peep has been heard from him the past hour. Even Hugo seems surprised. Anytime I caught his gaze, he just shrugged before the confusion on his face intensified.

  Hugo grins before taking a protective stance on the outside of the bathroom door. I do my business before walking to the vanity to wash up. After placing my clutch on the black granite vanity, I lift my eyes to the mirror. Half the makeup Harlow put on earlier has slid off my face, but I still look halfway decent. I have a sexed-up look going on, the look I usually hold after strenuous sexual activities with Isaac. God, I miss seeing that look on my face.

  I dampen a napkin before running it across my cheeks, removing the mascara smears giving me raccoon eyes. My attention diverts from my disastrous face when I hear a group of ladies giggling through a frosted glass door at the side of the stall. I throw the dirty napkin into the waste receptacle before pacing toward the cheer-filled noise. My heart rate quickens when I open the door to discover another bathroom on the other side. Unlike the one I’m using, this one is crammed with women.

  The female security officer guarding the door eyes me curiously as I stroll into the bathroom. She’s standing guard to ensure the regular patrons don’t mill into the VIP bathroom, but she has no qualms about the opposite happening.

  Seeing this as the prime opportunity to replenish my parched mouth with a fruity cocktail, I exit the bathroom from the other side. The lower half of the club is just as impressive as the VIP section. Hundreds of people are gathered in the sweaty-scented space, meaning I have to stand on my tippy toes to locate the closest bar.

  I located it a few seconds later. It’s in the far-right corner. Sweat rolls down my back from the stifling heat as I pace through the throng of people. The bar is packed with patrons requesting service, so I move to the end and wait my turn to be served.

  A male bartender with gorgeous chocolate skin and a twisted afro smiles a greeting approximately two minutes later. “What can I get you, baby?” He has the type of voice that would be perfect for a jazz singer.

  While digging a twenty-dollar bill out of my purse, I reply, “A strawberry daiquiri, please.”

  My attempt to pay is thwarted by a deep voice at my side. “This one is on me.”

  The bartender nods before moving down the bar to prepare my order. While he does that, I drink in the dark-haired man offering to buy my drink. He’s wearing a snug pair of jeans and a Ralph Lauren polo shirt. His chin has a small layer of stubble, and his arms have veins entangled around them, revealing he works out. His eyes are dark and sharp, and his lips are plump, although his bottom lip is slightly smaller than his top.

  “That isn’t necessary.” I strive to project my voice over the thumping music blaring from the speakers above my head. My efforts are less than stellar when he tilts closer to me. “That isn’t necessary,” I repeat, shouting. “I can pay for my drinks.”

  These types of places are great to mingle with others while looking for a casual sex partner, but even heartbroken and tipsy won’t alter the facts that I’m not ready for that. I don’t think I’ll ever be prepared for that.

  My skin prickles when the unknown gentleman places his hand on the bare skin on the lower half of my back before brushing his lips against my ear. “How about we move down to the end of the bar so we won’t have to yell.”

  Not waiting for me to reply, he guides me to the very far end of the bar. I could maneuver myself out of his hold, but he seems harmless enough. Because we’re no longer under blaring speakers, the music simmers to a more manageable volume.

  My eyes lift from the countertop when the bartender places my order in front of me. I attempt to pay him, but once again, the casually-dressed suitor beats me. Thirsty, I take a sip of my daiquiri. I moan when its sugary goodness hits my taste buds. It’s well worth a trek through a human jungle.

  “Good?”

  I lock my eyes with the dark-haired man before nodding. He takes my appreciation as a sign to offer an introduction. “Lance.” He offers me his hand to shake.

  “Isabelle,” I reply, accepting it.

  “You’re breathtakingly beautiful.”

  I blush. I appreciate that he’s not hiding his intentions, but throwing out direct compliments like that is awkward for all involved.

  “Thank you,” I answer, trying to mask a cringe.

  His smirk merges to a full smile when horror crosses my face. “Oh, be still my beating heart. It’s rare to find a woman who doesn’t realize the captivating beauty she has.”

  The heat on my cheeks amplifies. Lance has dashing charms and mouthwatering good looks, but I’m not interested. No man will ever spark an interest out of me the way Isaac can.

  Several long minutes pass in silence. It’s highly uncomfortable, although Lance doesn’t seem to notice. He thinks he’s in with a chance. I’m not so inclined to agree.

  Thankfully, the dinging of a phone interrupts the uncomfortable silence. “It isn’t me.” Lance gestures his head to my clutch purse. “It came from in there.”

  I dig my phone out of my clutch, curious to discover who is texting me. My first guess is Brandon. I haven’t seen him for the past two weeks, but we’ve kept in contact via dozens of text messages every day.

  The screen on my iPhone displays that I have one message from an unknown number.

  Unknown Number: Lose the date.

  Although the number is unrecognized, I know who it’s from. It isn’t just my intuition being activated but my libido as well. My heart wallops against my ribs as I return my eyes to Lance. He’s eyeing me with a spark of interest in his heavy-lidded gaze, blindly unaware of the volatile situation approaching him.

  A vein in my neck works overtime when my phone dings again.

  Isaac: Last chance, Isabelle. Lose the date.

  Stupidly, my eyes scan the crowd. Even with th
e club being packed, a man with an aura like Isaac stands out, so I’m certain he isn’t here. I just can’t help but check.

  My eyes freeze halfway across the bar when my phone pings with another message.

  Isaac: Look up.

  My pulse quickens when I spot a black security dome mounted on the ceiling. I should have realized he’d be watching me. He’s always watching.

  Idiotically, I reply to his text.

  Me: Leave me alone. I’m not your possession anymore.

  Seconds feel like hours as I await his reply, but my heart ceases beating once it arrives.

  Isaac: That’s where you’re wrong, Isabelle. You are MINE!

  Feeling spiteful, I lift my gaze to the camera, smile brightly, then dump my phone into the ginormous cocktail the lady next to me is consuming.

  “Hey,” she shouts, her mouth forming an ‘O.’

  I cringe when her nasally voice shreds my eardrums, then cringe some more when I realize I just ruined my brand new way-more-than-I-can-afford-to-replace phone.

  Lance chuckles, impressed with my rebellious tantrum. “Some friends and I are hoping to secure a booth in the VIP section. Would you like to join us?”

  “I already have a booth with some girlfriends. You and your friends are more than welcome to join us if you’d like?”

  I know I’m digging my own grave, but jealousy is rearing its ugly head, clouding my judgment. Besides, Isaac is also in Ravenshoe, so Lance isn’t in any immediate danger.

  When Lance smiles and nods, I offer my apologies to the lady next to me by placing my twenty- dollar bill next to her ruined drink. It probably isn’t enough to replace her drink, but it’s the only money I have, so it will have to do.

  As he did earlier, Lance places his hand on my back to guide me through the sticky, dense crowd. The hum of activity is invigorating, and it has my pulse fastening. We’re a little over halfway across the packed space when a phone in Lance’s jean pocket rings. After digging it out, he apologizes for the interruption before pushing his cell phone to his ear.

  The longer his conversation continues, the more the color in his face drains. He licks his parched lips before handing me his phone. I eye him curiously, stumped. He makes a gesture like me speaking to his caller is detrimental to his livelihood. Although I’m uneased by his request, I press his phone to my ear. My knees meet when the seductive purr of Isaac sounds down the line. It’s been weeks since I’ve heard such an intoxicating voice.

  “Do you ever do as requested?” His tone is low and dangerous—as depleted as my morals from how turned on I get from his deep timbre. “This is your last chance, Isabelle. Lose the date. If not, I’ll come remove his hand from your body myself.” I shouldn’t get turned on by his threat, but I do. “And I’ll break every finger of his that has brushed your bare skin.”

  The tingles of my traitorous pussy are heard in my reply. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “Test me, Isabelle.”

  He disconnects our call, stealing my chance to reply. My hand tremors when I hand Lance his phone. It isn’t shuddering in fear. It’s shaking with excitement. An angry Isaac is as sexy-as-sin, but a jealous Isaac is ten times hotter.

  Lance’s angst-riddled eyes dance between mine. “I… umm… forgot about a deadline—”

  “It’s okay, I understand.” Isaac scares even the brawliest-looking man, so someone with a down-to-earth personality like Lance wouldn’t stand a chance battling against a man with a fierce reputation like Isaac’s. “Thank you for the drink.”

  When I lean in to give him a quick, friendly hug, I catch sight of Hugo standing outside the entrance of the VIP section. His face is constricted with anger, and his fists are clenched at his side. He’s pissed, and all of his anger is directed at me.

  After expelling a sharp breath, I pace toward him.

  “Are you trying to get me fucking fired?”

  “I’m sorry.” I skirt past him, hating both the way I’m acting and how I’m being treated. “I only wanted to get a drink.”

  For the next hour, I sit like a bona fide misery guts in the booth. Even the latest club hits keeping broad smiles plastered on Harlow and Peta’s faces can’t lessen the weight sitting heavily on my chest. I haven’t had any contact with Isaac for over two weeks, yet he’s still calling me his. Weeks ago, I would have given anything for him to declare that I was his. Now, now I don’t know what the hell I want. I love Isaac. I love him with every fiber of my being, but I can’t get past his betrayal. I can’t forgive him for that. It’s unforgivable.

  With a huff, Harlow slides into our booth. Her face is misted with sweat, and her hair is damp at the ends. “It’s crazy out there.”

  I smile. She’s been dancing with hot, sweaty men for hours, and Cormack hasn’t said a peep. I, on the other hand, had my alcohol cut off, and a man was threatened harm by one I’m not even dating.

  Harlow takes a sip out of her cocktail to calm the redness on her cheeks before devoting her attention to me. “What happened?”

  When I shrug, her brow cocks, calling bullshit on my halfhearted response.

  Giving in, I spend the next five minutes updating her on what happened an hour ago. Her mouth gapes during some parts and firms in others, but for the most part, she remains quiet.

  Once I finish telling her all the juicy details, she takes a few minutes to contemplate before her eyes drift lift to Hugo. “Shoo.” She waves him away like he’s a fly.

  Hugo arches his brow before he crosses his arms in front of his broad chest.

  Harlow smiles, not deterred by his determination. “We’re about to talk about periods, tampons, Viagra, vaginal cups—”

  “All right, all right!” Hugo sounds mortified. “I’ll be right over there.” He points to a spare booth two spots up from us. “Please don’t go anywhere, Izzy.”

  When I nod, he reluctantly strolls to the booth he pointed to. Harlow coughs to clear her throat before starting our conversation in a battlefield I never saw coming. “Don’t shoot me, just listen. He made a mistake, but that doesn’t mean you can’t forgive him if you want to.” Her glossed-over eyes flick between mine as she gathers my hand in hers. “Clara caught him during an extremely vulnerable moment. He was hurting, Izzy, way more than you probably realize.”

  “You’re defending him?”

  She shakes her head. “No. I’m not. I’m helping my best friend through a terrible phase of her life.” My heart warms from her referring to me as her best friend, but it does little to ease the pain in my chest. “You look so broken, Izzy. I hate seeing you like this, so I want you to open your eyes and look at the whole picture. You know what Clara is like. Can you truly trust anything she says?”

  “Isaac didn’t deny sleeping with her. That’s all the proof I need.”

  “He didn’t confirm it either.”

  I glare at her in disbelief. “I can’t believe you’re defending him. Do you think I should sweep it under the rug and forgive him?”

  “No, that’s not what I’m saying. Whether you choose to forgive him or not is only a decision you can make, but I think you should talk to him. Find out what really happened. Get the whole story before formulating an opinion. You can’t act on something when you don’t have all the facts.”

  I’ve always said you must have all the evidence before forming an opinion on something, but I didn’t give Isaac the chance to explain anything before I fled his hotel room. In my defense, I was beyond devastated that night. My heart was torn into a million pieces just from the guilty look marring his handsome face.

  “Have you heard Lady Gaga’s song, “Million Reasons?” My eyes pop up from the tabletop to peer at Harlow. When I shake my head, she adds, “You should listen to it. It really resonates with your situation.” She squeezes my hand. “It’s time for you to give it as good as you’re getting it, Izzy.”

  A weary grin stretches across my face as the heaviness on my chest lessens.

  “And while you’re at it, take that bit
ch, Clara, down once and for all.”

  My weary smile turns into a full-toothed grin.

  Chapter 31

  Isaac

  Okay, I’ll admit it. I reacted poorly when the man seated with Isabelle eyed her like she was a meal he was about to consume, but I lost the ability to rein in my jealousy when he placed his hand on the bare skin of her back. No man’s hands are allowed to touch skin that belongs to me, so you can be assured my threat wasn’t idle when I said I’d break every finger that touched her. He’s incredibly lucky he leads with his left hand, meaning his right would have remained untouched if he didn’t adhere to my warning. He was proven more smart than stupid when he obeyed my demand while talking to him on the phone. He walked away from Isabelle without injury. That, in itself, is miraculous.

  When Harlow told Cormack she and Isabelle were going dancing, he immediately called me. Cormack hides it better than me, but he’s just as possessive of Harlow as I am of Isabelle. He didn’t want her dancing with deviant men while he stayed home, twiddling his thumbs, so I divulged a plan.

  My club.

  My staff.

  My crew.

  Isabelle and Harlow assume the guests in the VIP section are paying patrons. They aren’t. They’re staff who were instructed on how they could interact with Isabelle and Harlow. Dancing was fine as long as their hands remained at an appropriate distance, and no portions below their belts grinded against any part of either girl’s body. My ruse lost me thousands in revenue, but it was worth every penny to ensure no man would touch Isabelle.

  Although Isabelle was furious at the waiter when I cut off her alcohol supply, I didn’t do it to ruin her night. I did it to save her from having a horrible nightmare. Avery explained that too much sugar in the evening could increase the risk of nightmares. Hugo said Isabelle’s nightmares have lessened the past two weeks, but I didn’t want anything dampening the quality of her sleep. She has enough going on in her life right now. She doesn’t need more added to the mix.