The Final Chapter: Enigma, #4

by Shandi Boyes

  Once his skin-crawling assessment is over, he releases my chin and stares at me. “I knew you were Felicia’s daughter from the moment I saw you outside of Isaac’s club, 57. You're the spitting image of your mother in every way. Same hair coloring, skin tone, beautiful angelic face.” His eyes narrow into thin slits. “Except for your eyes. They’re as rotten as the man who gifted them to you. I’d always wondered what happened to you the past twenty years, but your father didn’t. Do you know what he said when I told him I’d found you?”

  I remain quiet, refusing to react to his taunts.

  “I’m not interested, that’s what he said. He didn’t show any emotions at all.” He grips my hair and yanks my head back before drifting his eyes down my body. “Even with his hideous eyes, you're an angel, a gift from heaven. Perhaps I should have shown him a photo so he could see how much you look like your mother. I bet he would’ve been interested then.”

  My nostrils flare as I inhale deeply. All this time, Isaac thought he was protecting me from Col because of his vendetta against him, but Col wasn’t after me because of what happened to Ophelia. He wants me because of who my father is.

  I can’t fathom why? If he thinks he can use me as a bargaining chip against my father, he's more senseless than I originally thought. Vladimir Popov doesn’t negotiate with people’s lives unless he's the one selling them.

  “Your mother was a breathtaking woman, Isabelle. It was such a pity she had to die.” Col’s callous tone doesn’t match his statement. “If only Vladimir were more willing to share his toys, then maybe she’d still be alive.”

  My eyes widen before shooting to Col’s to seek any truth to his statement.

  He chuckles a menacing laugh. “Oh, you didn’t know? Although your mother was addicted to meth, she didn’t die of a drug overdose as reported. She died because of your father’s inability to share his whore.”

  I grit my teeth and shake my head, causing tears to spill down my face. My Uncle Tobias was a truthful man. He told me my mother died of a drug overdose. He wouldn’t have lied to me.

  “You're lucky no one from Vladimir’s crew has heard of your false allegations,” sneers my kidnapper.

  Col’s dark gaze shifts from me to him. “That’s where you're wrong, Rick. Not only were Vladimir’s closest family members aware of the treachery over Felicia’s death, they helped conceal her murder.”

  A pfft whizzes from Rick’s mouth. “Why hide her death? Felicia’s life was a disaster. She was nothing but a low-grade whore who was paid for services rendered with drugs and money stained with blood.”

  My nostrils flare as I glare at my assailant. Even though my memories of my mom are vague and full of unpleasantness, at the end of the day, she's still my mother. Without her, I wouldn’t exist.

  Col stands from his crouched position to move to stand next to Rick. Even though he’s several years older than Rick and more notorious, Rick isn’t the slightest bit intimidated by him. He stands tall with his feet planted the width of his shoulders and a snickering expression etched on his face.

  “Those were my sentiments exactly, but she was a whore who refused to open her legs for anyone but Vladimir.”

  Rick rolls his eyes. “She obviously needed to be taught a lesson that Vladimir wasn’t the only King she was required to service.”

  My stomach rolls, sickened at the thought of my mom being treated like nothing more than a commodity. From the photos I found of her in my uncle’s personal records, she was so young and full of life before she met my father. She only agreed to become his mistress because he promised her a life of luxury and happiness. All she got were broken promises and shattered dreams.

  Col’s chest puffs high, smugly basking in the glory of Rick’s praise. “Ah, you're a man after my own heart. There's nothing I love more than teaching someone a valuable lesson. Except perhaps watching the light being extinguished from their eyes… the fear, the silent pleading, the scent of death. Nothing comes close to that thrill. It’s the most addictive drug of them all. Although Felicia’s death was many years ago, it’s one of my most treasured memories.”

  “Then why hide your glorious victory? You snuck in under Vladimir’s nose and killed his most prized mistress. That’s not a feat a mere man would accomplish. You should be shouting it from the rooftops.”

  Col chuckles with arrogance. “Felicia’s death was during a moment of lust-fueled rage, urged on by the wrong head on my body. It was only once she stopped withering under my hands did I realize my business dealings with Vladimir were worth more than claiming the death of a whore. Luckily for me, she was a drug addict, so her murder was easy to conceal.”

  My throat burns when I heave against the gag. Add that to the dizziness inflicted from being chloroformed twice and the virulence of Col’s words, the urge to be sick is overwhelming. I suck in a big breath as my eyes shift to the wall, vainly trying to keep my stomach from recoiling again. If I can’t fight the urge to be sick while gagged, I'll most likely asphyxiate myself.

  When I close my eyes, my mind drifts to a happier time, a more settled place. The first image that enters my thoughts is Isaac and me dancing at the gala, then it changes to our time together on his yacht. The swell of my stomach eases as the memories of our months together filter through my mind.

  I’m brought back to reality when my head is yanked roughly. The swishing of my stomach returns when I glance into Col’s soulless eyes. “Watching the life vanish from Isabelle’s eyes will be worth any damage my business will sustain. Although, seeing her up close does make me reconsider my original plan.” He licks his lips in a sickening way. “Maybe I should keep her alive a little while longer… see if she is as feisty as her mother. With her beneath me, it will be like the past twenty years never happened. I'll once again be in my prime.”

  When Rick takes a step closer to me, I breathe in the smell of his bottled cologne, hoping its spicy scent will quell my stomach. He's standing so close, his jean-covered calf scratches my wobbling knees. “Why go to all the effort of dragging Isabelle here if you just plan to kill her? I could have given you the opportunity at the gala two weeks ago.”

  My heart stops beating when Col smirks an evil, stomach-churning smile. “Because this is different. Here, I get to kill two birds with one stone in a place that holds great sentimental value to me.” His heavy-lidded eyes roam over my face before they glide down my body. “This is, after all, where it all began. This is where my business started, and the same place an angel gained her wings.” He treks his index finger across my tear-stained cheek. “Furthermore, I want Isaac to watch her die, to see firsthand the light in her eyes doused, knowing he’s responsible for the death of the woman he loves.”

  My heart clenches. How was I so blind that I couldn’t see Isaac loved me when even a man like Col could? Weeks I wasted with Isaac by choosing to listen to the callous words of a spiteful bitch instead of ensuring her claims were legitimate. I should have fought harder. I should have demanded proof instead of believing speculation. I shouldn’t have given him up without a fight.

  Rick shrugs. “Sounds like a story of a bitter, revenge-seeking old man.” My pulse quickens when he takes a step closer to Col. “The story circulating through my crew is that you’ve become so blinded by revenge, you’re taking uncalculated risks that are putting your crew in jeopardy.”

  A muffled squeal erupts from my mouth when Col backhands Rick. The harshness of his blow is so brutal, Rick’s head flings to the side, and blood dribbles from his mouth. “Another insult like that will have your body sitting in the bottom of the ocean as fish food,” Col snarls through clenched teeth. “People learn the hard way that a man with a reputation like mine is not to be disrespected. I'll have no qualms ensuring you're aware of the same thing.”

  Rick moves his head back to its original position, his eyes stormy and beaming with unbridled anger. The heat in the room turns stifling when he smiles a sinister grin. From his smiling reaction, you wouldn’t think th
e whites of his teeth are tainted with blood.

  After running his index finger across his bottom lip, gathering a trail of blood formed there, his darkened eyes lift to Col. “This proves the rumors circulating the mill are correct. You’ve lost your game, Col. First, you bring law enforcement into an industry they don’t belong in. Then, you falsely frame people for murder.” My pupils widen as my blurry eyes shoot between Rick and Col. “And now, you’re so heedless, you can’t even see the grim reaper standing in front of you.”

  My heart rate ramps up when Rick slyly moves his hand toward the semi-automatic weapon he housed in the back of his jeans earlier. “You should’ve been more vigilant, Col, more cautious, as haste—”

  “Haste decisions cause unforgiving mistakes,” interrupts a voice at the side of the warehouse I immediately recognize. “Mistakes I regret every day of my life.”

  Fear bubbles inside of me when my gaze locks in on the impressive stature of Isaac entering an open roller door at the side. He's wearing black trousers and a light blue business shirt rolled up at the sleeves. He's devoid of the tie, vest, and jacket he usually wears.

  His darkened gaze shifts from glaring at Col to scan my face, the tick in his jaw amplifying when he notices the tearstains on my ashen cheeks. The constrictive clutch on my heart tightens when Rick points the barrel of his gun at Isaac’s torso.

  Even in immediate danger, Isaac’s commanding composure doesn’t falter. He exudes importance and demands attention. While tugging his business shirt out of the waistband of his trousers, he keeps his gaze securely planted on Rick. He raises his shirt high so Rick can see he's unarmed.

  He doesn’t need to carry a weapon. His body is his weapon.

  When Rick lowers his gun, Isaac strides toward our group. His steps are fast and efficient, reaching us within two heart-thrashing seconds. “You wanted my attention, now you have it. Let Isabelle go, and I’ll ensure the repercussions of your idiocy will be less severe than what will be inflicted on Col.”

  Even though his words are directed at Rick, his gaze remains fixed on Col, intuiting the greater evil of the two men in front of him.

  Col smirks a malicious smile. “And here I thought Henry taught you everything he knew.” He paces nearer to Isaac. “That’s not the way things work in our industry, and you know that. If it were, I would’ve slit your snitching throat years ago.”

  Isaac’s cheeks rise as his lips curl into a snarl. “The rules of our game changed the instant you sought your vengeance on Isabelle instead of me.”

  “I'm evening the score,” Col sneers. “You took my angel, now I’ll take yours.”

  “Ophelia’s death is on your head, not mine!” Isaac’s tone is dangerously low. “If you had just let us walk away that night, she’d have never died, and I would’ve saved her from living a calamitous life with you.”

  My heart squeezes over the pain in his words. Words that should have been spoken six years ago. Words that will hopefully help to heal Isaac’s heart.

  Col spits at Isaac’s feet. “You couldn’t have saved her. She died running away from you, not me!”

  Air whizzes from Isaac’s lips, physically winded by Col’s cruel words. He tries to smother the look of guilt on his face, but he isn’t quick enough to fully suffocate it before Col notices it. “See, even you know her death is your fault. If she’d never met you, she’d still be alive, just like Isabelle. E giunto il momento per gli angeli di incontrarsi.”

  I can’t breathe when Col thrusts his hand into the breast pocket of his jacket and produces a vintage white pistol. The greatest parts of my life flash before my eyes when he swings the barrel of the gun toward my face. The smell of gunpowder, burning flesh, and blood invade my nostrils as sharp and brutal pain rockets through my body.

  Then all I see is blackness.

  Chapter 5

  Isabelle

  An insistent dull beep sounds through my ringing ears, waking me from my sleep. Slowly, I blink my eyes open, my brows stitching when I'm met with a white circular light. A groan spills from my parched throat as I move my hand to something jabbing painfully in my arm. My movements are sluggish and slow since my brain is not instantly relaying the prompts to my body.

  “Leave it,” commands a deep voice at my side I instantly recognize. “It’s an intravenous line.”

  Isaac houses his cell phone into the pocket of his trousers before moving to stand next to me. I inhale deeply, appreciating the smell of his seductive scent over the horrid odor of bleach mingling in the air. His face appears restless, and the stubble on his chin has grown since I saw him in Avery’s office, but he is still incredibly alluring.

  “Where am I?” The thump of my head increases with each syllable I speak.

  “You’re in Ravenshoe Private Hospital.”

  Confusion surges through me.

  Isaac lifts a pale yellow pitcher to fill a clear cup with water. “Do you remember anything that happened?”

  I shake my head, doubling the worry on Isaac’s face. After placing a plastic straw in the cup, he raises it to my mouth. I greedily gulp down the water, eager to quench my thirst. My throat is so dry it feels like I haven’t had a drink in months.

  “Not too much.” His voice is a soft, nurturing purr. “You need to give your stomach a chance to adjust.”

  I pout when he pulls the half-empty cup away from my still-parched mouth, but my pulse quickens when he mutters, “If you drop that lip again, I’ll bite it.”

  He lifts a remote, the cords of which are twisted around the steel railing of the bed, to recline the top half of the mattress. “Is that better?” he asks once I’m in a half-seated position.

  I nod, ignoring the swirling my stomach is doing from the gluttonous gulps of water I swallowed.

  As always, Isaac senses my discomfort. “Are you in pain?”

  I shake my head. “No.”

  His dark brow arches high, calling out my deceit.

  “The water is a little sloshy in my belly.”

  His lips set into a hard line. “I’ll get the doctor.”

  Before I can object, he moves to a closed glass-paneled door. While he fetches the doctor, I lower my blurry eyes to my body, seeking hints as to why I am in the hospital. Other than wearing a blue hospital gown and having an IV line inserted into my wrist, I appear unharmed. I scan the room. There are a blood pressure machine and heart monitor to my right, an IV stand with two bags of clear fluids to my left, and numerous bunches of floral arrangements on every flat surface in the room.

  My eyes stray to the side when a doctor wearing pink scrubs and a white coat enters the room with Isaac. Her dark brown, nearly black hair is secured into place with two pens. She has a lovely Asian appearance with bright green eyes. Her skin is flawless, her cheekbones are high, and her thin, pink lips are glossy.

  “How are you feeling?” My brows scrunch, surprised by the uniqueness of her heavily drawled accent. She smiles at my reaction. “My mom is Korean, my dad is Australian, but they’ve lived in Texas for over thirty years. I'm a little mix of them both… my mom’s looks and my dad’s accent.”

  My heart warms to the stranger. Her aura is just like Harlow’s, and I can tell if given the opportunity, we could become great friends.

  “You sustained a traumatic concussion when part of your temporal skull hit the concrete during impact,” she advises while pulling a white ophthalmoscope from the pocket of her coat.

  My eyes shoot across the room when Isaac’s attempt to suppress a groan is futile. He scrubs his hand along the thick stubble on his jaw as guilt hampers his usually tempting gaze.

  “I'd choose to sustain a concussion than a bullet wound any day, Isaac,” the doctor mumbles as she flicks a bright light in front of my eyes. White lights dance around the room for several seconds when she returns the flashlight to her pocket. “Your optic and oculomotor nerves appear to be functioning accurately.”

  I wince as a sharp, jolting pain radiates through my head when she pushe
s on the right side of my skull, just behind my ear. “Sorry.” She continues her assessment. “The area of impact will be tender for a few more days.” She shifts her gaze to Isaac, who is standing beside me. “Ensure she's administered pain relief every four to six hours but steer clear of anything aspirin-related. I’ll also give you a prescription for a stronger dosage of pain medication, but it runs the risk of increasing her nausea and fatigue.” Her gaze turns back to me. “Only use it if you feel the pain is becoming too much for you to handle.”

  I nod as Isaac moves closer to my bedside. “Isabelle is having some issues with her memory.”

  The doctor smiles to ease the panic fettering his face. “That isn’t unusual for someone who sustained a level three concussion. Her CT scan came up clear. There's no bleeding or swelling of the brain. Symptoms of a concussion can clear within minutes, hours, days, or even a week. Unfortunately, it is just a waiting game, but until all the symptoms of your concussion are gone, you can’t return to your normal activities.” Her smile merges into a full-toothed grin. “That includes vigorous bedroom activities.”

  I squirm as my knees meet. Just the idea of undertaking any bedroom activities with Isaac has my inner vixen climbing out of the pit she entrenched herself in two weeks ago. The dryness impinging my throat earlier returns full force when I spot the devilishly delicious smile curved on Isaac’s mouth. His eyes consume me, touch not required to ignite every nerve in my body.

  Our lust-filled stare-down is interrupted when the doctor giggles. I cringe, mortified I forgot she was here. I shouldn’t be surprised. When Isaac is in the room, no one else matters. They're nothing but white noise in the background.

  After removing my IV, the doctor says, “Give me a few hours to do a complete set of monitoring on your condition. I want to make sure I haven’t missed anything. If it all goes okay, you can be discharged later tonight or maybe tomorrow morning.”