by Shandi Boyes
“You're a real piece of work,” I snarl, rising from my chair. “First, you exploited Regan, a woman who loved you, all to get a fancy glass office, and now you're doing the same thing to me. I’m not as stupid as you think I am, Alex.”
He abruptly stands from his chair with his fists clenched into balls at his side. “Sit down, Isabelle.” When I ignore his request by snagging my satchel off the floor, he shouts louder, “Sit down!”
His cheeks are bright red, his chest thrusting up and down with every inhalation he takes. He isn’t the only one angry. I'm beyond ropeable, blood roaring through my body so fast, my cheeks are flushed.
“This meeting is over. If you wish to speak to me again, you’ll need to go through Brandon, the union representative for our division.” My tone is surprisingly calm for how much my stomach is swirling.
My brisk strides to the door halt when Alex snarls, “Brandon doesn’t work for this division of the FBI anymore.”
“What?” I breathlessly question, peering back at him.
“Foolish mistakes cause statutory consequences. You can’t side with criminals and not expect repercussions for your actions.”
Disbelief covers my face. “You're making a mistake, Alex. You’re so blinded by jealousy, you’re not seeing things clearly.”
“I'm not the one blinded.” He steps around his desk. “I'm trying to stop you from making a foolhardy mistake. To get you out of his clutches before you’re buried so deep you’ll never get out.”
“It’s too late. I’m already in that deep. I love him, Alex, and nothing you’ll say will change that.”
He laughs his scary witch-like cackle that sends nerves scuttling through my body.
I roll my eyes and continue with my pursuit to the door, my fast strides stopping when he discloses, “Isaac is working with Vladimir Popov.”
I'm paralyzed in shock, my hand gripping the door handle for dear life. Surely, I didn’t hear him right. There's no way Isaac would work with my father. He knows how much I despise him. He knows what a monster he is. He wouldn’t betray me like that.
“He made an illegal transfer to Vladimir’s enterprise for the amount of two point four million dollars.”
I pivot around to face Alex, my footing unsteady since I'm unable to secure a full breath. “Isaac doesn’t have any dealings with Vladimir. You must be mistaken.”
The harshness in Alex’s eyes softens when he spots tears pricking in mine. He yanks open the bottom drawer of his desk to pull out an FBI folder. He hesitates for only a second before he hands me the document wallet. My hand shakes when I flip it open. There is a heap of surveillance photos inside. The first thing my vision zooms in on is Isaac sitting at a table across from a gentleman I’ve seen in many photos the past few months. His face is familiar, but his name has slipped my mind.
“That’s Albert Sokolov.” Alex’s tone has returned to a normal level. “He's Vladimir Popov’s number two man.”
I nod, recalling seeing his face in the records I scanned into the FBI database. With my heart on lockdown, I flip past the photos to a document that shows a series of money transfers.
“It took a lot of work tracking their payments through the numerous channels they used. They kept the transfers under ten thousand dollars not to trigger an alert, but I linked the original transfers from business accounts of Isaac’s to an associate of Vladimir’s.”
Remaining quiet, I scan the information unable to form a response to what I'm seeing much less Alex’s comments.
The next lot of surveillance photos show Isaac climbing the stairs of a private jet. With the distinctive buildings in the background, it isn’t hard to unearth he’s in Las Vegas. My heart painfully squeezes when I take in the date displayed in the bottom corner. It’s the day I went to the gala with Brandon, the same morning Isaac was too busy to take my call when I was frantic about Clara’s allegations.
After snapping the folder shut, I hand it back to Alex. As my mind struggles to unjumble the information overloaded in it, I keep my gaze focused on a speckle of dust on Alex’s desk. My breath snags halfway to my lungs when my engagement ring glistens in the afternoon sun. I twirl it around my finger, recalling the glimmer Isaac’s eyes held when I agreed to become his wife. There has to be more to this story than what’s displayed in front of me. Isaac would never hurt me like this. He loves me, and I trust him.
“Thank you for sharing this information with me, but I trust Isaac. He’d never hurt me like this.” My words are strong even though I feel anything but.
Alex’s top lip twitches. “Isabelle, don’t be foolish. You need to get out of his stranglehold and investigate this more thoroughly.”
“I will. I’m going to. Just not here.” I gesture my hand around his office. “I have to go.”
When I reach the door, Alex questions, “Did you know Isaac and Regan kissed?”
After inhaling a deep breath, I turn around to face him. “Yes.”
He balks, surprised by my response.
“And if you stopped and evaluated the facts like you're requesting me to do, you’d realize why they kissed. Isaac isn’t a threat to your relationship with Regan, Alex. Only you are. And if you wait too long, you'll lose her, and you’ll regret it every day of your life.”
With that, I leave his office without a backward glance.
Ten minutes later, I'm pushing the buzzer for Brandon’s apartment. Brandon lives in a fancy apartment building on Tivot street. It’s the reason he was on the scene so quickly when Hugo was shot. He administered aid to Hugo until the first responders arrived. Hugo’s memories of the incident are fuzzy at best. All he recalls is chasing the white Range Rover, then waking up in the recovery unit at the hospital. Lucky for him, Brandon is well-trained in first aid.
When Brandon fails to answer the buzzer, I step out of the alcove and glance up at his window. The living daylights are scared out of me when I’m suddenly grabbed in a tight squeeze. When I spot the boyish face of the person responsible for shoving me one step closer to my grave, I slap his shoulder.
“Jesus, Brandon, you scared the shit out of me.”
He smiles his infamous lopsided grin. “Sorry, Izzy.” He's dressed down in designer jeans and a thick wool coat and is balancing a brown paper bag of groceries on his hip. “What are you doing here?” His tone is friendly but with a dash of apprehension.
“I just left Alex’s office.”
His lips etch into a hard line as he curtly nods. After placing a code on the security door and opening it, he gestures for me to enter first. When I slip under his arm and walk into the warm, inviting foyer, he scans the street before following me inside.
I work out why he’s so cautious when he asks, “Does Isaac know you’re here?”
I grimace before shaking my head. “He’s in a meeting. I left him a note.”
He nods but remains quiet. When the elevator arrives in the lobby, he once again motions for me to enter first. Our ride to the fifteenth floor is done in silence, which is surprising. Usually, it’s hard to get a word in between us.
I follow Brandon into his lavish, well-decorated apartment. His furniture is high-end, but it still has a masculine bachelor-pad feel with dark colors and glass and steel features. The living area is nearly double the size of the one in my apartment, and the kitchen is even bigger than that.
After placing milk and perishable items into the refrigerator, he offers me one of the beers in his hand. I scrunch up my nose and shake my head. “Beer has never been my liquor of choice.”
“What about a glass of red, then?”
Not waiting for me to answer, he snags a wine glass from a frosted overhead cupboard and pours a generous helping of merlot into it. He hands the glass to me before entering his large living room. I shadow him, silently pondering why he's so reserved. I’ve never seen him so skittish—not even when Hugo had his gun directed at his head.
When he sits on a dark blue suede sofa, I fill the spot next to him. After foldi
ng my legs under myself, I curve my body so I can peer at his profile. “What happened?” I don’t elaborate on my question, certain he knows what I’m referring to.
He takes a swig out of his beer before mimicking my position, minus the legs curled under his backside. “We had opposing opinions on a matter.”
“We’ve all had that with Alex, but nothing bad enough to warrant him letting us go—”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m not concerned about my position.”
My eyes snap to his, shocked by his abrupt reply. This isn’t Brandon. He's the friendly, never-has-a- bad-thing-to-say-about-anyone guy. I’ve only experienced this side of him once before. It was the day he told me Megan drugged Jenni and was suspected of killing her father.
“What’s going on, Brandon?” I dip my chin, coercing his eyes to mine. When I get them, I say, “Something is bothering you. You seem off, upset even.”
He takes another swig out of his beer before placing it on the steel and glass coffee table. He stares into the distance for several heart-thrashing seconds while sucking in big breaths. When his gaze drifts back to me, I lose the ability to breathe from the anxious look hampering his normally carefree face.
“If you knew something would hurt your friend, but you also knew they’d never forgive you if you didn’t tell them, would you tell them?”
I swallow, intuitively conscious that his statement is about me. It isn’t just the fact I can hear his heart hammering against his ribs. It’s the sorrow in his glistening eyes.
“Yes.” My throat works hard to swallow. “I'd want to know.”
“Are you sure, Izzy? Because once you know, it can’t be undone.”
Ignoring the swirling of my stomach, I nod again. After he squeezes my hand, he moves to his leather satchel hanging over a chair in his dining room.
“Alex told me about the payment between Isaac and Vladimir today,” I share when he pulls out a replica of the FBI folder Alex handed me earlier.
Brandon isn’t shocked by my admission, revealing he’s aware of their dealings. “This isn’t regarding that.”
He sits in the space next to me, except a little closer, so our knees brush. The remorse clouding his eyes has my nerves sitting on a very steep cliff. My heart is pounding so furiously, I’m shaking like I’m cold.
After removing a six by ten-inch photo from the folder, he apprehensively hands it to me. The air in my lungs is forcefully evicted when my eyes lower to the picture. “No.” I snap my eyes up to Brandon, soundlessly begging for him to tell me what I'm seeing isn’t true. “It can’t be.”
“I’m sorry, Izzy.” Terror grips my heart as my greatest fear comes to fruition. “It’s true.”
Chapter 25
Isaac
“Stop searching, she’s just walked in.”
Not giving Hunter the chance to reply, I snap my cell phone shut and turn my furious eyes to Isabelle. She left a note on the kitchen countertop three hours ago saying she’d return in an hour. I wasn’t happy she left without saying goodbye, but since she took Roger with her, I appeased my anger.
When an hour and a half ticked by, I called Roger. Jealousy engulfed me when he said he dropped her off at Brandon’s apartment an hour earlier. I’m trying to learn to control the vehement jealousy issues I have when it comes to Isabelle, but once another thirty minutes went by, and she still wasn’t answering her cell, I had Roger knock on Brandon’s door.
He answered but advised Roger that Isabelle had left forty-five minutes earlier. As untrusting of Brandon as I am, Roger searched his apartment. He was telling the truth. Isabelle had somehow snuck out of Brandon’s apartment building without being detected by Roger.
“Where the hell have you been? I’ve been panicked out of my mind.” I stand from my office chair and march toward her, my anger unmissable in my brisk strides. “I’ve had half my security team searching for you.”
“I’m sorry—”
“You’re sorry,” I retaliate angrily, yelling. “I’ve been going crazy, and all you can say is you’re sorry.”
She doesn’t respond. She just keeps her gaze planted on the floor.
“Isabelle…” I want her to look at me while I’m speaking to her.
Her lips quiver when her eyes lock with mine. “I don’t know what you want me to say. I said I’m sorry.”
The anger scorching my veins dampens when I spot the tears forming in her eyes. “What happened? Did somebody hurt you? Are you hurt?”
My eyes scan her face and body searching for evidence of any injuries that I almost miss the shake of her head. “I'm all right.”
She's lying.
“I went for a walk. I needed to clear my mind.”
Now she's telling the truth.
“Clear your mind of what, exactly?” I sound calm, yet I'm anything but.
As she adjusts her hideous satchel on her shoulder, her gaze dances around my office, unable to maintain my eye contact. Something doesn’t feel right. She’s never been so evasive before. She's too quiet and skittish. She’s never acted this way around me.
After removing her satchel, I throw it onto the couch before gathering her in my arms and striding to my desk. The hard knot in my stomach lessens when she nuzzles her nose into my neck and inhales deeply. I sit in my office chair, then pull her in close to my chest, vainly trying to secure a grip on her since it feels like she's slipping away. I wait, impatiently, for her to talk. Isabelle can’t control her need to know everything. She blurts out questions before her brain can process them because she communicates with words. Where I, on the other hand, express myself physically.
It takes several long, tedious minutes before she finally speaks, “I want to go back to Tiburon.” When I stiffen, her head pops off my chest. Her eyes are even wetter now. “Not forever. Just for a few days or a week to finalize some things there.”
My breathing resumes, although agitated from the cagey cloud hampering her usually bright eyes. “I can arrange for someone to do that for you. You don’t need to go back there. I’ll have someone in my team take care of it.”
“I want to do it.” Her eyes bounce between mine. “It’s… personal. I don’t want strangers going through my belongings.”
I brush a stray hair off her cheek that looks like it’s been stained by tears. “Okay, I’ll arrange for us to go to Tiburon sometime in the new year.”
Her pupils widen as she swallows harshly. “Umm… I was thinking about going this week.”
I shake my head. “I can’t go this week. The two weeks over the Christmas and New Year period are the busiest weeks in my industry. I can’t just go away for a week. I’m sorry, baby, I can’t.”
She places her hand on her cheek. “It’s okay. I understand.”
Relief floods me. I want to give her the world, so I would have hated to disappoint her.
“I’ll go by myself.” When I glare at her, she stammers, “You’ll be so busy with your empire, you won’t even notice I'm gone.”
“Bullshit!” I notice when she’s gone for an hour, let alone days. “I only just got you back, but you want to separate us again.” Remorse clutches my heart when tears spill from her bursting eyes. “I'll take you back to Tiburon. You just have to wait two weeks.”
“I can’t wait that long.”
When her eyes drop to my chest, I grip her chin and hoist her face back to mine. I scan her beautiful face trying to decipher what happened in the last three hours that caused such a shift in her demeanor. This morning, she was flirty and playful when we fucked in the shower. Now, she's so cold and distant, I no longer recognize the eyes staring back at me.
“Why do you really want to go back to Tiburon?” I keep my tone neutral, even with my blood boiling, remembering she is my wife-to-be, not a staff member I can boss around.
“I shouldn’t need to explain to you why I want to go home, Isaac. I just want to go home.”
“Tiburon isn’t your home. This is your home. I’m your home!”
&
nbsp; Her lips thin. “Don’t yell at me! I'm not your staff.”
“Then stop giving me pathetic excuses and talk to me, goddammit!”
“I am, I’m telling you what I want, but you aren’t listening. I want to go home.”
With my mind scrambled, my voice rises to an angry snarl. “Why, Isabelle? Why do you want to go?”
She squirms, attempting to move off my lap, but I hold on tight, refusing to let her go. I let her go once. I won’t do it again. She tries to stifle a moan when her backside grinds against my crotch, but I still hear it. Isabelle craves assertiveness and control. She needs it to instill balance in her life, to stop her spiraling out of control as she is now. Her submissiveness is like a light switch, easy for me to turn on and off. It’s also the only time she's fully exposed, unguarded, and raw.
“Is that what you want, baby? Are you restless?”
I brush my finger over her pert nipple. It buds even more from my meekest touch. Isabelle loves sex. Her appetite is insatiable, and I love that her prowess is on par with mine. She's the first woman who can send me to the absolute brink of exhaustion, and I keep going because I can’t get enough of her.
I’ll never get enough of her.
“Is your greedy pussy begging for attention, baby?” My voice is throatier as my grip on reality falters.
Isabelle’s breathing quickens as she slumps into my embrace. The tears in her eyes dry as lust overwhelms them.
“You don’t have to fight me for my attention, Isabelle. I’m yours. If you need me, you tell me.”
She bites on her bottom lip as fresh tears pool in her eyes. “I don’t want to fight with you.”
“Then what’s this all about? Why are you being so evasive?”
She mumbles something under her breath, but she’s quiet enough I can’t hear what she says.
No longer able to leash my dominant behavior, I alter my tactics, hoping to force a reaction from her. When I suck her nipple into my mouth through her thin cotton shirt, her head flops back. A whimper escapes her parted lips when I tug on her erect nipple.