“How do you know Isaac was a fighter?” Alex asks, walking into the room.
Shit!
“Umm. . . I’m just assuming.” My heart rate increases. “It doesn’t seem like an industry you would get into unless you had some prior knowledge about it.”
"Your investigating skills are starting to flourish, Isabelle. I'm very pleased with your dedication of late," Alex commends me.
I remain quiet, riddled with guilt that I just snitched on Isaac. Even angry at him, I didn’t intentionally mean to break his trust.
“We recently discovered Isaac was indeed a fighter in an underground fighting ring during his years at college. That fighting ring’s organizer was Col Petretti,” Alex informs us.
“Ah, hold on,” Brandon interrupts, his eyes meeting mine. “Cj’s injuries weren’t from a fight. That weekend he was involved in a car accident with his sister, Ophelia.”
My eyes burn from a sudden rush of moisture in them. “What?”
“Cj and his younger sister Ophelia were involved in a fatal car accident six years ago.” Brandon hands me back the medical record along with a police record on the crash.
My hand trembles when I remove the documents from Brandon’s hand. As I scan the reports, my mind flicks back to the night Isaac ran into Col.
“The prodigal son returns. What has it been… six years and I don’t even get a hello.”
“He hasn’t looked at anyone the way he looks at you in years. Not since Ophelia.”
Oh god!
“Was anyone else in the car with them?” I question, my words hurried.
Brandon shakes his head
“Did Ophelia survive the accident?”
My vision blurs with tears when Brandon once again shakes his head.
31
Isabelle
“Where is he?”
Hugo’s tormented eyes lift to mine. He smiles before releasing the lock mechanism of Isaac’s town car. When I slide into the passenger seat, he pulls the car into the midday traffic and heads outside the city. He remains quiet, but he occasionally glances my way.
As soon as I could, without drawing attention to myself, I left the office and went straight to Harlow's bakery. I knew either Isaac or Hugo would be there waiting for me. I've noticed the past few weeks whenever I exit the bakery, Isaac's town car would be parked somewhere along that street.
I used to think it was because Isaac is a dominant alpha male, and he couldn't stand the idea of another man moving in on his turf. Although part of his stalker behavior is because of that exact reason, I now believe I have a better understanding of why his behavior can be so erratic. After experiencing a loss, most people are reluctant to form an attachment again. They fear if they do, they may also lose that attachment. Although finding out Isaac has suffered a significant loss doesn't excuse his poor behavior of late, my heart still yearns to comfort him.
My anxious eyes dart to Hugo when he pulls into a rundown building located an hour from Ravenshoe. He remains quiet, not answering my silent questions as he parks next to Isaac’s sleek black sports car. Once he turns off the ignition, he nudges his head to a roller door slightly ajar at the side of the warehouse.
I unlatch my belt and open the door. My steps freeze when Hugo starts the car and backs away from the rundown warehouse.
“Isaac will give you a lift home,” he says to my panicked expression before skidding out of the driveway, leaving nothing but a cloud of dust in his wake.
Clenching my fists at my side, I stride toward the metal and glass warehouse. My breath snags in my throat when I walk into the desolate, rundown building. Isaac is wearing nothing but a pair of black gym shorts and dark running shoes. He is covered head-to-toe in sweat and is undertaking a grueling routine on a cracked boxing bag hanging from the ceiling by a sizeable rusted chain.
Sensing my presence, Isaac’s punishing onslaught on the bag stops. When his livid eyes turn, I'm rendered motionless, pinned in place. His heavy-lidded gaze rakes my body before returning to my face. He works his jaw side to side before turning his attention back to the bag. This time, his fury is unleashed with so much force, sand trickles from it like blood seeping from an open wound.
My panties moisten watching him work the bag so expertly. The way his muscles contract as he moves around the bag is an incredibly arousing visual. But even with it being a sexually inspiring sight, his anger projects off him in invisible waves.That anger is only there because of me.
Knowing there is only one sentence a dominant male like Isaac wants to hear flowing from my mouth, I shout, “I didn’t sleep with anyone last night.”
