I watched the scene unfold from the ring, utterly shocked and disconcerted. The cloud of confusion only clarified when Ophelia refused to relinquish her brother to the medical team assessing him. I wrapped my sweat-drenched arms around her petite waist. She kicked and screamed as she fought against my hold.
“Let them help him,” I whispered groggily into her ear as I dragged her away from Cj.
Once she stopped thrashing against me, I lowered Ophelia down onto the ground. She pivoted around to face me so fast, a whoosh of hot air blasted my face. Her beautiful eyes were full of tears and tainted with hate. The first time she slapped me, I was so surprised, I didn’t even register it. The second time, its direct impact was felt more by my heart than my face. I don’t know how many slaps Ophelia inflicted before Cormack stood between us. His body effectively blocked her from imposing more punishment.
Through remorseful eyes, Cormack said, “Let’s go,” while motioning his head to the ring.
I gritted my teeth and shook my head. I wasn’t leaving without Ophelia.
“She needs time, Isaac. Give her some time, and she will eventually understand you didn’t have a choice,” Cormack pleaded before wrapping his arms around my shoulders and dragging me toward the ring.
I should have stayed and fought harder for Ophelia. I shouldn’t have given up. I should have begged her for forgiveness, then and there; then she would have never been in that car that night, but I was a coward who walked away. I left her crying over her brother who was splayed unconscious on a dirty boxing ring floor.
Ophelia’s devastated, tear-stained face is forever embedded in my memory as that was the last image I saw of her before she died.
My memories are interrupted when my cell phone rings and vibrates in my hand. After unclenching my fists, I answer the call.
“Boss, we have someone in pursuit of Izzy.”
Isabelle
“Ireally appreciate you doing this for me, Brandon.” I shift my eyes from the road to glance at him sitting in the driver’s seat of his car.
No words spill from Brandon’s lips, but a mask of fretfulness slips over his usually expressionless face. His brows lower, and his lips form into a harsh line. He coughs to clear his throat before adjusting the tilt of the rearview mirror. Curious as to what has caused Brandon’s sudden change in composure, I glance out the rear window of his blue BMW. Air snags in my throat and my stomach churns when I spot a dark blue sedan tailing us.
Remaining quiet, Brandon’s foot presses on the accelerator, increasing his speed to well above the speed limit. The smell of burning rubber lingers in the air from his tires squealing from our acceleration. His blue car weaves and darts between a handful of vehicles in front of us. Because it is mid-morning, the traffic is not as dense as it would be during peak hour, but there are still a decent number of vehicles on the highway.
Even though the blue sedan remains a good three to four cars behind Brandon’s vehicle, it continues to follow us down the side streets and back alleys Brandon turns down in an attempt to evade them.
“How long have they been following us?” I ask, my voice trembling with both anxiety and adrenaline.
Brandon’s gaze turns to me, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he swallows harshly. “I thought I’d lost them, but this car has been following us since we left your apartment,” he informs me.
My mouth becomes parched.We left my apartment well over two hours ago.I lick my lips to relieve them from their sudden dryness. “Do you think it’s someone from the Internal Affairs Department?”
Brandon shakes his head. “No.”
His gaze returns to the rearview mirror as he pulls down another isolated side street.
“How do you know they aren’t IA?” I probe as my heart thrashes against my ribcage.
Brandon’s eyes shift from the road to glance at me. “They aren’t government-issued plates,” he responds, his voice having a whip of anxiousness to it.
I was under the assumption the blue sedan was Theresa Veneto or one of her agents undertaking surveillance on me. The car was parked on my street when I returned from a run yesterday afternoon. Not long later, Theresa arrived at my apartment. Putting two and two together, I presumed I formulated the correct answer. With how heavy Theresa’s investigation tactics have been, I wouldn’t put rummaging through my garbage past her to find any shred of evidence she can use against me. Surveillance seems like an appropriate action she would utilize during her investigation.
Gritting my teeth, I lift my gaze to Brandon. “Pull over.”
Brandon’s concerned eyes dart to mine. His gaze is filled with distress.
“If it isn’t IA following me, I want to know who it is. Pull over,” I request again while yanking my satchel off the floor, ignoring the tremor rattling my hands.
Brandon’s thigh muscles spasm before he pulls over as requested. My eyes dart around the nearly isolated surroundings. Other than a derelict building to my right, the rest of the street is nothing but paddocks of overgrown, vermin-infested grass.
After swinging my head back to peer at Brandon’s anxious face, I murmur, “You never witnessed this.”
Not giving Brandon an opportunity to reply, I pull my government-issued gun out of my satchel and swing open the passenger side door.
“Jesus, Isabelle,” Brandon mutters under his breath before his hands dart under the driver’s seat.
