5. Isaac

CHAPTER 5

ISAAC

Don't shoot…

Special Agent Dallas Bradley…

Badge number…

I have an injured asset…

I repeat I have an injured asset…

Asset.

The word is stuck in my head, spinning and spinning as darkness gives way to a hazy reality. My eyelids feel heavy like lead when I try to open them. I struggle to focus on the white ceiling above me while every breath is a painful reminder of the fire blazing through my abdomen.

When I'm finally able to open my eyes fully, I attempt to make sense of my surroundings. The sterile scent stings my nostrils—it's like I'm inhaling acid. And the incessant beeping off to the side only punctuates the oppressive silence.

I'm in the hospital, I finally deduce.

Then I remember the ATF shakedown. Remember being shot. Remember seeing Hawk.

Only he wasn't Hawk at all.

It's all coming back in broken fragments, as if my memories are pieces of a complex puzzle and someone just tossed them at me.

Here you go, Isaac.

Put it together.

My instincts kick in and I try to move, but a brutal jolt lances through my gut, squeezing a breathy gasp from me. The pain is intolerable.

A sudden panic grips me—I'm not in control of the situation. The last time I felt this way was when I was in prison.

My hand twitches, seeking something to hold onto, only to be stopped by cold metal biting into my wrist. I glance over to my hand and my eyes land on the daunting reality—I'm handcuffed to the bed.

Fuck.

My heart begins to race, and my chest tightens with dread. Weakness is a luxury I cannot afford, especially in a place like this. And right now I'm undeniably weak.

Jeremy was right about Hawk.

I should have listened to him.

Instead, I let him in. I let him touch me. Let him do things to my body I would have never allowed if I knew who he truly was.

The room seems to close in on me, the white walls mocking my stupidity. My stomach twists into knots, bile rising up as the reality of Hawk's deception takes root. Every moment together—all lies, poisoned by the cold fact of who he really is. And even that… I don't know who he actually is. Not his real age, not where he's from, or why he's chosen to do this for a living.

Anger flares within me, a burning fire fueled by betrayal and self-loathing. I gave myself to this man, allowed him to see the vulnerable parts of me I'd hidden away for so long. And for what? To be used, manipulated... Called a fucking asset.

My thoughts race, an uncontrollable storm inside my head. I'm trying to push it all away—the intimacy we shared. But I can't escape these memories. Every time I close my eyes I see our bodies entwined, see his hands tracing the lines of my scars, and murmuring dirty things in my ear, calling me sexy.

Fucking working.

Getting information.

Asshole played me the whole time.

I don't know how much time slips by as I wrestle with my thoughts, mentally kicking myself relentlessly for my own idiocy. Then the nurse comes at some unknown hour.

She mechanically checks my vitals—all business and no warmth—brushing off each one of my questions. She probably knows I'm to be treated with caution.

Once she's gone, the door shuts with a resonating click. Through the slim gap just before it closes entirely, I catch sight of a uniformed figure hovering outside my ward. Someone's guarding me.

Fantastic.

Just fucking fantastic.

I pass out from pain and exhaustion and wake up later on, completely disoriented and miserable. One-on-one with my worst nightmare. Minutes drag by and nothing happens and then at some point the door swings open again.

And there he stands–the man I thought I knew, the man who went by Hawk, the man now transformed into someone else, dressed in what without a doubt is a government-issue black suit. His hair is gathered in a neat ponytail. There's at least two days' worth of stubble shadowing his jaw. He looks exhausted with dark circles beneath his eyes. There's a small scratch on his forehead. Frankly, it's not much different from how he usually looked when he worked at Purgatory, but still, it's not the same. Somehow the badge suits him , a ridiculous thought rushes through my head.

He lingers by the door for a long moment, his intense blue gaze locked on mine. Familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. I meet that gaze with one of my own.

"The fuck are you doing here?" I grit out, unable to hold back the disdain. My chest tightens, my anger intensifying at the sight of him. And at the realization of how dumb I was.

"How are you feeling?" he asks matter-of-factly from across the room. Like he's fucking scared to get closer. Well, fucker should be.

"Fuck you."

A heavy sigh leaves his mouth. "Isaac, I–" he starts.

I cut him off with another vicious glare and a hostile speech. "You fucking played me. Is it Special Agent Dallas Bradley? Right?" I bite out, my voice hoarse. "All this time. You played me and I was a fool to let you. You know what we do to people like you? To fucking traitors?"

His face shifts, a hint of something briefly surfacing before disappearing behind an implacable mask. Finally, he steps closer, his gaze continues to hold mine. I want to look away but I can't for some reason. It's like we're glued together, glued into this agonizing dance of push and pull.

"I'm sorry," he says softly, the words barely audible. "I had no choice."

"You had no choice?" I scoff incredulously. "There's always a choice, asshole."

"Yes, Isaac." His voice goes up an octave. "You had a fucking bullet in your gut. You were bleeding out. You would have died there without proper medical help. You know this was the only way for you to live. So don't give me that shit about righteousness."

"You call this living?" I gesture to the handcuffs keeping me secured to the bed, my own body betraying me with its weakness and pain. "Being trapped and helpless. Who's going to take care of my family now?" The uncertainty of what happened to the rest of my crew is eating away at me but I can't ask him. My tongue doesn't listen to me when that question emerges. Words simply never leave my mouth.

"It's better this than being six feet under," he retorts, his voice edged with steel now.

"Is it?" I shoot back, my fury boiling over. "I trusted you, let you into my life, my goddamn heart. And for what? You used me, played me like a cheap pawn in your twisted game."

"Twisted game? I was doing my job."

"So, is that what I am to you?" I hiss out, furious. "A job?"

The silence that follows is deafening. He just stands there, staring at me, jaw clenched, hands on his hips. And I'm waiting, waiting to hear him speak. But words refuse to come out again. There are none–only the cold, hard truth remains.

He's a Fed and I'm on the other side of the law.

We are enemies by default.

"You don't get to waltz in here, looking all polished and perfect, and apologize like you spilled a fucking drink on me," I choke out, my entire body is shaking now and I'm not sure if it's the pain or the outrage. "This wasn't some accident, Hawk. Or should I call you Agent Whatever-The-Fuck-Your-Real-Name-Is? You crawled into my life, lied your way into my family, pretending to be someone else. And you know what?" I pause and study his tense face. My chest heaves with the effort of keeping my anger from consuming me entirely. "Maybe I'm a fucking criminal. Maybe I break the law, but at least I know what I am. Do you, Agent Bradley?"

He's quiet at first. Quiet and collected. A stranger.

"You think 'sorry' is enough?" I ask.

"If I didn't care about what happens to you, I wouldn't have blown my cover to get you to the hospital," he finally says.

"Oh really?"

"Are you going to be a fucking emotional prick with a brain of a fifteen-year-old or can we talk like two adults?"

"We are talking like two adults. You're the one trying to give me excuses."

"I'm giving you facts, Isaac. Not excuses."

"You wormed your way into my bed just so you could rat us all out."

Hawk's—Dallas's eyes flash with something a lot like a mix of hurt and irritation. He averts his gaze for a second, glancing at the expanse of the room, before returning his attention to me. "That's not how it was, Isaac." He inches toward the bed and I can smell him now. I can smell his heat wrapped into warm cinnamon, and memories of us together rush through my mind. I shove them down, feeling guilty for even allowing this to happen.

"I never meant for things to get physical," he says. "We are not supposed to. It's not part of the job."

"Well, you sure as shit are a bad employee." I scoff, bitterness lacing every syllable. "But that doesn't change the fact that you're still the same lying piece of shit who used me."

"Damn it, Isaac!" His fists clench at his sides, his entire body tensing with frustration. "It just... happened."

"What, you just happened to fuck me," I whisper at him, shame and ache twisting my stomach into a pretzel.

"No," he whispers back. "You asked me to."

I'm seeing red all of a sudden. "Go to hell."

"For fuck's sake." Agitatedly, he rakes his hand through his hair, unknowingly messing up the pristine look he wore until this very moment. He's more like Hawk now with a few dark strands falling out of his ponytail. "I know I hurt you, Isaac. Is that what you want to hear? But I can't change the way things are. All I can do at this point is do my best to make it right."

"Make it right?" My voice rises, incredulous. "How the fuck do you plan on doing that? Look at me. I'm handcuffed to a hospital bed." I yank at my wrist and the clatter of metal against metal fills the space between us with the ugly noise of betrayal. "There's a cop outside my ward and I have no idea what happened to my crew. There's only one way out of this mess. Fucking prison. And I'm not going back."

"I want to help. But you gotta trust me."

"Trust you? After you pretended to be someone else for months on end just so you could get your hands on my secrets? You're insane if you think I'm going to put my faith in some lying asshole like you. Fuck off, Agent Bradley."

His composure cracks and he steps right up to the bed, closing the gap between us. His nearness sends jolts of electricity down my spine as he leans in—his breath blazingly warm against my earlobe. "I'm the only chance you got, Isaac." His voice is laced with an unusual fervor that tilts toward desperation. "I'm trying to save your sorry ass, but if you'd rather listen to your pride instead of reason, then you will go to prison."

I'm too medicated and too distracted by his proximity to think of a worthy comeback. All I can do is blurt out the same old accusation. "You fucked me for intel."

"I fucked you because I liked you," he murmurs, his gaze finding mine, his confession piercing through my drug-induced stupor. The admission hangs heavy in the charged air between us. "Contrary to what you might believe, it was real."

"I didn't even know your fucking name."

"That was the only lie. Everything else between me and you wasn't."

"Keep telling that to yourself."

"I killed for you, Isaac. So don't you tell me any of that wasn't real. It was real for me."

He straightens up, turns on his heel, and storms out of the room, leaving me alone with the crushing weight of our shattered secret on my chest.