8. Dallas

CHAPTER 8

DALLAS

The desert air seeping through the lowered window of the vehicle bites at my skin as the Vegas skyline rises up in the distance, a glittering monster of sin. I grip the steering wheel harder. The leather warms some more under my palms.

Isaac sits beside me, a motionless statue carved from hate. He's been quiet since we crossed the state line, his thoughts cocooned in silence.

The city devours us as we drive through. Isaac speaks to me only once, his voice low and spiraling with hints of grating whispers. "Just drop me off at my condo," he requests.

Without a word, I comply.

"End of the line," I murmur over the hum of the idling engine as I pull up to the luxury building stretching up to the sky. It's overcast today and the architectural giant seems to strive to pierce the cloud-littered canvas above.

Isaac glances over, his dark eyes unreadable. He says nothing but his gaze communicates the many things he's thinking. All of them wrapped in resentment.

"I think with me to continue staying at the hotel would be best." The words come out more like a question than a statement. I can't shake the need to keep him close, within arm's reach. It's not just about protecting him from everything and everyone anymore. It's something deeper. "It'll be easier for me to... keep an eye on things."

"Jeremy will handle it," Isaac says sharply. "He'll make sure you still have your room." He doesn't wait for a response before stepping out of the car, the door closing with a slam that feels like a verdict.

I watch him stride into the building, the tension between us a living thing left gasping on the sidewalk.

As he disappears from view, I'm left with the sour twist of fear in my gut. This isn't just another undercover gig—it's personal now, and Isaac's caught in the crosshairs of a fight he never asked for.

By the time I arrive at Crown Tower, the evening has faded into the night. My heart's a staccato rhythm against my ribs as I park the vehicle. There's a tightness in my chest, the weight of the invisible badge beneath my clothes suddenly too heavy.

What if Jeremy lied?

What if the Hellhounds know who I really am?

What if they are waiting?

Fear grips me as I step out of the vehicle and approach the building. My goal is to quickly pick up the room key from the receptionist and hide away on the top floor. But as I near the bank of service elevators and turn the corner, Ricky's silhouette appears from further down the hallway.

His expression shifts and for a split second, I think my cover's blown—that he heard me when I let slip my true self back at the border. But Ricky's face is all concern as he jogs up to me, his gait uneven.

"Yo, Hawk! You're back!"

"Ricky." I nod, keeping my expression carefully neutral. "What's up?"

"Man, shit got messy back in Arizona, huh?" he blurts out, his tone hushed. "You good?" He searches my face, his brows knitting with genuine worry.

"Been better." I shrug, playing it down.

"What happened to Flynn? J said ATF got him."

"Flynn's gone," I confirm quietly, the words nearly choke in my throat. I'm consumed by a suffocating sense of despair and self-loathing for not being able to save him. But what's done is done. I can't continue to think about something that can't be changed.

"Fuckers," Ricky curses. "That's brutal. Gonna be hard on Serene and the kids if they lock him up." Ricky shakes his head, a low whistle escaping him. "I heard Isaac caught a bullet."

"Took it like a champ. I had a medic buddy down in Mexico fix him up. He's good now." The lie rolls off my tongue with shameless ease.

"Damn. Good to have friends in low places, eh?" Ricky grins, but there's no humor in his eyes—just the dark sheen of the life we lead.

"Something like that." I force a smile that feels more like a grimace. The deceit kills me inside, but it's necessary.

"And the boss. He with you?"

"No. Dropped him off at his place. He needs some downtime."

"I bet he does. He's a goddamned bullet magnet. Alright, gotta bounce. My shift is about to start. And it's good to have you and the boss back, man." Ricky claps me on the shoulder before melting into the night pulse of Crown Tower.

I pick up the key and head upstairs where the room I've been occupying all these weeks is waiting for me, untouched.

As I step inside, the hopeless mood wraps around me—a shroud made of secrets and forbidden desires. This is my world, and there's no telling if I will make it out alive.

Days turn into nights and nights turn into days. I'm back to working my regular shifts at Purgatory. I'm Hawk, once again, one of the Hellhounds. The club becomes a blur of faces. The stench of sweat, spilled liquor, and spend money clings to my skin as I navigate the floor, watching everything, missing nothing.

Isaac's absence bothers me—a silent alarm that won't stop ringing in the back of my mind. I haven't seen him since I dropped him off at the condo and I can't tell if he's avoiding me, if he's busy planning his next step, or simply resting. He owes money to Solovey and rumor has it on a scale of ten Toro is fifteen pissed because he didn't get his guns.

But so far, things have been pretty quiet. And I know why. Neither Solovey nor Toro wants to be rash and deal with the aftermath of another ambush. They are careful and patient.

I get it but I'm tired of waiting. The clock is ticking and I need to give the Bureau something before they pull me out for good.

One evening, when Ricky tells me Isaac's finally at the club, I head to his office before my shift starts. I push the door open without knocking.

He's there, hunched over his desk, hostility rolling off him in waves when he looks up from the paperwork.

"I always thought you'd be the polite type," he mutters angrily under his breath, a clear warning to tread carefully.

"Since when do we bother with niceties?" I shoot back, shutting the door behind me.

"What do you want?" He leans back in his chair and stares at me as if he wants to burn a hole in my skin.

"What's going on, Isaac?" I ask quietly, walking up to the desk. "Why are we not doing anything? It's been a week and we're on the clock here. Both you and me. We need a plan."

"Who says I don't have one?" Isaac's gaze is sharp on my face, a knife ready to cut.

"Then you need to talk to me. Besides, Solovey and Toro aren't going to sit around and wait for us to make the first move forever. The Russian will want his money eventually. What aren't you telling me?"

"You don't come in here and order around, Dallas." He hisses out my name like it's poison and my stomach roils. Then he stands so abruptly his chair rolls back and hits the wall. "This isn't a game. One wrong play and we're both dead. So don't expect me to think of you and your fucking employer when lives are at stake."

Isaac rounds the desk and stands in front of me, hands shoved into the pockets of his slacks. "It's my family, Agent Bradley," he whispers reverently, his voice barely audible. If the security cameras are recording, they won't pick it up.

"Which is why we need to be on the same page," I supply, trying to ignore the way the proximity to him sets my nerves on edge. "It was your call to come back. You can't act alone."

"You think I'll trust you after everything," he snaps, eyes flashing with something I can't read.

"Maybe not, but time isn't on our side." I keep my tone steady, despite the storm brewing inside. "If Solovey's in hiding, that means he's spooked. And a spooked enemy is unpredictable."

"Unpredictable can be good," Isaac counters, his expression hardening even more. "Makes them sloppy."

"Or desperate," I add, knowing full well the kind of damage a backed-into-a-corner animal can inflict.

"Desperate we can handle," Isaac says, but there's doubt in his eyes. "We've been handling it all our lives."

"I can help," I mutter, the weight of my double life suddenly pressing down on me.

"Always the hero, aren't you… Hawk?"

"Someone's got to be."

"Fuck you," he spits out, and I can't help but wonder if he means it or if it's another layer of armor he's putting on. He's quiet then, serious even. "J says Solovey's gone to the ground," Isaac states, moving toward the door, urgency in every step. "The Russian's not an idiot. He knows he's got the Feds and ATF sniffing around. There's no way he'll risk a meet now. That's why nothing's happening."

I trail behind him as we exit his office, my mind churning over the implications. The pulsating beats the DJ is producing fill the corridor, and Isaac halts for a moment, his head cocked. "This music is shit," he growls a verdict and continues to walk. "What the fuck is going on? Who is this DJ?" His question is a snarl aimed at Seven, who looks up from his post at the end of the corridor with a grimace.

"Georgie's call, boss," he shouts over the noise. "Brought this guy in last week. Says his friend." Seven jerks his thumb toward a VIP room down the hall. "And he decided on a little... redecoration."

Isaac's face hardens into a mask of fury, and I can see the storm in those dark eyes before he even moves.

Then he lunges forward.

I keep pace with him, feeling a twisted knot of anticipation in my gut.

"That shit!" The expletive explodes from Isaac as he bursts into the room. I'm on his heels, and the sight that greets me is a mockery of taste—green and gold vomited across what was once a sanctuary of signature Purgatory reds. It's like Midas had a nightmare and this room is where it came to die.

"Of course, that's Georgie's idea of class," Isaac spits out. He turns on his heel, the gold laughing at us both as we exit the room.

"Where the fuck is he?" Isaac's voice is a serrated blade slicing through the din of slot machines and roulette wheels as we barrage into the neon-lit belly of Eclipse. He's all dark energy and imminent destruction in a thousand-dollar suit, marching through the casino floor.

I trail after him, my own temper simmering beneath a thin veneer of control. Eclipse is a clamor made up of clinks, dings, and the occasional cheer—a song of greed and desperation. The air is tinged with smoke and the sharp smell of spilled cocktails. High rollers and hopefuls blur past us, their faces a gallery of vice and false bravado.

Isaac zeroes in on Georgie, who's surrounded by a cluster of suits.

I can feel it—the impending confrontation.

"Georgie, you overstepping maggot," Isaac shouts, pushing past the suits to stand in front of his cousin. "Gentlemen. A pleasure." He flashes a dangerous smile at the circle of Georgie's companions and they begin to disperse.

"What the fuck is this?" Georgie snaps, glancing around. His eyes pause on me for a moment and then return to Isaac.

"Don't poke your nose where it doesn't belong," Isaac grits out a warning.

Georgie's response is a smug sneer. "Oh, cuz, still playing king?"

A crowd gathers, drawn to the spectacle like moths to flame. I step forward, trying to defuse the bomb that is Isaac. My hand touches his shoulder. "Hey, Isa—"

But he shrugs me off like I'm nothing more than a nuisance fly.

"Who told you you can do shit in my club while I'm gone?"

"Uncle didn't mind."

Isaac's jaw clenches. He and Georgie stare at each other as tense seconds tick by.

"Your time's up, Isaac. You're a high school star," Georgie taunts with a churlish glee that makes my blood boil. "Peaked a long time ago. Now you're done for. Bringing heat on the family. You're five seconds away from being someone's bitch in prison."

Isaac's quiet, face leached of color, and I can't tell if he's thinking or phasing out.

The words just hang in the hot air without a response, and then Georgie delivers the final blow, his voice dripping with contempt. "Or maybe that's what you're looking forward to, faggot? Didn't get fucked enough first time around, huh?"

My fist flies before I can think. The punch is a thunderclap that echoes through the casino. Georgie's jaw cracks under the force, his bulk—all three hundred pounds—hitting the floor with a thud that overshadows the slot machines and the roulettes. The crowd gasps, a collective intake of breath that drowns out the other noises for a fraction of a second.

"Say that again, asshole and you'll be eating through a feeding tube for the rest of your life," I growl—my voice a low menacing rasp—as I stand over Georgie, my chest heaving with anger, adrenaline pumping through my veins like fire. Inside, emotions roil—fury and fear.

The casino security guards push through the onlookers. Finally. Took them forever.

"Break it up!" one of them yells, hands already prying me away from the crumpled sorry ass of a man at my feet. I don't resist, but my glare pins Georgie to the spot like a warning sign. Don't mess with what's mine.

Isaac and I are escorted from the casino and left alone at the entrance to the walkway connecting Eclipse to Purgatory.

My mind is still reeling from the confrontation with Georgie and my fist hurts. For someone this soft and chinless the fucker has one hell of a bone structure.

I coil and uncoil my fingers, trying to shake off the pain from my knuckles, while Isaac paces restlessly in one spot. His shirt is disheveled and he looks paler than usual, which makes me think he should be at home recovering, not trying to control every aspect of everyone's lives.

The walkway is deserted, but the lack of noise seems to have the opposite effect on us both.

Isaac's strides are rigid, every muscle taut with unspoken rage. He stops suddenly, and we nearly collide.

"I didn't need you to be a fucking knight in shining armor back there," Isaac says, his voice dangerously low. "I don't need you to protect me from that Fat Fuck. I can handle him just fine."

"Bastard got under my skin," I shoot back, unable to keep the frustration from bleeding into my words.

"Welcome to my world."

I step closer, so close we're almost touching. "I think you need to go home, Isaac."

"And I think you need to stop telling me what to do."

"You're going to pull your fucking stitches."

"Since when do you care?" His dark eyes search mine, seeking an answer I'm not sure I should give him right now when we are both this unsettled.

"Since I—" I start, then stop. The truth is a bitter pill lodged in my throat.

"Since you what… Hawk ?" Isaac presses, our breaths mingling in the tiny space between us.

I'm quiet, shaking from the strange mix of anger and desire to protect him, and I don't know what to do with all these fucking emotions.

"Since you became more than just a job," I whisper in his ear. My admission is clear. "Is that what you want to hear?"

"I want to erase you from my life completely," he whispers back. "You think you're different but you're just like everyone else—looking for a weakness to exploit."

"Is that what you see when you look at me?" My question fills the air, full of implications neither one of us is ready to face. At least not right at this moment. "It's your own damn fault. I gave you an out. You didn't take it. Deal with me now."

Before Isaac can answer, a shadow looms in the distance, footsteps sounding in the otherwise quiet hallway. Our argument falls away, replaced by the immediate need to appear collected, unshaken.

"Save your savior complex excuses for another time," Isaac murmurs, his eyes flicking to the approaching figure before locking onto mine once more, communicating a silent promise. Or a threat. I can't tell. He's put up all his walls again.