Page 162 of Irreversible

Stepping forward, I inch back the curtain and peer inside the room.

Nothing.

No one is here.

The room smells like roses and vanilla, lightly illuminated by wax warmers as I enter, but the residual aroma of smoke and sandalwood tickles my nose. Heady masculinity.

Confusion snuffs out the adrenaline spike, slackening my shoulders as I step back out of the suite and look around, scurrying over to the opposite staircase. I lean over the balcony, curling my fingers around the iron railing as my eyes take in the loud, overflowing room.

My stomach pitches.

I spot him—moving swiftly along the perimeter of the club, pulling something out of his pocket.

I want to call out to him, but I don’t have a name. I want to scream, shout, beg for him to return, to tell me who he is and what he wants.

Stop running.

Stop hiding.

But he doesn’t look back.

Holding on to the railing, I inhale a shaky breath, my eyes misting over. Two syllables fall out in a choked whisper as I watch him shove through the side door and disappear into the night. “Isaac?”

40

What the hell am I doing?

The doorthunksclosed behind me, muffling the music inside. Within seconds, I’ve vanished into the darkness, a cigarette between my lips, inhaling the nicotine-infused smoke like it’s the first breath I’ve taken in days. “Fuck…”I mutter on the exhale.“I almost did that.”

With my eyes fixed on the exit, I wait for that mane of wild curls to emerge. Any minute now, she’ll confront me. Ask a thousand questions that demand answers. Wear me down until I tell her all the things I don’t want to admit.

Someone else should do this job.

It shouldn’t be me.

It’s got to be me.

Pressure builds in my chest until it’s hard to breathe. The reasons I have for coming don’t include talking to her. I could easily stay at arms-length, where she’d never know. But watching her dance like that—embracing that intoxicating sex appeal, owning her body—is getting to me. So much, that in a moment of weakness, I dropped a cool six hundred for a private room and an hour of her time.

Then reality sank in, and I ghosted.

I’d rather not analyze that.

By the time my cigarette is down to a burnt stub, she still hasn’t appeared.

My hands shake like I’ve gone a year without a fix.

Yeah. I’m fucked.

Every time she’s been close, I’ve locked up, so the real question is whether I’m even capable of talking to her the way she’ll expect. Am I reliant on walls to carry on an intimate conversation with another human being?

Maybe.

The thought of opening myself up without that barrier between us makes me nauseous. It didn’t end well then, so why should it be any different now, when I’m not even sure I’mcapableof that kind of connection?

Tanner thinks the past year has gotten into my head—made me lose it a little. But that’s a side effect of cutting myself off from society to follow a psychopath into the depths of the underworld.

There’s a labyrinth traveling under the world, where monsters thrive just beneath society’s nose. And when hunting, you go where your quarry lives. You blend into it. Maybe if I were a stronger man, one more acquainted with the light, I could use it as camouflage and strip it off like a costume the next day. But I was born of the shadows, and when they saw me coming home, they opened their arms and welcomed me back.

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