Page 33 of Burn With Me

So, I close my eyes, cutting off the image of the stupid ceiling in front of me, and I just drift away. I do what I do best when something makes me uncomfortable—I pretend.

15

ISAAC

Present Day…

Even as I stride into the off-campus coffee shop with a baseball cap pulled down low over my forehead, peeking beneath the brim and scanning the wide-open area, my thoughts aren’t filled with my reason for being here. Instead, a specific bratty blonde is all I can fucking think about.

Everything about her attracts me. From the way she’d sucked me like she wanted to siphon my soul out through my dick, as well as the way she’d lifted her gaze and glared me down in the middle of campus, showing no fear despite knowing who I am. It’s dangerous, this hold she’s forming over me.

I stride through the crowd of people waiting in line for their coffee and head to the end of the counter, scanning the mobile orders piled up on the little black stand marked for such customers. I find mine and snatch it up just before a man with his face buried in his phone reaches for it.

“Hey!” He grunts as I half-shove him out of my way and head towards the back of the shop. His irritation disperses just as quickly, though, as the girl at his side gestures to his coffee. By the time he realizes, I’ve already found my spot, deposited the bag in my hand on top of the table, and taken a seat.

I’ve got my computer out and my headphones in—sans music—within seconds. I’m not here to play the college student. I’m here for more important matters beyond literary assessment papers and pretending to learn shit I don’t give two fucks about. Everything about me today is a facade. From the cap to the nondescript clothing, and even to the cheap, beat-up laptop I grabbed from a low-budget pawn shop on the way over.

I’m doing everything in my power to appear as the middle-class student trying to cram as much information in his head as possible amidst the overcrowded and noisy coffee shop. My eyes are glazing over twenty minutes later as I click away from a search engine for the fifteenth time when a familiar weight takes a seat behind me.

Back-to-back, I can smell the faint scent of menthol cigarettes on him, and it makes me crave one. “Hello, Isaac.”

“Malik.” I don’t look back. Instead, I keep my head trained forward and my eyes level with the computer screen, though I’m not reading anything on the article I’ve got up in front of me. We hardly speak and even more rarely meet in person, but it’s clear that though my father’s been away on that bullshit honeymoon of his with Emilia Summers, he’s still been hard at work. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here like this at all.

“We received your last message.” Agent Malik Brown’s voice is sharp and concise. I know without looking back that he, too, is dressed for the part. A business suit pressed to perfection and the cheapest black coffee that I know he’s only pretending to drink as he checks his watch as if waiting for someone. That someone is already here. “Has your father made inquiries into your actions?”

I snort. I can’t help it. If the FBI thinks I can’t fool my own father, they wouldn’t have tracked me down and offered me this deal. “Of course not,” I reply. “If he was onto me, then I wouldn’t be here at all.” My mere presence is enough of a statement. I’m in the clear … for now. “Now, get to the reason why you wanted to meet me.”

A beat of silence, and then, “We need you to start gathering more concrete evidence.”

I grit my teeth. “What more do you fucking want?” I snap, lowering my tone as a couple breezes past. Thankfully, the girl is laughing loud enough at whatever the douche hanging onto her arm says that my voice is swallowed up by the noise. “I’ve given you account numbers, locations, and even a list of names. If you can’t do anything with the shit I’ve given you, then what use are you?”

“You’ve been instrumental, Isaac,” Malik states. “But you know as well as we do that Damien Icari is quite good at hiding his tracks. All of those accounts came back completely above board. The locations were empty. They might have been used previously, but they were clean when we arrived. Only the associates you listed were of any real use, but we don’t want to risk you if necessary. We can’t make a move on them immediately. You’re our only contact on the inside and your safety is paramount.”

What he’s saying makes sense, but it’s fucking frustrating. What else can I do? What else will put my father away for good and leave the void of the Icari family open for me to step into?

“We need more,” Malik continues. “If you want to help us as you say you do, then we need something that is completely undeniable.”

Yeah, I know what they need. Hard evidence. Something that paying off judges or threatening jurors won’t be able to get him out of. They need a smoking gun. They needmeto catch my father red-fucking-handed. I scrub my fingers down my face before reaching back and adjusting my baseball cap.

“He’s coming back next week,” I say.

“Yes, we heard about his new wife,” Malik replies. “Do you think she would be of any use?”

Though he can’t see it, my lips twist into an annoyed frown. “Emilia Summers is nothing more than an empty-headed socialite,” I reply. “She won’t be of any use to you.”

“And her daughter?”

I stiffen at the mention of Aurora. “No.” The word comes out gruff and violent. Just the mere reminder of how close that girl is to the seedy underbelly of my world makes me want to break something—preferably someone else’s bones. “She won’t be involved with this.”

There’s no room for argument. Just the thought of Aurora Summers facing off against a man such as my father after betraying him and informing on him to the FBI sends shivers down my spine. It makes my already cold blood turn to ice in my veins.

I know what I’m risking. My life and future. But for her, it would be so much worse. I may not like the girl, but I won’t let the stain of my father’s hands touch her. Ever.

“You seem pretty confident that she won’t be of help.” Malik’s tone suggests he seems to think that I’m wrong.

“She doesn’t even know what he does,” I say.

“Which would possibly make her even more useful than you, Isaac,” he states. “He won’t ever suspect her. The sexism of the world can sometimes cloud people’s minds and make them underestimate the potential of a person based on their gender.” I close my eyes. No doubt he’s speaking from experience, but no. I don’t care if Aurora would be the perfect weapon against my father. My goal is to make her go away, not keep her.

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