Page 116 of Enigma: The Complete Collection
Not bothering to reply, I snap down the screen of my phone. A ragged breath escapes my lips when my eyes wander around the warehouse. My muscles are deliriously exhausted, which has dampened the fire roaring through my veins, giving the effect I was striving for when I arrived hours ago, but something is still off. I don’t feel myself.
Being betrayed does that to a guy.
When I dump my unregistered cell back into my gym bag, I notice I only have an hour before my reservation with Cormack, meaning I’ll have to shower in the locker rooms instead of driving back to my apartment. I could go home, but I haven’t been back there since it was trashed by the Bureau. Catherine organized a cleaning crew to come in the following day, and all the furniture and broken items have been replaced, but I can’t bring myself to go back there. It was my private oasis, my home, but now it feels like an empty shell.
After stripping off my shorts, I step into the steaming hot shower. The scorching water pumping out of the mildew-coated showerhead kneads and massages my weary muscles. Closing my eyes, I flatten my palms on the dirty, mold-covered tiles before lowering my head into the stream of water. The pressure gives relief to the headache that’s been plaguing me for the past three days.
I generally survive on approximately four to six hours of sleep a night, but even that amount has eluded me the past few nights. My hands instinctively dart out to pull Isabelle toward me, then when my hands come up empty, the complexity of the situation dawns on me, and my endeavor for additional sleep is lost.
Climbing out of the shower, I dry myself with a white gym towel I have in my bag. Its material is so stiff, it scratches my skin when I run it over my body. It reminds me how Isabelle’s nails raked my back when she's in ecstasy, or how she clawed at my thighs while sucking my cock.
Ignoring the erection I’m now sporting, I place on the suit I was wearing when I arrived, but forgo my vest, tie, and jacket. My body is still overheated from the intense workout, so I don’t want to be constrained by a tie. I also don’t want more uncomfortableness added to the choking feeling that’s been clutching my throat since my arrest.
After snagging my bag off the ground, I make my way to my car, where I make the usually forty-five-minute trip to Ravenshoe in under thirty.
The restaurant hostess’s lips curve into a lusty grin when she notices me heading her way. “Good evening, Mr. Holt.”
“April.”
I continue on my quest, not bothering to wait for her to usher me to the booth Cormack and I frequented every week for the past five years. Our routine only faltered because Isabelle was in the picture. Although I was more than happy to make things official, I couldn’t risk taking her out in public for fear Col would see us together.
This restaurant charges exorbitant prices for the most minuscule portions of food, but the whiskey is top-shelf, and its cigars are unsurpassed. I wouldn’t expect anything less from its owner. Our tradition of eating here started a few months after I earned my first million dollars. I invested every cent I made fighting heavily into stocks. Some weeks, I made seven thousand dollars fighting, but I lived as if I were a poor student who didn’t have a penny to my name. I kept my grades up, so my scholarship remained valid and ate ramen noodles and canned spaghetti for supper like every other student around me. No one, except Cormack, knew my bank account was growing at a rapid pace.
With how turbulent the stock market was, it took a little longer than I would have liked for my bank account to show its first million-dollar balance, but once it was there for all to see, the achievement was incalculable, and we had reason to celebrate.
When Cormack and I first burst through the doors of this very restaurant, we were only young. I was just shy of my twentieth birthday, and Cormack was only twenty-one. We dressed in what we thought was respectable clothing, both wearing long-sleeve dress shirts and black trousers. We even rustled up two ties from the clothing Cormack grabbed in haste when he left his family estate with the intention never to return.
The restaurant manager took one look at us, then attempted to have us thrown out. I say attempt as I didn’t take his rejection sitting down. After scuffling with two security guards, and leaving one with a broken nose, I told the manager that I intended to buy the restaurant and fire his ass on the very first day I owned it.
I did precisely that eleven months later.
My hunger for success was embedded in me from a very young age. When I was four, I was diagnosed with an aggressive form of Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. My only chance of survival weighed on extensive chemotherapy combined with a stem cell transplant. My parents were tested, and neither was found to be a genetic match, which isn’t unusual. Most genetic matches only occur in siblings, and those odds sit at only one in four. Luckily for me, Nick was a perfect match. That may have had something to do with the fact he was conceived in a test tube to save my life.
With a high dosage of chemotherapy and the stem cells from Nick’s umbilical cord when he was delivered eight weeks early, I survived, and my fighting spirit was unleashed.
People say childhood memories are configured from stories you were told while growing up. Mine aren’t. I remember I felt invincible when Nick’s stem cells were transplanted. I knew at that precise moment I was going to live, and I promised myself to live my life to the fullest. I also assured my baby brother that one day I'd repay him for giving me the gift of life. Every day I actively pursue that promise.
Nick is apprehensive to accept my generosity. His reluctance is spawned from watching our mother be a mooch a majority of his life. My parents were already separated before Nick joined our family. He glued them together for a couple more years, but like all glue, it eventually dried, and their marriage failed. My mother wanted possessions. My father wanted love. It’s very rare to achieve both.
After sliding into the booth Cormack is already seated at, I greet him with a jerk of my chin before signaling for the waiter to bring us our whiskey and cigars.
“Izz—”
I cut off Cormack’s comment with a stern glare. “Can I at least get a glass of whiskey before you mention her name?”
Cormack is my one and only true friend. Most people I associate with are acquaintances, business companions, or staff, but I class him as my friend—a very dear friend—but even he's treading a fine line by mentioninghername to me. After I was arrested, I banned Isabelle’s name from being mentioned. Not once has my demand been met.
Cormack chuckles, not the slightest bit fazed by my infuriating glance. “You might want to ask them to leave the bottle as I plan on mentioninghername more than once.”
CHAPTER10
ISAAC
“Hey, boss, I’m surprised you're still here.” Tina prances into my office before propping her backside onto my desk. “You haven’t stayed back this late for weeks.”
She’s not lying. Before Isabelle, my nights were spent in my office, watching the sales roll in. Thousands of transactions are made each night in my clubs, yet not one patron bats an eyelid at the inflated prices I charge. They’re willing to pay for the privilege of drinking in an establishment as sophisticated as mine. The Dungeon is my greatest business achievement thus far. It’s an over-eighteen dance club that grew to the number one dance club this side of the country within two months of opening. It was designed with sex and sensuality in mind. That old saying will never die. Sex does sell, and I use it in my business adventures at every given opportunity.
Although I’m proud of how well it’s doing, my onsite presence has been severely lacking the past month. Since Isabelle worked days, and I typically work nights, my usually unyielding focus shifted from my business goals to a more personal endeavor. My desire to spend time with Isabelle often had me leaving the office before my clubs reached capacity. I have a dedicated team, so my businesses never lagged the past month, but even if they did, I valued my time with Isabelle enough, I would have taken a hit.
