Page 249 of Enigma: The Complete Collection
Even being flanked by four officers, I throw him back until his torso slams against the glass window of a hospital suite, then clutch his throat. His pupils widen, and the veins in his neck throb under my firm grasp, but he smirks, seemingly amused by my anger.
The blood surging through my veins shrills in my ears, making it almost impossible to hear the demands of the officers pulling me away from him, but one voice will never be silenced.
“Stop, Isaac, please stop,” yells a distorted voice. “He’s my brother.”
Flashbacks of the night I fought CJ Petretti rush to the forefront of my mind. Those were the last words Ophelia spoke to me before she died. All I can see is her beautiful face soaked with tears and her pleas for me to stop beating her brother.
I shake my head, erasing the painful memories clogged there before tightening my grip on Isabelle’s attacker’s neck. This time is different. I'm not hurting this man because I was strong-armed into doing something I didn’t want to do. I'm punishing him for hurting Isabelle. My Isabelle. The one woman I'd do anything to protect.
“Stop, please!” screams through my ears again. This time, from a voice I recognize.
When I shift my eyes to the voice, Isabelle’s tear-stained face glances up at me. “Please, Isaac.” She hiccups through tears. “He’s my brother.”
Haunted by memories of the night Ophelia died, I release my fingers from the stranger’s neck before taking a step back. He bends in half before gasping in some big breaths. When he regains his breath, he glares at me. My brows furrow. I’m not frightened by his stare. I’m confused as to why I’m staring into a pair of eyes I’ve seen many times before. There's no mistaking those eyes. They’re identical to Isabelle’s in every way.
I scan his face as my disordered brain tries to compile some sort of normality in this bizarre situation. He has the same plump, cupid-bow lips, same nose, although his is more prominent than Isabelle’s, same hair coloring, and even the same skin tone.
I take another step back. How the hell did I miss this? He isn’tjusta half-sibling of Isabelle’s, he’s her full-blooded brother.
Isabelle drops to her knees before placing her juddering hands onto the sides of his swollen, bloodstained cheeks to hoist his downcast face up. Her lips quiver as fresh tears spill from her eyes unchecked. “I’m sorry, Enrique. I’m so sorry,” she apologizes. “I was only a child. If I were older, I’d have begged for Tobias to take you, too. I would’ve never left you behind, but I was only a child, Enrique. I didn’t know any better. Please forgive me.Please.”
Logically, I understand Isabelle harbors guilt for leaving him behind, but she said it herself—she was only a child. She was only six when she was sold, so she can’t be held accountable for the actions of the adults who surrounded her. The burden of culpability doesn’t belong on her shoulders, and if Enrique doesn’t realize that, he doesn’t deserve the apologies trickling from Isabelle’s lips.
No longer able to watch her plead for forgiveness from a man who mere hours ago drugged and kidnapped her in broad daylight, I pull Isabelle away from Enrique. When my arms curl around her waist, she stiffens until she realizes who is grabbing her.
A painful whimper escapes her lips as she burrows her head into my neck, her tears dampening my shirt. “I’ve got you, Isabelle.”
I stride down the corridor, ignoring the frightened glances of the police officers and hospital staff. My stern glare is impressive enough they won’t dare stop me.
“I’ve got you, baby,” I repeat.And I’m never going to let you go.
An hour later, we're sitting in Isabelle’s private suite in Ravenshoe Private Hospital. The only time Isabelle wasn’t cradled in my arms was when Jae finalized a set of observations on her. The instant Jae left the room, I gathered Isabelle back into my torso.
We’ve spent the last hour in silence. It hasn’t been uncomfortable. We just don’t require words to articulate our thoughts. The intimacy that forever surges between us still crackles in the air, but there's something stronger, more tangible, expressing what our words have failed to communicate.
Isabelle inhales a sharp, quick breath before her head pops off my shoulder. “I remember what happened. Col knew who I was. He said he recognized me the instant he saw me as I’m the spitting image of my mom.” Her nose screws up as she battles to hold in her tears. “He killed her, Isaac. Col murdered my mother because she wouldn’t give herself to him.”
My lungs feel heavy, making it hard for me to breathe. I knew the type of man Col was—heartless and foreboding. That’s why I strived so hard to keep Isabelle away from him. My plan only altered when he produced his gun. Even though I wanted to look in his eyes while I made him suffer as he did me seven years ago, my virulent desire to protect Isabelle overwhelmed me.
Before I could comprehend what was happening, I charged for her, sheltering her body with mine. My desire to keep her safe annulled my toxic need for revenge. That, in itself, shows her importance to me. Even revenge I craved for years doesn’t come close to my yearning for her safety.
I gather Isabelle back into my chest to settle her tears. Although the stories Isabelle shared of her family revealed she didn’t have a close bond with her mother, she’d still be pained to know she was murdered.
“I only realized who Enrique was when his eyes filled with fear. It was the same look he had any time our father came to visit us.” Her words flutter my dress shirt. “I should have taken him with me, Isaac. I should have saved him from that lifestyle.”
I place my hand under her chin and raise her downcast head. “You were only a child. You aren’t to blame for the man he grew up to be.”
“I know that, but he never had the chance to grow up to be a respected member of society with Vladimir as his father.” Her eyes dart between mine. “If he came with us, he would’ve at least stood a chance of a normal upbringing.”
I don’t attempt to rebut her statement as everything she said is true. It’s the reason Henry ensured his son wasn’t raised in this lifestyle. It’s the sole reason he sacrificed everything so his son wouldn’t be tarnished with the same brush that painted his life.
“I know you think he's a terrible man, Isaac, but I honestly don’t believe Enrique set out to hurt me.”
I stiffen as my jaw sets into a hard line. “You were gagged and bound to a chair, Isabelle.”
She cups my cheek with her hand that’s still wet from her tears, quelling some of the anger surging through my blood. “I know, but he gave me water, and he took care of me—”
“After drugging you twice!”
