Page 307 of Enigma: The Complete Collection
I disconnect our call, then place my cell into the gym bag at my side. Cormack’s amused but guarded gaze follows me when I stand from the bench seat I’m sitting on. He remains quiet as I do a set of reps to ensure my muscles are firm and warm, meaning they’ll be less likely to sustain damage from any blows that may be inflicted on them.
Six years has passed since I last undertook this warm-up routine, but it feels like no time at all. The only difference this time around is Ophelia isn’t fretfully pacing.
“Are you sure you want to do this? You aren’t as young as you were back then.” Cormack hands me a white towel to run over my sweat-drenched head since I’ve finalized my thirty-minute routine. “You’re still as cocky, but that doesn’t mean you’re as fast as you once were.”
My chuckle echoes in the quietness of the locker room. “Are you worried about me getting hurt? Or you losing your twenty percent cut since all the proceeds go to charity?”
Cormack’s brows furrow. “I guess I better cut back on the cigars and whiskeys at your restaurant next week to save me some coin for a rainy day.”
I laugh even louder. He could never work a day in his life if he wanted to live off his family inheritance. But just like me, everything he has in his life, he’s achieved himself.
My chuckles die down when I catch the live broadcast of the pre-fight banter on a color television hanging in the corner of the room. Ever since Henry Gottle, Jr. announced a charity match between the current heavy-weight contender for our region and me, I’ve been inundated with requests for interviews.
Most people are unaware of how I gained the capital to start my empire. The main rumor is that it was funded by drug trafficking, but drugs have never, and will never, run through my empire. Due to the lack of knowledge, fight commentators believe I'm going into this charity match blindfolded. I’ve seen fake eulogies of my death, cartoon artists have sketched me with my head removed and dangling from The Constrictor’s hand, and the fight commentators are remarking that tonight’s match will be a prime example as to why a businessman should stick to business proposals and not boxing rings. Their taunts have made me determined not to walk out of that ring until their ideas about my reputation have significantly altered.
In all honesty, I only truly considered Cormack’s suggestion after my encounter with Isabelle. And while I’m being totally forthright, I’ll admit hearing Isabelle say I stole her dreams cut through me like a hot knife through butter.
I want to give Isabelle the world. Everything I have, I want to share with her, so it killed me to hear that she abandoned her dreams to be with me. If I were a better man, I'd let her go so she could live her life the way she envisioned, but I can’t. Although her statement cut me raw, everything she said was true, but I'm a selfish man, and I refuse to give her up. I’m struggling being away from her the past two days as it is, let alone for a lifetime.
It’s taken all my restraint the past two days not to charter a jet to Tiburon and bring her home kicking and screaming against her will. But I gave Isabelle a week to work through whatever neuroses she's having about our relationship. If she doesn’t return in a week, I'll go to Tiburon and bring her home myself. Isabelle is mine, and I have no intention of ever giving her up. We’ve already walked through the gates of hell, and our relationship came out the other end stronger, so I'm confident this latest battle will only make our relationship even stronger.
My attention is diverted from the two fight commentators on the screen when I become aware of Isabelle. My pulse increases as my eyes lift to the entrance of the locker room. I'm not surprised when I find the doorway empty. It’s been my lingering wish the past thirty-six hours that Isabelle would miraculously appear, leaning in the doorway of my home office like she has every morning since we became engaged, to have her sleep-weary eyes absorb my body before she kisses me good morning like she's starved of my taste. I’ve gone two mornings without experiencing her endorphin-inducing kisses and forty-eight hours since I’ve had her beneath me. Although it has only been two days, it feels like a lifetime.
Isabelle is the main reason I agreed to participate in this charity match. I need to bang my chest, to show I’m still a man who should be feared. Because although Isabelle has defrosted my cold insides, making me appear less ruthless than I once was doesn’t mean the reputation I fought hard to achieve should be disregarded. If anything, it should create more caution. As now, I’m not just protecting my empire, I’m defending something much more valuable. Something I'd never allow anyone to harm. Something I'd kill for just to be safe. There are no boundaries to how far I'd go to keep Isabelle protected. That, in itself, should be greatly feared.
I’ve just finished securing a pair of black gloves to my hands when a fight promoter enters the locker room to advise it’s time for the match to begin. I shoot Cormack a cocky wink before I follow a bursting-at-the-seams Henry Gottle, Jr. down the corridor. This charity match has created such a buzz in the industry, they're looking at expanding it to other regions. Ticket sales alone increased thirty percent from the regularly-scheduled events. It’s the hype Henry has been actively seeking since he became a promoter three years ago.
Unlike his father, all Henry’s dealings are strictly above board, even when you're evoking a favor. Just like Isabelle, Henry doesn’t believe your hands need to be stained to make an impact in the world. Although I'm sure his logic was severely tested when handling his divorce from Delilah Winterbottom. That woman would easily provoke any man to stretch his limitations on what was classed as morally ethical.
The roaring chant of the crowd intensifies with every step I take toward the ring. My blood turns potent, spurred on by the adrenaline coursing through my veins. I’ve always quoted that my time in the underground fight circle was purely to gain enough capital to establish my empire, but in all honesty, I fought because I relished it. The rush of adrenaline, the challenge, and the thrill of a win kept me coming back week after week. If it was all about the capital, I could have stopped fighting within six months. I didn’t. I continued fighting for nearly two years as I savored it. I was in my element.
I'minmy element.
“You're still one crazy son of a bitch,” Cormack chuckles as he shadows me down the corridor after my match against The Constrictor.
Although the fight went on a little longer than I’m accustomed to, it was a decent match that kept the spectators sitting on the edges of their seats. The Constrictor is a well-built brute of a man. His shoulders are nearly double the width of mine, but that brought up the notion, ‘the bigger they are, the harder they fall.’ And he hit the boxing mat on numerous occasions throughout the night. Call me conceited, but I wiped his arrogant smirk right off his abhorrent face, and I loved every minute of it.
“Is this going to become our regular Friday night schedule again?” Cormack’s tone is full of sarcasm.
He can be playful. It isn’t his body he's putting on the line. Although I'm walking away with my undefeated title still firmly in place, I'm sporting a few bruises and a possible cracked rib I didn’t have earlier. After sitting on the bench seat in the locker room, I remove the tape from my hands. My body is flushed with heat, the blood pumping through my veins as hot as the sun. There's only one other thing that can cause this much adrenaline in quick succession. That thing is Isabelle. My Achilles heel. My hardest fought battle.Mine.
An hour later, after being given the all-clear from the medical team, I drive through the gates of my private residence. When I exit my Bugatti, I feel Isabelle’s presence before I see her. She's leaning against the French doors of my home, wearing a pair of super-tight denim jeans and a black ribbed sweater. My cock hardens when my eyes roam over one of the most captivating faces I’ve ever seen. Sexual energy crackles between us, making my blood even more potent as the thrill of the hunt scorches through my veins.
In the corner of my eye, I catch the quickest flash of a grin from Hugo before he jumps into his Chevelle parked in the shadow of the night. He tears out of the driveway, leaving the scent of burning rubber in his wake.
Isabelle nervously fiddles with the hem of her sweater as my lengthy strides span the distance between us. Although her eyes are still guarded, they're sparked with lust. She’s yearning to be touched. Consumed. Devoured.
“Isaac.” The huskiness of her voice has my cock stiffening more.
“No, Isabelle. Not now, not yet.”
I crowd her against the door, leaving not even an inch of air between us.
“We need to talk.” Her voice is barely audible over the roaring of my pulse in my ears.
“I know, baby, but not now.”
I seal my mouth over hers, not giving her the chance to protest. It’s been too long since I’ve tasted her delicious lips. My body is still pumping with adrenaline from the fight, but seeing her again has sparked a new type of adrenaline to streak my blood.
