Page 8 of The Way We Are

That stops my strides... and my heart.

After sucking in a deep breath to clear the nerves from my voice, I shift my eyes to the dark-haired man with a hundred-dollar haircut and ask, “How is getting in your car gonna get me Savannah back?”

The stranger’s lips quirk. “It won’t,” he replies, his tone as honest as his eyes.

Grumbling a curse word under my breath, I start walking again. I’ve got enough shit to deal with; I don’t need an arrogant banker adding more crap to my overflowing plate.

“But it will explain why she left with him when she wanted to stay with you,” the stranger shouts, revealing he was watching my exchange with Savannah longer than first suspected.

Deciding my night can’t possibly get any worse, I jog around to the passenger side of his car then slide inside. He doesn’t speak a word the entire trip. Not even when the blond-haired man sitting in the backseat states an address for an industrial estate for a town neighboring Ravenshoe.

“These textile warehouses shut down years ago,” I advise the stranger and his friend when our car glides down the dusty track behind a group of industrial buildings. I’m more curious than I am nervous. “No one comes out to these parts anymore.”

“That’s the point,” the dark-haired man replies, the gleam in his eyes growing as we travel down the dusty path.

I’m proven to be a liar when the stranger parks his flashy sportscar at the end of a long row of cars. The opulence of the vehicles filling the parking lot is in direct contrast to the dilapidated warehouse shadowing them from thieving eyes. The value of the cars on display ranges between fifty thousand to nearly a million dollars, showcasing that money is no object to the men swarming toward the warehouse in droves. I drop my eyes to my Walmart shorts and holey shirt, feeling more out of place than ever.

“The poorer you look, the more money you make,” advises the man seated next to me.

My brow becomes lost in my hairline when clothes matching the ones I am wearing land in his lap.

“Remember, Isaac, don’t put up anything you’re not willing to lose, and don’t speak to anyone unless directed by me,” the blond advises, handing tennis shoes to the man in the driver’s seat.

Isaac’s breathy groan doesn’t match the agreeing nod of his head. I eye him curiously when he swaps his expensive threads for a pair of khaki shorts, a light-blue tee, and a pair of shoes. Even his flashy watch is exchanged for a cheaper version. In less than a minute, he’s gone from looking like a twenty-two-year-old stockbroker killing it on the financial market to... well...me.

“Have we met before?” I ask curiously.

Five minutes ago, while decked out in his designer threads, I would have testified we’ve never met before. But as he sits in front of me now, looking like a regular Joe-Blow Ravenshoe teen, he reminds me of a senior I went to school with last year who just happens to have the same first name.

My shaggy hair falls in front of my eye when I slant my head to the side to study the stranger’s features. They can’t be the same guy.That Isaac was poor. Not as poor as me, but he didn’t have the means to buy the top-of-the-line watch this Isaac is sliding off his wrist, let alone the bundles of hundred dollar bills I see stashed in the glove compartment when he stores it inside.

This Isaac should be glad my desire to leave my miserable existence in a cloud of dust isn’t stronger than my morals. If they were, me and his easy 10Gs would be halfway to LA by now.

“Take what you want,” Isaac mutters, drawing my focus to him. “But just remember anything gained without hard work is like throwing away a diamond to pick up a rock. Failing with honor far exceeds succeeding by fraud.”

Leaning over, he throws open the console, revealing more than three times the bundles in the glove box. After snagging two bank-imprinted stacks from the generous stockpile, he lifts his eyes to mine. His mouth is tight-lipped, but his eyes are nowhere near as firm. He glances at me as if he is silently offering me his money.

I attempt to shake my head three times. It's only on the fourth shot does my body comply with the command my brain is screaming. I can understand my body’s objection. I’ve never seen so much money in my life, much less had the chance to earn it. I make five dollars an hour flipping burgers, so even if I put away every dollar I earn the next ten years, it will still take me years to amass that much money. However, Isaac has it sitting in the glove compartment of his fancy-schmancy sportscar like it’s chump change.

God, what I wouldn’t do to have that much money at my disposal. I wouldn’t sit through mundane classes every week, or work at a crappy job. The possibilities would be endless. But since the logical, non-dreaming side of my brain agrees with Isaac’s statement on earning your own cred, I slam his glove compartment shut, blocking out temptation.

Isaac smirks. It isn’t the same overbearingly confident one he’s been wearing all night. This is the smirk of a pleased man.

“What did I tell you, Cormack?” he asks, peering at the blond man in the rearview mirror. “I know how to pick them.”

Cormack rolls his eyes before clambering out of the car. When Isaac follows after him, so do I.

The thick stench of wealth amplifies with every step we take toward the warehouse. It's so pungent, it reminds me of entering a bank seconds after the armored guard has finished his massive Monday morning shipment—it’s that potent.

If I couldn’t already smell money lingering in the air, the security shadowing the two dozen or more suit-clad men is another indication to the affluence of the attendees. They are as many hired guns entering the warehouse as there are guests—if not double.

My eyes drift from a high caliber weapon strapped on the waist of a man whose shoulders are as wide as I am tall to Cormack when Isaac hands him the bundles of cash he dug out of his glove compartment.

“Go in hard tonight. After last month, I don’t see us having much time before our ruse comes undone,” Isaac instructs Cormack under his breath.

Nodding, Cormack slides the money into the breast pocket of his jacket. “Are you worried about repercussions of turning down Dimitri’s proposal or Ophelia finding out what you really get up to every Friday night?”

Cormack hightails it a few feet in front of us when Isaac responds to his question with a growl. It's interesting watching the dynamic between them shift the closer we get to the lit-up warehouse. During the twenty-minute commute, Isaac was the head wolf of the pack. But as we creep toward an area that reeks of an odd combination of sweat and money, his confidence falters. His swagger isn’t as jagged, his smirk not as ruthless. In all honesty, he looks frightened.

---