Chapter 14 – Gabby
Chapter Fourteen
Gabby
Ihave breakfast upstairs with Isaac and our hosts – Ethan and Amanda.
There’s awkward tension like we’re implicitly a couple because of Ethan and Amanda, but I don’t want to entertain those feelings with Isaac.
The awkwardness doesn’t get better because Amanda doesn’t stay for very long.
She takes the baby out for an early morning appointment after eating barely half of a waffle.
I am starving, so there’s no way in hell I’ll be eating a dainty half-waffle before heading back downstairs.
Isaac and I are on the same page in terms of hunger, but with Amanda gone, the men are disturbingly silent.
They’re like musky, grunting beasts, piling their plates high with waffles and then adding more toppings than I knew people could tolerate on their breakfast. Bananas, chocolate chips, walnuts, coconut flakes, syrup… apparently neither of these men over forty have concerns about their blood sugar.
I’m too busy eating twice my normal helping of waffles to complain.
I drench mine in the simple combination of butter and maple syrup and savor every bite.
Isaac provides a filled mug of coffee with enough cream to cut some of the bitterness away.
It’s the first time since I watched him murder somebody in front of me that I’ve felt remotely calm.
Maybe the cops aren’t going to drag him away.
Maybe I’m safe here. It’s not like they live in the hood – which surprises me.
I thought criminals were part of this grungy, seedy underworld that smelled like alley piss and beer.
I could never hope to afford a place like this in Boston myself no matter how hard I worked.
When we’re done eating, Ethan grunts something incomprehensible to Isaac, who appears to understand whatever code they’re speaking in, and I’m alone with Isaac again.
He ushers me to the apartment downstairs and then tells me that he wants to put on a baking show.
If this is some desperate attempt to turn my captivity into ‘Netflix & chill’, this man has lost his mind.
I sit on the arm of the couch with my arms folded while Isaac spreads out on the couch.
He lets me watch an entire episode from my position before he says anything.
“Don’t you want to get more comfortable?
” Isaac asks me. I look over at him, avoiding eye contact with his strangely soulful eyes.
I like his brown eyes. They’re a little lighter than mine and remind me of a fall sunset, which makes them very dangerous to gaze into at all, because those aren’t the types of thoughts I need to be having about Isaac. A married man.
“No. I’m fine.”
Isaac sighs and sits up, giving me a skeptical look.
He leans forward, getting close enough that I can smell his deodorant. The pine and woody balsam scent makes me want to bury my nose in his chest instead of pushing him away. Isaac’s low commanding voice only makes it worse. “Fine. What if I take you out for a bit?”
That interests me. Not just his scent this time, but the prospects of leaving this former sex dungeon, where anything might erupt between us and change the circumstances.
“What, aren’t you afraid that I’m going to scream for the cops the second I get outside?” I’m mocking him, but maybe I should strongly consider that option over going along with everything Isaac wants from me.
“If you did that, we would both end up in prison. I’ve got money for lawyers, I don’t know if you can say the same.”
“How do you have money?” I say to him haughtily. “Since I met you all you’ve done is commit crimes and lie on the couch.”
Isaac laughs. “Ever heard of sabbatical?”
“Is that what we’re calling unemployment now?”
He smiles at me and I smile back. I appreciate a man who can handle a little ribbing. I don’t always want to apologize for my bluntness.
“Get off the damn couch,” Isaac says. “I’ll take you for a ride. That’ll cheer you up.”
“Getting on the back of that thing will not make me feel alive.”
If anything, it’s just going to remind me of the night I watched Isaac kill a man right in front of me and I had to choose between getting on the back of his dangerous machine or risk – what? I don’t even know why anyone attacked the nightclub.
“If you want to stay here, you can. But I’ll be locking the doors behind me when I leave.”
“And I’m supposed to believe that’s for my safety and not yours?”
“It is very much for your safety. We don’t know who attacked the bar or why.”
“It’s not your ex-wife?” I ask, suspicious that she might have been responsible. Then again, the times are strange.
“No. But she’s out there somewhere.”
“Great. Being around you seems to be the safest place for me.”
Isaac’s eyes flicker with his stubborn anger, but he bites his tongue when it comes to a sassy response at least.
“Fine. You can stay here if that’s what you want.”
He gets off the couch, reaching for his keys and his cut.
I don’t actually like being cooped up here and while following Isaac has yielded nothing good for me thus far, I would rather get some fresh air than stay here on the couch watching Netflix.
I follow him towards the door and Isaac ignores my presence until the last moment before he’s ready to leave.
“You changed your mind,” he says with a grin.
“Shut up.”
“I knew you couldn’t resist.”
“Again, shut up.”
“Want to see anything in particular?”
“No. I barely want to get on the back of that thing.”
“This time I can teach you how to feel more stable,” Isaac says. “Once you get used to it, I’m sure you’re gonna love it.”
“Your ex-wife might have loved it, but I’m not cut out to be anyone’s old lady or whatever you call it.”
“Where did you hear that phrase?”
“I read Fear And Loathing In Las Vegas for a college class.”
“Fancy.”
Isaac hands me a helmet as we stand at his bike and I eye both the bike and the helmet with all the appropriate skepticism.
“My hair can’t fit under that thing.”
“Yes, it can,” Isaac says. “It’s not safe without it, anyways.”
“What about this?” I ask, pointing to his cut. “I need a leather jacket or something.”
“I keep my old cut in storage back here,” he says, popping open some compartment on the motorcycle that I wouldn’t have immediately recognized as being there.
Isaac pulls out a giant leather jacket with patches and his club name stitched on the back.
The jacket looks ripped up as if it’s been shredded in its fair share of accidents but the leather is sturdy enough that the crashes only created mild scratches in comparison to their potential.
“This too big for you?”
“That’s not a problem I normally have.”
Isaac laughs. “From where I stand, you look pretty damn good.”
My heart does that uncomfortable flutter thing, followed quickly by a snap of guilt and a massive reality check. He’s still married. I glare at him and Isaac returns my glare with smug self-satisfaction.
“What?” he says. “Just because you don’t believe me, doesn’t mean I’m not single.”
“You are not single,” I remind him. “Not until the papers are filed and I have some type of proof that the mother of your children won’t pop up.”
Isaac’s cheeks darken with appropriate humiliation.
He clears his throats and continues instructing me about how exactly to remain stable on the back of his bike while he rides with me.
He throws in a couple comments about how I nearly killed him the first time with how tightly I squeezed his chest. He had better not be hoping for an apology for that.
We get on the back of his bike, after he still hasn’t told me exactly where we’re going.
Isaac starts slowly, stark contrast to the painful experience of getting on the back of his bike the first time.
He warns me before he makes each turn and by the time we get on the highway, I feel much more comfortable on the back of Isaac’s bike.
We ride around Cambridge and Somerville, down streets that I’m not familiar with until we veer off somewhere I truly don’t recognize and Isaac parks the bike in front of a small office with a business name in thick serif font on the awning that extends out front – Murray Real Estate Holdings LLC.
I recognize the name. I don’t know if they’re all from the same family, but there are multiple businesses owned by people with the last name Murray around here. Isaac parks next to a black Escalade.
“You aren’t just stretching your legs.”
I hand over the helmet.
“Nope.”
“Does your friend know what you’re doing?”
He grins. “I’m testing your loyalty.”
I don’t share Isaac’s sense of humor about the situation. I don’t know if he’s the most dangerous of the men in the club, honestly, and I’m not ready to find out by defying the boss’s wishes.
“What?” Isaac probes. “You don’t trust me?”
I want to trust him. He’s beautiful and his eyes are just… hypnotic. But I have to stay smart. Look after myself. Not let myself get swept up in my emotions again, ignoring all the red flags. Isaac patiently watches as I consider him.
“I don’t trust anyone right now.”
“Understood,” he says. “We’re visiting my coworker. Nothing for you to worry about.”
Nothing bothers him, not even my efforts to push him away. It’s a strange sense that he’s patient enough to wait for me – that I don’t have to rush if I don’t want to. Isaac will still be there.