Isolde
The world is on fire.
Time comes in bits and pieces. Flashes of discombobulation all pieced together.
There’s a red Persian rug in this new apartment. Someone turns on the TV. I ask about the random Irish guy. Tristan tells me his name is Ian and he’s Cain Murray’s oldest son.
Darkness creeps in, and I fall asleep. The next morning it’s cloudy.
My side doesn’t hurt like I thought it would.
I don’t feel anything.
Jane sits with me on the rug, brushing my hair. She tells me Ren is back in the city and sent a face mask. She asks if I would like to see Ren.
I would not like to see Ren.
I do, however, want to sleep.
Tristan looks perpetually tired, so I think he should sleep too. We should stay here forever, even though deep down I hate it and can’t understand why we can’t go home.
Life is soft oversized T-shirts. Nothing on TV makes sense.
Tristan is suddenly behind me, holding me to his chest, while we watch the nonsense on the TV. My fingers trace the patterns of his tattoo.
I ask if Luis is okay because it occurs to me, maybe he’s having a rough time too. Turns out, he helped Lennie pick out her wedding dress.
Everyone is worried. Everyone is freaked out.
There is a Spider on the loose.
Tristan looks at me funny when I start to laugh. But all I can picture is a giant spider taking on New York City much like King Kong did.
Sometimes I hear him murmuring in my ear, calling me Iz baby. His chest is strong, and I like it when I’m in between his legs, leaning against him.
“Do you believe in ghosts?” I ask. I don’t know how many days have gone by.
Tristan stirs, one of his legs stretching out. I’m sure the sofa is more comfortable, but I like the red Persian rug.
“Like actual ghosts? Or the things that haunt you.”
Can’t they be the same?
“Sammie’s not here anymore,” I admit, squinting at the TV. It’s another late night show.
I keep looking around, but I never spot Sammie’s ghost. This, more than anything else, is the most debilitating thing since getting shot. She used to always be there, talking to me. I struggle to remember the last time I saw her.
Tristan holds me while I cry. Which means he holds me a lot because I can’t stop crying. Sometimes I don’t even realize my cheeks are wet, that’s how constant the flow seems.
I’m intrinsically aware of how worried he is. I see it in the way his brow wrinkles. How he doesn’t let me out of his sight. How he bites down on his lip as if he’s deep in thought, wondering what to do.
You gotta get up, his face seems to say. Or maybe that’s me saying it, but the voice is buried so deep below, it’s being drowned by the ringing in my ears.
There’s things I need to do, things I need to say. I can’t do any of them.
But there is one thing lodged deep in my heart. It scares the ever loving shit out of me, and I’m so fucking ashamed my body sets itself on fire.
I grab Tristan’s arm so he understands how serious I am. “You have to move your dad.”
“What?”
“The Spider knows I love you.”
Tristan stills. I wish I didn’t feel so out of it. I wish I could compute everything clearly instead of this fragmented reality.
“They do their research. That’s why they’re so good at what they do. Ren is Ren. And she’s dating a Zimin. The same goes for Russet and Len. They could possibly go after Jane and Abe’s dad, but that risks nuclear war if they fuck with Fujimori’s. It’s your dad.”
I have to pause so I can gather my words.
“When you run an assessment,” I explain.
Juan Paul Trevino is the weak link. He lives alone.
He’s not part of any syndicate. He’s simply the father of the man I love, and that means he’ll be the target.
“The Spiders are known for it. Applying pressure where you least expect it. Their way of crushing you.”
It’s vindictive going after an old man. But I knew the moment I saw the Spider bleeding out on the tarmac, vindictive was what I would get.
That’s the thing about a Spider. They crawl out of the shadows, always another one showing up.
They’ll come, a voice bangs against my head. They’re going to come after you.
For the first time, Cade’s retribution means nothing. It no longer means a thing. Not when you’ve made an enemy out of the world’s most deadly triggermen.
The fear isn’t for myself, though. It’s for those around me.
“I’m so sorry.” Tears run down my face again. I’ve put Tristan’s dad in danger.
Without noticing, Tristan’s scooted in front of me. Our legs are in a tangle, our chests are so close.
“I’ve fucked everything up,” I admit. I should have taken Hadrian’s offer to kill off Cade way before this. I should have asked for help. I should’ve done this and that. I just stuck my head in the sand instead of admitting how bad things were.
And I’m doing it again.
Tristan cups my cheeks, lifting my head. “Isolde, you know someone is going to come. Talk to me. Tell me what you think we should do.”
“What we should do?” I mumble.
“Ren is calling everyone she can, trying to figure out who the Spider is. Or where they’ll come from. But you’re the one who expected him. I know you. Deep down, you’ve been trying to think of a plan for a long time. Tell me what’s going on in that mind of yours.”
I don’t respond.
He pulls me closer. “I can help you.”
It doesn’t sound like a promise but rather like he’s begging me to let him help. I drop my head, resting against his chest.
Later I wake up on the sofa, a blanket over me. And the strange guy sitting on the end.
“Hi.” He waves.
“I told you not to fucking bother her.”
Tristan is standing in the kitchen, next to Tyler.
This is why Tristan’s been so adamant I wear pajama shorts. I didn’t care if I flashed Jane, but the men’s appearance has me blinking.
“Who are you?” I ask, my hands getting caught in the blanket as I push myself up.
“Name’s Ian.” He’s got striking hazel green eyes and a near constant smirk. “Well, done with the Spider then.”
“Knock it off,” Tristan orders.
“Why were you there?” I ask. The TV is playing some late night talk show, but it’s muted.
“Oh, to save your life,” he says with all seriousness.
“Yeah, cause you just knew I’d be fighting with the Spider.”
“I’m psychic.”
“More like full of shit.”
His smile grows, the cheeky bastard. “That’s not what you said when I showed up to save your life.”
“I’d already killed him.”
“Yeah, but you weren’t fucking going anywhere considering the state of ya.”
“He’ll just talk you in circles, Iz.” Tristan opens the fridge, handing a beer to Tyler. Have we had those the whole time?
“He is full of shit,” Tyler agrees. “But how about you? You doing all right?”
“Grand.” I’m in a safe house for fun. “So what the fuck do you want?” I ask Ian. He didn’t pop up here for no reason.
He’s got nothing but a shit eating grin on his face at all times. “I’m so glad you asked.”
Tristan slams the fridge shut. “I’ve already told you no.”
Tyler begins mumbling under his breath. The doctor looks more tired than I am, but at least he’s able to go and do something useful when he’s awake.
Ian ignores whatever Tristan is trying to tell him. “I’d like a word with your girl. Ren Callahan.”
“She’d fucking eat you alive.” I might be off the deep end, but I still know that much.
“What makes you say that?” He leans into the arm of the sofa, his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket.
“You’re trying to make it as a triggerman.”
“What makes you assume that?” he asks.
“Why doesn’t Tris want you around Fujimori’s?”
“Apparently my dad’s pissed off Boris Akatov.”
My mind slowly whirls, but I remember. “You’re Cain Murray’s son.”
The Irish are good for a laugh, but small doses are best. Most of their shit is dealt with in-house, so I’ve never worked for them directly. I know Boris hates them, and for whatever reason he’s been sniffing around Cain the past few months.
“What’d your dad do?” I ask.
“What’s he not done?” Ian says, and I honestly don’t think he’s talked to his father lately. “What do you say about putting in a good word for me?”
“Are you a good shot?”
“Am I a good shot?” He snorts, with the same cocky attitude all the Irish are known for. “Yeah, I’m fucking good.”
“He’s never worked a job before,” Tristan says.
“As a triggerman or anything else,” Tyler mutters before taking a sip of his beer.
The way Ian’s green hazel eyes narrow on the doctor tells me everything I need to know about how he’d love a chance to fuck him.
“Then you’ll have to prove yourself,” I tell Ian.
“So showing up right when you passed out does nothing.”
“Maybe if you had been the one who killed the Spider.”
Ian laughs, freely and loudly. But across the room, in the tiny open kitchen, Tristan is dead still.
Guess it’s too early to talk so glibly about killing one of the world’s most deadly assassins.
“All right, so what if I help you kill the next one?” Ian offers.
“It might work,” I admit. “If you’re a decent shot.”
Ian doesn’t have to reply for me to know his opinion regarding his skill. It’s only because he’s got pretty eyes and an Irish lilt that his smugness comes across as charming.
Tristan pinches the bridge of his nose. “Can you please take him away now?”
Tyler holds up his hands. “Is the kid going to start paying me rent? It’s been a fucking week, Tris.”
I knew time had passed, but it’s like someone’s dropped me in the middle of a calendar.
“Help me get a job, and I’ll start paying rent,” Ian says.
“Go and find one,” Tyler argues back. “Literally. Anywhere.”
“I have goals, Ty,” Ian replies with a familiarity that has Tyler clenching his jaw.
“Your goals currently include crashing at my place for however long?”
“It’s not like you even notice. All you do is work and sleep.”
There’s a knock on the door and all three men tense.
Tristan inches toward the door, his hand on the gun in his waistband, when he looks through the peephole.
“How the fuck do you know about this place?” Tristan asks Adeline.