Deception. Betrayal. Mistrust.
It seems the closer Rayne gets to the truth, the more she finds herself wanting to run away from it. It's complex and terrifying-more than she ever fathomed.
New family members, good and bad, pop out at her like a br...
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𝗜saac kept himself to a low crouch in the brush covering off to the side of the building. With binoculars pressed to his eyes, he scouted out the area, checking each window and each entry multiple times to make sure it was clear – or to see if they could get someone.
He and Taryn had gotten back from their honeymoon a week early; while neither of them felt particularly interested in going back to their regularly scheduled programs, they knew that they couldn't be goofing off up and down Europe while their friends were suffering.
She had gone back to the house to check on everyone else, while he had planned to spend the day with his father; he intended for it to be lowkey – just normal father-son bonding, but being in the mafia doesn't necessarily have room to reserve that type of afternoon.
About an hour ago, they got the call from Emmet to check out this location – apparently, a couple of people that were supposed to be their friends were actually working for the bad guys behind their backs. Of course, he would much rather be back at the Estate, punching those idiots in the face, not only for what they did, but for also dragging Mason into their shit. However, he got word that they were pardoned by Emmet himself, so it's not like he had a right to say anything.
But, if he was to return to a heartbroken brother, that mindset would be eradicated.
No one hurts him like that and just gets away with it.
"How is your side?" his father's voice came through his earpiece.
Isaac tapped it, "Clear – it looks like they've abandoned ship."
"Agreed. Get ready to move in."
He nodded to no one and reached behind his back, withdrawing his firearm. He pulled the magazine out, making sure that it was fully loaded before snapping it back in and beginning to make his move. Since he knew where his father had chosen to hide out, he watched for his movements.
Together, they snuck through their respective brush piles, being extra careful. When they reached the ends of the green coverings, they popped up and began to sneak around the abandoned cars in the lot. Again – there was no movement.
It almost reminded him of the Spain mission.
He met his father at the front of the door. Each of them stood off to the sides of it, guns raised to their chins to be sure. As he went to open the door, he voiced his opinion.
"Dad, this doesn't feel right."
Rufus stopped and looked at him, "I know it doesn't."
"Then we should leave; come back when we have more men."
"There's no time for that, son," he shook his head, "We need to clear this."
"But Dad – this is like a copy of our trip to Spain—"
"Isaac, stop," he looked at him sternly, "If you're not up for it, you can wait in the car."
He swallowed his breath and watched his father's impeding black eyes. He knew that he was being serious, but he didn't want to leave him on his own; there would be no one to watch his back. Even if the hairs on the back of his neck were raised and every bone in his body was telling him to cut and run – to vacate until they have more backup, he wasn't about to just leave his father.
