RENAISSANCE

29. Cold ocean

When Isaac appeared, he imposed a vision that was both terrifying and fascinating. The blood that covered his body was not just his own, a testament to the ferocity with which he had fought. He walked with a confidence that bordered on arrogance, his hard eyes betraying an absence of remorse that made my blood run cold.

Despite the marks of battle, he seemed strangely invincible, as if his physical strength was inexhaustible.

Yet there was something in his eyes that indicated a deep weariness, an emotional void. It was as if he had been drained of all humanity, leaving only cold, calculating brutality.

With a nod, Mike indicated his men to go inside, probably to "clean up" the place. I hoped there hadn't been any other casualties, that no one had been inside earlier. I wasn't going to check or ask, I just didn't want to know.

The tall brunette headed towards the back alley, where his car was parked, and I began to follow him.

Mike still looked at me with that disapproving look, because although I managed to convince him to let me go back with him, he still didn't agree.

I was convinced that leaving him in his voluntary solitude would only make his condition worse this evening.

"Call me if there's anything," Mike mimed to me now further behind me, and I responded with a nod.

To tell the truth, I rushed headlong without thinking about the consequences of my actions. I didn't really know what to do, or even if I really should do anything. Something just compelled me to be by his side.

Suzan wanted to go home, and I think deep down Mike didn't want to leave her alone. So I assumed that the situation suited everyone in a way.

The loud noise of the car's engine brought me out of my thoughts and I realized that the mercenary had already boarded. So I hurried to join him as quickly as possible before he left without me.

Inside, he didn't say anything to me, and drove off without me having time to close the door, proof that he didn't give a damn whether I was there or not. In fact, he hadn't looked at me or said a word to me since he left the nightclub.

The drive was done in silence, but the cabin quickly filled with this nauseating smell of blood, so I opened the window to breathe, before it immediately closed.

"What, you don't like that smell?" the murderer said.

I turned towards him while he was still looking intently at the road.

"If you insist to follow me, then do it but you'll have to deal with the consequences. Because that smell of blood that disgusts you, it's me."

He pauses. Heavy. A pause during which even breathing seemed to be forbidden.

"All of that, it's me."

Looking back at the road, I saw that he wasn't taking the road back to the apartment, no, he seemed to be leaving the city.

I didn't ask him where we were going, since I knew him well now, and I knew he certainly wasn't going to answer me, so I just stared at the road.

He drove with silent determination, his hands steady on the wheel. The city gradually faded behind us, but the twinkling lights did not become more and more distant. I let him do it, wondering what thoughts were going through his mind behind this mask of indifference.

The images of his merciless brutality a few hours before imposed themselves on me. Strangely, I felt torn between fear and a surprising indifference; a part of me seemed to have detached itself, not caring about the consequences of what this man was capable of doing to me too in that moment.