Reborn Page 23

  I hesitate. “I’m not sure I’m ready for that.”

  “Come on. It’s fun.”

  I sigh and decide to hear her out. “What kinds of things do you do?”

  “You learn how to kick ass. Shoot, you should see Zeda go at it with him. He’s been training her for like six months. She’s lethal.”

  “What about you? Are you lethal too?”

  Something mysterious flashes behind her eyes, a coy little smile lifting her lips. “I can be. But when it comes to Noam’s classes, I do it for a while, and then I pussy out so I can just watch him. I mean, have you seen him?”

  I laugh at her obvious enthusiasm about his physique. “I have. He’s very fit.”

  “He’s more than that. He’s like my Israeli knight in shining armor. You know he’d beat the hell out of anyone who came at us.” She lifts her shoulder, a starry look in her eye. “I don’t know. I just haven’t met a lot of guys who don’t use their strength to push women around. Sometimes I’m a little in awe of him.”

  My heart goes out to her. She looks my age, but she sounds so young too. Like a lovesick teenager—one whose heart should be hardened against the world for everything she’s endured.

  “There are more guys out there like him,” I say reassuringly.

  “Yeah, probably,” she says.

  “You seem…” I bite my lip, not sure how to say what I want to. “I guess you seem really positive for everything you’ve been through.”

  “I’ve never been this happy in my life.” She swirls her auburn braid around her index finger until the tail whacks her chest. “My mom kicked me out when I was thirteen. I quit school and started hooking for cash just to live. With everything I went through from then to now, I’m lucky to be alive. It’s more than just feeling safe here, though I do. I get to be a part of something bigger. I never thought I’d get to do something like that.”

  Her energy seems to brighten my own and lift me out of my fatigue some.

  “Anyway, I’m sure you’re tired from your trip. I’ll come grab you around nine if I don’t see you at breakfast, okay? Just wear, like, whatever you want. Noam doesn’t have many rules except he wants you to break a sweat. Not usually an issue.”

  I open my mouth to protest.

  She lifts her finger. “Just give it a try once, okay? Trust me. It’s worth it.”

  I slouch in my spot on the bed, feeling completely won over by this glowing redhead, even though Noam’s the last person I want to face in the morning.

  TRISTAN

  I hit the highway not long after my meeting with Lucia. I don’t put much stock in the “good hands” she claims Isabel is now in. Not to mention I’m eager to see her for myself.

  Going the speed limit the whole way brings me into New Orleans’s Garden District just past midnight. I paid extra to have the rental manager meet me this late at the house—a small two-bedroom furnished and stocked with groceries for the week.

  The rental boasts views of one of the city’s historic cemeteries and easy access to the streetcar that will take me right into the Quarter at all hours. I don’t care about any of that as I check the app on my phone for any sign of life from Isabel’s phone. The circular locator arrow spins endlessly, giving me no confirmation that she’s in the area.

  I toss it aside and open my laptop. As it loads, I start some coffee, needing a boost while I figure out tomorrow’s plan. Munching on a pastry, I watch the pot brew and let my thoughts drift to Isabel—the driving force behind everything now. Lucia’s earlier challenge kept circling back to me on the drive. Unease curled through me every time it did. Regret that I should have tried to explain how important Isabel was becoming to me while she was still with me. Frustration that I lack the emotional tools to express myself to her the way she deserves.

  Because Isabel had opened more than her heart to me. She let me into her body. We shared an act that wasn’t reserved for people in love, but she’s obviously in love with me. Why couldn’t I have given her an inkling of reciprocity when it’s her feelings for me that saved her life? And mine…

  I fill a mug when the pot is half full and take the first scalding swallow, chasing the fatigue.

  Yes, Isabel saved my life in some ways. Being on Jay’s hit list isn’t the retirement I was hoping for, but I’m not sure anything could convince me to go back to doling out dark justice for money I don’t need. I’ll take a life on the run with Isabel if that’s where this is going.

  A ding from my computer draws my attention back to the living room. I drop into the couch and pull it onto my lap.

  CROW45: I heard you ran into Jay.

  I hover my fingers over the keys. If the chat handle is any indicator, Crow managed to get out of the bind I left him in. Alive.

  RED: How’s your hand?

  CROW45: Fuck you.

  I smile. At least I know who I’m really talking to. Contractors in Company Eleven making contact is rare. We know of each other and little more. I’m unsure why Crow would reach out now, and I’m hesitant to encourage an exchange without knowing his intentions. So I wait patiently for him to continue the conversation I never asked for.

  CROW45: I left the Company.

  “Interesting,” I mutter to no one. Who knows whether he’s telling me the truth or not, though.

  RED: Why?

  CROW45: You think I was going to let her kill me?

  I thought I tied those knots pretty tight. Either he got away on his own, met a very forgiving clean-up crew, or overpowered them before they could take him out. Still, Jay received the message and he knows about my run-in with her, which means he’s been in contact with the Company one way or the other.

  RED: What do you want?

  CROW45: A resource.

  RED: I’m not your friend.

  CROW45: I fucking know that. This is business.

  I should end the chat. Crow’s not like me. The old me or the new me. We’re in this life for different reasons. Even if he’s not trying to lure me out for Jay’s sake, I have nothing to gain by maintaining contact. I’m ready to close out the screen when another message pops up.

  CROW45: I have info on Soloman.

  RED: How?

  CROW45: My family has their fingers in some of the same pots. How do you think I got into this shit? This is bigger than Jay. Bigger than Soloman. Think BIG.

  Undeniably, I’m intrigued. I know he’s thinking big dollar signs. I’m thinking payback. Freedom. Being able to give Isabel a life where she doesn’t have to look over her shoulder. I’m not even sure it’s possible, but knowing more about the organization behind all the hits could make it possible.

  RED: Still in the revenge game?

  CROW45: $$$$$

  I laugh to myself because Crow’s so predictable. And Makanga wasn’t wrong. There’s something safe in consistency, no matter how fucked up the person is. I don’t care about money, but Crow doesn’t know that.

  RED: I’m listening.

  CROW45: Let’s meet.

  RED: I’m busy.

  CROW45: I don’t trust this chat.

  RED: I don’t trust you.

  CROW45: I’ll be in New York for the next month. Let me know when you want to talk.

  I stare at the blinking cursor for a minute and close the window. Crow’s successfully dangled a carrot in front of me. I’m interested in what he knows. I’m not wild about getting lured into his family’s mob den and risking my life for information that may not even exist, though.

  So for now I push Crow’s offer out of my head and spend the next hour or so mapping out a plan to find Isabel, starting with the best clue I have. The church on the corner of Cambronne and Burthe.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Isabel

  I’m ready to hit the bench with Skye after forty minutes of warm-ups. Wandering away from the others not long ago earned her some mild harassing from Noam. I refuse to give up, though, which is difficult to do when he’s pushing everyone so hard—Zeda and me and a few other people
I don’t recognize from the house. I’m pouring sweat and now holding planks that have me trembling.

  When the count expires, I drop to the mat, desperate for the reprieve and seriously questioning my decision to come.

  “Okay, now we battle, folks.” He picks up a couple of black leather punch pads.

  Zeda and another student do the same as they pair up with the others. Noam comes right for me.

  He slaps the pads together like they’re boxing gloves. “Come on, Izzy. Let’s do this. It’ll be fun.”

  I suppress a groan and crawl upright once more. I face him with a grimace and every nonverbal cue I can muster to communicate my lack of enthusiasm. He ignores them all with a smug smile and a bounce in his step.

  “Show me what you’ve got.”

  He crouches a little, holding the pads toward me as targets. I ball my fists and hit one after the other, concentrating hard on not missing as he shifts around.

  “All right, now rotate your shoulders. Bend your knees a little.”

  I struggle to modify my motions on top of everything else.

  “Harder.”

  I clench my jaw. My whole body hurts, never mind the sting in my hands. So I ignore him. A bit more of this and he’ll leave me alone.

  “Harder,” he says again.

  Then he uses a break in between my jabs to tap one of the pads on my cheek. Not overly hard, but the impact mimics a slap. A patronizing offense.

  My nostrils flare. Heat rushes to my already burning cheeks.

  He licks his lower lip and flashes a crooked grin. “There we go. That’s the fire I want.” He gestures for me to come at him again, so I do. I punch until I worry about the integrity of my wrists.

  “That’s it,” he says. “Continuous motion. Put your instincts to work. Never give me a chance to put you on the defensive.”

  He sneaks in another tap to my face that makes me want to scream but instead inspires me to retaliate until he’s forced several steps back.

  My arms are ready to give out when he makes us stop. “Nice work,” he says, tossing the pads to the ground.

  “Now I’m going to come at you. Remember, I’m not your benevolent fitness instructor. I’m a bad guy. Show me what you would do.”

  My heart is already beating too fast. “Wait, what?”

  He doesn’t respond, but his expression flattens into a serious one. Then he comes closer. I seem frozen in place until he grips my arms firmly. I twist and wrestle an arm free to slap at his face, but he ducks and dodges and pushes me backward. In one swift move, he nudges me off balance and knocks my leg out from under me so I slam down on my back with a hard humph.

  I lay there fighting tears. He stands next to me, hand out. His expression all peppy again.

  “You want to learn how to do that to me?”

  I catch my breath a moment before taking his hand and letting him hoist me upright. Everyone around us is engaged in their own “battles,” but Skye is watching every move between us. I can’t decide if I’m more embarrassed or pissed off.

  “You’ve got a hundred pounds of muscle on me. Not exactly a fair fight, but I hope it felt good.”

  “Don’t get confused. You can absolutely overpower me.”

  “Go to hell,” I mutter under my breath.

  He frowns. “Excuse me?”

  I turn away and head for the door, my pride hurt and my muscles screaming.

  “Hey, wait.”

  I don’t wait. I push open the heavy door and start moving in the direction of the house. I hope no one wants to attack me on the way, because I have nothing left to fight anyone off.

  “Isabel, wait up.”

  He circles in front of me and halts my forward progress.

  I shoot him a glare. “Listen, I know Halo is all about saving people, and that’s great. But I don’t need you to save me, okay? Whatever you do here, I’m not into it.”

  “So you think you’re going to rely on that shitty pistol to fight off the bad guys?”

  I cross my arms tightly. “Maybe I will.”

  “Well you’re not getting it back from me until you let me show you how to fight and properly defend yourself.”

  I pause. “You took it?”

  He shrugs, his lips thin with determination. “Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t.”

  “That’s mine.”

  “Then earn it. Be back here tomorrow morning, and be ready to get your ass bruised some more.”

  I unfold my arms. “I’m not going to let you toss me around your mats to impress your friends.”

  “They’re students, and they’re used to getting a few bumps and bruises because that’s what it’s like when someone is seriously trying to hurt you.”

  I’m silent and unwilling to acknowledge the truth in this. I’m not worried about the bruises as much as being in the crosshairs of a gun. Nothing about Noam’s class is going to keep me safe from a bullet.

  He looks past me toward the studio, his posture and features softening as his focus drifts back to me. “Isabel, I don’t know what’s going on with you, but I know you’re scared. I’ve seen that look before, and I just want to make it go away. That’s what I do. I can’t promise it’s going to be easy or that you’ll always be in the right headspace for it, but I can promise that it’ll be worth it.” He rubs my shoulder briefly. “Sorry for knocking you around. I just wanted to motivate you a little bit.”

  “Is this enough fire for you?” I try for a snappy tone, but I feel my anger fading.

  “Yeah. I want you to use it on the mat, not for cussing me out.”

  I sigh. “Listen, I’ve been through a lot lately. I’m just not sure this is the right time for me to do this.”

  “Let me prove you wrong. I think you need this. Meet me tomorrow at eleven when the studio is empty. There’s less pressure outside of a class.”

  I consider his offer and let his words sink in. What he sees behind my edgy tone and jumpy instincts is real. I’m trying like hell to be brave, but I’m scared too. And I’m so tired of being afraid.

  “Fine,” I finally say, the word barely audible.

  “Yeah?”

  My acceptance is met with another winning smile from the man I’m confident will push me well past my physical limits.

  “You want to finish up? I’ll take it easier on you.”

  I shake my head, knowing my spirit’s a little too broken to return. “I’m good for today. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  I pass him and start back toward the house. I could wait for Skye, but I’m craving some alone time. I’m unsettled and missing home. For once, home isn’t a place. Home is anything familiar that holds the faintest measure of comfort. My mom. Rio. Tristan…

  Up ahead, the church consumes the corner of the block. The street is quiet except for the sound of a barge chugging down the river nearby.

  I halt in front of the steps and consider a dozen reasons not to go inside. I’m tired and grumpy. Sweaty. My legs might not even carry me up the steps. More, I don’t want to risk seeing the kind reverend, even though he offered his sanctuary as an extended home. I’m seeking peace, not friendship. Reassurance in my heart, a voiceless knowing that all will be well.

  I lumber up the steps and hesitate just outside the entrance. The doors are closed, but they’re really open. Lost souls are always welcome. I rest my hand on the tall wooden door and then slide it down to the thick metal handle.

  I listen. All I hear is silence and the call to find some peace inside.

  Then the hurried shuffle of footsteps behind me. Then my name.

  TRISTAN

  “Isabel?”

  It’s her. It has to be her.

  The woman ahead of me turns abruptly, removing all doubt.

  “It’s you.” The confirmation is a mix of shock and awe as I rake her in, cataloging all the ways she’s changed since I last saw her.

  Her hair, much shorter and now blond, is dramatically different.

  She’s flushed, and I’m pretty su
re I know why. I first spotted her coming out of the fitness center moments ago, bickering with a forty-something meathead before I could intervene.

  I wasn’t about to let her out of my sight. Now here she is, taking up the whole view.

  Her eyes are the same greenish-brown almonds. Dark lashes set against her perfect skin. The flash of fear in her eyes quickly morphs into something else the minute she recognizes me. Something much more powerful than relief. I recognize it, because it’s pulling through me like a riptide.

  On the outside, I’m frozen in place, worried about everything that’s going on in her head. Feeling like I can’t pick up where we left off, my hands in her hair, my mouth on hers.

  “You came,” she whispers.

  “Of course.” I never gave myself any other choice.

  Her hand stills on the door like she’s about to go inside the church. Instead, she lets go and comes closer, touching my chest. The contact resonates throughout my body.

  I grasp her hand, molding her palm against my heart.

  She accepts my embrace, circling her arm around my middle, resting her head against me as I hold her to me.

  “I missed you,” she whispers. “So much.”

  I close my eyes as a barrage of questions burn through me. Why did you leave me? Who are you with? Then the demands. Disappear with me. Trust me.

  I guide her chin up, ready to start my interrogation. She exhales a shaky breath and brushes some wayward hairs from her face. “I’m a mess. I’m sorry.”