ISAIAH
“You bastard. You didn’t tell me this was where she worked,” Fabian, my business partner, growled through the phone. His voice carried both anger and accusation.
“What was there to tell? I was sure you would find out anyway,” I replied, the phone pressed between my ear and shoulder while I pulled on my black gloves with ease. The leather slid snugly against my fingers, familiar and comforting, almost like a second skin. Behind me, the whimpers and muffled cries grew louder and restless, filling the room like background music to my evening’s work.
“Well, I sure found out in a grand style, let me tell you,” Fabian drawled, his tone suddenly lighter, teasing even.
“What are you on about?” I asked impatiently, already wishing I could end the call and get back to the job in front of
