was in fact round, and not square.
And that Heaven was not where you were.
He‟d been traveling without headlights and he didn‟t turn them on. Instead, he took a white undershirt and held the thing out of the window, knowing that Jim would see it and hopefully not think it was the enemy. Fucker had been armed like a tank battalion when he‟d left camp.
As Isaac had eased to a halt, he‟d gotten out with both hands fully visible and allowed Jim to approach. The guy had looked exhausted, but then he‟d been carrying Matthias‟s deadweight across his back for God only knew how many miles through the shifting sand.
It had not been a surprise that Jim had glared at the knight-in-shining routine—in spite of their boss‟s condition, which was clearly critical.
Just passing through , Isaac had said . Thought I’d take you to dinner.
With a shake, he came back to this night, here in…Where was he? Malden?
His voice held the same exhaustion Jim‟s had had way back when. “Don‟t get yourself killed because of me, okay?”
Jim muttered something that sounded like, A little late for that . But clearly, that hadn‟t been the words.
Forcing his head back into the game, Isaac left the past and his emotions in the dust, his focus shifting to the present as he turned away and started walking into the entrance to the building.
As he stepped inside, Jim and the guy‟s two buddies were tight on him and he had to wonder why Heron wasn‟t wearing a hat to hide his face or anything to disguise who he was. Dumb son of a bitch. Gets free…only to come back in.
Crazy.
Fucking nuts.
But he had his own problems to worry about, and God knew, Jim was an adult and therefore allowed to be a moron when it came to his own life.
While Isaac went along, the rear hallway of the abandoned office building was an obstacle course, thanks to countless empty drywall buckets and a thousand half-drunk bottles of Mountain Dew and Coke. But it had been a while since anyone had lifted a finger here—there was dust all over the debris.
Clearly, the money had run out just as the screwdriver-and-monkey-wrench crowd had come in: Naked electrical wires snaked across the unhung ceiling, along with partially completed HVAC ducts and plumbing pipes. Illumination came from battery-operated lanterns placed every five feet on the floor, and the air was cool to the point of being cold. At least until they got into 58
Crave
the huge lobby of the place. In spite of the cathedral ceiling, the fifty or so guys milling around on the raw concrete floor kicked up the temp, thanks to body heat.
It was clear why this was a perfect place to fight: The architects had planned some kind of glass extravaganza for the front entrance, but like so much else, it hadn‟t been completed. Instead of a whole lot of see-through panes, there were plywood sheets nailed onto the girders.
So the lighting and the crowd were hidden.
The octagon had been set up in the center of the space, and as soon as Isaac walked into the crowd, the cheering started. As strangers slapped him on the back and congratulated him for getting out of jail, cell phones flipped up to all kinds of ears, the network going to town, with news that he was good to go even after the bust.
The promoter rushed up to him. “Holy fuck, they‟re going wild already! This rocks…!”
Blah, blah, blah.
Isaac scanned the faces as he went over to the far corner and settled in to wait. As Jim eased into a lean beside him, he found himself saying, “Last night, an old friend of ours showed up.”
“Who.”
“And what do you know,” Isaac said grimly, “he‟s back.”
Over where the bouncers were taking the gambling money and the fighting fees, Matthias‟s number two was getting a wallet out of his pocket. As cash changed hands, the guy looked over and smiled like a crocodile.
Then he pointed right at Isaac‟s chest.
“You‟re not getting in that ring,” Jim bit out, stepping in front and
And that Heaven was not where you were.
He‟d been traveling without headlights and he didn‟t turn them on. Instead, he took a white undershirt and held the thing out of the window, knowing that Jim would see it and hopefully not think it was the enemy. Fucker had been armed like a tank battalion when he‟d left camp.
As Isaac had eased to a halt, he‟d gotten out with both hands fully visible and allowed Jim to approach. The guy had looked exhausted, but then he‟d been carrying Matthias‟s deadweight across his back for God only knew how many miles through the shifting sand.
It had not been a surprise that Jim had glared at the knight-in-shining routine—in spite of their boss‟s condition, which was clearly critical.
Just passing through , Isaac had said . Thought I’d take you to dinner.
With a shake, he came back to this night, here in…Where was he? Malden?
His voice held the same exhaustion Jim‟s had had way back when. “Don‟t get yourself killed because of me, okay?”
Jim muttered something that sounded like, A little late for that . But clearly, that hadn‟t been the words.
Forcing his head back into the game, Isaac left the past and his emotions in the dust, his focus shifting to the present as he turned away and started walking into the entrance to the building.
As he stepped inside, Jim and the guy‟s two buddies were tight on him and he had to wonder why Heron wasn‟t wearing a hat to hide his face or anything to disguise who he was. Dumb son of a bitch. Gets free…only to come back in.
Crazy.
Fucking nuts.
But he had his own problems to worry about, and God knew, Jim was an adult and therefore allowed to be a moron when it came to his own life.
While Isaac went along, the rear hallway of the abandoned office building was an obstacle course, thanks to countless empty drywall buckets and a thousand half-drunk bottles of Mountain Dew and Coke. But it had been a while since anyone had lifted a finger here—there was dust all over the debris.
Clearly, the money had run out just as the screwdriver-and-monkey-wrench crowd had come in: Naked electrical wires snaked across the unhung ceiling, along with partially completed HVAC ducts and plumbing pipes. Illumination came from battery-operated lanterns placed every five feet on the floor, and the air was cool to the point of being cold. At least until they got into 58
Crave
the huge lobby of the place. In spite of the cathedral ceiling, the fifty or so guys milling around on the raw concrete floor kicked up the temp, thanks to body heat.
It was clear why this was a perfect place to fight: The architects had planned some kind of glass extravaganza for the front entrance, but like so much else, it hadn‟t been completed. Instead of a whole lot of see-through panes, there were plywood sheets nailed onto the girders.
So the lighting and the crowd were hidden.
The octagon had been set up in the center of the space, and as soon as Isaac walked into the crowd, the cheering started. As strangers slapped him on the back and congratulated him for getting out of jail, cell phones flipped up to all kinds of ears, the network going to town, with news that he was good to go even after the bust.
The promoter rushed up to him. “Holy fuck, they‟re going wild already! This rocks…!”
Blah, blah, blah.
Isaac scanned the faces as he went over to the far corner and settled in to wait. As Jim eased into a lean beside him, he found himself saying, “Last night, an old friend of ours showed up.”
“Who.”
“And what do you know,” Isaac said grimly, “he‟s back.”
Over where the bouncers were taking the gambling money and the fighting fees, Matthias‟s number two was getting a wallet out of his pocket. As cash changed hands, the guy looked over and smiled like a crocodile.
Then he pointed right at Isaac‟s chest.
“You‟re not getting in that ring,” Jim bit out, stepping in front and
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