Ian stands. Tall and lanky with pretty green hazel eyes, he likes to bat at the nearest attractive guy. No one ever recognizes him as Ciaran’s older brother, and not because his skin color is darker.
Ian wears a leather jacket, his vibe rock and roll. Ciaran strives toward his goals. Ian walks lackadaisically through life, stumbling from one thing to the next, normally with a cigarette dangling between his lips.
He’s Cain’s son through and through. Not that he’s spent much time with his dad.
I’m not sure what Ian thinks he’s achieving by showing up here. And I’m not happy that he tried to approach Isolde to set up a meeting with Ren.
Tyler lets out another sigh, but my best friend comes through for me. “Come on, Irish, let me save you from Tris.”
“I’ll let you save me anytime you want,” Ian replies in his Irish accent.
Tyler rolls his eyes and tells me, “I’ll add it to your tab.”
I clap his shoulder and squeeze. “Thank you.”
“Figure out what’s going on and tell me,” he requests. He never quite left the life behind, and it’s not because I keep calling him for help. And he’s right to want to know what’s going on.
The apartment is quiet after they leave. Luis’s dress shirt is wrinkled, and the first few buttons loose. He looks crestfallen, I’ll give him that.
“Do me a favor,” I ask quietly, “and go back to Isolde’s place. Get her favorites.”
She’s going to hate it when she realizes we’ve moved her out of her apartment.
“Cousin—”
I’m not sure why Luis left Isolde alone. I don’t want to think about how close someone came to killing her. Someone put a bullet through her.
I can’t focus on any of those things, though. I need my cousin. I choose not to give into the anger urging me to inspect this mishap closer.
My hand wraps around the door handle. “Just go now, Luis.”
My cousin takes his departure, shooting out like he can’t stand to be here either.
The bedroom is dark, the blinds drawn against the afternoon sun.
“Isolde, baby.” I smooth her hair back.
It’s not the purple nose that makes me upset. It’s the way her face is scrunched up like she’s trapped in a bad dream.
Her fingers curl tight around the blankets. I smooth her hair back, bending down so I’m even with the edge of the mattress.
“Iz,” I whisper. She doesn’t stir. My forehead touches the edge of the bed, and I take in deep breaths, reminding myself that she’s breathing too.
“He tried to get me on the plane.”
My head picks up. “Baby?”
But she’s gone again, diving into a fitful sleep.
I wipe under my eyes, standing back up. Then I go outside and call Hadrian.
CHAPTER 26
Tristan
Hadrian arrives two hours later, bringing a doctor with a noticeably larger amount of medical supplies.
“She’s already been looked at,” I assure him, aware he paid me to keep Isolde safe.
