There was no day of the week that Isaac loathed work more than Saturday. It bore no resemblance whatsoever to the early-morning business he usually dealt with. People arrived later, yes, but they stayed all the longer, and before long a dense, noisy hum of voices had formed in the café, ringing painfully in his ears.
He far preferred serving the impatient walk-in customers who grabbed a coffee in a hurry before work to those guests who lingered at their tables for hours, talking, laughing, and letting the general noise level swell more and more. Thanks to Noctis, he was feeling noticeably better by now, yet he still found it difficult to cope with the volume and everything that came with it.
He didn't know how Noctis had managed to get hold of antibiotics on the very night of his visit, but thanks to them he no longer had a fever, and the stitches looked better with each passing day. If he thought about it closely, they had almost certainly been obtained illegally. Which hardly mattered either way, since they rarely operated within legal boundaries to begin with.
The only legal thing he did in his life was probably his job as a barista at Café Noir.
He worked at this café solely because his boss had ordered him to, and because it was an ideal place to unobtrusively pick up rumors and other useful information. Isaac owed his boss a great deal. Without him, he would not be the man he was today. He never forgot that fact, even on days like this, when every single movement felt like a struggle.
The café also provided him with an alibi—the alibi of the most conspicuous man in the city, performing an inconspicuous job. Seen by everyone who came in to get their daily dose of caffeine.
A desk job in some office would have suited him just fine as well.
Still, he couldn't deny that Saturdays were probably the most profitable days of the week. There were reasons why his boss kept this café open every single day. They didn't even have a day off.
Besides, this wasn't his only responsibility at the café.
Isaac rang the small bell that signaled the next order was ready for pickup. Noah appeared immediately with a broad grin and took the tray.
"Is this for table thirteen?" he asked cheerfully—as if he didn't have a single worry in the world.
Isaac gave a brief nod and turned back to his work.
"That was fast—thanks, Isaac!"
"Don't get too chatty, we've still got plenty to do," he warned him without looking up.
But Noah merely winked at him. "A little customer interaction is part of the job!" he said, already on his way before Isaac could reply.
Isaac watched as he carried the order to a table where three young women were sitting. They were a bit farther from the counter, yet Isaac could still hear Noah talking about his vacation in Strelitzia. Nor did it escape him how the women were practically hanging on his every word.
Noah had gotten tanned during his vacation, making his blond hair stand out even more, almost glowing golden. His green eyes roamed over the women's faces, and it was more than obvious that he was enjoying the attention and flirting with them.
Strelitzia. If Isaac were to travel there, he would probably burn the moment he set even a single foot outside the plane. His genetic defect made it difficult for him to tolerate the sun—and with it, summer. Cold days suited him far better.
Among other things, this was why the boss wanted Isaac to keep an eye on his son. Noah didn't have to work at the café; he could have easily enjoyed his life as the wealthy heir of the clan. At least if he weren't so incredibly stubborn. He worked at the café of his own free will.
Whenever the boss tried to dissuade him, Noah would reply that he wanted to be around people and that otherwise he would simply get bored. He was different from the spoiled sons of other rival clans. Noah was lively, friendly, and loved attention like no one else. Yet he didn't bask in his father's prestige. Instead, he always seemed to be searching for something that belonged solely to him—something not automatically associated with his father's name.
Isaac and Noah had known each other since Isaac had been taken into the family. The boss had wanted them to grow up together, become playmates, as he tolerated outsiders near him only reluctantly. Besides them, there had only been Noctis. Even so, Isaac had always found it difficult to truly open up to the two of them. His sense of duty had always stood in the way.
So he had made it his task to protect Noah. After all, the boss cared deeply about his son and successor.
And Isaac did everything to keep his boss satisfied.
Suddenly, someone slapped the counter behind him with the flat of their hand.
"Do you have to crawl around on your knees to get served here, or why is this taking so long?" a rough voice snapped at him.
He turned toward the voice and sized the guy up. The man definitely looked like trouble. Still, it wasn't the first time Isaac had taken out the trash.
He studied the man, wondering whether he recognized him, but unfortunately nothing rang a bell as he looked at him.
The man was in his mid-thirties, with gelled dark-brown hair and a thick scar on his left cheek. His nose looked as though it had been reset more than once, and his eyes studied Isaac with interest. He was wearing an expensive suit, and without even looking, Isaac could tell that he was probably wearing equally expensive leather shoes.
Two other guys were sitting beside him, dressed in a similar manner, grinning at Isaac mockingly.
Isaac hadn't even noticed when these guys had entered the café. He clearly wasn't as fit as he'd thought he was that morning. Maybe he should have allowed himself more rest after all. In any case, he now had to make sure these men left the place again without causing a scene.
He stepped up to the counter and gave the one who had spoken earlier a cold smile.
"As you can see, we're very busy today. I must ask you to leave," he said politely. Even so, he made it unmistakably clear that they were not welcome in the café.
Before I show you where the exit is, he added silently.
The guy clicked his tongue in disapproval. "That's not how things work around here, my dear Isaac," he said quietly enough that only Isaac could hear him.
The way he carried himself was pure provocation—the drawn-out tone of his voice, the self-assured posture, the look on his face that showed no trace of respect. He leaned far too close to Isaac, deliberately invading his personal space, as if testing how far he could push him.
Isaac wasn't surprised that the man knew his name. He had probably just read it off the name tag.
"That's exactly how it's going to work," Isaac hissed back. His voice was so calm and low that only the three men in front of him could hear it. "You've clearly wandered into the wrong territory. So disappear while I'm still being nice."
The man twisted his lips into a crooked grin. "We'll leave as soon as we have what we came here for."
"And what would that be?" Isaac asked with feigned indifference.
"Our boss wants you." The man's gaze turned disdainful. "And believe me—if he didn't, I would've already given you a proper beating for that tone of yours."
Isaac suppressed an amused smirk. He would have liked to see that. Even with the gunshot wound, he was more than capable of giving the three of them far more than just a few bruises.
"Thanks, but I'm not for sale," he replied coolly. "Now get lost. And besides, I couldn't care less what your boss wants."
"Is that so?" The man tilted his head slightly. "Because he's very interested in your… abilities."
Isaac's jaw tightened. How badly he wanted to grab the guy by the collar and haul him over the counter. That damn bastard deserved a beating and then some. But he held back. If the boss found out about this, it would inevitably lead to territorial disputes, and Isaac could really do without that right now.
Yet as the man's words sank in, Isaac paused. How did their boss know about his abilities? How much did they know—and did they know about…?
Damn it, he had to get rid of them.
"I'm not going to repeat myself," Isaac hissed in a low, icy voice. "Disappear before the others realize what you're trying to pull here, or you'll find your way back to your boss in cardboard boxes."
"Try it, you little shit!" the guy snarled defiantly.
But one of his associates grabbed him by the shoulder.
"Sir, I dislike this just as much as you do, but we have clear instructions," he said quietly.
The man tore himself free. "Damn it!" he roared, slamming his fist down on the counter again.
He seemed to be losing what little patience he might have had. Even without looking at the other guests in the café, Isaac could tell from the sudden silence that everyone had noticed what was going on. The guy grabbed Isaac's sweater and yanked him closer.
Damn…
"We know everything about you, Isaac Walker. Cooperate while you still can. We won't keep asking this nicely for long," the man hissed.
Isaac's lips curved into a barely perceptible smile. "I can't wait to tear you and your clowns apart," he whispered, so softly that only the man could hear.
His gaze dropped to the hand still gripping his sweater. With his uninjured hand, he closed around the man's wrist. The movement was precise, practiced, almost elegant. A quick twist, a targeted application of pressure—enough to cause maximum pain without drawing unnecessary attention.
The man let out a sharp groan and released him, instinctively clutching his wrist, which Isaac hoped he had at least sprained. Isaac, meanwhile, calmly straightened his clothes, smoothed the fabric, and took a deep breath, as if nothing had happened.
Then he lifted his gaze, let it travel slowly over the three men, and gestured toward the door with a curt motion.
"Get lost."
The man's face twisted with rage. "You'll bitterly regret this," he growled before withdrawing with his men.
"Tsk," Isaac muttered softly, barely more than a breath.
How dare they come after him of all places—here, in this café, on his boss's territory.
They wanted him? They could wait a long time for that. The only thing that truly calmed Isaac was the fact that they didn't want to start a war between the clans. So he only had to figure out how to get himself out of this situation.
His gaze followed them to make sure they actually left the café. He flinched almost imperceptibly when he saw the cop standing at the counter. The cop shot him a puzzled look. Isaac briefly clenched his hand and focused on calming himself. The anger was still rushing hot through his veins.
Why did that damn cop have to come into the café right now? How much had he seen? Or worse—how much had he heard?
Hopefully that bastard hasn't just ensured that I can't get anywhere near the cop anymore.
He walked over to the cop, since Noah and Kieran were still busy with the guests. But before he could greet him, he noticed the man's focused gaze. He was studying him as if seeing him for the first time.
"Did those men give you any trouble? Though you didn't look like you needed help," he inquired casually, yet his intentions were clear. Isaac felt as though the crosshairs were aimed squarely at his forehead.
He should have been more careful.
"That sort of thing happens from time to time," he explained calmly. "Thank you for your concern, but I'm perfectly capable of looking after myself."
After all, he had been very well trained—and not just in one form of martial arts. Not that there was any record of that.
The cop continued to study him openly.
"From time to time?" he asked in surprise. "Those guys looked pretty dangerous. How is it that such a small café is so often the target of such rough characters?"
This was going in completely the wrong direction. Isaac's thoughts nearly tripped over themselves. There had to be a way to steer this conversation elsewhere. But how?
The sympathy angle probably wouldn't work anymore—he had reacted far too calmly for that. He dug the hand of his injured arm into the forearm of his healthy one. He averted his gaze; he needed to think. He had been too calm, damn it. He should have reacted injured and shaken from the very start. How could he have been so stupid?
"I—" he began. But then Kieran came up to him and turned him toward himself. A painful groan escaped Isaac's lips as Kieran touched the wound on his left upper arm.
"Isaac! Are you okay?!" he asked anxiously. He cupped Isaac's face and studied him with concern. "Did they hurt you?! God, you're shaking like a leaf!"
If this isn't an opportunity, then I don't know what is.
"No… I'm fine," Isaac replied softly. He looked at Kieran. "Luckily, everything turned out okay before anyone got hurt."
"You're taking a break now and getting some rest," Kieran said firmly, leaving no room for argument.
"I don't need a break," Isaac objected.
"I don't think I've given you a choice," Kieran replied, offering him an encouraging smile. "Let me take over. You've been working nonstop since this morning."
Isaac shot the cop one last fleeting glance before turning away. If he argued now, he would only make himself look even more suspicious. Hopefully the man had swallowed the little performance.
The cop was still watching him, but eventually turned his attention to Kieran, who had already skillfully drawn him into a casual conversation.
In that regard, Isaac couldn't compete with him.
He'd been lucky. Kieran had appeared at exactly the right moment and had at least superficially defused the situation. Now it was up to Isaac to convince the cop at the next opportunity that he was completely harmless. A normal young man. Someone with nothing extraordinary to offer—aside from his looks. Someone who had been shaken by the situation and had gotten away unscathed purely by luck.
Someone who was absolutely not suspicious.
Someone no one needed to fear.
Thanks to Kieran, he had gained a little time to gather his thoughts. He only hoped he hadn't ruined everything at his first chance, and that what had happened today might still be useful for his purposes.
In the break room, he sank onto the narrow couch with a glass of water. His gaze rested on the clear surface of the liquid while his mind worked feverishly.
He would probably see the cop again on Monday morning. So he had more than a day to prepare for the next meeting. So far, everything that could go wrong truly had gone wrong. When had his luck decided to simply disappear?
How was he supposed to convince the cop?
What should he say? How should he behave?
Would the man forget what had happened today? Or would he remain suspicious?
One thing was certain: if his plan didn't work, he would have to resort to Plan B. But Plan B was too risky, and far too much could go wrong. Even though Isaac had a Plan B, he hoped he wouldn't have to use it.
He hated Plan B.
In any situation.