BIA Ch. 98

Given the amount he had ejaculated inside, just wiping what leaked out wasn’t going to cut it. Isaiah eventually went to the bathroom to clean up, ended up taking a shower while he was at it, and came out saying in a deliberately angry voice.

“Don’t cum inside me from now on.”

“Sorry, but that might be difficult.”

Bran, who had been sitting on the sofa looking at his phone, looked up and retorted.

“What…”

As Isaiah, momentarily speechless, stared with a dumbfounded expression, Bran gave a slight smile. He then stood up, picked up Isaiah’s coat from the hanger, and said.

“If you’re done washing up, let’s go.”

Fortunately, this accommodation had an elevator right across from the front door as soon as you stepped out.

“Don’t forget to download the Airbnb app.”

Bran said as he got into the elevator. As soon as Isaiah reached the underground parking garage, he took out the smartphone he received from Chester and downloaded the app first.

“I installed the app.”

As he said this while getting into the passenger seat of the Bentley, Bran recited an email address.

“Is this really your account?”

“Of course not.”

Indeed, when he logged into the app with the provided account address, a picture of a man named Bob grinning widely, showing his white teeth, was prominently displayed on the profile.

“Who is this?”

“Well, someone, I suppose.”

Bran replied nonchalantly, turning the steering wheel. The car quickly exited the underground parking garage. But the outside, now completely dark, was just as dim. In fact, with the rain pouring down, it felt even more dreary.

“Could my information be used like this by the FBI without my knowledge too?”

“That’s unlikely.”

Bran, having successfully merged onto a main road in one go, pressed the accelerator harder and said.

“Because the identities used for such things are almost always fake. They usually combine separately sourced photos, names, and dates of birth. They also sometimes use the old information of people who received new identities through the witness protection program.”

“Those FBI bastards do whatever they want.”

“They’re thugs. Go into the reservation confirmation section there.”

Isaiah did as Bran instructed.

“The receipt shows up, right? Show it to Chester. I specifically asked for the receipt to be timestamped for right after your call with Chester.”

His handling of things was certainly impeccable. He was on a different level than Chester, who couldn’t even prepare a simple curtain properly and was infuriating.

As soon as he thought of him, a call came from Chester. Isaiah muttered a curse under his breath. Bran gestured with his eyes, telling him to answer. Isaiah let out a small sigh and took the call.

“Where are you?”

Chester asked, playing innocent again. His overly coy voice somehow sounded even more detestable.

“Why ask when you already know.”

Isaiah didn’t hide his irritation.

“You’re monitoring me in real-time with the tracking app anyway.”

“What are you talking about? I just installed it. I don’t stare at it all day.”

Chester flew into a rage, accusing him of being paranoid. When Isaiah didn’t respond, the guy launched into his usual spiel about why Isaiah acted suspiciously in the first place, before finally clearing his throat and saying.

“Anyway, did you decide on that place?”

“Yeah. I’ve even finished the rental agreement.”

“Good. Then tomorrow I just need to go measure the window width.”

Chester started harping on about those damn curtains again. Bringing up something he’d already mentioned several times, it seemed he was hoping for Isaiah to praise him like before.

But Isaiah wasn’t in the mood. It was only about a twenty-minute drive from here to his own apartment. He was already disappointed that the drive wouldn’t last longer, given how well Bran drove, so why would he praise the guy who interrupted even that short amount of time? Besides, knowing Chester’s personality, one word of praise would just make him excited and harp on about it even more.

Sure enough, when Isaiah didn’t respond, Chester seemed to lose steam and said in a crestfallen voice.

“Well… alright, I get it for now. Then let’s meet at the Tayton Building tomorrow afternoon.”

“What time?”

“Let’s meet at two. I have a lunch appointment.”

“Alright. Come to room 2208.”

Isaiah gave the room number and hung up before Chester could say anything more. Resisting the urge to turn the phone off completely, he put it into his coat pocket. As if waiting for that moment, Bran spoke.

“You two seem quite close.”

“What?”

Isaiah’s eyes widened involuntarily.

“Surely you’re not talking about Chester?”

“Or is there another man?”

Isaiah was quite flustered. It had been like this earlier too, but whenever Bran mentioned Chester, his tone and manner seemed tinged with jealousy. Of course, given the circumstances, a subtle war of nerves, a mutual checking of sorts, was natural. Still, there was undeniably something suggestive in Bran’s choice of words. As if he were doing it deliberately.

“Can you still pull the trigger then?”

The traffic light turned yellow just as they approached. Normally, Bran would have driven through, but perhaps because of the rain, he stopped the car before the line. Isaiah leaned back fully against his seat and muttered.

“things like that doesn’t matter.”

“It doesn’t matter?”

“Yeah.”

Through the window, the wipers moved ceaselessly, but they couldn’t keep up with the downpour. Isaiah gazed at the glass, quickly becoming smeared with raindrops. More precisely, he watched the traffic light beyond the car window, the round circle that had swiftly turned red.

“Whether this is right or wrong is logic from outside the circle to begin with.”

“Logic from outside the circle, you say.”

“Yeah. I just need to follow the logic inside the circle.”

The logic inside the circle is much simpler than the logic outside. You just shoot whatever enters the circle, whatever falls within the crosshairs.

“It’s easier than driving. There are no variables.”

Red before the target is clear. Green when the target is precisely in focus. Just pull the trigger when it’s green. No need to check left and right like at a traffic light.

“I see.”

Bran murmured lowly. Isaiah expected a question to follow immediately, but surprisingly, Bran remained silent. For a while, the car was filled only with the sound of raindrops drumming against the chassis and the swish of the wipers.

“Then.”

Just as Bran finally began to speak again after a long pause, the traffic light turned green, and simultaneously, a horn honked from behind. Bran shifted gears and hit the accelerator. The car started moving, gliding smoothly on the wet road.

“Weren’t you about to say something?”

“No.”

Bran replied curtly. It was rare for him to retract something he was about to say. It might have been nothing important, but somehow, the unspoken words lingered in Isaiah’s mind.

Leaving the dense cluster of buildings behind, the car picked up speed. As they sped unhesitatingly down a deserted two-lane road, Bran suddenly asked.

“Come to think of it, how should I contact you when I want to talk?”

Even knowing Bran meant for work purposes, Isaiah’s heart couldn’t help but pound for a moment. This man certainly had a peculiar way with words.

“It’s unfair that only Chester can contact you whenever he wants, isn’t it?”

Or was this also intentional? Yes, that must be it. Bran knew about his feelings. If his plan was to exploit Isaiah’s affection to ensure greater loyalty, it was a very clever tactic.

“If you have something to say, leave a note at that office in Devereux Financial. I’ll stop by once a day.”

Isaiah said, feigning indifference.

“Secretive.”

It was just the most common method for passing intelligence, yet Bran spoke as if they were arranging a secret rendezvous.

“And if you have something to say, you’ll leave a note too?”

“Would I… have anything to say to you?”

“Why so sure? Have you never had anything before?”

The question made it awkward to answer. He had certainly thought about Bran often, and had frequently mulled over his own unattainable feelings for him, but as for whether he’d ever wanted to express them in words… well…

“Okay.”

Before Isaiah could say anything, Bran nodded first with an expression that said he understood.

“Just keep praying hard by yourself until you die.”

“What are you talking about.”

Isaiah, feeling stung, clicked his tongue irritably.

“Don’t treat me like some fanatic.”

“A fanatic would be better. At least they desire a response from their god.”

“Enough. I don’t need any response, so just give me back my gun.”

“When you have nothing else to say, you talk about the gun.”

“…..”

This time, Isaiah truly had no retort. As he fell silent, Bran turned the wheel sharply into an alley without signaling and said.

“Come to my place the day after tomorrow and get it.”

“Where is your place?”

“Manny will know. Suggest going then, since it’ll be empty during the day.”

The rain-soaked scenery felt strangely familiar, and he realized they were already near his apartment building.

“Have Manny wait in the car and go in alone. Ring the doorbell. When asked who it is, say ‘Isaiah.’ Vanessa will open the door.”

“Vanessa?”

“She’s the housekeeper. Don’t kill her.”

“…I don’t kill just anyone.”

Does he think I’m some kind of jealousy-crazed lunatic? Angry, Isaiah was about to retort, but the car stopped in front of his apartment building. He swallowed his words and unbuckled his seatbelt.

“I’ll leave the gun next to the desk in the study, so just take it.”

Isaiah got out of the car without replying. He slammed the door shut and headed towards the building when he heard Bran call from behind, “Isaiah.”

Isaiah stopped at the building’s steps and looked back. Through the thick curtain of rain, he could see Bran’s face inside the car, smiling.

“Still, pray hard.”

“..…”

“Because someday, an answer will come.”

…Who? Who would be answering? God? Or Bran himself? If the latter, would it literally be an answer to a prayer, or an answer to this heart, so old and festered that he couldn’t even tell if it was faith or love anymore?

The cunning god gave Isaiah no chance to ask, disappearing into the rain, leaving behind words utterly suggestive to the very end.