Deacon's P.O.V

"Do I have to do this?" Isaac whispered, a tremor mocking his words. He fingers had curled around his seatbelt, twisting and turning the fabric, and his teeth had sunk into his lower lip with enough force to leave behind an imprint.

"No." Shifting in my seat so we were facing on another, I took one of his hands. The car seemed to shake beneath the force of the violent winds and rain fell so hard and fast that the building we were parked behind could barely be seen. "But it was your idea and once we do it, it's over."

Isaac had been different today. After last...