Page 106 of Remy

“Remy.” His name is whispered from my agonized throat, my voice not making sense.

I swallow and press at my ears, trying to re-right the sound.

“Wha-wha, wha wha,” Remy shouts in the guy’s face. “Wha wha wahwahwah.” He releases him with a shove and storms in my direction, violent eyes turning soft as he stops before me.

“Wha da de do do dou.” He closes in exactly like the bouncer did, but there’s no fear with his proximity—only the euphoric rush of relief. He takes off his suit jacket and drapes the silken warmth of the interior over my shoulders. Then his calloused palms cup my cheeks as he repeats the garbled words.

“I can’t—” My throat burns as I speak. “I can’t hear you.”

I swallow again. Press my fingers to my ears.

When I pull them away the ringing lessens, a gentle hum taking its place.

“Ollie?” Remy’s voice comes through in surround sound. “Are you okay? Did he?—”

“No. He—” I shake my head, the movement threatening to unleash a migraine. I wince and gently prod at my temple. “He tried.”

“But he hurt you.” He gently tilts my head to the side, careful fingers providing the sweetest, most startling care. “He hit you?” One hand leaves my cheek to guide my arm away. “In the fucking head?”

I wince at the venom that chokes his tone, the pinched expression pulling at my battered flesh as I nod.

He releases me and swings around, stalking toward the bouncer who stumbles in retreat. Remy grabs him with a hasty yank by the shirtfront. Before I can gasp, his knuckles are pounding into my attacker’s face. Once. Twice. Then Remy shoves him to the cement and reaches behind his back, retrieving a gun from his waistband to shove against the guy’s forehead.

“Remy, no.” I rush for him on fumbling feet. “What are you doing?”

“Terminating his employment.”

“No.” I tug his arm. “Don’t.”

“Listen to her.” The bouncer cowers. “She followed me down here. She led me on.”

He winds me with the lie, forcing all the air from my lungs.

How could he? How could this man attempt to rape me, then blame it on anything other than his own actions?

A car door opens nearby, and the sickening thought of another witness to my vulnerability has me snapping my gaze in the vehicle’s direction. To Remy’s Bentley parked in one of the empty spaces I passed at the height of my naivety, the hum I hear now recognized as the car’s engine.

A woman climbs from the passenger seat.

A tall, blonde, beautiful woman with eyes as blue as the ocean.

“Remy…” She strides forward, her forehead wrinkled with concern, her long coat gaping to expose a tight black dress over an enviable body.

“Not now,” he snarls at her. “Go upstairs.”

“But—”

“I said, not now.” He snaps his attention to the woman. “Or so help me God, I’ll?—”

“Okay. I’m going,” she soothes patiently. “Just keep your cool. This isn’t about you.” She meets my gaze with a wealth of sympathy. With kindness.

Inferiority washes over me.

Humiliation.

She gives me a sad smile, and in the frenzied aftermath of my attack, I find myself growing envious of her—her beauty, her composure, the connection she has with a man that confuses the life out of me.

She turns and walks toward the elevator. I’m about to yell out and tell her she’ll need security access, my mind fixating on all the wrong things, when she diverts her path to a door marked stairwell and disappears inside.

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