Page 117 of Remy

“But what if he had a family?” I whisper. “What if he had a wife? A child? A?—”

“You think it would’ve been better for him to go home to a kid after what he attempted to do to you?” he grates. “Understand your value, Pyro.”

He steps closer, consuming my personal space. “Nobody has the right to touch you.” He reaches out, belying his own words by trailing his hands up my arms, my coat doing nothing to dull the heightened contact. “Your life is the most valuable thing you have. Nothing trumps it.”

I peer up at him, falling victim to his intense gaze, becoming ensnared by the darkness.

“Do you think I’m wrong?” he asks. “Do you want to believe his time would’ve been better served in prison? Would you have preferred if your tax dollars funded a nonexistent rehabilitation? Because we both know he wouldn’t have changed.”

I know. I know. I know.

I cringe, hating his logic.

“I just…” A shiver runs down my back and I twitch, trying to get rid of the horrid sensation. “It’s…” I glance away, still seeing Remy even though my attention is narrowed across the room. “It’s like I said…” My voice becomes a pathetic plea. “I don’t know how to feel.”

“Yeah, you do. You just don’t like that you feel relieved.”

“I feel responsible,” I bite back. “Because if I hadn’t followed him into that elevator none of this would’ve happened.”

“To you. It wouldn’t have happened to you, Ollie. His victim would’ve been someone else.”

My gaze snaps back to his, the truth in his words destroying me.

How can he be so callous and yet so logical? So vicious and then equally considerate?

I hate it. I still want to hate him.

But I don’t.

There’s no animosity at all.

Not even a smidge.

What consumes my insides is something different entirely. A longing. A hunger for understanding.

I scrunch my nose at the absurdity and whisper, “I should go.”

I really should, yet my legs don’t move. My brain won’t send the signal to get my pins oscillating. There are too many questions. A wealth of knowledge I need to know. And he’s right there, potentially an open book into an unknown world.

I remain in front of him, my hand falling to my side, my breaths heavy.

I allow myself one question. Just one. “Do you feel any guilt?”

“No.” He doesn’t pause for contemplation. “And you shouldn’t either.” He takes another step closer, the proximity tightening my lungs.

“That’s easy to say, but?—”

“There’s no but.” He leans in, getting in my face, forcing me to receive a front-row view of his sincerity. “The thing I need you to understand is that your world and mine aren’t the same. His actions had consequences. And I enjoyed inflicting them.” He raises a hand to my neck, and I hold my breath. “Nobody touches you. Do you understand?”

He does it again. Makes a demand, then breaks his own rules by guiding his calloused fingers delicately down my throat.

Everything inside me comes alive. Blood vessels. Nerves.

I’m a statue of conflicting warfare. All fractured heartbeats and heated veins.

“Breathe, Ollie. I’m not going to hurt you.”

I acquiesce, the held air in my lungs shuddering from my lips.

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