Page 119 of Remy

It takes everything in me not to follow. Not to chase after her and somehow rid her of the hollowness that seems to have carved its way inside her.

Instead I stand there, punishing myself with the what-ifs.

What if Flynn hadn’t sent me a photo of Ollie at the front of the club?

What if I’d arrived at Smoke & Mirrors ten minutes later?

What if that piece of shit hadn’t attempted to rape her and just went in for the kill?

I shove a hand through my hair, the rage reigniting. I wait until her engine purrs to life, until the low rumble disappears into the distance. Then I turn on my heel to find my men, and take pleasure in burning my employee’s body to bone.

I spend days thinking about her. Worrying about her.

I picture her alone in that house, isolated with her struggles.

I should’ve done more to make sure she was okay. The only thing that stopped me was the threat of what would happen to her if I defied Lorenzo’s orders. He’s still too much of an unknown. A familial ally, yet potentially a patriarchal monster. Just like my father.

Once she’s back at work, I demand updates from Wesley more frequently.

I hound him with questions.

Is she eating enough?

Ask her if she’s sleeping.

Is she still wearing my ring?

None of his answers appease me. I want to hear them from her. Want to see for myself that the shadows under her eyes are gone. But cutting ties as much as our renegotiated terms will allow is for the best.

She said it herself: “I don’t want to be in this situation again.”

She doesn’t want to be around me, surrounded by the aftermath of my brutality.

I don’t text her again for weeks. But when I do, it’s another painful truth?—

Me

I’ve been thinking about you.

The aggravating mental gymnastics have been constant. Egregious. A dedicated, obnoxious train of thought that doesn’t quit.

She’s always on my mind. Those impassioned hazel eyes. The whimsically braided hair.

I hadn’t thought the cartel would lay as low as they have. They’re practically in hiding, with the whispers on the street being that there’s a struggle to find a suitable replacement for their slaughtered leadership.

It’s one of the bartenders at my brother’s whiskey bar that triggers my reunion with lust-filled insanity, his stupidity at peddling drugs on family property ending his middle-aged life.

I would’ve spared him—sent him on his way with my personalized version of a slap on the wrist—if only I hadn’t been informed of the transgression from a cop on the payroll who said the punk was willing to throw Salvatore under the bus to escape conviction.

This time when Ollie drives into the funeral home parking lot during the midnight hours, she remains in her car. Her vehicle is nowhere to be seen by the time the betrayer’s body has been reduced to granulated bone.

And I, being the sick, pathetic fuck I am, miss her.

I’m frustrated that I don’t get to speak to her. That she didn’t break the rules so I could hear her voice.

More weeks pass. The cartel settles into new leadership, and Salvatore and I remain on alert for backlash that doesn’t arise.

I contemplate killing a random just to see Ollie. For the mere excuse to be in her fucking presence.

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