Page 123 of Remy

“I’m joking, asshole.” I reach out my free hand and help him to his feet. “You can leave whenever you like, but I’ll never push you to go. I wasn’t lying about you being valued. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders when you’re not trying to shove the world away.”

He relaxes. “But I don’t even have an education.”

“Yeah, you do. Yours was at the school of hard knocks. And as difficult as those lessons were, it will make you stronger. More adaptable.” I clap him on the back. I’d pull the poor, dejected bastard in for a fucking hug if I didn’t think he’d shove me away. “But you’ve gotta stop pushing against those who want to help you. Take what you can. Don’t hold back. Be greedy with it.”

He smirks. “Does that mean I should empty your safe and shit?”

“Nice try.” I nudge him with my shoulder. “We don’t bite the hand that feeds us.”

He chuckles, but something niggles at me. Something that turns my thoughts to Lorenzo and how I’m being a hypocrite for biting his metaphorical hand due to the updated terms with Ollie.

“Well, then, let’s get to feeding.” Flynn starts for the entry. “What’s this place you want to try for dinner?”

“It’s a Teppanyaki restaurant.” I walk around the sofa and grab my jacket. The temp outside is warm enough without it, but strolling around downtown Baltimore with a gun shoved into the back of my waistband isn’t a look I want to attempt to pull off. “I hope you like Japanese.”

He throws his hands up in the air, his expression light, as if we never even shared a heart-to-heart. “I don’t even know what Teppanyaki is.”

“Then I look forward to showing you.”

He leads the way to the elevator, and we talk shit on the descent. He tells me how his greatest memory revolving around food was when his dad took him to Applebee’s for his eighth birthday. But how they had to dine and ditch, only for Flynn to get caught by a security guard as he sprinted along the sidewalk while his dad took off.

It’s an odd juxtaposition to the way I grew up, yet the kid still feels like a baby brother. The only thing seeming to separate us is that his parents were horrendously derelict while mine were egregiously conniving.

We step out into the tepid spring night, just two guys living carefree and laughing at each other’s bullshit. I want him to have an easier life. To obtain the freedom I hadn’t experienced until recently.

I’m determined to make it happen. To be some sort of fucked up mentor.

The advocate I never had.

“It’s this way.” I jerk my head toward the left of my apartment building while Flynn continues to talk shit, ribbing me about how I cut my hair and the ‘pretty’ cologne I wear.

I’m about to volley a slew of smack talk about his jeans that hang too low over his ass and how he needs to lay off the protein for global warming’s sake when tires screech nearby.

I flinch, on alert, while Flynn laughs at his own joke.

An engine guns.

A woman screams.

My heart fucking plummets as I lunge toward him, the staccato thwack of bullets hitting the building behind us while a piercing pain stabs through my thigh.

He falls before I can lay hands on him. Eyes wide. Expression panicked.

He crumples to the cement and I follow, scrambling on top of him, covering his body as best I can.

But it’s too late.

Blood already seeps into the chest of my button-down. His gurgled gasps for breath haunt my ears.

“Stay with me, Flynn.” I shield his head with one arm and reach for my gun with the other. “Just fucking hang on.”

23

OLIVIA

The beep of a text wakes me at 11:01 p.m.

Remy

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