Page 126 of Remy

My stomach bottoms.

He holds my gaze, his posture lacking the usual authoritative command, his expression bleak.

“You killed a…” I can’t repeat it this time. Can’t finish the sentence.

His eyes swim with desolation. “Yes, Ollie. I killed a kid.”

“Bullshit,” one of his men snap. “You didn’t do this. The blame is on the cartel. Working for you was the highlight of the boy’s life.”

It’s as if a shovel plows into me, scooping out my insides.

I’m hollowed. Emptied.

I snap my gaze back to the gurney. To the boy. To the teenager I recognize from taking a photo of me outside Smoke & Mirrors. The same one who lives with Remy.

Oh, God. The cartel killed him, and Remy blames himself.

“Are you going to be okay while we take care of him?” one of the men asks.

Remy nods, looking straight through me, face pale, eyes bleak.

“You should leave and get stitched up,” the other guy says. “We’ve got this covered.”

“I’m fine.” Remy raises a carnage-stained hand and scrubs it over his face, blood having dried into every crack and crevice of his fingers.

The guy scoffs and starts pushing the gurney into the hall. “The claret pooling at your feet says otherwise.”

My gaze drops to the cement floor, the puddle of crimson stark beneath Remy’s right thigh.

“What happened?” I gasp, rushing to do a visual search for injuries.

He stares at me. Stares right through me.

“Remy?” I grab his arm, my heart heavy, pulse intense. “Talk to me.”

He shrugs off my hold. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Someone you care about is dead. And you’re bleeding. It definitely matters.” I drop to my knees before him, doing another visual scan of his clothes, finding two small holes close together in the upper right thigh of his dress pants. “You were shot?”

He falls silent, the bleak void of his mood sinking into me.

“Tell me what happened.” I scan him for more bullet holes, fear and panic making my hands shake. “Is it just your leg?”

Again, nothing.

Goddamn him.

“Tell me.” I reach for the bullet wound, pulling the wet, suctioned material away from his skin. “Now, Remy.” I dig the tips of two fingers through the hole in his clothing and pull, tearing the fabric wider.

“Leave it,” he murmurs. “This isn’t an opportune time to take another stab at getting me out of my pants.”

I sigh, understanding his need to deflect. “You can rest assured knowing that seduction is the furthest thing from my mind. I’m still a virgin, and we both know you don’t mess with those.”

“If only you didn’t make me want to break my own rules.”

My heart lodges in my throat.

Stupid, traitorous heart.

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