Page 140 of Remy

“For someone far more experienced than I am, I would’ve thought you’d remove your fingers from inside me before starting the cold-shoulder routine.” She wiggles, dislodging my hand from between her legs. “But it’s okay.” She sidesteps, righting the hem of her shorts, smoothing out her camisole. “I get it. You’ve had a horrible night.”

No, she doesn’t have a fucking clue.

She doesn't realize that things have changed. How I will have to change.

That the monster I once was is nothing in comparison to who I’ll become now that the cartel have made this personal.

They took someone from me. Someone I cared about.

And here I stand with my hand soaked in Ollie’s pleasure while his body is being burned to nothingness.

I’m a piece of shit.

I turn and amble for the sink, then wash her gratification down the drain while she remains limp against the door.

“I’ll call you a driver.” I meet her gaze in the mirror.

She flinches, the rejection taking half a second to mask.

The thought of someone else taking her home sits like a lead weight in my gut, but the threats are stacking against her and I’m the one who keeps putting them there.

She needs to get away from me.

To quit asking for things that will get her killed.

“No.” She pushes from the door to snatch her cell off the floor. “It’s okay. I’ll call my own.”

“I want it to be my driver, Ollie. Someone I can trust with your safety.” I switch off the water and face her.

She rolls her eyes. “Well, hold on tight, buddy, because you’re about to be the poster child for not always getting what you want.” She swings around to face the door, yanking it open.

“Ollie,” I warn.

She pauses.

“I’m not saying you’re not allowed to be pissed at me,” I growl. “But you don’t get to put yourself in danger because of it.”

Her posture loses its rigidity. “I’m not pissed at you.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yes. This is on me. I’m the sober one. I’m not manipulated by grief. I never should’ve let things go as far as they did.” She clears her throat. “I never should’ve let them go anywhere.” She glances at me over her shoulder, her gorgeous features pinched. “I’m sorry.”

Fucking hell.

Why is everything with her so fucking easy yet so excruciatingly hard all at the same damn time?

“Give me a minute to get some clothes.” I walk toward her, needing to get to my bedroom. “I’ll see that one of my men makes sure you?—”

“Remy, I said I don’t need a ride.”

“I’m not budging on this.” I step around her and try to lengthen my stride down the hall, but the pull of my staples fucks up my pace. I’m forced to limp, to fucking hobble while her footsteps retreat in the opposite direction.

“Don’t defy me, Ollie.” I enter my room and make a beeline for my walk-in closet to snatch a shirt from a hanger. “Give me two more minutes.”

I yank the clothing over my head, but the only response is the faint whoosh of the elevator doors.

26

---