Page 150 of Remy

I climb into the vehicle to stare through the windshield as Ollie swoops into the passenger seat, closes her door, and then drags on her belt.

She’s composed, but even with her hands gently clasped in her lap I can tell she’s wound tight. “Did something bad happen?”

“I’ll get into specifics in a minute.” I drive from the parking lot, my navigation aimless as I take random turns through suburban streets. There’s no perfect place to do this, but I don’t want to be behind the wheel when shit goes south. If I’m going to inflict a brutal blow, I’m doing it face-to-face.

She looks my way. “Remy, you’re scaring me.”

We haven’t even gotten to the scary part yet.

“How am I scaring you, Pyro?”

“Your apathy after being so angry with me earlier. I can tell something’s wrong.”

I hadn’t been angry, I’d been frustrated. Tempted. Fucking tortured.

She sighs dramatically. “At least tell me you don’t have a shovel in the back of your car.”

My lips twitch without my permission.

“There’s no shovel.” I shoot her a glance. “But I hope you know I wouldn’t need one to make you disappear.”

“Oh, I know.” Her shoulders slump. “You’re extremely resourceful.”

I would’ve agreed weeks ago. Now, I’m not so sure.

“If you can’t talk about where you took my dad, can you at least explain your comment about trying to do right by me?” Her attention haunts my periphery. “Why block my number? Why go back on our agreement?”

I tighten my hands around the steering wheel. “Why do you think?”

“Lorenzo.”

Yeah, fucking Lorenzo.

After he ensured I wasn’t at risk of keeling over from my bullet wound, and he delivered some fatherly words of condolence regarding Flynn, he started in on Ollie.

I warned you to keep your distance.

You’re complicating an already risky situation.

In no uncertain terms he reaffirmed how easily bad things can happen to innocent people—aka how she will likely disappear if I don’t cut ties.

But there are other reasons I should stay away from her too.

There always have been. Only now they’re more adamant. So I tried to forget her. Tried like it was a fucking Olympic sport and I was itching for a medal, even though walking past my penthouse main bathroom was a constant reminder of what she felt like coming around my fucking fingers.

Then tonight happened.

“Am I in trouble?” she asks. “Is Lorenzo going to come after me? Or is that what you’re here for?”

“We’ve always needed to maintain distance.” I take the next left turn. “It was a mistake to act differently.”

“Yet here I am, in your car.”

Yet here she is, in my goddamn fucking car.

“Forget about Lorenzo for now.” I take another left. A right. A left.

“Okay...” She cocks her head, clearly trying to lean farther toward my line of vision. “So what was at the hotel?”

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