Page 181 of Remy

“Everything’s fine.” I rest the gun against my upper thigh, keeping it hidden beneath the table as I drag her closer into my side.

“Can we please cut that word from our vocabulary? This really doesn’t feel like a fine type of situation.”

“I’ll handle it.”

The men grab two beers off the bartender, then make a show of looking for somewhere to sit, as if they don’t already plan to walk in our direction.

“I need you to listen to me carefully, Pyro.”

“Okay,” she says with hesitation.

“Finish your drink.” I want the liquor to help ease her anxiety.

She reaches trembling fingers toward her martini glass and takes a sip.

“Good girl.” I release her waist and slide my free hand over her wrist in a vain attempt at comfort.

“Please don’t say that right now.” Pink floods her cheeks.

I smirk, the expression short-lived as the men approach. “They’re going to sit near us. They might even start a conversation. But I want you to remain quiet and relaxed. Can you do that for me?”

She nods, short and sharp.

The men close in, eying the empty booth adjoining ours.

I slide my finger over the trigger of my gun, my pulse increasing, the demand to protect Ollie becoming a living, breathing thing inside my chest.

They get within five feet… four… three…

Then the taller of the two—the driver—pauses at the neighboring booth, his eyes narrowing on mine in fake scrutiny.

“Hey.” His voice holds a slight Irish lilt as he jerks his chin in my direction. “Do I know you?”

“I don’t know.” I glower. “Do you?”

He’s obviously not Mexican. Not cartel.

But he’s something.

A definite threat.

His companion attempts the same feigned scrutiny, eyeing me and Ollie.

“If you don’t mind, I’m trying to share a private drink with a friend.” I continue with the death stare, my trigger finger getting itchy.

They exchange a glance. A nod. Then lower into their booth, the driver facing me while the other slides in the closest side and moves all the way across to lean against the wall.

“What’s going on?” Ollie whispers.

“I’m not sure. But I need you to dig into my pocket and get my car fob.”

She swallows heavily as her hand lowers beneath the table, brushing my thigh, her fingertips skimming my dick.

I fucking flinch.

“Sorry,” she rasps, her expression full of horror.

I’d laugh if it wasn’t the most inopportune moment to be distracted by my hardening cock.

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