Page 23 of Remy

She hasn’t been on-call before—at least not on her own. Dad has been with her a few times, but that was before Hugo’s employ?—

Oh, shit.

I stop dead in my tracks before the closed double doors to the delivery room.

Was Ivy right about Hugo coming back to cause trouble?

Shuffling carries from inside the room. I pat my pockets for my cell. Pull out the device just in case I need to call the cops. Then I open one side of the doors and my stomach plummets to my feet with an agonizing whoosh.

A gasp escapes.

Two men dressed in black snap their attention in my direction, the limp body they’re carrying dropped to the cement floor with a sickening thwack.

They draw weapons. Life-threatening, panic-inducing guns.

I turn to stone, my cell a dead weight in my frozen hand.

“What the fuck?” one of them mutters, his narrowed eyes murderous.

The other jabs his firearm in my direction and retreats toward the overhead external door, the now open space partially filled by a white van exactly like the one we use for decedent transportation except for the different license plate. “Don’t move.”

If only I could.

“Who are you?” I pant, my breaths coming thick and fast.

“Grim,” the retreater calls out, focusing past the van into the dark of night. He seems familiar somehow.

I don’t know what to do. Scream? Run? Chance dialing 911 and hope my quick fingers outpace a bullet?

“Grim,” the guy shouts louder.

“Look…” I swallow over my achingly dry throat. “I don’t want any trouble.”

“Then shut your fucking mouth,” the remaining man snaps.

I clamp my lips closed. Send out a silent prayer.

Both men turn their attention outside, and I chance a tiny step backward, my entire body trembling.

Footsteps approach from the dark of night. Slow, calm steps that seem like the advance of the devil himself.

My pulse is an erratic mess in comparison. Hard. Fast. Chaotic.

Then the Grim they’re calling to walks beneath the delivery room door, bypassing the doppelgänger van, the man’s familiar midnight gaze meeting mine.

Relief overwhelms me. My heart pitter-patters.

Then the stupidity vanishes and I’m dropped back into the hellish pit of reality.

Everything inside me shuts down.

Head… heart… soul…

I know this man. The one who strolls around the limp body on the floor with threatening grace and menacing confidence. The same guy who had those ring-covered fingers up my skirt six months ago. Who made my ovaries flutter. Who made my knees weak for reasons other than terror.

“Hey, Ollie.” He continues toward me, giving a sympathetic smile. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to kindly ask you not to scream.”

6

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