Page 24 of Remy

OLIVIA

“Continue with the plan.” The man from my past speaks to the gun-wielding sidekicks. “I’ll deal with her.”

Deal with her?

My frantic heart rate reaches a whole new level, the beats manic as I attempt to discreetly slide my cell into my trouser pocket.

“Are you going to kill me?” I whisper.

“Now why would I do that?”

His voice is the same as it was the night we met—all smooth seduction and subdued power. But there are added layers now. He’s different. Calculated and utterly confounding.

The men behind him holster their weapons and reposition themselves to pick up the motionless male, one grabbing the ankles, the other the shoulders.

“What are you going to do then?” I ask in a rush, my body trembling.

“I just want to talk.” He stalks closer, a predator approaching prey.

“Then talk. From there. Don’t take another step.” I retreat into the hall and thankfully, he complies. “Where are they taking him?”

My newfound nightmare glances over his shoulder to his companions. “It’s okay. Just ignore them.”

“Are you kidding?” My eyes widen, my breaths sawing in and out of strained lungs. “Is that man dead?”

“Ollie…” He slides his hands into his pockets. Dauntless. “Baby, calm down.”

Baby? Calm Down?

I don’t know what part of his statement is more grotesque—the horrifically familiar endearment or the outrageously sickening request.

I open my mouth to speak but out of nowhere he whistles, high-pitched and shrill.

“Take a walk, guys.” He keeps his gaze on mine while the men snap to attention like obedient dogs. “Leave and update my brother on our success, but don’t mention my current audience. I can handle the rest from here.”

“The rest of what?” I blurt.

He gives me a sympathetic look.

No, it’s patronizing. Like I lack the brain capacity to formulate simple math—two plus two equals you’re about to be murdered by the man you’ve religiously fantasized about for half a year.

He starts toward me again and I stumble back into the hall wall, the other men not paying me attention as they follow his command, dumping the body on the floor for a second time, then walking beneath the raised delivery door and disappearing into the night.

I glance to my left, down the dimly lit hall. Should I run?

“Don’t do it,” my nightmare murmurs. “We just need to talk.”

“Then stay where you are.” I divert my retreat toward the reception area when he doesn’t listen. “Whatever you’re doing here I promise I’ll forget it. I’ll pretend it never happened. I don’t even know what is happening. I’m clueless.” I backtrack toward the front of the building, him matching me step for step. “Please just stop. You’re scaring me.”

“I’m not trying to scare you. But you’re a smart woman. You already know this is a serious situation. I can’t let you out of my sight in case you call the cops.”

He’s definitely going to kill me.

I can already read the headlines—Murdered in her own funeral home. No need to transport the body.

A car door slams in the distance, the sound echoing through the building where it seems I’m destined to take my final breath.

An engine hums. Asphalt crunches.

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