Page 28 of Remy

She gnaws on her bottom lip, the glow of flames dancing in those innocent hazel eyes. “I’m thinking on my feet here. Excuse me for using the only tools at my disposal.”

“You’ve made your point. Now move so I can get out.” I skootch toward her.

“No.” Her arm lunges to the right, out of sight, the flames licking higher a split second later.

Heat engulfs me. “Jesus fucking Christ. Are you insane?”

Her beautiful eyes widen with terror. “I don’t know what else to do. You’re going to kill me.”

I hold her gaze, hating how her vulnerability affects me even while my face melts from the hellfire temperature. “I already told you I have no plans to hurt you. But your self-preservation techniques are making me rethink the lenience.”

“You gave me no choice. What else was I going to do?”

“Maybe let me explain without the threat of a concussion and third-degree burns.”

“There’s nothing more to explain. You kill people, then break in to my family’s funeral home and illegally cremate them.”

“I don’t break in.” I yank at the top of my button-down, the heat and confinement triggering my first introduction to claustrophobia. “I was given a key.”

She balks, those magnetic rosy lips parting.

“See?” I scowl. “You don’t know as much as you think. So move out of the way and we can talk. It’s fucking hard to breathe in here, and this can’t be sanitary. What would Grandma Betty think if she knew I was rolling around in her remains?”

“That’s not funny.”

No shit. It’s going to take a hell of a lot of dry-cleaning to get the minute remnants of dead people out of my favorite suit.

“You’re right.” I reposition myself on my protesting elbows, my head almost colliding with the brick ceiling again. “This is serious, especially if the news of this threat against my life becomes known to my family. They’re not people you want to get on the wrong side of.”

Her face loses more color. Or maybe that’s just the effect from the brighter flames that are slowly dehydrating me to death.

“I don’t know what to do,” she rambles, exquisitely vulnerable and meek. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I wasn’t sure if I could call the police. And my dad isn’t answering his phone. If word gets out about illegal cremations…”

“So you didn’t call the cops?” I ask slowly, keeping my temper in check.

“Not yet. But you know I have to.”

“If you do that I won’t be the only one going to prison, my pretty little pyro. This family business of yours isn’t an innocent party.”

“What does that mean?”

“Let me out and I’ll tell you.”

She shakes her head.

“At least turn the heat down before I fucking roast.”

Her breathing increases, her chest rising and falling beneath her black blazer before she finally reaches for something that makes the threatening flames recede. “Who are you?”

“Remy Costa,” I offer without pause, wanting the fuck out of this scorching hot pocket asap. “But you might be more familiar with my uncle’s reputation—Lorenzo Cappelletti.”

I’m not sure what reaction I expect but the breathy laugh that escapes her isn’t it. She gasps a chuckle. Then another. The manic humor is delirious before it transforms into ragged gasps of hyperventilation.

I guess leaning into my family’s notoriety wasn’t the best strategy.

“It’s okay.” I skootch forward again, gaining an extra inch toward freedom.

“No.” Her grabby hands snatch at my Gucci loafers. “Stop.”

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