Page 29 of Remy

I’ve imagined those pretty little fingers doing a lot of scandalous things these past six months, but none that surge my anger like this. I grind my teeth. Suppress a snarl.

I could kick her. Could force my way out of this… Wait a minute. I pat my waist, searching for the hardness of a familiar bulge and come up empty.

“I already took your gun.” Her voice shakes.

Am I surprised? Yes.

This woman was such an awkward slip of a thing in that dive bar. Sarcastic and self-deprecating, yet timid and so fucking tempting. And somehow she managed to knock me out, get me into this death vault, and successfully steal my weapon.

Kudos, princess.

“I guess it’s only fair you took your turn to scrounge around in my pants after what happened the last time we met,” I drawl.

Her eyes narrow, her lips tightening in the cutest show of subdued aggression. “Yeah, and I bet you were left just as satisfied as I was.”

I take the insult with a smirk. “Move, Ollie.”

“Talk, Remy.”

Fuck this.

I skootch again, snapping my feet around her hips.

She squeals. Wiggles. Fights. She retreats in an attempt to escape my hold and I keep scoot, scoot, scooting my ass along with her, not releasing the deadlock around her body until my waist is free from the oversized pizza oven.

She stumbles backward, bumping into the corner of a metal gurney with a wince and a whimper.

Shit. First fear, now pain.

“How the fuck did you get me into that thing, anyway?” I prowl toward her.

“Half my life’s work is moving lifeless bodies.” She sidesteps along the side of the gurney, turning toward it, her attention straying to my gun that lies on the far end of the steel surface.

Fuck.

She lunges.

I sprint, my longer legs catching up to her as she reaches for my Walther.

“Don’t do it.” I skitter into her, grabbing her arm as she grips the barrel. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Please stop,” she begs. “Please.”

The plea fucking kills me, but I’m well aware that the gun could do a better job.

I slide my palm to her hand. Squeeze her fingers. Not too hard. Just enough to let her know I’ll strengthen my hold into painful territory if she doesn’t concede.

“Please.” A sob escapes her. “I don’t want to die.”

Her terror sinks into me, tightening my lungs.

I briefly close my eyes, hating the guilt that thunders through me. Despising how it’s so effortless to remember the ease of our last time together. How she still smells of the same sweet strawberry scent. The way her dark hair tickled my face while my dick begged to plunge inside her… at least until she said she was a virgin.

“You’re not going to die,” I vow, “as long as you follow instructions.”

She should die.

If she were anyone else under these circumstances, the air would’ve been stripped from her lungs the moment my men were caught entering the premises.

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