Page 33 of Remy

How can he be incredibly beautiful and soul-shatteringly horrific at the same time?

“You’re going to do it, Ollie. This won’t end until you do.”

My body goes into meltdown, panic and helplessness turning me into a trembling wreck.

“It’s okay,” he says with such gentle conviction that a stupid part of me still wants to believe him. “This is almost over.”

My heart threatens to explode beneath my tightening ribs as I force myself to comply.

If he wants me implicated, that means he plans to keep me alive… right?

He won’t kill me if I participate?

“Let go.” I twist my wrist from his grip and then pull down the rectangular door to close the retort, locking it in place with shaking hands.

He remains close, forever tainting my personal space, his mouth closing in near my ear. “Now dispose of him.”

My pulse thuds everywhere. My temples. My throat. No place more adamant than my chest.

I sidestep to the control panel, my limbs heavy as I slowly turn the dial to increase the flames. I take my time, the build of heat incremental while I pray for something or someone to save me. To save this victim’s body.

I itch to grab Remy’s gun. To change this unfair power dynamic. To shove it against his beautiful face and?—

“Stop fucking around, Ollie.” He closes in at my back. “Finish him.”

A sob lodges in my throat. “I hate you.”

There’s a pause of silence, then: “I’d expect nothing less given the circumstances.” He places a gentle hand on my waist, the touch painfully familiar as he shadows me. The lingering effects of that night in the bar come back to haunt me. “But your fragile feelings are the least of my concerns.”

“You won’t get away with this.”

“I suggest ditching the pessimism.” He speaks against my neck. “We need to get away with this, pyro. The alternative isn’t favorable for anyone involved. Including you and your father.”

I clench my teeth. Scrunch my nose.

“You can do it.” He squeezes my hip. “This is the final step.”

I suck in a deep breath. Swallow.

Just do it, Liv. Save yourself and figure out the rest later.

It takes all my strength to twist my hand, jerking the knob to maximum capacity in one fell swoop.

My arm falls to my side as the whoosh of familiar flames fills my ears and residual heat envelopes me.

Then a guttural groan carries from inside the retort.

A. Goddamn. Fucking. Groan.

9

OLIVIA

Bile rockets up my throat as I rush to reclaim the knob and kill the flame, but Remy wraps his arms around me from behind, hugging me tight, trapping my hands at my sides.

I fight against his hold. Battle for breath. War with hysteria.

“He’s dead,” he vows. “You know as well as I do that a groan is normal given the circumstances.”

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