Page 47 of Remy

“My brother is unpredictable. And at the moment, so are you. Which means it’s best to keep last night’s events as contained as possible.”

“Will he kill me?”

“Only if he finds out about you.”

She falls quiet, her attention trained on me from the corner of my eye.

I drive miles without a peep from her. There’s only the deafening sound of her thoughts and the building weight of my concern for her future as I detour down less populated streets.

I’d grown too fucking cocky.

“Why Grim?” she finally asks. “Why did those men call you that last night?”

I roll my eyes through my disdain for the moniker. “I suppose you could say it’s a family tradition.”

“You all have sickening handles?”

“For the most part. We’re quite the eclectic bunch. Anyone on the wrong side of the law could tell you my oldest brother, Matthew, was once known as the Butcher of Baltimore. My sister has also been called the Temptress of High Society.” I shrug. “I earned the Grim Reaper title.”

In less than a year. Talk about an overachiever.

The shits I have to give for the human race have all but disappeared since my father ambushed me and my brothers with our murder on his mind. In fact, I haven’t cared much for anyone outside of my siblings and uncle until I spawned a demented obsession with a woman who has balls big enough to attempt to burn me alive.

“What about your other brother?” she asks. “The one that was on the phone. Does he have a handle?”

I narrow my eyes at her, then glance back to the red Chrysler in front of us. Is she scheming to gain some sort of intel? “Salvo’s yet to earn a moniker.”

“And your uncle? Does he go by another name?”

I slow the car, easing a few extra yards from the vehicle ahead. “What’s with all the questions, pyro?”

She scrunches her nose in disgust. “Please don’t call me that.”

“Why not? You’re one of us now.”

“No, I’m not.” She stares outside. “I’m nothing more than an unwilling participant.”

That’s a shame.

I could picture her in the lifestyle. A mafia princess. My treasured queen. I’d kill our enemies. She’d dispose of the evidence.

But she’s too honorable for all that.

She’d never be able to make a home amongst my family. In my penthouse. Between my sheets.

I snap my attention back to the road, well aware that building an infatuation with someone on death row is a bad idea.

“There’s a danger in knowing too much, Ollie.” I snatch my sunglasses from the center console and shove them on as if a thin layer of glass could protect me from her appeal. “Keep that in mind if your intent is to snoop.”

“It’s dangerous to learn more. Dangerous to defy you. Dangerous to breathe in your presence.” Her voice climbs with each sentence. “You’ve ruined my life.”

“I’ve definitely sprinkled it with a little spice, that’s for sure.”

Animosity filters from her side of the car, the tension growing the closer I get to her suburb.

“I don’t want to go home,” she states once we’re a few blocks away. “Please drive me to work.”

“Not going to happen.” I continue on my predetermined path. “You’ve barely slept. Or eaten. You need?—”

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