Page 75 of Remy

“Ollie, listen.” I step into her, cupping her cheeks, thankful she doesn’t balk in revulsion. “I will not let anything happen to you. Do you hear me?”

She stares up at me, hazel eyes glassy, skin pale, breathing labored.

“Your father is a valued asset. Our arrangement is priceless.”

She winces.

“We just need to convince my brother and Lorenzo you’re on board.”

“How can I convince them when I’m struggling to convince myself?” She pulls away. “I’m not built for this.”

“None of us are.” I drop my hands to my sides. “Do you think I was born into this role?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know anything about you.”

“This hasn’t always been my life. I had a heart once.”

She looks away, focusing on the blank television screen. “It’s all too much. What if I say the wrong thing? What if I?—”

“You thought on your feet last night. You strategized. You got those cops to leave.”

“No, I didn’t.” She shakes her head. “That was you and your guy on the payroll.”

“There’s no time to question yourself. You can do this.” She’s convinced she’s going to die. I’m not entirely sure she won’t. “You have to do this.” I lead the way toward the front door. “Come on. Let’s go.”

She glances to the hall behind her, her damp hair tangled in clumps around her cheeks.

“Now, pyro.”

Her posture slumps. “I don’t like that nickname.”

“I’m not overly fond of Grim either, but if the shoe fits…” I stop before her hat rack and grab her thick brown coat.

She approaches, stride short, feet dragging. She stops before me, not protesting when I drape the heavy material over her shoulders.

Her eyes never leave mine, the pleading hazel depths stirring emotions in me I never thought I had.

Why the fuck do I care so much?

Why do I care at all?

I shouldn’t give a shit about taking her to Lorenzo. Shouldn’t mind that she’ll be spending more time in Salvatore’s presence. But both those things have my rage on a low simmer.

Denying them isn’t an option. My brother would only find her as soon as my back was turned. At least this way I can be there. Can do the talking.

I pull open the door, and the cold wind slaps my face as I stride for the Bentley still parked across the street. The crunch of her footsteps follow behind me. We both climb into the car although clearly, neither one of us wants to leave.

“My phone?” she asks while I start the ignition.

I pull it from my jacket pocket, having dumped the rest of her surrendered electronics on her dining table first thing this morning.

I should outline rules and regulations with the device. How she shouldn’t complicate matters by telling her father of this morning’s situation. How any calls for help will be intercepted. Instead, I hold tight to the cell as she grasps the other end, and level her with a warning look.

She remains silent, giving a solemn nod in understanding.

“We have to work together, Ollie. There’s no point making this more painful than it needs to be.”

“I know.”

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