Page 40 of Devil's Queen

I exit the locker room and head for my office, finding Cheyenne sitting at my desk waiting for me.

“Packages have been delivered,” she remarks.

“Any trouble?”

“None. Place was quiet as a mouse.”

“Good,” I mutter, walking to my desk chair and plopping in it.

“That’s going to be a fucking shiner come morning, Remy. You sure you don’t want to get checked out? That looks awful.”

“It feels awful, but I’ll be fine.” The pain throbbing from my face is almost unbearable like a festering tooth infection on the brink of exploding. If it hurts this badly now, tomorrow I’ll be lucky if I can open my jaw at all.

Cheyenne raises an eyebrow at me, her concern etched in the lines of her face. She’s always been the one to worry, to take care of everyone around her. It’s a quality I both admire and find infuriating at times. But tonight, as I meet her concerned gaze, I can’t help but appreciate her loyalty.

“It’s just a bruise,” I assure her, attempting a smile that doesn’t quite reach my eyes. “I’ve had worse.”

She sighs, leaning back in her chair. “You’re stubborn, Remy. Always have been.”

I chuckle softly, acknowledging the truth in her words. Stubbornness has always been both my greatest strength and my greatest weakness. It’s what’s kept me going all these years, navigating the treacherous world we live in.

“I appreciate your concern,” I say finally, my voice filled with genuine gratitude. “But we have more pressing matters.”

Cheyenne nods, her expression serious. “You know what I’m going to say.”

I lean forward, resting my elbows on the desk and interlocking my fingers. “I know,” I reply quietly.

“For the record, I didn’t want to be right, but if tonight shows us anything, it’s that Rex doesn’t have control of the Zulu Kings. He may have good intentions when it comes to you, Remy, but his club doesn’t.”

The uncertainty of the situation gnaws at me like a persistent itch that refuses to be ignored.

“You sure you’re good?”

“I am. We’ll figure out our next move in the morning after we all get some sleep.”

Cheyenne gives me a skeptical look but ultimately relents. “All right,” she says, standing up from her chair. “But promise me you’ll call if anything happens or you need anything.”

I nod, appreciating her concern. “I promise. Now go home and get some rest yourself. We’ll reconvene in the morning.”

With a final glance of worry, Cheyenne exits the office, leaving me alone to contemplate the mess we find ourselves in.

The silent respite I hoped for doesn’t last long when three loud bangs reverberate from the shop’s front door.

My heart skips a beat at the sudden intrusion, and I instinctively reach for the hidden handgun in my desk drawer. A surge of adrenaline pulses through my veins as I cautiously make my way to the front of the shop.

As I approach the entrance, I catch a glimpse of a figure lurking outside through the frosted glass panels. Their presence sends a chill down my spine, and I grip the gun tightly.

“Rem, open the fucking door,” I hear Rex bellow from the other side of the glass. “I know you’re here. Your bike is outside.”

I take a deep breath, steadying myself before unlocking the door and swinging it open. Rex steps inside, his eyes falling onto my bruised face immediately.

“Jesus, Rem,” he says, his voice laced with concern and frustration. “What the hell happened to you?” He reaches out to touch my face, but I pull away before he does.

I lower the gun and close the door behind him, my eyes briefly meeting his. “We had a little incident at the club,” I reply, my tone clipped. “I’m fine.”

“The hell you are. It looks like you got into it with Mike Tyson.” He reaches for me again. His rough hands cup my jaw, gently moving my chin into better light. Anger flashes in his blue eyes the longer he looks at me. “Who did this to you?”

“Like you don’t already know,” I hiss back, removing my chin from his grasp. The searing pain that follows the motion is an unexpected consequence.

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