Prologue Two-Remy
Volkov-Fury Wedding, Private Island Same Night
Creeping on Andy Ramirez isn’t something I planned.
But, fuck me—I can’t not.
The braces? Gone.
Freckles? Faded.
That awkward little girl I remember tagging along behind Sammy and Junior like a pint-sized hurricane?
Nonexistent.
What’s in her place is dangerous.
Gorgeous.
She’s a fucking vision.
Curvy and confident.
Wearing that rose-colored bridesmaid dress like sin was sewn into every stitch.
Swathed in silk, hips swaying, a wicked little smile tugging at her glossy mouth as she tosses back another shot and flirts with the chaos around her.
If Junior knew what I was thinking right now, he’d slit my throat and toss me into the sea.
No hesitation.
Good thing he’s too busy being stupid in love with his new wife to notice me watching his wife’s cousin like a starving man watches a feast.
Because that’s what she is.
A feast.
And I’m fucking ravenous.
I didn’t come to this wedding expecting anything. Just a few days off-grid.
Sunshine. Booze. Crystal clear waters.
Some familiar faces. Maybe some networking.
Nothing like this. Nothing like her.
Andy turns her head, laughs at something one of her cousins says, and those dark eyes catch the light just right—deep brown with rivers of gold and green, sparkling, bright, and so sharp they cut right through me.
It’s a lightning strike to the chest.
Instant. Blinding.
I’m across the make-shift floor before I even think it through.
I flirt. Nothing overt.
Just enough to see if the heat I’m feeling is mirrored back.
And, holy hell is it.
She thinks I’m just some guy.
Junior’s friend.
A harmless plus-one with a nice face and a decent jawline.
She doesn’t know what I’ve done. Who I’ve trained with. What I’ve survived.
She doesn’t know I’ve watched men die, killed with my bare hands, bled in jungles and deserts for causes I barely believed in.
And somehow—somehow—this woman?
This curvy, sharp-tongued, unapologetic goddess with the softest fucking lips I’ve ever seen?
She scares me more than any of that ever did.
Because I feel everything when I look at her. Lust, yeah. But something else too.
Need.
Want.
Possibility.
And what the hell am I supposed to do with that?
I’ve never done the whole relationship thing. Not really. Not the kind that means anything.
I’ve had women, sure. I’ve ruined women. But never one I’d bring home to meet my mother. Never one I’d want more from than a night or two.
But this Ramirez girl?
She’s got me thinking about what it might be like to wake up with the same woman every morning.
Not because I’m stuck.
But because I choose her.
Maybe it’s the wedding. The wine. The fairy lights. The aura of these two over-the-top families—Volkov and Fury—who live like legends and love like warriors.
Or maybe it’s just her.
Doesn’t matter either way because I am in this moment. Right here. Right now. With her.
When Andy leans in close, voice a little slurred, eyes bright with challenge, and says, “Wanna see my room?”
There’s not a cell in my body that can say no.
I don’t hesitate.
I can’t.
“I thought you’d never ask,” I reply, my voice huskier than I intended.
Because something about her is pulling me in, rewiring me in real-time, making me crave things I’ve never let myself want.
Heat.
Connection.
Her.
I don’t know what this is yet.
But I know one thing for sure.
Whatever Andy Ramirez wants from me tonight? She’s getting it.
Sure she thinks I’m just a warm body with a good smile and the right kind of eyes to drown in.
She’s not wrong.
But she doesn’t know the half of it.
The woman walks ahead of me like temptation. The words coming out of her mouth? Pure trouble.
But that’s okay. I like trouble.
Especially the kind that tastes sweet at first, then bites down hard.
She’s got Volkov fire in her blood and Ramirez steel in her spine—and the truth is, I’ve had my eye on her longer than she realizes.
“You better not disappoint, Big Guy,” she says with a toss of her curly hair over her shoulder.
I grin.
“Baby, you have no idea what you’re in for,” I murmur, keeping pace behind her as we sneak around to her private little bungalow.
She drops her key and bends down to get it, making that fucking dress tighten around her perfect, round ass.
And fuck me, I’m so hard right now I can almost taste it.
This little setup?
Her flirtation. Her plan. Her idea.
She thinks she’s the one in control.
That’s adorable.
See, Junior and I go way back. He trusts me.
Which means I get invited to places like this—under the radar, always watching. Always listening.
And I’ve been watching her. Waiting.
“Ready?” she says, moving upright and fitting the key to the tiny hole in the doorknob.
She thinks she’s seducing me.
But this? This is the beginning of a long game.
One she’s not ready for.
Not even close.
“I’m ready, Baby. You just tell me if I move too fast for you,” I growl, picking her up before she can step over the threshold and plastering my mouth to hers.
Fuck. She tastes like fever dreams and Orange Crush—the vodka drink with fresh, squeezed orange juice, not the soda.
She wants tonight? That’s fine.
She can have it.
But I want more.
I want all of her.
Mind. Body. Blood.
And I don’t walk away from what’s mine.