Chapter Three-Remy
You’d think finding one little Volkov heiress would be easier.
But ever since I got back from the damn wedding, I haven’t had a single fucking second to myself.
Connor Callahan called me into the office the minute I stepped off the jet, like the bastard had been waiting at the door with a leash and a clipboard.
I didn’t even get to grab a drink or a shower before he was throwing out words like strategic lead, global initiative, and new division launch.
Translation?
He wants me to head up a new arm of Sigma International Group, one that uses all the dirty little tricks I spent years perfecting.
Covert ops. Recon. Extraction. Containment.
All the fun shit I’m supposedly too well-bred and too well-paid to be doing anymore.
And greedy, restless bastard that I am, I say yes.
Of course I fucking say yes.
It’s everything I’ve worked for. Power, autonomy, access to the kind of resources I used to only dream about when I was deployed and cold and dying for a mission that made sense.
This should be the best week of my life.
But it’s not.
Because no matter how many contracts I review or operations I green light, there’s one thing I can’t get out of my goddamn head.
Her.
Andrea Ramirez.
The mouthy, curvy little siren who looked at me like I was a snack and rode me like I was a religion.
The way she moaned under me, clung to me, fell apart for me like I was the only man in the universe who’d ever made her feel that way?
That wasn’t pretend.
That wasn’t casual.
I don’t give a damn what she tried to claim the morning after—throwing on her robe, pushing me out the door, brushing off the night like it was nothing, like I was nothing.
She was lying.
To me. To herself.
Hell, maybe to both of us.
But I felt her. Heard her. Held her.
And underneath that gorgeous sass and tequila-soaked bravado, there was something else in her eyes.
Something raw.
Something wounded.
Like she couldn’t quite fathom why a man like me would want anything more than one night with her.
Like she didn’t believe she was the kind of girl a man sticks around for.
And that—that—drives me fucking insane.
Because I don’t want some glossy, filtered version of Andrea.
I don’t want just the jokes and the curves and the wicked grin that makes me think about sin.
I want the whole goddamn package.
The real her.
The scared parts. The hopeful ones.
The soft belly laughter and the sharp tongue.
The way she blinked too fast when I whispered her name into the dark like a prayer.
I want all of it.
Her.
And I’m not done with us. Not by a fucking long shot.
So yeah, I’ve got a shiny new job, a fat paycheck, and a team of elite operatives waiting on my orders.
And I have a shit ton of responsibility I need to sort out. And I will. House. Home. Callie. Mom.
I’ll get it done, because I’m a man who owns up to his responsibilities.
But the real kicker here? Is none of it means shit until I find her again. Until I have her by my side—where she belongs.
Does that make me a nut job? Obsessed?
Fuck, I don’t know. Maybe.
And I don’t know what the hell that night meant to her—but I know what it meant to me.
And when I do track her down?
I’m going to make damn sure she knows it, too.
“Earth to Remy—you’re gonna have to pay attention if you wanna survive meeting the whole fucking Clan Thursday night at my place,” Connor snaps.
I blink.
Okay, maybe I was zoning out.
Sue me.
I lift my gaze and force a smirk.
“I’ve met them before, Connor. It’ll be fine.”
He lets out a dry laugh and tosses a folder onto his desk like it did something to offend him or his ancestors.
“Yeah, but that was as Junior’s childhood buddy. You were a plus-one with dimples and a dress shirt. Now, you’re meeting them as Sigma International’s newest team leader—the guy responsible for training the men and women who guard their fucking families.”
I shrug. “Tomato, tomahto.”
“You keep that attitude and it’s gonna be Remy, dead body, okay?” he growls. “Let me tell you something, son. Nothing is more important to the Volkov Clan than family.”
“I understand—”
“You might think you do,” he interrupts, pointing a finger at me like he’s about to hex me. “But trust me, you have no fucking idea.”
I roll my eyes and kick back in the chair, crossing my arms.
“You about done with the dramatic monologue, or should I cue the thunder and lightning sound effects?”
Connor just narrows his eyes.
“If you screw this up, they won’t just fire you. They’ll disappear you. Do you understand?”
I grin.
“If they disappear me, do I still get severance?”
“Falco.”
“Alright, alright,” I say, standing and grabbing the file he threw at me. “I’ll be on my best behavior. Shirt tucked in. Weapon holstered. No eye-fucking anyone’s daughters in front of them—”
“I swear to God, if you even breathe in the direction of one of the girls—”
“Too late,” I mutter under my breath, but loud enough to be a little reckless.
Connor stares at me like he’s this close to launching a stapler at my head.
“What did you say?”
“Nothing. I said I’m looking forward to it,” I say with a smirk and a shrug, already walking out.
“If you fuck this up and make me look bad—”
“Who me? I’m fucking a delight, Callahan.”
I leave his office shaking my head, biting back a laugh.
Fucking Callahan and his over-the-top tough guy shit.
Every conversation with that guy feels like a goddamn test wrapped in a threat with a bow of Catholic guilt on top.
But now I’ve got three days until I sit down with every protective Volkov, Ramirez, and Fury within driving distance.
Three days until I get to lay eyes on Andrea again—if she shows.
And I’m counting every damn second.
Because if Connor thinks his family loyalty is intimidating, he’s got nothing on what I’m feeling right now.
I don’t just want to be some fucking employee for these people.
I want in.
And not because of status.
Not because of power.
Or money.
I want in because of her.
Andy.
And if she’s at that dinner?
Well then, let’s just say, things are going to get a lot more interesting.