Remy

19. Olivia

OLIVIA

I wantedto arrive early and scope my surroundings. But making myself fit for visual consumption took ten times longer with the bags under my eyes now bigger than checked luggage for a three-month vacay.

Allison and Ivy are already waiting to get into the club, the line around the building packed with shivering women dressed in skimpy outfits as they cling to winter coats, my friends not immune to the scant dress code.

I scoot under the velvet rope to stand beside them, thankful I decided on my sleek black high-waisted skinny jeans, a bold red off-the-shoulder top, and my wool-lined leather jacket. With my hands shoved in my pockets, the only inch of space currently getting railed by the chill is between the top of my ankle boots and the hem of my pants.

“I’m so glad you showed.” Allison engulfs me in a hug. “I wasn’t sure you would.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” I give her a quick squeeze and meet Ivy’s gaze over Allison’s shoulder as I ram my fists back into my jacket pockets. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Her mouth curves in a somber smile.

“Allison said you’ve had a tough week. I hope you’re okay.”

She shrugs and glances away. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

I don’t doubt it. She’s always been tough as nails. Don’t ask me how or why. She’s a closed book when it comes to her upbringing. But the one thing Ivy never disappoints with is how she’s always entirely on brand. If it isn’t fun, flirty, or downright flamboyant, it’s rarely part of her narrative.

“Are you sure?”

She plasters on a fake grin. “Are you kidding? It’s Friday night and you’re in line with us to go into a club. This is the highlight of my life.” She meets my gaze, her eyes glassy as she snuggles farther into her white winter coat. “But for the record, I’m not a huge fan of the location.”

“Why?” Allison rubs her gloved hands together in a vain attempt for warmth. “We come here all the time.”

“We used to come here all the time.” Ivy leans back against the building, cocking the sole of her thigh-high boot on the brickwork. “Before it changed owners.”

My stomach does a sweeping role. “What’s wrong with the new ownership?”

“I’ve heard he’s not just shady, he’s practically the king of shadows.”

“Are you feeling okay?” Allison reaches out, placing a gloved palm to Ivy’s forehead. “I thought bad boys were your vibe.”

Ivy swats Allison’s hand away. “From what I’m told he’s not merely a bad boy. He’s the type that gets his kicks by—” She makes a slashing gesture across her throat. “Now call me vanilla, but I prefer not to get laid while the life is draining from my body.”

Allison screws up her nose. “No need to be so graphic.”

I replicate the screwed face gesture, but for a different reason. Mainly because all those months of picturing me and Remy sleeping together climb up from the depths of my subconscious to plaster themselves to my frontal lobe… and they’re nowhere near the gory scene Ivy depicts.

“Are you sure it’s not a rumor?” I hedge. “Surely this place would be shut down if anything illegal was happening.”

And I would’ve read about it, given my current fixation with consuming online Remy Costa content.

“Who knows?” Ivy shuffles farther along the building as more people are allowed entry inside the club. “But it’s always good to be aware in case you see something out of the ordinary.”

I shrug. “I don’t plan on staying long enough to witness any illegal shenanigans.”

I just need to find Remy. Get his number. Potentially renegotiate terms. Then flee. And if he’s not here, I’ll hit up his employees until one of them gives me his digits.

Ivy smirks. “What if you meet the man of your dreams?”

My face falls. “Please tell me you haven’t set me up with someone.”

She chuckles.

“Ivy,” I warn. “You can’t be serious.”

She holds up her palm in surrender. “I didn’t, I swear. But if I see someone looking at you like a snack, I’m not going to discourage a taste test.”

“I’m no snack. I’m more like a street taco—sometimes a handful and usually falling apart. But I assure you, I’m not interested.”

“Not even if it’s your mystery man from the dive bar?” Allison waggles her brows.

I hunch my shoulders, crowding in on myself like I’m struggling for warmth instead of the reality of struggling to curb my panic. “Nope. Not even. And I promise I’ll resent anyone who puts complicated men on my bingo card for this year, so you’ve both been warned.”

“Understood.” Ivy’s expression turns grave. “I know I’ve got a lot to make up for after last weekend.”

Her arrow slices me right through the heart.

“We both do.” Allison cringes. “With Carlo, too. We need to do some sort of grand gesture to get him to soften the cold shoulder he’s been giving us all week.”

“That’s not what he’s been doing.” The words vomit from my mouth without foresight.

“He definitely has.” Ivy scoots farther along the building as Allison and I follow. “It gutted me when he handed over the call-out duties to Wesley but…” She shrugs. “I get it.”

No she doesn’t. God, how she doesn’t.

“Wesley’s a safer option, that’s all. And Dad wouldn’t want you out at all hours when you’re so valuable in the office.” I turn away, focusing on the bouncers at the front of the line, hoping dismissive body language is enough to change the conversation.

“I could be valuable on-call, too. But again.” She gives another shrug. “The whole Wesley thing is understandable. I’ll teach Daddy Pelosi I’m the right person for the job.”

I groan.

Allison chuckles.

“You never did explain why you were late Monday morning.” Ivy pulls her ID from her purse. “Please tell me you got laid.”

I keep my focus on the front of the line. “Yeah. I got laid.”

“Are you serious?” they both gasp in unison.

I glance at them with a roll of my eyes. “No. Who would I have slept with? The guy who delivers my groceries?”

“Why not?” Allison asks. “At least he’s got a job, right?”

I feign a glower.

She snickers. “Okay. Fine. It was definitely an unlikely event, but just as plausible as you turning up late. Until Monday, you’d never done that either.”

“And for it to have been on such an important day.” Ivy’s tone turns serious. “You knew camera crews would be there and still, you showed up looking like you’d just escaped a stylist session with an aggressive flock of seagulls.”

My skin breaks out in goose bumps, their scrutiny making me unsettled.

“Everything has been so weird lately.” Ivy sighs. “First the whole Hugo thing. Then Wesley shows up without notice to save the day. And then there’s that black bump on Carlo’s forehead that he so casually tried to hide.”

“He told me he did it at the gym,” Allison says with nonchalance. “He got up too quickly or something…”

“Since when has he ever gone to the gym?” Ivy raises her brows. “Believe me, I’d remember if he’d told me because I would’ve flashed my credit card to get a membership wherever that man went to pump iron.”

I should gag theatrically. Playfully warn her to stop.

That’s what I would’ve done last week before my simple life blew up in my face.

“I’ve got a feeling something else is going on.” Ivy splays her left hand, using the corner of her ID to casually clean under one of her perfectly manicured nails. “My spidey senses are tingling.”

Her spidey senses need to dial it down a notch.

“Don’t you agree, Liv?” She cleans under another nail. “I’m thinking it has something to do with Hugo and the retort because?—”

“Dad has cancer,” I blurt.

Their eyes turn to me as I struggle to strategize.

It’s not like I could let her obsess over the retort. Ivy’s a smart woman. An intuitive one. Too many carefully pondered questions could get her killed.

“Cancer?” Allison whispers.

Their shocked gazes track me as I shuffle toward the club entrance, our place now third in the queue. “Yeah. The big C.”

“I don’t believe it.” Ivy shakes her head. “When did you find out?”

“I found out last weekend.” I hate how I’ve broken my father’s trust but can’t help feeling grateful for the diversion it’s provided. “He received the news more than six months ago.”

Allison balks. “He kept it from you?”

“Yep.” I pop the P, hoping to keep the morbid topic as lighthearted as possible.

“So the dizzy spell after exercising…” Ivy’s question trails.

“Had nothing to do with exercise and everything to do with the chemo treatment he had on Friday.” I pull my ID from my phone case. “He was actually under medical supervision when he took the fall.”

“I knew it.” Ivy turns to Allison. “I told you he was hiding something.”

“But why wouldn’t he tell you?” Allison asks me.

“Because of what we went through with Mom. He doesn’t want me knowing the ins and outs of his diagnosis.”

“Doesn’t want you to?” she repeats. “As in, current tense? Like he still doesn’t want you to know?”

“Exactly. He’s made it pretty clear I’m going to be kept at arm’s length where his health issues are concerned. I only found out when the hospital called me about his admission. And if he figures out I told you both?—”

“He won’t,” Ivy talks over me. “Will he, Al?”

“Of course not. My lips are sealed. I just…” Allison’s brow furrows. “God, I feel so sick for you.” She steps closer, spreading her arms for another hug.

“Please don’t.” I retreat into the velvet rope. “I’m a top-notch shit show on steroids underneath all this makeup. If I get emotional in public right now, I’ll make the seagull stylists look like seasoned professionals.”

Her arms fall to her sides. “I’m so sorry, Liv. If you ever need anything?—”

“Anything at all,” Ivy finishes for her. “Don’t even ask. Just blink in our direction, and we’ll take care of it. Okay?”

“Yeah,” Allison agrees. “Speech is overrated. Just signal and we’re on it. No questions asked.”

I give an awkward chuckle as I blink back the unwanted burn from my eyes. “Thank you.”

Allison clenches her hands and scrunches up her face. “What I wouldn’t give to squish you right now.”

“Don’t you dare. I love you too much to blubber all over your pretty coat.” I keep chuckling. Keep blinking back the threat of tears. “I bet you’re both glad you invited me out though. My ability to set the mood is top tier.”

“Pfft.” Ivy waves me away. “We’d rather be with you on a bad day than anyone else on their best. You’re our girl.”

Their girl who lies. Schemes. Manipulates.

“What about your bad week?” I ask. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?”

“Absolutely.” She steps closer, leaning in like she’s about to drop a conspiracy theory. “What I would love to talk about, though, is the fresh batch of man candy now working under our roof. Isn’t Wesley just the finest masculine specimen you’ve ever seen? And that jawline.” She clasps at her chest. “I’d let that man crack me in half.”

Allison snorts. “You’re always on brand, Ive.”

“Of course I am. What else are men good for?”

A barely legal guy encroaches behind us. “I’m happy to show you all the things back at my place.”

“Aww.” Ivy looks at him with puppy-dog eyes. “Aren’t you just the sweetest for proving my point.”

“There’s no shame in a player’s game, sweetheart.” He turns to his posse of male friends with a smirk. “I’d be happy to crack you in half.”

Someone clears their throat in front of us.

“Next,” a deep voice grumbles.

We ignore the swarming testosterone behind us and step forward.

Two bouncers wait before the doors of Smoke Mirrors. One is stereotypical—big, bulky, bald. The other is young. Too young, with shaggy blond hair and a baby face sprinkled with freckles. I’d bet my sanity that he’s still in school—not that my failing mental health holds much merit these days. It seems odd, though, that Remy would employ a kid too young to work the club scene.

“Hello, gentlemen.” Ivy saunters toward them, gaining a hungry stare from both man and child as she hands her ID to Mr. Big and Bulky.

“Ma’am.” The big guy inclines his head and inspects her ID with practiced scrutiny, his expression remaining neutral before he indicates for her to step in front of his podium, directly in line with the club facial scanner.

Allison goes through the same procedure with the kid, sans flirtation, while I hang back, my nervousness building.

“Next.” Big and Bulky looks at me, holding his hand out for my ID while Ivy climbs the few stairs to the club entry.

I freeze in place as Allison follows her onto the steps.

“Ma’am?” the guy asks, the younger male watching with curiosity.

“Sorry.” I clear my throat. “Go ahead without me.” I meet Ivy’s gaze and wave my ID in the air toward the front doors of the club. “I’ll be right behind you.”

She frowns. Allison follows suit.

“Please.” I clasp my hands in prayer. “I’m dying for a drink, and you both know how much I hate to line up. The thought of a packed bar, teeming with drunken extroverts, is enough to make me want to turn tail already.”

“You are not going home.” Ivy points a perfectly manicured finger at me.

“Then please go inside and get me something to bolster my confidence.” I bat my lashes. “Pretty please.”

“Fine.” Allison rolls her eyes. “But I’m going to make it a double.”

The bouncer clears his throat, impatiently waiting for me to hand over my ID.

“Given my upcoming level of discomfort, a double would be perfect.” I wait until they swing around to the open doors to the club vestibule then continue inside before handing over my driver’s license.

“It’s not that crowded in there.” The bouncer scans my ID and gets me to stand in front of the high-tech camera. “And the extroverts are usually too busy dry-humping on the dance floor to disturb the quiet ones.”

“That makes sense.” I force a chuckle. “But that wasn’t really my concern.” I smile sweetly. Well, I try at least. Fake expressions aren’t my forte. “I actually wanted to speak to you… to ask if Remy’s working tonight.”

Big and Bulky’s brow furrows as he focuses on his computer screen. “Why’s a girl like you asking about a man like him?”

A girl like me? Do I seriously have ‘virgin’ tattooed on my forehead?

I give another awkward chuckle at the low-key insult. “We know each other, and I really need to speak to him.”

“I’m sure if you know him well enough you already have his number. Give him a call or send a text. He’ll message back if he’s interested.”

The kid discreetly pulls a cell from his bomber jacket and holds the screen at a weird angle. Is he taking photos of me?

“I lost his number.” I shrug. “Is there anything I can tell you to prove I know him? I drove his Bentley on the weekend. He took me to his uncle’s penthouse in the city. Salvatore even came to my house.”

The bouncer sighs and waves forward the group of guys behind me. “Sweetheart, you’re not dropping personal information about him that isn’t already common knowledge. So unless you take the hint and drop the psycho stalker vibes, I’m going to have to ban you from the club.”

I’mthe psycho?

I swallow down my agitation and take the ID he hands me as the sleazy guys trample over my personal space in their race to see who can offer up their license first. “Will you at least tell him I’m here?”

Big and Burly continues with his job. Scanning the IDs. Instructing on the facial recognition process.

“Please,” I beg. “It’s important.”

“Yeah, whatever. What’s your name again?”

Shit.

Is it possible these men also answer to Lorenzo? Could Salvatore find out I’m disobeying him? I’m sure I could talk my way out of getting in trouble for being here and running into Remy by accident. But specifically asking for him?

“Umm… tell him it’s Pyro.”

Big bouncer guy shoots a look of mirth at the young guy, who’s too busy typing into his cell to notice.

“Okay, Pyro. If I see the boss I’ll tell him you’re looking for him.”

“Thank you.” I’m nudged toward the club entrance by more of the encroaching assholes. “I really appreciate it.”

Neither bouncer acknowledges me. They don’t even look in my direction.

I walk into the enclosed entry, the thudding beat of music pounding harder as I continue into the hall, check my coat, and forge past the automatic doors into the darkened, sprawling interior. It’s a kinetic playground of gyrating bodies on the dance floor in the middle of the room, with polished marble bars gleaming from either side of the building, a small crowd of people lined in wait as mixologists work their magic.

I stand on the tips of my slowly thawing toes and spy Ivy and Allison waiting to be served at the closest bar. I approach, waving until I gain Ivy’s attention.

“I’m going to take a look around,” I mouth, twirling a finger near my head in a circular motion.

She nods and holds up her phone in a gesture I assume means to keep my cell close in case I can’t find her again.

I give two thumbs up, then revert back to mission mode.

I skirt the dance floor, the air around me filled with a blend of laughter, heavy bass, and impending drunken mistakes.

VIP sections line the perimeter of the room, shielded with draped deep purple curtains to offer secrecy for God knows what that happens behind them. Waitresses flitter around offering table service, the trays they carry ladled with glistening alcohol bottles.

I approach a beautiful blonde woman in a scantily clad club uniform and force myself to pretend I’m the most sociable person on the planet as I blink kind eyes at her. “Excuse me,” I yell over the music.

She pauses, beaming an I-work-for-tips smile.

“Is Remy working tonight?”

The warmth in her expression falters. “I don’t know. You should ask one of the guys.” She strides away, not forthcoming with what guys she’s referring to.

I try another woman, and another, both giving equally dismissive responses before I resign myself to the daunting prospect of asking another male for help.

If I don’t get Remy’s number I’m going to be stuck on this neurotic, spying spin cycle until the sleep deprivation kills me.

I drag in a deep breath and stand taller to do another visual scan of the club. It’s a mass of sensory overload. Multicolored lights dance across the walls, casting everyone in an ever-changing glow. A DJ stands on a raised platform in front of the moshing crowd, commanding his dancers with one hand tweaking his equipment while the other punches the air to the beat.

There are two alcoves along the back wall—darkened, shadowy spaces that each house a stone-faced, broody man who visually scours club-goers.

Bouncers.

They must be the men the waitress was referring to.

Dread churns in my gut.

If I were Ivy I’d already be all up in that man’s daydreams, schmoozing my way through a conversation that would not only get Remy’s cell number but also the bouncer’s, along with his address and probably his social security number.

I focus on the one closest to me who has a faux-hawk, his muscled arms crossed over his chest as he leans against the right side of his brick enclosure.

I approach, hiding my nervousness behind a raised chin and a flirty smile.

I’m a few feet and closing in when the guy drags his attention from the dance floor and captures me in his sights.

He’s a towering figure up close. Broad shoulders. A stern face that’s softened only by the hint of curiosity in his eyes. He rakes his gaze over my body, his lips kicking slightly as he makes his way back up to my face.

“Hey, big guy.” I fight a cringe. Holy hell, I’m awkward. “Have you seen Remy tonight?”

His chest jostles as if with a huffed laugh, but I can’t hear it over the music.

“Who’s asking, bright eyes?” He pushes off the wall of his alcove and inches closer.

“I’m a friend.” I rake my teeth over my bottom lip and pray it looks teasing, not traumatizing.

He gives me another once-over. “You seem quite the friend. But not at all his usual type.”

A thud of discomfort forms beneath my sternum. I’m not jealous of Remy’s conquests. I’m not. I just don’t like being referenced in the same sentence as them.

“I haven’t seen him though.” He shrugs. “He doesn’t usually make an appearance.”

My face falls, my positivity plummeting along with it. “Not at all?”

“He’s more of an afternoon guy.” He raises his voice to combat the new tech song with a heavier beat. “He prefers to punch numbers and direct staff when it’s quiet. We run this place by ourselves most nights.”

Shit. Fuck. No.

I need to talk to him.

I need sleep.

“Don’t worry. He might show.” The bouncer enters my personal space. He’s so close I almost drown in his potent aftershave. “Want me to keep an eye out for you?” He places a hand on my hip.

I freeze.

What would Ivy do?

“That would be great.” I swallow over my discomfort and tap a lone finger against his chest, dragging it over his pec a little as I struggle to hold his gaze. “I’ll come back and check in later.”

He smirks. “Don’t wait too long.”

I backtrack, his touch falling from my hip as I fight a shudder. “I won’t.”

I turn on my heels and flee, heaving a relieved sigh.

This is ridiculous. All I need is a phone number. One measly number. Why is that so hard to obtain?

I make my way back toward the bar, finding Ivy and Allison standing close by, a gaggle of sex-starved men circling Ivy like she’s a meaty carcass they’re salivating to devour.

I’d roll my eyes if I didn’t get it. But she’s stunning. Long sleek hair. Longer legs. Warm skin. Breasts worthy of a centerfold.

She gets attention for a reason, then that attention remains once the men gain the slightest insight to her personality.

“Thanks for the drinks, guys.” She hands me a highball glass of clear, bubbled liquid. “Gin and soda,” she mouths.

“Thank you.” I grasp the offering and take a gulp. The potency hits the back of my throat with a burn, and I splutter through a heavy swallow. “Holy shit. That’s strong.”

Allison laughs and leans close. “I told you it’d be a double. But I think the guys paid for top-shelf.”

“Well I hope they’re not expecting me to repay them with sexual favors because I’ll do a lot of things for alcohol in a nightmare situation, but taking a guy home isn’t one of them.” I raise my glass in thanks and give a split-second glance of appreciation around the men.

They don’t even notice. The four guys are too busy trying to charm Ivy.

“Fortunately for us, they only have eyes for her.” Allison sips from her tumbler and peers over the rim at the mating ritual. “She’s a crowd favorite on the nightclub scene. Most men appreciate the opportunity just to talk to her.”

I blink in surprise.

I knew she was popular. Even Helen Keller could tell Ivy’s something special. But I didn’t realize she had a following.

The men linger, laughing and drinking, attempting to include Allison and I in on their jokes as the music thunders its way into my bones.

I feel like an outsider. The disconnect between the carefree chatter and my gnawing thoughts seems like a chasm between us.

The guys hang around through numerous songs. Allison and Ivy chat and flirt. I add a comment here and there to make sure I’m not being rude while my main focus is a constant low-key scan of the club.

I find more bouncers in discreet hiding places. One on the far end of the nearby bar. Another at the entrance to the VIP section.

“Let’s dance.” Ivy grabs my waist and attempts to drag me toward the dance floor. “I need to shake myself out of this funk.”

Dread floods my veins.

“Wait. No.” I twist from her grip. “I need to use the ladies first. Can I meet you out there?”

“You do not need to use the bathroom after one drink.” She steps close, grabs my jaw, and playfully squishes my cheeks. “But I love you, so I’ll let it slide.” She bops me on the nose with her pointer finger, then starts sauntering backward toward the moshing bodies. “You should get another drink while I’m gone.”

I nod, but there’s no way more alcohol is entering my system. The double mixed with nonexistent sleep and a diet of anxiety already has me blitzed.

I turn to Allison, surprised to now find her up close and personal with a pretty, petite redhead, the fingers of their free hands entangled.

“I’m, um, going to go for a walk.” I point aimlessly over my shoulder.

“Okay.” Allison nods, still caught in a game of lock-eye with the beautiful woman. “I’m not going anywhere.”

I circle back toward the handsy bouncer, dumping my glass on a passing table.

I seek him out across the dance floor, finding his gaze already on me. “Shit.”

The nervousness returns. The awkwardness, too.

I muster a smile, hoping it appears sultry, and approach. “Any news on Remy?”

“Maybe.” He grins. “What’s it worth to you?”

If intimacy is his currency, he’s about to find out I’m flat broke.

“I don’t know.” I lean closer so he can hear me over the music. “Would my complete and utter gratitude be enough?”

He laughs. “I was kinda hoping for something more.”

“I’m sorry.” I pout. “I don’t have much more to offer.”

“That’s a shame.” He retreats back into his alcove, his attention turning to the dance floor.

“Please.” I sidestep into his line of sight. “It’s important. I…” Come on, Liv. Come up with something to convince him. “I, um…” Fuck, why is this so hard? “I just found out I’m pregnant with his baby.”

The guy’s eyes snap back to mine, his narrowed stare holding a hint of distaste.

Shit. For a smart woman, I can be so fucking dumb under pressure.

“I’m not after his money.” I hold up my hands in surrender. “I’m not even after any sort of commitment. I don’t need anything. I swear. I only want to tell him what’s going on.”

The bouncer contemplates me, the sliver of resentment slowly fading from his features. He gives me another once-over, his expression unreadable, the vibe temperamental.

“Fine.” He shrugs. “I can take you to him.”

My heart skitters around my chest. “Really?”

“Yes, really. He came in to do a liquor stock take. I’m not sure how long he’ll stay.”

“Thank you.” I clasp my hands as if I’m a nun in prayer and glance over my shoulder, not seeing Ivy or Allison and hoping they don’t see me either. “Thank you so much.”

“Follow me.”

He leads me away from the dance floor, behind a roped off area, past VIP booths, and through a staff-only door to an empty hall.

It’s quieter back here. Marginally. But enough so I can finally hear myself think for the first time since stepping into the club.

Fluorescents beam down, the harsh light making me squint. We continue along the thoroughfare in silence until we reach an elevator at the end, the guy pressing the call button with the doors opening instantly.

“Ladies first.” He indicates for me to step inside with a wave of his hand.

I hesitate, the hair on the back of my nape awakening.

I glance around for cameras. For surveillance.

There’s a small round dome on the ceiling at the far end of the hall where we came in. Another inside the elevator. I slide a hand over my pants pocket, my cell giving me a renewed sense of safety.

“Are you sure Remy’s still here?” I take a dubious step into the elevator.

“As far as I know.” He follows and yanks at a fob attached to a retractable cord on his belt, scanning his security pass against the button panel.

My neck doesn’t quit tingling as the doors close, but everything inside me has been off-kilter since last weekend. My nerves. Hormones. Sleep cycle. I’ve become super awkward. Majorly stressed. And impulsively paranoid. It’s not the time to start listening to my body’s messed up signals.

I lean against the back wall and brace to ascend, but the elevator goes down with a jolt.

I gasp as anxiety lodges itself in my throat. “Where are we going?”

He remains facing the button panel, his back to me. “All the liquor is kept downstairs.”

I eye the security camera. Palm my phone. Question whether I should place a message in the group chat with Allison and Ivy to tell them where I am… but that would require an explanation of why I stepped into this shady situation and that isn’t a favorable option unless I want more lives to be on the line.

In seconds the elevator comes to a stop and the doors open again, exposing a cement jungle.

The bouncer strolls out, then pauses to wait while I contemplate my existence. “You coming?”

I shouldn’t. It’s quiet down here apart from the muted thud of a far off base. But goddamnit, I need to speak to Remy.

“Look, lady. I’ve gotta get back to work. Do you want to see him or not?”

“Yeah. Okay.” I nod and follow after him into an underground parking lot. SUVs and sedans sit amongst thick cement columns to my right. The closest spaces remain empty. There’s no black Bentley in sight.

To the left is a chain-link-fenced enclosure. A storage area stacked with kegs three high and shelves with liquor bottles and cardboard boxes.

But it’s still so quiet. Too quiet.

“Are you sure Remy’s down here?” My voice betrays my skepticism as I slow my pace, gaining a few feet of space between me and the bouncer.

“That’s what I said.” He continues along the chain-link, jerking his head toward the storage area. “He’s got an office in there behind all those boxes. There’s a gate just around the corner.”

I peer between the propped kegs, finding a path down the center of the enclosed area, either side banked with crates and liquor boxes.

Could there be an office behind all that liquid courage? Sure.

Would Remy—a stylish, rich, underworld murderer—choose to spend his time in there?

I guess it’s away from the noise. Maybe there’s some security reason too… but it still doesn’t seem right.

“Remy?” I call out.

The bouncer shoots me a scowl over his shoulder. “Don’t trust me?”

“Don’t trust people in general,” I hedge. Of course I don’t trust him.

He chuckles and pauses. “Then why don’t you go ahead and check it out for yourself. I’ll wait here.” He turns to me, his tall, bulking frame taking up the majority of the space between the chain-link and a silver hatchback to the right of the makeshift path.

The discomfort at the back of my neck skitters down my spine, raising every hair in its wake.

“Remy?” I call again, my voice echoing around the cement cave.

“He won’t hear you.” The bouncer jerks his chin in the direction we were heading. “Go on. The entrance is just up there.”

Alcohol, sleep deprivation, and an unhealthy cortisol imbalance aren’t enough to get me to maneuver around him. This was a mistake.

“I’ll speak to him some other time.” I backtrack with a smile, well aware I need the bouncer’s security fob to be able to use the elevator. “I didn’t mean to waste your time.”

“You didn’t, sweet cheeks.” He smirks and lunges to grab my wrist. “We’re just getting started.”