Remy

32. Remy

REMY

I stare at her,the restraint I’ve been battling for months being chipped away with each bat of her lashes.

I’m about to throw caution to the fucking wind and drag her out of here when the front door of the bar opens and two men walk in.

Maybe I wouldn’t have recognized them from the shadowed car if they’d headed straight for the bar and casually ordered a drink, but they hover in the doorway, scoping the room, both of them pausing their visual sweep once they reach me.

Fuck.

It’s nothing more than a brief moment of hesitation. Yet it’s enough.

They know me, and they’re not showing interest because they want to buy me a beer.

“Ollie, I need you to come sit next to me.” I keep my gaze on them as they exchange words then walk to the bar pretending they’re not shady as fuck.

She straightens but doesn’t ask questions. She’s smart enough not to even look over her shoulder as she climbs from her side of the booth to slide into mine.

“Is that them?” she whispers.

I give a subtle nod while the shorter of the two men hands money to the bartender, cocking his elbow casually against the counter.

They’re not familiar. Both have fair skin, blue eyes, and light red hair, making them seem like descendants from the land of the Leprechauns.

Not the usual characteristics of my enemies, but that doesn’t mean shit.

I reach under the table and untuck my shirt from my pants to retrieve my gun from the waistband holster.

“Is that necessary?” Ollie chokes.

“Everything’s fine.” I rest the gun against my upper thigh, keeping it hidden beneath the table as I drag her closer into my side.

“Can we please cut that word from our vocabulary? This really doesn’t feel like a fine type of situation.”

“I’ll handle it.”

The men grab two beers off the bartender, then make a show of looking for somewhere to sit, as if they don’t already plan to walk in our direction.

“I need you to listen to me carefully, Pyro.”

“Okay,” she says with hesitation.

“Finish your drink.” I want the liquor to help ease her anxiety.

She reaches trembling fingers toward her martini glass and takes a sip.

“Good girl.” I release her waist and slide my free hand over her wrist in a vain attempt at comfort.

“Please don’t say that right now.” Pink floods her cheeks.

I smirk, the expression short-lived as the men approach. “They’re going to sit near us. They might even start a conversation. But I want you to remain quiet and relaxed. Can you do that for me?”

She nods, short and sharp.

The men close in, eying the empty booth adjoining ours.

I slide my finger over the trigger of my gun, my pulse increasing, the demand to protect Ollie becoming a living, breathing thing inside my chest.

They get within five feet… four… three…

Then the taller of the two—the driver—pauses at the neighboring booth, his eyes narrowing on mine in fake scrutiny.

“Hey.” His voice holds a slight Irish lilt as he jerks his chin in my direction. “Do I know you?”

“I don’t know.” I glower. “Do you?”

He’s obviously not Mexican. Not cartel.

But he’s something.

A definite threat.

His companion attempts the same feigned scrutiny, eyeing me and Ollie.

“If you don’t mind, I’m trying to share a private drink with a friend.” I continue with the death stare, my trigger finger getting itchy.

They exchange a glance. A nod. Then lower into their booth, the driver facing me while the other slides in the closest side and moves all the way across to lean against the wall.

“What’s going on?” Ollie whispers.

“I’m not sure. But I need you to dig into my pocket and get my car fob.”

She swallows heavily as her hand lowers beneath the table, brushing my thigh, her fingertips skimming my dick.

I fucking flinch.

“Sorry,” she rasps, her expression full of horror.

I’d laugh if it wasn’t the most inopportune moment to be distracted by my hardening cock.

“Stay focused, Ollie. Now’s not the time to be offering hand jobs.” I shift slightly, helping her dig into my pocket and retrieve the fob. “I’m going to need you to excuse yourself to use the ladies. Announce it casually, but loud enough for our friends to hear.”

“Okay.”

“Once you’re out of view, I want you to find a back or side exit. Try the kitchen?—”

Her eyes widen. “I’m not leaving you.”

“It’s only temporary. I’ll follow as soon as I can. I just need you to escape without causing suspicion, then get in the Escalade and be prepared to drive away from here as soon as I walk out the front doors.”

“Remy, I can’t.” Her touch lingers on my pants, her fingers latching around my pocket. “I’ve been drinking.”

“The least of our worries is a drunk-driving charge. I want you to focus on listening to me so I can get you out of here.”

Her teeth dig into her bottom lip. Biting. Gnawing. “I’m nervous.”

“That’s a healthy response. But all you have to do is follow instructions. I know what I’m doing.”

She sucks in a deep breath and sits taller. “Okay. I’ll be waiting.” She scooches an inch away. “I need to use the bathroom,” she announces at the perfect volume. Casual, yet loud enough to have the closest threat cock his ear in our direction.

“Get me a scotch on your way back?” I ask.

“Sure.” Ollie nods without retreating any farther. Instead, she hovers there, posture tight, eyes pained, gaze lowering to my mouth.

Is she seriously contemplating kissing me? Right fucking now?

I can’t unsee it. The yearning. The concern.

And goddamnit to hell, I can’t help craving it, too.

“This is a mistake,” I mutter as I grab her wrist and tug her back to me, smashing my mouth against hers.

It’s a swift press of lips.

Hard. Fast. Fierce.

But fuck, even with the complications currently sitting in the next booth, it makes my dick pound.

She barely has time to release the softest of whimpers before I pull back and scowl through my lacking restraint, struggling to keep my breathing under control.

It takes a few seconds for her to blink the daze from her eyes, then she slides out of the booth. “Scotch on the rocks?”

I nod, proud of her for continuing the drink charade.

“I won’t be long.” She turns on her heel, her dress dancing around her ankles, then heads for the signposted hall leading to the bathroom across the other side of the room.

As soon as she’s out of view, I pull out my phone and type a text to Valenti.

Me

I’ve got trouble. Any ideas why I’m on the Irish radar?

I press send and place the cell down on the table, my attention moving to the guy closest to me who turns to meet my eyes.

“I swear I’ve seen you before.” He squints. “What’s your name?”

I raise my gun under the table, aligning it with his back. “Who’s asking?”

“I dunno, maybe an old friend. Who knows where we’ve met?”

I smile with menace. “We’re not friends.”

“Well, we’ve definitely seen you around.” The other guy pulls out his phone, taps the screen, then holds it up in my direction. Staring back at me is a recent surveillance photo taken out the front of my Baltimore apartment building, with my dashing face taking center stage. “Congratulations, you’ve got a price on your head, Costa.”

Fuck.

It’s one thing to be at war with the cartel, but for them to outsource my demise takes it to a whole new level.

I huff a laugh as my cell buzzes short and sharp against the table. “Don’t get shy now, boys. Tell me what the Rodriguez family are offering.”

“One fifty,” the guy closest responds with a grin.

One hundred and fifty grand?

“Wow.” I raise a brow. “That’s insulting. Give me a week and I bet they’ll be far more generous in their attempts to get rid of me.”

Phone guy shrugs. “We’re happy with the current terms.”

“Really?” I position the pad of my finger over my gun’s trigger, so fucking tempted to squeeze. “You think attempting to kill Lorenzo Cappelletti’s nephew is a smart decision?”

He lowers his cell and takes a sip of beer. “It would seem like an insult to fate not to at least try. We weren’t even in town because of you. Now look at us.”

His companion chuckles. “You’re the easiest stroke of good luck we’ve had in a long time.”

“The result of the Irish getting involved in Italian business won’t resemble anything remotely close to luck,” I drawl.

“We’re not affiliated with the mafia. We’re merely contractors looking for a payday. But don’t worry, Costa—we won’t do it here.” The guy closest waves a lazy hand toward the rest of the room. “Too many witnesses.”

They’re serious.

They actually plan on killing me.

“Well, I wish you all the best.” I slide from the booth, keeping my gun hidden inside my jacket. “But you won’t succeed. All you’ve done is piss me off and scare my girl. And while I could ignore the former offense, I assure you I won’t let the latter slide.” I tip my head in farewell. “I hope you enjoy your final moments.”

I stalk toward the bar, daring to turn my back on them.

I have no doubt they’ll attempt to kill me, but like they said, they won’t do it here.

There are too many repercussions for lone contractors who don’t have the backing of a big organization to keep them out of prison.

I head for the far end of the bar to the two older men talking casually with the bartender.

“Excuse me,” I interrupt their conversation, the three of them turning to face me with varying degrees of annoyance. “I’m not usually one to cause trouble, but I thought it might be best to inform you that those two Irishmen over my left shoulder are trading kiddie porn while under your roof. Do with that what you will.”

I take a second to watch their expressions morph into rage as the bartender grabs a wooden bat from under the counter. Then I head for the front door, shooting my Irish buddies a smirk as they begin sliding from their booth.

I won’t have much time, but I shouldn’t need it. A few seconds head start is enough to get me into the Escalade.

Shouts ring out behind me, the men from the bar calling for blood as I push through the exit and stride onto the sidewalk.

The Escalade is right where I left it, Ollie behind the wheel like I instructed, the engine purring.

I keep my pace in check, not wanting to scare her as she swivels a finger back and forth between us, silently asking if I want the driver’s seat.

I shake my head and round the hood, climbing in the passenger side to fasten my belt. “Drive, Pyro.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to switch spots?” she asks in panic.

“There’s no time.”

The Irish duo flee the bar, the older men, the bartender, and a few random crusaders chasing after them while shouting obscenities.

“Step on it, Ollie.”

She squeaks and guns the engine, shooting backward. “Which way am I going?”

“It doesn’t matter. Just get out of town as fast as you can.”

“Oh, God.” Her hands scramble as she turns the steering wheel and pulls out onto the road in the direction of our rental property. Then she shifts to drive and plasters her foot to the floor.

I hold tight to my gun, watching my side mirror as Ollie speeds down the block, racking up a list of traffic violations while she chews her bottom lip.

“Who are they?” she asks.

“Hitmen looking to bag a whale.”

“What?” She shoots me a frantic look. “Are you the whale?”

“Unfortunately.”

I check my cell and tap on the unread text.

Valenti

Apparently congratulations are in order. You’ve earned a bigger target on your back.

Me

So it seems. A little help would be appreciated.

Ollie releases a tortured breath. “Are you texting while I’m fleeing from hitmen?”

“No. Just checking Insta notifications. It isn’t often that I don’t have to drive.”

Wild eyes meet mine.

“I’m joking, Ollie. Relax. You’re doing great.”

“Tell that to my erratic pulse. I think I’m going to throw up.” She indicates to illegally overtake a Honda CR-V across double yellow lines. “Shouldn’t I take back roads in an attempt to hide?”

“We don’t want to hide.”

Those fear-filled eyes meet mine again. “We don’t?”

“Not yet.”

“I seriously don’t know if I can do this, Remy. You should be driving.”

I turn in my seat, glancing through the back window as the black sedan pulls into traffic. “I wouldn’t want anyone else behind the wheel.”

“Yeah?” she scoffs. “Not even those two men who are always following you around?”

“Russo and Valenti?” The Irish trail in our direction. “Don’t get me wrong. They’re the best at having my back, but neither one of them can pull off a bikini like you can.”

“Oh, God.” Her hands twist against the steering wheel. “Please don’t talk like that while I’m trying to concentrate.”

“No problem.” The aim is to distract her. Keep her calm. “Just continue following instructions like a good little girl and?—”

“Don’t say that either,” she shrieks.

I turn back to face oncoming traffic with a smirk. “Why? I was under the impression you enjoyed praise.”

“Unless you want to be wrapped around a power pole at a hundred miles an hour please drop the subject.”

“Fine. We’ll reconvene on the topic later.”

“No, we won’t.”

I open the map app on my phone and start scanning for an escape route. “I assure you we will.”

She huffs a frustrated breath and illegally overtakes a white minivan. “Shit. There are traffic lights up ahead. What do I do?”

“If it’s red, slow, but don’t stop. We need to keep moving.”

The light remains green as we approach. Then turns yellow.

She increases our speed instead of slowing. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”

“Keep going.”

The light turns red when we’re still yards away. A blue hatchback edges into traffic from a side street.

Ollie blasts the horn, swerving slightly as we hit the intersection. The hatchback slams on its brakes, the elderly driver giving us the bird as we fly past.

“Goddamn fucking shit,” Ollie cries. “What the hell am I doing?”

“We had more than a few feet between us. You’re doing fine.”

“If you say fine one more time, Remy fucking Costa, I swear to God?—”

“Damn, Ollie. How did you know dirty-mouthed good girls are my kryptonite?”

She blows out a harsh breath, her gaze remaining on the road. “I’m going to kill him. If I don’t kill myself at the same time.”

“Just keep driving.” I check behind us, the black sedan stuck on the other side of the intersection. “They’re caught at the lights.”

She nods to herself. “Okay. I can do this. It’s just like riding my bike through peak-hour traffic.”

We pass small-town stores and cafes.

The local cemetery on our left.

A large pharmacy on our right.

She speeds through Berryville while I keep watch for the sedan, only catching glimpses when it cuts in and out of traffic in the distance.

“Do you still want me to stay on this road?” She scans her rearview as the buildings space out, making way for hills, trees, and vacant land.

“For now.”

The town lights disappear, darkening everything around us into a sea of black. The only way I can tell the Irish are gaining on us are the headlights that keep darting onto the wrong side of the road every time we reach a stretch of highway.

I check the map again. “I’m going to need you to slow down.”

“Slow down? Why?”

“Because I can’t risk them finding us later.”

Her questioning gaze snaps to mine. “What does that—” Her words cut short as horror dawns across her features. “Remy, No. They’ll kill you first.”

“I won’t let that happen.”

She returns her attention to the road, wincing against the blinding beam from an oncoming truck.

“You’ve trusted me far more than anyone should, Pyro. Don’t quit on me now.”

Her wince increases. “What’s your plan?”

“I’ll talk you through each step as it comes. But for the moment, you need to slow down and let them catch up.”

She blows out a shaky breath.

I fucking hate this for her. That I can’t pull her away from danger without dragging her through it first.

“Slow, Ollie.”

I’d always thought I wanted her to see the side of me that’s about to be exposed—the tyrant, the murderer. Her forgiveness of my sins is probably her only flaw. Yet now that I sit poised with a plan that will place her in close proximity to bloodshed, I can’t stand picturing how she’ll react.

If only she could remain ignorant.

“Ollie,” I warn.

She whimpers, her shoulders slumping as the car slows.

I turn to look out the back window, the headlights of the trailing vehicle approaching at speed.

I double-check the map on my phone. “Take the next left.”

“Off the main road?”

“Don’t think; just act.”

She sucks in a deep breath and activates her turn signal.

I fight a laugh. “We want them to follow, but indicating that we’re about to turn is making it a little too obvious.”

“Oh, God.” She flicks off the turn signal. “I did it out of habit. Have I ruined everything?”

“Not at all.” I keep watching our back as she nears the adjoining road. “You’re going to have to pump the brakes though. You can’t hit the corner at this speed.”

She doesn’t respond. She doesn’t slow either.

“Ollie?”

“I can’t do this,” she pleads. “It’s too much.”

“Yes, you can. Take the turn.”

She scrunches her face, tapping the brakes hard before steering sharply toward the side street.

It’s too fast.

The tires screech. The vehicle lurches sideways. We fishtail.

“Remy,” she cries.

“Don’t brake.” I lunge for the wheel, helping correct the skid. “Ease off the accelerator.”

She complies, the car wobbling before regaining its tread.

“Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God,” she chants.

I dump my cell in my lap and reach out, gliding my palm around her neck, rubbing a gentle thumb across her jawline. “You’re doing such a good job, Ollie. I’m so fucking proud of you.”

She whimpers, leaning into the contact, melting into the praise. “What happens next?”

“Just pay attention and keep driving, sweetheart. This should be a quiet road that leads us back toward Berkeley Springs, but we’re going to detour up the mountain.”

She nods, concentration tightening her jaw as we approach a hard left turn. She takes the corner like a rally driver, crossing both lanes to speed into the straight.

For a few silent moments we could almost pretend we’re not being followed. There are no other cars in sight. The mass of trees surrounding us blocks out any other sign of life.

But then her gaze shifts to the rearview. “Remy, there’s more of them.”

I check the side mirror, seeing our tail, along with an additional set of headlights. “It’s okay.”

“How is it okay?” She sits taller, the panic returning. “There are two cars following us now. How can we handle both?”

“We don’t need to.” I dial Valenti’s number, the connection going through the car’s Bluetooth, the ringtone loud before the call cuts in.

“Lovely night for a high-speed car chase,” he drawls in greeting.

“I could’ve done without it,” I mutter. “But let’s get this over and done with. Ollie’s not a huge fan of her introduction into street racing.”

“That’s a shame. She’s doing a great job.”

She scoffs. “I’m going to projectile vomit any minute now.”

“Right.” Valenti clears his throat. “Want us to give them a friendly high-speed nudge toward a tree?”

I watch Ollie, waiting for her to protest the crime.

She doesn’t react. There’s only ongoing trepidation.

“Yeah.” I keep my eyes on her. “That sounds like a plan. Just wait until we take another turn. I want us as far away from homes as possible. When I’m ready, I’ll distract them with a few tire shots.”

“Understood.”

Ollie breathes out a measured breath.

“Let’s get it done.” I mute the call, still staring at her. “You okay?”

“Yeah. I’m great. Apart from being manic with fear, irrationally turned on by your good girl references, and extremely nauseous with my inability to handle emotion.” She gives me a sarcastic thumbs-up before clasping her hand back against the wheel and leaning into the next bend. “Couldn’t be better.”

I grin. “Would it help if I told you I’m also irrationally turned?—”

“No,” she growls.

I snicker. “Okay, Pyro. No more fun and games. It’s time to end this.” I unmute the call and refresh the map to check our surroundings. There’s nothing but dense trees and stretching land to hide the isolated houses, rental cabins, and vacation properties nestled into the mountain. “We’re aiming for Spring Brook Drive. It’s roughly two and a half miles ahead.”

Ollie nods.

“Got it,” Valenti replies.

We’re barely around the next bend when Ollie’s gaze shoots back to the rearview.

“They’re closing in,” Russo warns.

I glance through the rear window, the headlights behind us fast approaching. Shit. They’re going to ram us before Valenti gets the chance to act. “Take a hard right.”

“What?” Ollie squeals.

“Hard right.”

“Fuck,” Valenti mutters.

Ollie slams on the brakes, clenching the wheel as our tires screech.

The sedan closes in, hitting its brakes a second later, skidding uncontrollably toward us.

“Brace,” I shout, thrusting a protective arm across her chest.

But she plants her foot against the accelerator, taking off down the gravel lane as our enemies overshoot the turn, Russo and Valenti following them.

“Jesus Christ, Pyro.” I lower my arm. “You missed your calling as a stunt driver.”

“Less praise. More direction.” She inches closer to the steering wheel, peering into the stretching canopy created by the overbearing trees as tiny stones clink against the car undercarriage.

“They overshot the lane,” Russo shouts. “But they’re turning back to follow you.”

“Good. We’ve bought ourselves some time.” I point at the bend up ahead. “Keep going, Ollie. This road meets up with the one we were just on.”

She squeezes the wheel tighter, seeming more determined now than nervous. She eases off the gas as she approaches a sharp curve, then speeds through it.

I keep eying the back window, dust and dirt kicking up behind us. “We’re clear for now.”

She accelerates hard, the Escalade’s engine revving.

“The intersection is right up ahead.”

She nods. “I see it.”

We remain on our own as she slows, hard turns, then accelerates back onto the road.

“What’s happening, Valenti?” I demand.

“We’re still on their ass. We can’t be too far behind you.”

Ollie pushes the needle to the limit down a long straight. The world is empty out here. No cars. No visible houses. But if one forest animal bounds across the road, we’re going to be mixing DNA with a tree trunk.

“Goddamnit.” She glances to the rear view. “How can they drive so fast?” She hogs the road, speeding through bends.

“Don’t worry about them. Just concentrate. The turn is up ahead.”

Her gaze darts from the asphalt to the speedometer. Back and forth. “They’re gaining on us again.”

I check my side mirror. “Good. We still need them to know where we’re going. You’ve got time.”

She slows on the approach to Spring Brook Drive, the light behind us growing. “It’s more gravel.” She takes the corner and zooms onto the uneven road, passing long, stretching driveways that lead to darkness. “I’m going to get us killed, Remy.”

“No, you’re not. This is almost over.” I recheck the map. “There are a few bends up ahead. Then an intersection leading onto a lane. We want to have these guys handled before that intersection. It’s the farthest we’re going to get from nearby houses.”

“There’s an ammunitions store hidden down one of these side lanes,” Valenti adds. “Hopefully any loud noise will be attributed to their business and not ours.”

That’s what I’d been hoping for.

“We’re going to pass five tiny off-roads. That’s the first.” I point to one on our right. “Once we reach the fifth I want you to slow down.” I lower my window and double-check my gun’s magazine. “It’s going to get loud, Pyro. But you’ve got this.”

She nods, sucking in a strengthening breath.

“Ready, Valenti?” I ask.

“Born ready.”

“Four,” Ollie whispers as we pass another off-road, then leans into the bend. “Three.”

I hold tight to my gun, staring through the swirling dust and debris kicking up behind us. The Irish aren’t on our ass, but their headlights carry through the trees.

“Two.” Ollie straightens her shoulders, sitting tall. “One.”

“Slow right down. We want to catch them off-guard.” I lean the top half of my body out the window as she rounds the final bend, decreasing speed. “Be prepared to take off if this doesn’t work.”

“It’ll work,” Valenti vows. “These assholes are too cocky.”

“Here’s hoping.” I track the slithers of light through the trees, the acceleration of oncoming vehicles approaching fast.

Ollie slows to a crawl in the middle of the road.

“We’re almost there,” Russo announces. “Get ready.”

A heartbeat later the Irish come into view, their bright lights threatening to blind me.

I aim low and squeeze the trigger. Pop. Pop. Pop.

They hit the brakes in a grate of swirling gravel. The car careens to the left, tires spinning. Dust flying.

“I’m going in,” Valenti shouts, slamming the nose of his Audi into the back of the sedan to make our enemies spin.

Through the darkened interior I meet the eyes of the Irish passenger, his gun raising to aim at me through his open side window. He fires as the vehicle speeds toward the trees, the pop followed closely by the unmistakable sound of shattering glass as the bullet hits a taillight of the Escalade.

“Get down,” I shout.

Ollie hunches on command.

But it doesn’t matter. There’s no stopping the sedan as it rockets uncontrollably toward the trees, launching into a trunk with a deafening crack.

“Oh, God,” she whimpers.

“It’s okay.” I eye the car, watching for movement. “It’s almost over.”

The headlights died on impact, the angle of the vehicle hiding my view of the occupants. But I clearly see the passenger door as I wait for it to open.

“I’m going to check it out,” Russo says.

I unclasp my belt and disconnect the call, not wanting Ollie to overhear anything upsetting. “I need you to stay here. Turn off the lights but don’t get out.”

“Remy—”

“I’ll be back soon.” I climb from the Escalade, close the door behind me, and stalk for the sedan.

Russo is already jogging toward the mangled car as hissing steam billows from the hood while Valenti cuts the lights to his Audi, plunging us into darkness.

It takes a few blinks for my eyes to adjust to the moonlight as I approach, my Walther palmed at my side.

“They’re alive.” Russo yanks open the driver’s door on the far side of the car, his gun aimed inside. “But pretty fucked up.”

I close in, striding from the gravel road onto the dense wild grass.

Russo meets me at the trunk, yanking off his leather gloves. “Here. Have these. I assume you want the honors.”

I take the offering and put them on, eying the interior through the back window.

“The driver’s belt is stuck. He’s not going anywhere.” Russo jerks his chin toward the other side of the car. “And the dumb fuck in the passenger seat wasn’t wearing a seatbelt.”

I step around him to continue toward the driver.

“I’m going to go help Valenti organize the tarp and siphon some gas.” Russo walks backward toward the road. “If we can’t find somewhere nearby to dump the bodies, I’ll drive them to Baltimore and get Wesley to help with the usual disposal while Valenti stays to keep watch.”

I nod and keep striding for the open door, the hiss of the billowing steam deafening.

The driver remains behind the wheel, the deflated airbag spewed out before him. He frantically pads his palms around his lap, waist, and down the sides of his seat, searching for something, but his belt must be restricting his movements because the pathetic bastard remains ramrod straight.

I close in, placing the barrel of my gun to his temple. “Is this what you’re looking for?”

He stiffens. Freezes.

I jab the barrel harder against him. “Do you still think the hundred and fifty grand was worth it?”

“Please.” He raises his hands in surrender. “We were just looking for a payday. It wasn’t personal.”

“This won’t be personal either. I’ll tell the cartel you said hi.” I pull the trigger, the blast echoing through the canopy.

Skull fragments and blood splatter the interior as his head flops forward and his body slumps.

He deserved to suffer, but dragging out this situation isn’t an option when Ollie is involved.

I don’t want her to be tainted any more by this.

By me.

A faint whimper sounds from the passenger, his body out of his seat, his torso and arms speared through the windshield.

I stalk to his side of the car, passing his door to stop in line with his head slumped against the hood. This part of the vehicle isn’t under the tree canopy, allowing the moonlight to stream down on the macabre scene before me.

“Things didn’t turn out as planned, did they?” I slide my gun into the waistband holster and retrieve a shard of the windshield from the grass beside my feet.

He garbles in reply, the words unintelligible.

“What did I say would happen?” I grab his hair and yank his head up, the faint drip, drip, drip of blood from his hairline tapping against shiny black metal.

His eyes roll as a barely heard keening noise reverberates over the slowly decreasing radiator steam.

I thrum with adrenaline. With fucking victory. Murder has never felt so good because the death of this piece of shit means Ollie will remain safe.

“I told you you’d die if you came after me.” I lightly tease a sharp edge of the glass across his neck. “But to do it while I was with Ollie?” I cluck my tongue. “That’s unforgivable.”