Chapter 50 – VALENTINA
Fifty
VALENTINA
Full auto.
That’s exactly what I need right now.
The rifle bucks against my shoulder, and I keep my finger on the trigger until every round is downrange and the mag clicks empty. The target is nothing but shredded paper and smoke. I drop the it onto the table, rip off my ear pro and goggles, my chest heaving.
But it’s not enough.
The adrenaline burns, but the weight in my chest won’t lift. The anger, the helplessness. The fucking need to do something, to kill this feeling before it consumes me.
Someone’s out there, searching, sniffing around my family. Rogue members of Ares, or hell, maybe they’re in on it too. But missing work today wasn’t an option. I refuse to hide and live my life looking over my shoulder.
Fuck that.
I slam a fresh magazine into the rifle; my gaze fixed on the ruined paper downrange while my mind spirals a mile a minute.
And then there’s Maksim.
I try to convince myself I was ready for his silence, that I didn’t need him to say it back. But I'm fooling myself. Because it stung. It still does. I would have given anything to hear him say he loves me just as fiercely.
“Hey.”
Remi’s hand lands on my arm, a gesture so familiar it drags me straight back to the day of my accident, when I was pissed and pumped Cole’s face with lead.
“I’m not trying to ruin your fun, but you’re not going to be able to use that arm tomorrow.”
She takes the weapon from me, and I don’t fight her for it.
“I know it’s been a shit few days,” she goes on, clicking the safety into place, “and I’m all for feminine rage and target therapy, but right now you look stressed out, not relieved.”
Before I can argue, her other hand latches onto mine.
“Come on,” she says, her tone gentler now. “Let’s get out of here for a bit.”
We secure the gun, leave one of the other employees in charge, and we’re in Remi’s Demon just minutes later.
“Where are you taking me?”
“A little surprise.” She downshifts and flicks her hair over her shoulder. “But first, besides all this secret-organization apocalypse bullshit, what’s got you trying to put a hole through the wall?”
It doesn’t surprise me that she knows there’s more to my aggravation than the very real possibility that we could all become targets.
I slump into the seat. “I told him. Told Maksim I love him.”
She’s silent for several moments. “Well,” she says finally, “this is news to me, too.”
I whip toward her, guilt crashing into me the moment it hits that I never told her. My other half in chaos, the one person who knows me more than anyone.
“Remi…Fuck, I’m so sorry. Things have moved kind of fast and—”
She grimaces like I just insulted her driving skills. “Valentina. Babe. Do you seriously think I’m upset you didn’t tell me immediately? Plus, it’s not exactly breaking news. Every time I see you, you’re practically humping his leg.”
I bark a laugh. “I am not!”
“You could’ve tattooed his name on your ass first, and I’d still be like ‘ugh, I knew it.’”
Our laughter fills the cabin until it slowly fades, and the mood shifts.
“So you told him, huh?”
I nod, my throat tight. “Yeah.”
“And he didn’t say it back.”
It’s not a question, but I answer anyway.
“No, he didn’t.”
“Hm.” Her red fingernail taps the steering wheel. “And that’s why you were trying to murder the concrete wall at Sloane’s?”
“Look, I don’t regret saying it," I groan. "I just thought that maybe...he was close. And then after last night...”
I’ve never told anyone about Maksim’s nightmares, but I know I don’t need to elaborate with Remi. She gets it.
“So you expected him to say it back?”
“No.” I shift restlessly in my seat, hating how unsure I sound. “But I wanted him to.”
She nods slowly. “Val…men like Maksim don’t say ‘I love you’ like normal people.”
“What does that even mean?”
“It means someone like him, who grew up in hell, doesn’t trust beautiful things. And you’re a beautiful thing. A weakness, something to lose. Something that makes the world suddenly feel like it has too much to take away.”
Her words touch me so much that I have to blink hard just to process them.
“And if he didn’t love you, he wouldn’t have asked me for that pretty piece of ink. I’m quite proud of that, by the way.”
My mouth drops, and I rake a rough hand across my face. “Oh, my God, Remi. I haven’t even thanked you for that. How are you even speaking to me right now?”
She chokes on a laugh. “I’m sorry to inform you that you’re stuck with me.”
“Please, don’t threaten me with the time of my life.”
Remi reaches across the console and takes my hand. “He’s already yours, Val. The words will catch up.”
“Yeah,” I sigh and lean my head back. “Rem, are you sure you’re only eighteen and not some forty-five-year-old relationship guru with a trail of broken hearts behind her?”
“Psh, I got the broken hearts part down already.”
“That’s not what I saw the other day on that track with Kuroda. Who’s the leg-humper now?”
She smirks. “Oh, I did more than just hump his leg.”
We erupt into another round of laughter, my mood already lifting. When I look out the window, I catch the familiar landscape rolling by.
“Are we going to the garage or am I helping you bury a body?”
“The night is young, so option two is still on the table. But yes, that’s where your surprise is waiting.”
The rest of the drive passes in a comfortable silence, Remi humming along to whatever is playing, and me staring out the window, lost in thought as the world rushes by.
When the metallic door of the garage rolls up, the lights spill over the concrete and my breath catches. Poison Ivy sits there, gleaming and looking brand fucking new.
“You put her back together that fast?” I circle the car, palms gliding along the flawless wrap.
“Did you ever doubt me?”
“Never.” I crouch, checking the bumper where Balterra clipped me. Not a scratch. “Perfect.”
“I called in some favors for parts and gave her a little upgrade for tonight.”
I tug open the door and melt into the seat, inhaling the scent I missed so much. “Tonight?”
“Twenty grand up for grabs. Some wannabe assholes from across town trying to prove their dicks are bigger. So…I signed us up.”
I grip the steering wheel and grin. “Well, since you twisted my arm—”
A loud metallic clank echoes through the garage.
We freeze.
Remi’s already drawing her Glock before my brain fully registers the sound. I’m out of Ivy in an instant, taking her six. We weave through the cars, weapons aimed and ready.
“You think someone snuck in here?” I whisper.
“For their sake, they’d better fucking hope not.”
Another noise, but lighter this time, like something shifting under weight.
I grab her wrist and yank her behind a G-Wagon’s front tire. “Remi…what if it’s them? The Six?”
She chews on her lip, eyes drifting between me and the noise. “This doesn’t seem the type of place they’d come looking.”
Paranoia is setting in, but she has a point. No one is expecting us here. And I have a feeling that The Six knows exactly where to find us if they want to.
“Then someone’s here to sabotage us. Fuck with our cars. And somehow got past the alarms.”
A slow grin curls up Remi’s cheek. “Looks like you might be helping me bury a body after all.”
My pulse spikes, not with fear, but with the rush I’ve been craving all damn day.
“On three,” I whisper. “Stay close.”
We move in synch, low and steady.
But we barely take two steps before a blur launches out from behind a Jeep and tackles Remi. They hit the concrete hard, rolling, limbs tangled, and the attacker clawing for her gun. She grunts, driving a left hook into his ribs, then another into his jaw, but the fucker won’t loosen his grip.
“Remi, hold still!” I try to aim, but they’re thrashing too wildly. One wrong angle or a slip right or left, and I could hit her instead. That's not a risk I’ll ever take.
“Asshole,” I snarl, ripping a blade from my boot.
I sprint, drop, and drive the knife into his gut, burying it to the hilt and twisting.
Warm blood splatters across my knuckles.
It takes him two seconds to register the damage and two more shallow breaths before he's scrambling back, both hands flying to his side as blood pulses between his fingers.
I’m deciding whether to finish him off or interrogate him when a single shot rings out and strikes the intruder’s forehead, knocking him back.
Remi stands over him, arm steady, smoking barrel pointed at his skull, ready to fire again.
“He’s dead,” I say, gripping her wrist gently. “No sense in wasting bullets.”
“Bitch busted my lip,” she mutters, swiping her thumb across the small cut, then crouches and rips off his ski mask.
The face beneath is unsettlingly young. We look at each other briefly, confirming no recognition in either of our eyes.
“Who sends a barely-legal idiot to ambush us?” she growls, lifting his shirt with the barrel of her gun and exposing just a few meaningless scars and shitty tattoos.
I crouch beside her and roll up his sleeve, where I find a scorpion inked across the underside of his forearm. Latin scrawled beneath like a signature or a brand. A racing crew, maybe, but not one I’ve ever seen.
Shit like this happens often in the street racing circuit. One crew tries to fuck with another, messing with their cars and inventory, but something about it feels…off.
“Remi…” I rise, scanning the garage. “We need to run perimeter in case this guy isn’t alone. Then call in a clean-up crew.”