40. Remy
I wake up with the scent of her in my throat, and yet I wake up alone in complete darkness. I don’t remember pulling the curtains, but they do a good job of eclipsing the light they promised to keep out, and Claire did a good job sneaking out of my bed. It puts a strange hollowness in my stomach that I don’t care to contemplate, seeing the bed empty where she was when I turned off the light. I suppose it’s only fair, considering I did the same to her yesterday.
I’d hoped Davos was bold enough to do something stupid like walk into my house with his arms out so that I could flip the script on him. A man like Davos is so well insulated that the only mistakes he makes are because of his ego, but apparently even he isn’t arrogant enough to come to me when I’ve promised him an agonizing death.
The wake was performative, more of a formality that needed crossed off a list than a step toward closure for Rhea or me. I knew long ago there was no redemption for the Boudreaux’s, and now I know there is no closure for us either. If there was, it surely would have come when my father took his last breath. And yet here I am, no closer to walking away from any of this than the day I was dragged into it. My father’s death should have been the end of it, but I know too much for them to watch me walk into the sunset. Even if I could, I don’t think I have the capacity to leave.
Its fucked and it’s complicated. It’s dark and it’s depressing sometimes, but this is my life. If I turn my back on the world my father helped create, I’m turning my back on every future victim, every single person who could potentially be saved from their fates. Falling asleep next to a woman lulled me into complacency, but I didn’t tell her specifically that last night was a one-night-only thing because I worried about her not being able to walk away. I needed to say it out loud so that I could convince myself that the pain of losing whatever we created would be worth the pleasure of having her temporarily.
Waking up to an empty bed makes me unsure of that anymore. I don’t regret anything we did, but I was dumb enough to think I could fuck someone like Claire Monroe out of my system. Instead, she settled under my skin.
I reach for my phone, hoping to find something to take my thoughts off of the woman who’s taken possession of my mind.
My mood only sours when I see the text from Dimitri.
BIG PROBLEM. GUEST HOUSE. COME ASAP.
I’m not in the mood to deal with anything today, let alone Wes and his stupid fucking problems. I need to go to the bar and get a drink and let the music drown out the rest of my thoughts, not go play warden with the guy I probably should have just killed. It’s clear that he doesn’t mean anything to his father. And why would he? My father wouldn’t have ever risked himself to come to my rescue, his pride be damned. He and Davos were two peas in a pod, sharing the same bad attitude, the same bad habits, and the same taste in women—or, I suppose, even sharing the same woman.
I don’t bother sending a text back to Dimitri, tugging a black shirt over my head and slipping into a pair of board shorts. Once I’ve got everything squared away at the guest house, I think I’ll take the boat out for a bit and let the open sea soothe my frustrations. That sounds far better than going to the bar and having to deal with people.
I’m not even all the way across the lawn before I see that Dimitri really undersold himself.
‘A big problem’ may just be the understatement of the fucking century, judging by all the blood splashed across my guest house door.
Doubling my pace, I sprint the rest of the way and throw the door open. “Where is he?” I demand, before I even see Dimitri standing with his arms crossed in the corner.
“I guess Wes got the jump on him.” Dimitri says, nodding toward the kitchen, where the trail of blood ends abruptly beneath a body.
The man we hired to run point on our extra security for last night’s event is dead as a doornail, his neck slashed from side to side. Wes literally went for the jugular, ending this man in a matter of moments.
But how did he get ahold of a weapon?
I’m opening my mouth to ask when this happened, but I can tell it’s been a while. I’ve seen plenty of fresh corpses, and this isn’t one of them. I am prepared to curse the dead man on my floor, but I snap my mouth shut instead, grinding my jaw shut and biting back the tension in me.
Words don’t serve the moment, and they won’t help right now, so I spin fast as a flash and bury my fist in the wall behind me. The drywall cracks around my fist, dust floating out from around the hole I just put in it. There’s no satisfaction to be found here; It’s like putting my fist through paper which gives easily under my wrath.
Wes is gone. And the truth is, someone had to have helped him escape. I simply can’t see Wes managing to sneak a blade out of my home full of people without anyone noticing. He also clearly attacked when the security guard had his back to him, unlocking the guest house door. Why would he have turned his back on Wes knowing what I told them about him?
The tension pulls on every vein, every string of muscle in my body, until I feel wound so tight, I may snap. I almost do, as realization slams into me, panic riding the wave right along with it. “Claire!”
I’m not typically a heavy sleeper, but I slept through her leaving my room. Did she do so of her own volition or was she pulled out? Lured out? And Rhea. I told Dimitri to protect her last night, but when did he leave her? Is he certain that Wes left without trying to make a move against one of the girls?
“Claire’s fine.” Dimitri says quickly. “I saw her this morning.”
“When?” I demand, turning to take him in. I’ve trusted Dimitri because I forged him, but the truth of it is, someone helped my stupid half-brother gain his freedom. I’d have said Dimitri wasn’t capable of betrayal—he’s proven himself a hundred times over—but I never would have suspected Jovich of doing what he did.
“Twenty minutes ago?” He guesses, eyes running over me like he’s sensing my suspicion. “She was on her way out of her room alone, and she was perfectly fine.”
“And Rhea?”
“Same. She was still sleeping when I left her room twenty minutes ago, which is when I saw Claire.” His jaw ticks, and I watch his throat bob as he swallows, nervous.
I pause a minute as his words sink in. “You spent the entire night in my sister’s room?”
“You told me not to leave her alone.” Dimitri defends himself.
“So why did you?” I narrow my eyes on him, letting him feel the weight of my suspicion for a minute.
“I… I didn’t want her to be embarrassed when she woke up, so I left this morning and locked the door. I came straight here to check on everything and that’s when I found this…”
It won’t be hard to corroborate his story once I check in with Claire. I’ll casually ask her if she saw Dimitri this morning and go from there. It won’t answer whether or not he truly spent the whole night in my sister’s room, but if Claire backs him up on this, at least it will help alleviate some of the distrust I feel right now.
I don’t want Dimitri to have betrayed me, but I trusted him to hire this man, and now he’s dead. “Who is he?” I ask, running a hand through my hair. Most of the time, these contractors are men of various backgrounds, looking to make some quick cash. I’m hoping he doesn’t have a family that I’ll have to find a way to offer some sort of explanation to.
Dimitri matches my stress, rubbing the space between his eyebrows. “Brandon Kane. He’s one of Jackson’s.”
That name gives me pause, so I flit my eyes away from the man on the ground, blood soaking through his previously white shirt, and give Dimitri my undivided attention. “Jackson Holland’s?”
“Yes.” He nods.
As if things weren’t fucked already, now this? “When you say he was one of Jackson’s…?”
I don’t have to finish the question. Dimitri knows the direction of my thoughts, and he follows them flawlessly, offering me the answer to the question I never asked. “His son-in-law.” Dimitri confirms gravely.
“Damn it!” I hiss, curling my fist again. I need a target more satisfying than my drywall, but Wes is gone and he’s the one I really want to take this frustration out on.
Jackson Holland runs the most expansive private security firm on any continent. His loyalty is never given but rented hourly. Whether he hates you or loves you, he ensures that the jobs he takes are authentic experiences for his customers. For the right price, he’d be the devil’s own bodyguard.
The men Holland employs aren’t drifters, contractors, or loners. They’re men who have been trained extensively, who live to serve his company, who he trusts like family not to betray him. And apparently the one dead on my floor is literal family.
This is bad.
No, calling it bad is like calling the gash in his neck a superficial cut, when I’m pretty sure if I move the body, his head will barely hang on.
If—no, when—Jackson Holland finds out about this, I’m fucked.
I know that he sent more than one of his men here last night, so where are the rest of them? Why would they have ever let Brandon and Wes go off alone unless they were either so confident that Brandon could handle him alone or they wanted to sacrifice his safety?
“Where’s Michael?”