Chapter 6 Lena
LENA
“Fuck you.” My gaze flies to Rem’s as fast as the words escape my mouth. I see something flash in his eyes, but it’s gone almost instantly. His face is back to being utterly emotionless.
“I’d love to, bella, but we don’t have time.”
“It wasn’t an invitation, asshole.” I jerk my hand but can’t break his grip. I glare up at him, my back glued to the wall as he towers over me. “Let me go.”
“Not until we finish this conversation.”
“This isn’t a conversation, it’s a hostile takeover.
There’s no fucking way I’m marrying you.
” I yank my hand again, but it only brings him closer.
Rem braces his other palm against the wall by my head.
If I breathe too deep my breasts will skim his chest. Suddenly I’m struggling to swallow.
I pray he can’t see how hard my nipples have gotten beneath the sweatshirt.
Christ, talk about the entirely wrong reaction to this entirely fucked up situation.
“I wasn’t asking.” His lips brush my forehead. I refuse to react. Refuse so hard I bite my tongue until I taste blood. “This is happening, Lena, whether you like it or not.”
I turn, pressing my cheek to the wall, trying to put as much space as possible between his lips and my skin.
I should hate the feel of them, hate having him so deep in my personal space.
But something about having Rem’s broad body between me and the rest of the world is dangerously enticing.
So much so I have the wild, unhinged thought that, with us standing like this, he’s the wall against which all the threats of the world would break.
He’s caging me in place, literally trying to claim me, and yet his hand is gentle around mine, his breath soft against my hairline. He’s not hurting me in any way.
And maybe that should terrify me the most.
It’s like he can read my mind and is using it against me. Like he knows how alone I feel right now. How entirely exposed to everything the universe has to throw at me. How scared I am to walk out this door and face whatever comes next.
Assuming Rem lets me walk out the door. And that’s a problem.
My life is in tatters, sure, but it’s still mine.
I’m not about to turn over what’s left to the man who broke into my crappy apartment, locked me away in a stranger’s house after I got shot, and is currently holding me hostage against a wall, no matter how insanely hot he is.
I’ll take the devil I don’t know, thank you very much.
“What do you even want with me? Why are you doing this?”
“We don’t have time for this.”
“They are simple questions. I don’t know who you are.
I don’t know why you were in my apartment.
I don’t know the why’s of any of the shit that went down last night.
And I sure as hell don’t know why a stranger is standing here telling me we’re getting married.
You think I should just fall in line and go along with this absolutely insane demand? Tell me why.”
Rem drops his forehead to mine. We are so close I can practically see the thoughts—the curses—swimming in the back of his eyes. Can hear the grind of his teeth as he clenches his jaw. Inhale the smell of…
Without warning, he steps back. I have to balance myself to stop from falling. As if I had been leaning into him, not the other way around.
“Fine, fine.” Rem pulls out his phone and mutters under his breath, words I can’t understand. They don’t sound very polite though. He pounds out a text, shoves his phone back in his pocket, stares at me, arms crossed, and waits.
For what, I’m not sure. Until I hear a key in the lock. Rem is at the door just as it opens, taking something from the person on the other side. I’m holding my breath, straining to hear if they lock us back in, but a deafening noise fills my skull when Rem turns around and I see what he’s holding.
“Do you know what this is?”
Speechless, I shake my head. He lifts the enormous fucking gun, spewing off a name, something very technical and military-grade. “Do you know what a weapon like this is used for?”
“Killing people.” Obviously.
Something about my answer must amuse him. Rem’s mouth quirks up at one side. That tiny sign of humor vanishes as he continues, “Yes, killing people. But, more specifically, shooting people at long-distance. This, piccola, is the gun of choice for snipers. Professional assassins.”
“Assassins?” I repeat, sounding like a choking frog.
“Yes.” Rem nods, stepping closer. “Or hitmen, if you prefer. Can you guess where I found this?”
No. I can’t guess. Don’t want to.
“On the roof a few buildings down from yours. I checked the scope—there was a perfect line of sight into your apartment.” Rem shakes his head.
“I picked it up last night along with the casings left behind. Cops hadn’t even finished canvassing the neighborhood yet.
Sloppy work, even for them. But here’s the thing… ”
Rem trails off. Tension stretches between us, and I get a horrible feeling I’m really going to hate what he says next.
“Professionals don’t leave their weapons behind.
Especially not ones this expensive or well cared for.
Even the stupidest hitman alive doesn’t leave behind casings.
Too many ways for the cops—or other interested parties—to piece together a trail.
So why, Lena Haywood, would someone try to kill you and leave the evidence behind? ”
My knees wobble. Memories of last night flash before my eyes. The gun shots. The tearing sensation above my hip, a bullet wound. Rem telling me in this very room that someone tried to kill me. That all feels like a fever dream.
This feels very, very real.
My ass is on the floor before I know it. Pain bursts in my side at the impact and I fold in on myself, clutching my stomach.
Rem crouches in front of me but doesn’t touch.
The gun he was holding is out of sight, but there’s no hiding from what he’s saying.
“That weapon is expensive. Precise. Accurate. So was the person firing it. Trained snipers love their weapons, take care of them. The gun is an extension of them, something they can use with as much ease as a part of their own body. To leave it behind to be found tells me the shooter is sending a message.”
“A message?” I push the words through clattering teeth.
Rem ducks his head to catch my eyes, holds them.
“A message that says if they wanted you dead, you’d be dead.
No matter if I was there last night or not.
A message that says they were more than capable of killing you but chose not to.
That you’re lucky to be alive. But that luck won’t last long. Not without me.”
Life and death. Good luck and bad. A phantom assassin or the man in front of me, so calmly talking about me getting shot.
“You, you—” I push off the ground, moving around Rem toward the bedroom door before he can stop me.
“You say all this, and I’m just supposed to believe you?
You’re telling me I’m lucky you were there, lucky you saved me?
But you still haven’t told me why you were there in the first place.
You want me to believe everything you’re telling me on blind faith?
Do you honestly think I’m that stupid, that naive?
” I laugh. I can’t help it. It’s insane. This is insane.
“I’m leaving.” I grab the doorknob. “Whatever mind-fuck this is, it’s over. Tell whoever is on the other side to let me out.”
“You’re not dressed.”
Fuck. “I don’t care.” And I don’t. I’d rather be outside half naked in winter than in here with this man and that gun. “Out. Now.”
“No.”
Rem’s hand covers mine on the knob. If I wasn’t so furious I’d appreciate how gorgeous the tattoos look snaking out from under his shirt cuff. “You can’t lock me in here. I’ll call the cops.” God, how am I only thinking about that now?!
“Oh, with what? Telepathy? You don’t have a phone.”
Double fuck. I don’t. I must’ve left it at my apartment. I whip around, fully prepared to smack the gloating grin off his face. But he’s not smiling. He’s not even angry. Instead, Rem looks frustrated…and inexplicably worried.
Not that I care. “Give me yours.”
“And have a log of my phone number in police records? Not a fucking chance.”
If I didn’t already know that I was in deep with dangerous people, Rem’s answer confirms it. I can’t stop the question before it comes out, no matter how reckless it is. “Who are you?”
Rem looks me dead in the eyes. I watch, fascinated, as the armor he’s been wearing drops away. There’s no pretense, no threat. Every other part of him radiates the possibility of danger, but his eyes say he’ll tell me the truth. I don’t even want to think about why.
“I told you, my name is Rem.”
“Rem what?”
“Rem Cosenza.”
“And who is that?”
If his eyes have promised to tell the truth, the following silence is answer enough. That is something I don’t get to know.
Fine, I don’t want to know anyway. It’s not like I’m going to see him again. “What were you doing in my apartment?”
“My job.”
His job!? “And what is that?”
He’s still holding my hand where I’m gripping the doorknob.
His thumb is sliding across the inside of my wrist. Over and over, a repetitive stroke I’ve only just become aware of.
Maybe because my pulse pounds in frustration when he answers, “For now, it’s keeping you alive. That’s all you need to know.”
So much for honesty. “That’s not good enough.”
“It’s all you’re getting.”
“Great, that makes it even easier to leave.” I turn from him, breaking whatever connection I thought we’d made, however temporary. “Hello!! Bianca!” I shout, pounding on the door. “Time for me to go. Please unlock the door!” I throw in the please because her quiche was really good.
“If you’ll just wait—” Rem is talking behind me, first in English and then what I’m starting to realize is Italian. I ignore him.
“HELLO!” I pound again, again, and my fist is about to hit the wood for the umpteenth time when the door swings open.
Bianca, looking a little bashful, is on the other side. “You called?”
Funny. “I need pants. Shoes. And a taxi. Now.” I don’t know where the authority in my voice comes from, but I don’t care.
A glance at the bedroom clock tells me I have time to make it to work and since that’s the single thing about my life that I still recognize after the last twenty-four hours, I’m getting my butt there as soon as possible.
Maybe a little normalcy will make this whole thing feel like nothing more than a very bad dream.
Bianca looks over my shoulder at Rem. She’s surprised by whatever she sees, her eyebrows jumping up her forehead. Whatever silent communication is going on between her and her husband’s friend, her surprise shifts to contrition and Bianca gives me an apologetic smile.
“Pants and shoes, right? I think I have something that will fit. And you don’t need a taxi, Johnny can drive you wherever you want to go.”
I push past her into the hallway, not pausing to take in my surroundings. “Thanks, but no thanks.” Like I want them knowing where I’m going. Or, worse, kidnapping me a second time. I’m not that stupid. “Taxi, please. Not a rideshare. No way I’m letting you track my location on an app.”
She looks like she’s about to protest but Rem stops her. “It’s fine, Bianca. You get Lena some clothes; I’ll call her a cab.”
Some part of me wants him to be lying. Wants me to have a reason not to trust him even a tiny bit. But Rem is doing as promised, calling me a cab, and I hover by the front door as Bianca tracks down extra clothes for me to wear.
I don’t have a phone, a wallet. My coat is covered in blood.
I know he can’t read minds, but Rem somehow knows what I’m thinking.
He opens a nearby closet, pulls out a coat and hands it to me along with some cash.
I silently curse when I realize it isn’t enough for me to head straight to the airport and catch a one-way flight out of town.
Bianca returns with clothes, and I feel Rem’s eyes on me as I quickly get dressed.
A cab pulls into the drive. Rem moves to open the door, then stops.
We’re back where we were moments ago: him standing between me and the rest of the world.
“This isn’t over, Lena.” The heat of his breath traces down my neck, his voice a promise and a threat.
“Don’t for one second think that any of this is over. ”
With that he opens the door. Frigid January air smacks me in the face and I pull the coat Rem gave me tighter and begrudgingly appreciate the fuzzy interior of Bianca’s boots.
I don’t hesitate. I don’t look back. I’m in that cab as fast as my legs can take me.
Sliding into the warmth of the back seat, relief hits. I can’t believe I got away.
I can’t believe they let me go.
It’s only as the cab is pulling away that I realize I’m still wearing Rem’s ring on my finger.
And that the coat I’m wearing is too big to be a woman’s.
I was so focused on leaving the house that I didn’t register the size.
A sick pit opens in my stomach as I look at the interior lining and see fine stitching inside, initials marking custom-made clothing.
Initials that can only belong to one man. Rem Cosenza.
I drop my head on the back seat with a groan. I’ve got his ring and his coat. He won’t need an excuse to come after me now. My heart starts up a rattling pace and I take a deep breath, trying to slow it down.
Something tickles the back of my throat.
I inhale again, and again, pulling Rem’s coat closer.
A scent slips through my nose, one that calms me and causes a riot at the same time. I recognize that scent.
It belongs to the imaginary man who held me as I wept in my dreams.