Chapter 52
fifty-two
. . .
The silence in the clinic was heavier than the gunfire had been.
It pressed against my eardrums, a physical weight that made breathing difficult.
I sat on the edge of a steel examination table, my hands resting in my lap.
They were clean now. Scrubbed raw until the skin was red.
Only, I could still feel the phantom warmth of Lorenzo’s blood under my fingernails.
This wasn’t my world. The helicopter ride here was a blur of rotor noise and darkness, my stomach churning with every dip of the blades.
All Gian told me was that Remo needed me and blinded by some inner psychosis I was yet to understand, I agreed.
And then the intimacy. The way he’d fucked me while their enemies foamed at the mouth outside.
His control might’ve steadied me, the aftermath of his sexual proclivities though, could outshine a war.
I’d felt it in my soul, an anchor in the storm.
Now though, alone in the sterile light, another layer of confusion settled over me. My legs trembled. Just a slight, uncontrollable shake that I tried to hide by pressing my knees together. I was a doctor. I saved lives. I didn’t hide in clinics while men hunted us in the streets.
The door creaked open.
Remo stepped in. The warmth from earlier was gone, locked behind a mask of cold reckoning.
He wiped a smear of blood from his cheek, his eyes scanning the room before landing on me.
They weren’t soft now, just a taciturn assessment.
I’d never get used the way he shifted from cold to hot and back, not in a million years.
“We’re moving,” a simple command.
“Now?” I didn’t recognize that fragile voice. “He needs rest.”
“He needs safety. This location is compromised and it won’t be long before those fuckers’ blast through the front door.” He walked past me, checking the window with a quick, practiced glance. “Dario has the perimeter. Diego has the route mapped. You stick to me. Understand?”
I nodded, swallowing the protest lodged in my throat.
Arguing wouldn’t save us, moving might. Nerves a loaded weight on my shoulders, I followed him out into the cool night air, the silence eerily thick.
Diego sat behind the wheel of a black truck while Joey and Gian wheeled Lorenzo out on a chair.
He was awake now, breathing normally but I was adamant he not exert any pressure on his body and thankfully, he listened.
“Careful,” Remo ordered softly, his hawkish stare on his men as they helped Lorenzo into the back seat.
I climbed in on the other side, checked his IV line, and his pulse. Remo stayed outside, speaking in low tones with Dario. I couldn’t hear the words, but the tension in Remo’s shoulders said enough. My hands shook and I clasped them together to hide it.
“He won’t let anything happen to you.”
I looked up to find Lorenzo’s eyes on me, his smile soft. Smiling, I glanced out. Remo stood coiled. Ready to strike.
“Thank you for saving my life.”
“We’re not out of the woods yet,” I whispered.
“Give me a gun,” Lorenzo ordered Diego.
Reaching for a pistol on the dash, Diego handed it over. I should’ve said something, however, the expression on Lorenzo’s face warned, he was ready to kill. The engine purring to life, the headlights cutting through the darkness, illuminating empty warehouses and broken windows.
“Go,” Dario’s voice came over the radio.
Diego shifted gears. The truck rolled forward, tires crunching over gravel. I held my breath, watching the shadows dance in the periphery of the light.
Nothing stirred.
Weapon in hand, Remo came up to the driver side window. “Kill the lights.”
Diego followed his instructions, plunging the entire area into darkness. Just as my eyes adjusted to the shadows, my door opened.
“Come.” Remo held out a hand, his expression warning me not to argue. I slipped mine into his and as I jumped out he said to Diego, “go. Get Lorenzo to safety.”
Watching the truck roll away, my legs almost gave out with the need to stop them, wanting them not to leave me behind. Before I could reorientate myself, Remo’s arm slipped around my waist, hauling me toward the shadows that offered cover.
“I should’ve gone with them, Lorenzo needs me.”
Remo guided me down behind a stack of wooden crates, his body shielding mine as he scanned the area. “Even wounded Lorenzo can handle himself if he is alone and so can Diego, you’d be a distraction that could get them killed.”
I nodded, understanding it would be easier for him to protect me.
Then he looked at me, and I could’ve sworn he was regretting his decision. “Stay down, okay?” the gentleness in his tone said otherwise. “I need to get us another vehicle.”
“What about the rest of your men?”
His eyes flared slightly. “They know what to do to survive.” Then he was gone.
Barely a second passed and the first gunshot pierced the night, and my heart jumped into my throat, wondering if Remo was the target. Giving no thought to my action, I stood.
Before I could even process what was happening, the night exploded in a cacophony of gunfire, incoherent shouts and the sharp stink of blood.
Bullets sailed past my head, loud and threatening.
I ducked behind the crates, heart hammering so hard my ribs ached.
Wincing, I peeked around the edge of the stack, my eyes searching until I found Remo.
Both his hands working the barrels of two large guns, he moved like a tornado, fast and destructive. Even this close to death, every pull on the trigger was precise, smooth, controlled.
It went on for God knew how long. My body shook, my ears hurt, my pulse jackrabbited and all I could do was pray we made out alive.
A bullet whistled above my head, slicing sparks of metal inches from my ear. Someone screamed. Something detonated near me and heat slammed into my face, pilfering my need to breathe.
“Remo!” I shouted, rising, my feet stumbling to gain control.
He turned, those beautiful cold eyes cutting through the chaos, searching.
“Remo!” I called again, louder this time.
His head snapped toward me, his gaze locking with mine.
And that’s when I saw it, the flick of a rival gun raised and pointed straight at me.
But Remo was faster. In one brutal moment he threw himself in front of me, tackling me in a downward descent. Concrete hit my back hard, his weight crushing mine, shoving the air out of my lungs, the screaming bullet forgotten. For just one heartbeat, everything stopped and all I felt was him.
His warm body pressed against mine, racing heartbeat in sync with mine, breath hot across my cheek, fingers trembling where it cupped the back of my skull, his chest rising and falling quickly.
“Are you okay?” he whispered in my ear, his voice a strange cadence I never heard before. Then our eyes met and the look in them stole my words.
Fear. Not for himself but for me.
Skin already streaked with blood, some his, most not, his forehead pressed to mine, only for a second yet long enough for me to feel the tremor in him, just long enough for something inside me to crack open. Something I never imagined feeling for a man like him.
Love.
The recognition speared through me. Confusing. Scary. Consuming.
Chaos shattered the moment and he jumped up, pulling me with him in one fluid yank. “Stay close,” he growled, voice low, lethal, disturbingly calm for the storm surrounding us. “Move.”
We ran. His fingers bruising around my wrist, he never let go of my hand, not once, not even when more men appeared or when bullets rained in from all angles.
His free hand worked the barrel of his gun faster than an action game, taking down the enemy with ease.
One man charged us with a large knife and Remo dropped him with a shot so close, I felt the vibration in my bones.
I didn’t know where all these men came from, but I noticed there seemed to be a lot of them on Remo’s side too when they directed him toward safety.
He dragged me through raging fires and darkened shadows until we reached a black truck parked behind a container.
Wordlessly, he shoved me inside, slammed the door and jumped into the driver’s seat, opening the window as soon as the engine purred to life.
One hand on the wheel, he tore out of the area while the other hand pumped bullets relentlessly until the madness faded behind us.
Despite the seatbelt I scrambled to clip in, my body wouldn’t stop shaking, my breathing a ragged rasp in my ears.
Remo glanced at me. Then shoving the gun between his thighs, he closed the window and swapped hands on the wheel, the other landing on my thigh, his grip tight, possessive. “Are you hurt?” he asked, voice rougher than gravel.
“No,” I whispered, my emotions still in a turmoil, not from fear but the knowledge I was in love with this dangerous man.
“Good.”
We didn’t speak after that, the silence was oppressive, almost like something unsaid seared the space between us.
Well, that was how I felt at the very least. I stared at the frowning man beside me, wanting to tell him what I felt.
His clenched jaw, however, suggested he was fighting his own battles, and I decided not to say anything.
Licking my dry lips, I pulled in deep breaths and closed my eyes.
Somehow, I drifted to sleep and when the vehicle finally pulled to a stop, I opened drowsy eyes to Remo staring out the windshield at my villa.
“Ishika.” My name left him with a heaviness I found strange for a man who knew every second before it happened.
“Yes.”
And for the first time since he’d come into my life, Remo didn’t look at me. “I’m not staying,” he said.
I frowned, not sure what to make of his statement. “Okay,” I replied, reaching for the lock.
“I’m not coming back either.”
The words punched the air out of me, freezing my fingers on the door handle. I turned my head to look at him. “What do you mean?”
He still didn’t look at me, but I noticed the way his knuckles whitened on the steering wheel, how his jaw clenched as if he were grinding his teeth, how his shoulders shook with restraint or anger, I didn’t know.
“Remo–”
“Don’t,” he cut me off, his voice ragged, strangled. “Don’t speak. If you do, I won’t be able to say what I need to.”
A painful ache began in the pit of my stomach, gradually making its way up my chest. Still, I waited.
“You don’t belong in my world,” he said, slowly. “Tonight proved it. If you’re near me, they’ll come repeatedly until they take you.”
My hands fisted in my lap. “And you think walking away fixes that?” I snapped. For so long I’d wanted him out of my life and now that my wish was being granted, I felt a deep dark hole pulling me into a nightmare I didn’t want, not without him by my side.
“It’s the only way you live long enough to hate me properly.”
I let out a bitter laugh. “You’re such an arrogant ass.”
“Maybe. But this, whatever this is between us, it’s poison in my world, little fox. You don’t survive it. You can’t.”
For a second, I almost told him. That my heart raced for him now, not from fear. That I’d tried to hate him and failed. That when he’d pulled me out of the way, I realized how much I needed him to live.
His chest lifted with a harsh breath, mine constricting as he spoke.
“Each time I felt your pulse jump when a bullet flew over us, I thought I was going to lose my mind.” He dragged a hand down his face.
” I can take a thousand bullets meant for me, but I won’t survive watching one touch you–” his voice broke, and he let out a low, vicious growl.
My heart lurched, threatening to tear out of my chest on my next exhale.
“I will fucking die the second you’re gone.” His confession wasn’t love, it was pain, carved raw and bleeding out of every pore.
It cracked through me and I inhaled sharply. My gaze shifted, watching his Adam’s apple bob a few times as though he were swallowing hard, perhaps afraid to touch me, perhaps fighting the space between us. Maybe that’s what I wanted to believe.
“I’m leaving,” he said, softer this time yet all I heard was the sound of glass shattering. “Because it’s the only way to keep you alive, safe.”
“Remo–”
“Don’t,” his voice was barely a breath now.
“If you ask me to stay, I will. And I’ll burn this entire fucking world down to keep you safe.
And that.” He turned to face me and God, his eyes.
I’d seen him kill, seen him cold, vicious, untouchable.
Now though, he looked like a man torn apart.
“Will destroy you long before it destroys me.”
He touched a finger to my cheek, a gentle brush across a tear I didn’t even feel leave my eye. I reached up to touch his hand, but he pulled it back before our fingers could connect.
“Go.” I felt the reluctance in that single word, not in the air, rather the break in his voice, in the tremor of his breath, in the way he looked at me as if memorizing my expression.
I straightened, forcing my voice to stay steady. “Then I won’t stop you.”
Something flickered across his face, and I could’ve sworn it was pain. “Don’t look for me,” he murmured. “Don’t even think about me.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I lied, opening the door.
How I stepped down from the vehicle and made it to my front door without succumbing to the need to crumble, amazed me.
There, I stopped and turned to look at the now darkened vehicle.
Another second and it peeled out of my driveway with an angry crunch of gravel.
Still, I stood there until the taillights were distance red dots, my chest falling apart, hands shaking violently. My throat burned, my vision blurred and I let the tears fall, promising myself it would be the last time I cried for a monster I hated and loved in the same breath.
Tomorrow, I’d forget the man who shattered me to save me.