Chapter 58
fifty-eight
. . .
Much later, after he’d fucked me into oblivion and fed me cheese, crackers, wine and fruit, I packed the picnic basket and looked up.
Remo stood at the edge of the boulder he’d mentioned when we got here.
Hands in his pockets, the town far below reduced to scattered lights and silence, he seemed peaceful.
“Reluctant to leave?” I teased, coming up behind him.
He didn’t turn nor did he speak and noting the sudden clench of his jaw, I didn’t say anything more.
Just stood by his side, breathing in the clean air, sadly conscious he’d already shut down, the warmth from earlier tucked away like it never existed.
This space was his, his quiet, his to control.
A boundary he’d willingly allowed me to cross today and I appreciated that, even if it was all he had to offer.
I exhaled on a long slow release then sighed when Remo abruptly turned and walked back to the picnic spot. Sensing his need for silence, I said nothing, watching him pick up the basket and blanket then head for the car.
Saddened to leave, I glanced around one more time and followed him. Once he’d stored the items in the trunk, he came around to my side and crowded me against the door. Not sure what he was expecting, I just looked up at him, waiting.
His eyes bore into mine. “No one else comes here.” More declaration than boast.
“Why me then?”
A gentle wind brushed his hair as he stared at me for a long moment. “Because you never ask for permission, you don’t talk when silence is the right thing and as fucked up it sounds, you see me for who I am. Death, destruction and everything in between.”
That earlier tightness squeezed my chest once more; aware he’d watched me more closely than he let on.
The sex was just a facade he hid behind.
Slowly, I nodded, palming his cheek. “Thank you for bringing me here. I couldn’t have asked for a better–” I broke off not sure what to call it and he chuckled, making me smile.
His kiss was long and deep, more possession than demanding and I gave myself over to him, wishing that he could see what he meant to me without words.
“Let’s get dinner in town then I’ll fly you back home,” he said, leaning back. My nod earned another quick kiss.
Two minutes later as the sun dipped below the horizon, we drove away. The comfortable silence filled by soft Jazz, reminding me of the night he practically kidnapped me from the bus stop. I let out a soft laugh, drawing Remo’s gaze.
“Care to share the joke?”
Suddenly overwhelmed by the need to not let this day end, I shook my head and glanced out the window. The road curled through trees, headlights slicing the dark. Remo’s hand rested loosely on the wheel, relaxed in a way he rarely was. The mountain gave him something back. I didn’t know what yet.
Then as we rounded a bend, colored lights spilled across the road casting playful shadows across people walking in both directions, talking and laughing.
Remo slowed down as I opened a window, searching for the reason behind the sudden groups of people we hadn’t encountered on the way up.
Music leaked into the night, distorted and joyful.
A carnival sprawled beside the highway as if it had sprung up on a dare.
Strings of bulbs danced in a gentle wind, a Ferris wheel turning slowly, bringing a smile to my face.
I glanced at Remo. “Can we stop?’’
“You’re not serious,” he grumbled, eyes cutting toward the lights ahead.
“Please.” That word. Soft. Dangerously childish.
He scowled, irritation already forming, but it faltered when he looked at me. Something unguarded flicked across his expression. He shifted his gaze to the windscreen, jaw tightening. “You don’t even know what you want,” he muttered.
Not sure to what he referred, I pointed at the fair. “I want that, for fifteen minutes,” I pushed, already unbuckling my seatbelt. My inner child was begging for a little carefree fun even if it was accompanied by him. “You promised dinner. This is dinner adjacent.”
“This is chaos.”
I smiled at him. “You run chaos.”
Remo exhaled, long and controlled before he slowed down. The engine idled, his fingers tightening on the steering wheel, knuckles whitening. “You get ten,” he said, parking on the curb.
That alone felt like a victory. I climbed out, startling at how fast he’d exited and rounded the vehicle to my side. “I don’t do places like this.” His gaze tracked the crowd as if was mapping exits, measuring threats that didn’t exist. Always alert.
“You do now,” I said sweetly, drawing his gaze.
The corner of his mouth twitched. He looked like he was deciding whether this was worth the trouble I was about to cause him. “You’re going to get stepped on.”
“Protect me.” I shrugged.
That earned me a stare. Dark. Heavy. The kind that dragged heat up my spine, reminding me how he’d punished my sass.
“I always do,” he said, so softly I almost missed it before his hand settled on my lower back guiding me toward the entrance.
Music drenched the air in uneven bursts, laughter rose and fell around us, the smell of unhealthy deep-fried snacks, popcorn, cotton candy and donuts wafted up my nose.
It was all so messy, loud and alive yet it took me back to my childhood.
I couldn’t stop smiling but I noticed how Remo didn’t blend in as easily.
Men shifted unconsciously when we passed, bodies angling away, conversations dipping.
I didn’t doubt some recognized him, their expressions giving them away.
Remo moved with the same coiled awareness he did in a gunfight, one hand brushing the small of my back, his claim staked.
Women on the other hand, didn’t steer clear, they drooled, their eyes widening, not out of fear but admiration.
Some were bold enough to flirt with a smile, a look, an adjustment to their boobs.
He ignored them all, his eyes steadfast on me.
“Something wrong?” I asked.
Slowly, he shook his head, but his half-smile was all-consuming. “This makes you happy?”
I shrugged. “Brings back memories of my childhood.” I turned in a slow circle, breathing it all in. “This is perfect.”
He snorted. “You have low standards.”
I tugged his hand. “You’re just uncultured.”
He laughed. “I’ve been in three countries before breakfast, negotiated deals over graves, and killed men who didn’t know I understood their language.”
“And yet,” I sassed, pulling him toward a stall. “You’ve never thrown a ring over a glass bottle.”
His gaze flicked to the game then back to me. “I don’t lose.”
“Then you’ll love it.” I winked.
I played first. The bottle didn’t even wobble and I missed on all five tries.
Remo watched, arms crossed, expression carved from stone, several women hovering in the background.
But I caught it, the way his eyes softened when I laughed at myself, the way his shoulders eased a fraction when I didn’t care who was watching me.
“Your turn,” I said.
“I don’t need—”
“Scared to lose,” I taunted.
Scowling, he took the rings, rolled the first once between his fingers, assessed the distance like it was a kill shot and then let them fly in quick succession.
They landed cleanly, the bottles wobbling for a second before staying in place.
Cheers erupted around us. I clapped, ridiculous and delighted.
He looked startled for half a second. Then scoffed. “Rigged.”
“Sure. You intimidated the bottles.” That got me a smile as the attendant asked him to choose a prize.
“What do want?” he asked me.
“You choose.” He thought for a moment then asked for the absurdly large gorilla. Flabbergasted, I laughed, trying to get my arms around the teddy. “Really?”
He shrugged, walking. “In some African cultures, gorillas are regarded as symbols of strength, courage and protection.”
I gaped, following him. “How do you know that?”
“Been there a few times. Now you have a bodyguard when I’m not around.”
I laughed so hard, I had to stop walking. Remo looked at me, one brow cocked. “You actually cracked a joke,” I finally managed when my giggles died down.
He smiled and my God did it transform his entire demeanor, telling me that beneath the tough exterior, lurked a man any woman would die to love. And I was glad I had that secret honor right now.
“Glad you approve,” he scoffed, grabbed my waist and resumed walking.
We wandered the grounds. Rode the Ferris wheel where Remo decided his lap was more comfortable for me and my lips much more interesting than the view. Ate things we shouldn’t. At first, I gave him something sweet and sticky to try. He complained once but didn’t stop eating after that.
We were on our way out when I dragged him to a stall selling trinkets. Cheap metal, leather cords, small things meant to be forgotten. He took a call while I inspected them.
My fingers pause on a leather band. For some reason it felt right. Simple. Dark leather. A small silver clasp etched with a subtle knot. Nothing romantic or ornate.
“This is you.” I picked it up.
Remo cut the call and lifted a brow. “That?”
“It’s not jewelry. It’s practical.”
He laughed under his breath. “You’re buying me a leash?”
I stepped closer, lowering my voice so only he heard. “I’m buying you something that says I trust you to walk beside me.”
That stilled him.
Closing one of his arms around the gorilla, I grabbed the other and fastened the band around his wrist before he could stop me. My fingers brushed his pulse. It was steady. Strong.
He studied the bracelet for a moment before his gaze met mine. “You know I don’t do sentimental.”
“I know and it’s not.”
We stood there for a beat, the noise of the carnival rushing around us. Remo opened his mouth, probably to dismiss it but I spoke before he could.
“When I was younger,” I said quietly, taking the gorilla from him and holding it tight against my chest. “There was a boy. He walked me home every day even though I didn’t know him.
He didn’t talk much. Shielded me from horror stories one time, hit a boy who pulled my hair another and sometimes shared his treats with me.
He was always just there between me and the world. ”
Remo’s gaze sharpened, unreadable. “Where’s he now?”
I dropped my gaze to the ground, swallowing.
“He grew up, moved on, and took over family responsibilities that pulled him away from me. All I have now is this lingering memory of my savior, one who somehow taught me to be strong. I kept walking alone after that, learning to be my own shield.” I met Remo’s gaze.
“You remind me of him, not because you’re gentle or safe but because you’re there when it matters, you stand where the danger is yet somehow shield me from it.
Maybe one day you'll trust me enough to show me your world.”
For a long minute, he didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Then his thumb brushed the band, once like he was testing whether it was real. “You don’t know what you’re asking for, little fox.”
I smiled, slow and sure. “I think I do.”
He looked away, toward the lights, the noise, the life he pretended not to want. And there it was, brief, unguarded, a smile he didn’t realize he was wearing. When he noticed me watching, it was gone.
“Let’s go,” he said gruffly, already moving. “Before someone decides this place is worth shooting up.”
I laughed and followed, my hand slipping into his without asking. He didn’t let go.