Chapter 60
sixty
. . .
The closer we drove to the docks, the more I felt Remo recede.
His hand remained steady on the steering wheel, his presence still warm next to me but the man who’d eaten greasy food, rode the Ferris wheel, then stood in thick steam with his forehead pressed to mine, undone by the mere fact he’d taken me on a date, slowly morphed into the cold, brutal underboss that people whispered about.
Jaw clenched, knuckles white, his focused gaze remained on the road, a rigid frown suggesting he was deep in thought. I couldn’t understand why his dress code always stayed within the margins of black and white, color wouldn’t make him any less menacing.
The dockyard loomed ahead in a sprawl of old buildings, cranes, and a multitude of containers. Thick, dark grey smoke coiled upward from somewhere beyond the shipping stacks, carrying the suffocating tang of burning plastic.
Remo slowed down before we reached the main entrance, eyes scanning the perimeter in a way that made my pulse quicken.
“Stay in the car until I open your door,” he instructed without looking at me, his voice no longer layered with warmth but honed with danger.
“I’m not porcelain.” Mildly irritated, my fingers tightened around the seatbelt as we rolled to a stop.
His head turned and the look he gave me said I should be wary of pissing him off right now. “I know exactly what you are,” he gritted. “That’s why you stay close.”
The moment Remo stepped out, men emerged from all sides as if drawn by an invisible thread.
Without instruction, they formed a circle around him, their respect surprising me.
He opened my door himself, guiding me out with a hand at the small of my back that somehow felt more instinctive protection than possession.
The fire was confined to one container, flames licking at warped steel while his men worked with hoses and sand to keep it from spreading, their low curses and the crackle of heat filling the night air.
Voice low, Remo moved through them, yet every instruction he gave shifted bodies and attention instantly.
“Who was on watch?” He stopped beside a man with soot streaked across his face.
“Marco and Lev, sir.” Eyes lowered, he gestured toward the far end of the yard. “They swear they didn’t see anyone approach.”
Remo’s gaze flicked over the rows of containers, the dark spaces between them and the open areas. I watched the way he inhaled, slow and steady, as if scent alone could tell him what surveillance wouldn’t.
“Double the perimeter,” he instructed. “No one leaves. No one enters.”
Wrestling the drawstring on his sweats that was at least three sizes into a tight knot, I stayed where he’d positioned me, near the rear of an armored SUV, telling myself that observing wasn’t weakness.
My love, much like him, hit me like a misguided missile, sudden and unpredicted.
So, if I intended to stand beside him, I had to understand this world in its rawest state.
Although the smoke stung my eyes and the ground vibrated faintly beneath the movement of heavy equipment somewhere in the distance, my eyes tracked him across the yard.
Suddenly, Remo stilled. A subtle tightening at the back of his neck, a quick shift in the angle of his head. “Down,” he roared, his hand shooting out to shove aside the nearest man.
The crack of the first gunshot split the air less than a heartbeat later. I dropped instinctively, the world fracturing into a strident sound of gunfire. Metal screamed as bullets struck containers. Weapons drawn the men scattered, taking cover and returning fire on their unseen target.
Remo reached me in a sprint, his arm wrapping around my waist in one swift motion, dragging me behind another SUV, pressing me low against the tire. “Stay here,” he ordered, his hand gripping my jaw briefly to force my eyes to his. “Do not move.”
Before I could argue, he was gone, slipping into the darkness between stacked containers, his men fanning out around him.
Gunfire erupted again, closer now, echoing off steel until the direction became almost impossible to judge.
I pressed my back against rubber, my heart hammering in my chest, the noise overwhelming and I forced my breathing to slow, the doctor in me cataloguing injuries in my mind before they existed.
Anticipation was its own kind of triage.
A sudden thud, skirting the clamor of the gunfire, caught my attention.
I cocked my ear, focusing my hearing to pinpoint the sound then jerked my head around.
Through a narrow gap between the SUVs, I noticed two men advancing from the far side of the yard.
In the time it took me to realize they were coming up behind Remo and jumped up to warn him, something cut through the smoke to my left, fast enough that my eyes almost missed it.
A silhouette slid between the SUVs with a confidence that didn’t belong to the panic around me.
For one disorienting second, I thought it was a trick of the light, but then she stepped fully into view and my breath caught on a name I couldn’t call out loud.
Dressed in full black, Dia moved without the hesitation I felt in my own limbs, closing the space between herself and the nearest gunman before he gauged her presence.
His arm came up but her hands connected first, one knocking the barrel off its line, so the shot tore uselessly into steel at the same time her other hand crashed into his chest. She pivoted, her elbow driving hard into his nose before her hand snatched his wrist and twisted.
I was sure I heard the wet crack beneath the gunfire, saw his mouth open in something that never formed into sound as her knee slammed into his thigh, forcing him to his knees, her hands already snapping his neck in one quick twist.
Cursing, the second man lunged toward her, and instead of retreat she closed the distance, her forearm striking across his throat with enough force to snap his head back.
He stumbled, and she followed, relentless, shoving him against the container wall with a brutality that felt personal.
She didn’t look at me, Remo thankfully unaware as the man’s face crashed into the steel wall, once, twice and blood gushed.
I stood there for the span of a heartbeat, stunned by the certainty that my sister was closer to Remo than I was, that she was already protecting him in ways I’d yet to understand.
Reality snapped me back into singular focus, my gaze shifting beyond her shoulder to a shadow that detached itself from a stack of crates high off the ground, his weapon lifting, the barrel glinting in the firelight.
My eyes jerked to Remo. His back was exposed, his attention locked on the threat in front of him, unaware of the death aiming for his spine.
My legs moved before my mind caught up, surging from behind the SUV into open space, the distance between us collapsing in a blur of smoke and noise.
I didn’t scream, couldn’t, there was no air for it as I pushed every ounce of strength into the exertion.
Without thinking, I threw myself at him, crashing into his back. The momentum shoved him forward, out of the line of fire and down. Remo’s chest hit the ground first with me sprawled across his back.
At first, nothing registered except adrenaline charging through my veins until sudden white-hot pain seared my back, stealing the air from my lungs, a violent pressure biting into my spine before the cold followed, spreading outward in a wave that made my head spin.
In the second it took me to realize, I’d taken the bullet meant for him, Remo was already twisting beneath me, the thunderous expression ready to face off the threat as his hands grabbed my shoulders rolling me off him.
But he froze, recognizing me, confusion widening his eyes, the same time his hands encountered the blood I felt spilling out of me.
“Ishika!” My name left his mouth in an animalistic roar. “What the fuck did you do?” he demanded, his voice fractured. He hauled me up by the arms, carrying me toward cover, gunfire still tearing through the air around us.
“I saw him,” I rasped. “There wasn’t a choice.”
“There’s always a choice.” He lowered himself to the ground with me in his lap, his hand moving to my back, palm clamping hard over the wound, pressure unrelenting.
“You don’t step in front of bullets, especially ones aimed at me,” he bit out, eyes scanning my face as if searching for something vital. “Do you understand me?”
“I do what I choose,” I sassed, my vision beginning to blur at the edges, the world narrowing to the line of his jaw and the way his mouth tightened.
He barked orders without looking away from me. “Find him. I want him breathing,” he growled at his men. “Get doc here. Now!’ His focus snapped back to me. “Stay with me.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I whispered, cold already licking at my limbs. Nothing like the heat of the explosion I’d felt before, this felt icy, sharp, numbing.
He ripped off his jacket and pressed it hard against the wound, ignoring the way my breath hitched. His palm clamped down, forcing the pressure downward until dizzying white spots danced behind my eyes. “Where the fuck is doc!” he shouted at the cluster of men near the trucks.
The gunfire slowed, then ceased, replaced by the distant sounds of pursuit and shouting. Boots pounded past us as his men gave chase. Remo remained where he was, hand steady against my side. The tremor in his fingers reminded me he wasn’t just holding cloth; he was holding me together.
My lids dipped, pain induced sleep creeping over me, and I slumped against him, my muscles suddenly failing me. The hum of his breathing usually soothing, was now the only rhythm left in a world slowly going silent.
“Keep your eyes on me, Ishika” He shook my shoulder, just once. Hard, the command softer, though.
“I’m trying,” I shifted slightly, the movement sending a fresh wave of agony through my nerves. “You know doctors make the worst patients.”
An attempt at humor made him growl softly, the vibration flowing through me. He bent his head, kissing my brow, the gentle action surprising amidst the violence Pain ballooned and I shuddered hard, gripping his shirt.
“I’m scared, Remo,” I confessed, not ready to die.
His throat worked a hard swallow. “I know. I know, baby. But I won’t let you die. You hear me? I won’t—” He shouted over his shoulder, voice cracking with demented fury. “Rogan, where the fuck is doc.”
I wanted to tell him I was right here. That I could fix this if I could just stand up. The cold, however, grew denser, heavier. The dark waited and Remo, he was watching me like he was waiting for something else, something he wasn’t saying or maybe couldn’t say.
The estate manager neared us. “Sorry, sir, he’s almost here.”
“If he’s not here in two minutes, I’m putting a bullet in your head.”
Knowing Remo meant every word, I cupped his jaw, drawing his eyes down to me, attempting a smile. “I’m fine,” I lied, trying to buy his men time.
His eyes narrowed. “You’re not fine.” The panic he was trying to hide, cut through me. “You were supposed to stay behind me. You…fuck…why did I let you come?”
“Because I insisted I see your world,” the words faltered when another wave of pain rolled through me and I shuddered.
He leaned closer, forehead nearly touching mine despite the chaos. “This is not the part you see,” he gritted, the underboss gone again, stripped down to something far more dangerous. “This is the part I bury.” His jaw flexed.