Chapter 23 Remy #2
His expression is neutral. I expect him to remind me that the woman standing next to me masterminded my abduction to get what she wanted. But instead, he says, “I can’t let you do this alone, you understand that?”
I nod. “Thank you.”
“I must be going soft in my old age, but I believe you.” He glances at the door and unhooks a heavy set of keys from his holster. “Rule one: I tell you to leave the room, you leave. No arguments.” I nod again. “Rule two: you say something I don’t like, I take over.”
“Okay.” At this point, I would agree to any conditions he set upon me entering that room, but I keep this to myself. He’s only acting in the best interests of me and his family.
“Rule number three: when my wife and stepsons threaten to cut off my balls and feed them to the birds in our garden, you tell them that you threatened me at gunpoint.”
I smile. “Deal.”
He unlocks the door without hesitating, and I wonder if he’s doing it before the rational part of his brain convinces him that it’s a terrible idea.
As agreed, Isabella waits outside the room.
Inside, George is sitting at a plain square table, his wrists cuffed to the back of his seat. He looks up when we enter and does a double take when he sees me.
“Remy? What are you doing here?”
He is still wearing the same suit as when I saw him last, but it no longer deserves the obviously expensive price tag.
Smeared with soot, the jacket is crumpled, half hanging from one shoulder.
Beads of glue still cling to his grubby face, and red lines crisscross the whites of his eyes.
George Quinn looks as if he broke into a store to steal the suit and then climbed through a dumpster wearing it.
“Hello, George.” My palms feel clammy, and I hide them behind my back so that he doesn’t notice. I sit across from him, and Terry waits in the corner of the room.
The door is still ajar.
“Did they bring you here to get me to talk?” He opens the conversation without an apology for hurting me. “I’ve told them already, I’m not saying a word without my lawyer present.” He shoots a look at Terry who ignores him.
“They haven’t asked me to do anything.”
“So, why are you here then?” His beady eyes grow even beadier, and he squints as if in pain. “Where’s Isabella? Did she put you up to this?”
“Why would she do that?”
He studies me closely, then a lopsided smile appears. “Mind games won’t work with me, Remy. I bet you told him that I did that to you, huh?” If his hands weren’t cuffed, he would point to the bruising on my swollen jaw.
I quell the urge to yell at him. I would normally ask what Ariel would do in an uncomfortable situation. But unless she’s keeping some humungous secrets from her best friend, her experience doesn’t stretch to holding a conversation with the guy who kidnapped her and punched her in the face.
Instead, I think about Isabella, the way she holds herself upright. The way she raises her chin in defiance of whatever the world has thrown at her. The way she placed my hand over the baby in her belly.
“You did do this.” My steady voice doesn’t belie the adrenaline pumping through my veins. “But that isn’t why I’m here.” Pick your battles, Remy.
I almost cave when his eyes seek out Terry, and he says, “For the record, she’s lying. She was already hurt when I found her.”
Terry moves so quickly, I don’t register it until George’s seat is toppled backwards, his feet swinging midair. Terry’s hand is around his throat.
“Lie to me again, and I won’t be held responsible for my actions. Got it?”
A garbled sound emits from George.
Terry rights his chair and brushes imaginary specks of dust from George’s shoulders. “Treat the lady with respect.” Then he backs away to his corner.
George is still trying to catch his breath. His face is flushed, and there are red weals around his neck.
I wait for him to regain his composure. “I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier, about how you used me to—”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He cuts me off mid-sentence.
“Sure, you do. You told me—”
“I told you nothing. Whatever game you’re playing, Remy, I’ll deny it all the way.” He turns watery eyes to Terry. “I think we’re done here.”
“We’re done when I say we’re done.” Terry’s voice is cold.
George is getting antsy. If I don’t speed this up, he’ll cause another commotion and make sure that Terry escorts me from the room.
“I haven’t offered you my congratulations yet.”
“Congratulations?” The skin puckers around his pinched lips. “What the fuck are you talking about now?”
“The baby. I hear that you and Isabella are having a baby together.”
His eyes flick towards Terry and back again as if gauging how far he can push this without getting hurt. “Nice try, Remy.”
“So, she isn’t pregnant?” I furrow my brow and feign confusion. “I thought—”
“Whatever you thought, you’re wrong. Isabella isn’t pregnant.”
“Wow.” I blink several times. “I got that wrong. I guess you can’t trust everything you read on social media.”
“Where on social media?” Finally, he bites. “I need my cell.” This is for Terry. “I have to nip this in the bud before it goes viral.”
“Why?” I shrug. “You’re getting married, so what’s the problem?”
“Get me out of here.” His voice rises a notch. “I need to get out of here now. Help!”
“No one can hear you,” Terry says. “The basement is soundproofed.”
George’s eyes dart around the room. “Remy, I need you to help me. Give me your phone.”
“I don’t have my phone. When I woke up, drugged, in your executive suite, it was gone.”
“Funny. Stop fucking around and give me your phone.” He stares at my dress as if I’m concealing my cell phone inside an invisible pocket. “Now, Remy.”
“You really didn’t know that Isabella was pregnant?”
“I’m not doing this, alright?” He tries to get Terry on board again. “I really need to get out of here. If Cassius wants to play dirty, I’ll show him dirty, and he isn’t going to like it.”
Terry stares straight back at him without acknowledging his threat.
“Did you not see all the signs?” I continue. “The morning sickness? The tender breasts? The pregnancy test in the bathroom?”
“Help!” George yells towards the doorway.
“Or are you panicking because the baby isn’t yours?”
He shakes his head. “Okay, you win. I would hold my hands up, only they’re bound behind my back. You’ve had your fun, Remy, now scurry back to your boyfriend. Boyfriends.” He slants his eyes in Terry’s direction. “Oh, I’m sorry, is the family not aware of your sordid little set-up?”
There was a time when we were in high school, that I felt sorry for George.
He often hung around after the bell announced the end of the school day, waiting for the hallways to clear before he went to his locker and made his way outside to meet me.
I put it down to shyness. To a stilted relationship with his overbearing parents.
To low self-esteem because he had no interest in sports, or science club, or any other extra-curricular activity.
Now I know the truth. He was in denial. George Quinn has spent his entire life pretending to be someone else.
But I have no sympathy for him. All around the world, minority communities are threatened and victimized and treated unfairly, but they don’t all end up rotten to the core like the man sitting in front of me. They don’t all use people. They don’t inflict pain on others when they’re hurting.
Which is why I stand up and deliver the final blow with no guilt or shame.
“You’re not the only one with secrets. You didn’t know about the pregnancy because Isabella didn’t tell you. Neither did she tell you that her dad is paying your boyfriend to disappear.”
“My…” The color leaches from his face. “You’re lying.”
I swear Terry growls from the corner of the room, but I don’t look at him.
“If I am, you have nothing to worry about.” I turn and walk to the door.
“They don’t know about Will.” His voice is shrill. “Who told them? Was it these fuckers keeping me prisoner here?”
I almost pity him when I see the dull despair in his eyes. Almost. “No, George. You just did.” I don’t look back.
“Remy get back here.” I hear the chair legs scraping across the floor as he tries to follow me. “Remy! I swear to God if you—”
The door closes behind me, shutting Terry inside with him.
I lean against the wall, shaking now that it is over.
“Oh my God, Remy.” Isabella is in front of me. “You were awesome.”
My legs give way with the adrenaline crash, and Isabella helps me sit down on the floor. “Did you get it?”
She nods and waves her cell phone in front of my face. “Every goddamned word.”