42. Remy
REMY
I chuginstant coffee in a quiet corner of the wake room, vainly attempting to dilute my hangover.
What I really want is to get out of here, but Bishop refuses to give me a ride home until my sister approves of the departure, and said sister claims we all need to stay a while longer to show our support.
She even stole my fucking phone like a toddler and said I wouldn’t get it back until I could be trusted not to escape in an Uber.
Matthew enters my line of vision, the crowd parting around him as if aware of his reputation. He catches sight of me and pivots in my direction. A man on a mission I don’t have the faintest desire to be a part of.
He approaches and stands beside me, taking in the room with cautious eyes. “You’ve got a problem.”
I tense, not only at his words but the exuded hostility. “What is it?”
“Some guy looked like he was threatening your woman.”
My pulse increases, the need to act gripping me around the throat. “Where is she?”
“Sitting outside on a park bench, gently rocking back and forth like an escaped mental patient.”
I press a clenched fist to my mouth. I don’t have the strength for this. To stay away when she fucking needs me. “Is she safe?”
Matthew nods. “Lorenzo is keeping an eye on her.”
“And the guy?”
He jerks his chin toward the restrooms where Bishop stands guard at the door, his expression characteristically hostile, the brutal scar across his right cheek not helping his unwelcoming demeanor. “He’s using the facilities.”
I dump my coffee cup on a nearby table.
Ollie might not want me getting involved, but if she doesn’t know about it then no harm, no foul. Right?
“Wait.” Matthew grabs the crook of my arm. “You might need this.” He discreetly slides something metallic into my hand. “It beats firing a gun.”
My pulse increases as I glide my thumb over one of his blades, the green light to violence making me feel somewhat whole again.
“Bishop and I can keep watch at the door.” He jerks his chin toward the bathroom. “Go have some fun.”
I slide the weapon into my pocket and stalk across the room, my anger volatile as I make my way around waitstaff and mourners.
Bishop eyes my approach. “I’ve been informed that the restrooms are about to have a plumbing issue. Nobody will be coming in or out.”
I incline my head and shove into the male toilet, the door swinging shut behind me.
An elderly gentleman stands at the basins, washing his hands.
I take an educated guess that Father Time isn’t the culprit and ignore him as he walks from the bathroom. Once the door shuts behind him I round the cubicles to find a guy a few inches shorter than me at the urinals, pulling up his fly.
A guy I recognize from his background check.
He hums a cheerful tune as he walks past without looking my way, then washes up.
“Hugo,” I drawl in greeting.
He stiffens, the jovial hum cut short. He glances at me over his shoulder and slowly wrenches the tap. “Yeah?”
I offer a welcoming smile and casually stroll toward him. “We haven’t met.” I offer a hand. “I’m Remy Costa.”
He turns to me, glancing from my face to my hand, then back again as he wipes his wet palms on his suit pants. “Hey.” He takes my offering and squeezes my fingers—hard—as if trying to win an ego contest.
I can’t help huffing a laugh.
First he threatens Ollie. Then he’s humming. Now the disrespectful handshake.
I tighten my grip and step forward, slamming my free arm across his collarbone, adding pressure to force him scrambling backward.
“Wait. Stop. Hold up.” He wrenches his hand free and grabs at my wrist. “What are you doing?”
“I heard we’ve got something in common.” I slam him into the wall. “Ollie,” I state simply. “It seems we both have a habit of upsetting her. But I’m told you chose to do it on purpose.”
“We were just talking.” He glares. “I didn’t even touch her.”
Didn’t. Even. Touch. Her.
I cluck my tongue at his misplaced confidence. “Do you know who I am, Hugo?”
He’s defiantly silent for long seconds. Then finally, he nods. “You’re Remy Costa.”
“And do you know what I am?”
He remains quiet, his nostrils flaring.
He knows.
“I’m glad you’re familiar.” I smile. “But do you want to know what’s more important than my name, or even my reputation, at this point?”
His jaw hardens.
“It’s my mental state, Hugo. And right now, I can feel myself nosediving toward horrifically violent psychosis. You see, I don’t like when lowlife pieces of shit mess with those I care about.” I inch closer. “And I assure you, I care about nobody more than Ollie.”
“We’ve got history.” He pushes at my arm. “I was only relaying a message.”
I shove him harder against the wall. “What message?”
“That’s between me and her.”
I retrieve the blade from my pocket and press it to his abdomen, earning a hiss. “That’s where you’re wro?—”
The bathroom door opens, and I stiffen.
Bishop strolls in, eyeing us with indifference as he continues past to the urinals.
Are you fucking kidding me?
There’s a grate of a zipper, then the unmistakable sound of liquid splatter as he takes a piss.
I shoot a glare over my shoulder. “Seriously?”
“Nature calls.” He shrugs. “Don’t worry, princess, your brother is keeping watch.”
I drag my attention back to Hugo’s confused expression. “I’m afraid that nosedive of my mental state just gained some traction. If I were you, I’d hurry up and tell me what you said to her.”
He glances from me to Bishop and back again. “Come on, man. I’m not scared of you. There’s a room full of people on the other side of that door. One shout from me, and they’ll come running.”
I fake surprise, all raised brows and wide eyes. “Oh, shit. I should’ve thought of that. Please don’t shout, Hugo. I wouldn’t want to get caught.”
“Don’t listen to him, champ.” Bishop’s personal rendition of a waterfall trickles to a stop, followed by another grate of a zipper. “I’d be screaming for my life if I were you.”
Hugo scoffs.
“Do it.” Bishop approaches to stop beside me, giving Hugo a friendly pat on the cheek, and the guy winces away from his unwashed hands. “Scream like a little bitch while you still can.” He maneuvers around me, making his way to the basins. “I love when they mistakenly have faith that the greater good will save them.”
“I love when they don’t waste my time.” I add pressure to the blade at his abdomen, feeling the resistance of flesh against steel.
Hugo raises his chin and opens his mouth. “Hel?—”
I cut off his shout with a left hook to the gut.
He doubles over, gasping for breath.
“I would’ve aimed for the throat,” Bishop drawls. “But you do you, tiger.”
I clench my teeth. “Can you fuck right off?”
“Throw a guy a bone.” He cocks his hip against the basin, settling in. “This is the most action I’ve seen in months.”
“Fuck you,” Hugo rasps. “You’ve got no idea what I know.”
I turn back to him. “Exactly, asshole. That’s why you’re in this predicament.”
His upper lip curls as he straightens, breaths wheezing from his lips. “I fucking own you, Costa. You and your little hypocritical whore.”
“Oh, shit.” Bishop snickers. “I do believe he just dug his own grave.”
“I agree,” I snarl.
“You can’t kill me,” Hugo brags. “I know too much. I’ve got an entire phone full of evidence?—”
I launch a jab at his throat, feeling the crack of cartilage, gaining a hit of euphoria as his mouth widens in search of breath that can’t be claimed. “I can and will kill you, motherfucker.”
“See?” Bishop drawls. “I told you the throat was a better option.”
I rummage through Hugo’s pockets in search of his cell while he desperately claws at his throat. He doesn’t protest when I retrieve it from the front of his pants, the struggle for breath consuming his attention.
“Why don’t we trade?” Bishop pulls a filled syringe from the inside of his suit jacket, the needle covered with a bright orange protector. “I can handle his so-called evidence while you give him this.”
I hold the cell up to Hugo’s face until the screen unlocks. “What’s in it?”
“Enough sedative to take down an elephant.”
I raise my brows, impressed. “And you just happen to have this on you?” I hand the phone to Bishop and take the syringe, removing the plastic protector with my teeth.
“At all times. You never know when you’ll get the opportunity to surprise a spaced prick who dares to play fuck-around-and-find-out.”
I spit out the plastic and grab Hugo’s jaw as he panics for breath, his face sickeningly pale. People will learn of what I’m about to do. They’ll understand that I’d only known of a verbal threat to Ollie, and that slight intimidation was enough for this man to forfeit his life.
The world will hear how I protect her.
How I cherish her.
Even if she’s not mine.
I stab the needle into Hugo’s thigh and plunge the liquid into his system.
His eyes widen to saucers. His mouth continues to gape like he’s a beached fish.
“Well,” I drawl. “Consider this spaced prick well and truly surprised.”