Chapter Nine #2
“I’m your worst nightmare,” I snarl, tightening my grip until his face goes red. Then I fling him across the table, powder exploding in the air like snow.
“Who are you working for?” I demand, snatching up the heavy block he’d been cutting. I wave it in his face like proof of his sins.
He scrambles backward on the floor, palms slipping. “This ain’t nothing to do with the Demons, bro! I swear––”
“I know.” I hook his ankle and drag him back like dead weight. “I’m not here for the coke.” I drop into a crouch, my voice dropping lower, darker. “I’m here about Remi.”
His eyes flicker, confusion creasing his brow. “Remi?”
“Cute little thing. Brown hair. Yea high.” I lift my hand to mark her height, my glare never breaking. “The last time you saw her, she was asleep on Roxy’s couch.”
Recognition hits. He pales, all colour draining. “Hey, she . . . she started it.”
“She was asleep.” My voice is sharp.
“She didn’t say no––”
My fist slams into the wall beside his head, rattling plaster and making him flinch.
“She. Was. Asleep.”
“She was up for it, I swear.”
The words make my blood boil. I inhale deep, steadying myself before climbing over him. His eyes widen in confusion as I shove his shirt up. The scrape of steel rings out as I pull my knife free.
He thrashes instantly.
“Listen,” I snarl, smashing my fist across his jaw. His head snaps sideways, blood spraying. He’s trembling, chest heaving like a trapped animal.
“Lay here and take it,” I growl, pressing the knife tip into his skin until it dimples, “or I’ll kill you.”
Terror fills his gaze. His breath comes in ragged bursts, too fast, too loud.
“Now,” I drag the edge just enough to break skin, crimson beading, “do you need something to bite down on?”
He shakes his head frantically.
“Good. Then hold still.”
I etch the blade into his pale stomach, scratching slow, deliberate curves. He whimpers, tears streaking down into the dirt.
“I’m gonna ask again, Dean,” I hiss. “Who the fuck are you cutting for?”
“The Steels,” he chokes, the word breaking on a sob.
“Shame.” I straighten, shrugging like it’s nothing, admiring the fresh red letters carved into his flesh. “This day is about to get so much worse for you.”
“What are you doing?” Her voice cuts the air like a gunshot.
I whip around. Remi stands in the doorway, helmet still on, visor down, just like I instructed. The sound is muffled, but I’d know that voice anywhere.
Fuck.
“What are you doing?” she repeats, stepping closer.
“Out,” I bark, harsher than I mean to. “Now.”
Her chin tips up defiantly beneath the helmet. “I’m not leaving until you tell me what the hell this is.”
Behind me, the guy whimpers, blood seeping into the floorboards, the carved letters across his stomach raw and red. I can smell the copper in the air.
“Is that . . .” She peers closer. “Jesus, what the fuck have you done?”
I step towards her, blocking her view with my body, and grip her arm.
“You don’t belong here,” I say low, almost pleading now.
Her eyes flash. “Too late. I’ve already seen it.”
“I need help,” Dean croaks from behind me. “Please.”
I roll my eyes, turning back on him, and he flinches. “Seriously, it’s a fucking flesh wound. A scar for you to remember.”
“Remember what?” he asks, his voice trembling.
Remi yanks the helmet off, her hair tumbling loose as she peers closer. “No means no,” she reads from his stomach. Her face pales, but there’s something burning under the surface as her eyes find mine. “Holy shit, you carved it into his skin.”
“You did what?” he screeches, almost breaking his neck to look at his bleeding stomach.
“Now we’re all up to date, let’s move forward,” I say, snatching up the coke brick and sticking it up my jacket. “You let your boss know I came by and I’m not happy with his rule breaking.”
“You can’t take my shit, man, they’ll kill me,” he cries.
Remi
Shadow turns to me with a stern expression. “I gave very clear instructions,” he says, his eyes burning with fury. He takes my helmet and places it on the top of my head. “When I give an order, you follow it.” He bashes the top of the helmet, and it slips down over my face effortlessly.
I lift the visor. “I kept the helmet on . . . well, for the most part.”
He slips his hand in mine, threading our fingers together. The simple motion causes a fluttering in my stomach, and I fight my smile because this isn’t the time to swoon over the grumpy biker.
“Stay on the bike,” he repeats. “That’s what I said.”
His strides are long, and I run to keep up. “Will they really kill him?” I ask, lowering my voice as we pass the security guard.
“Do you care?” Shadow demands.
We step out into the fresh air. “Well, I haven’t really thought about it.”
“He put his hands on you,” he reminds me, slowing as we get to the bike. “Get on,” he barks.
I watch as he slides his leg over and grips the handlebars, staring straight ahead while waiting for me to follow his order. “You’re angry,” I state.
“Very.” He grates the word out.
“Should you drive when you’re this mad?”
He inhales deeply, like he’s trying to gain some kind of control over his anger. “Remi, get on the bike.”
“It’s just, you took so long, and I was getting hungry . . .” I trail off when he finally glares in my direction. His patience is wearing thin, so I slide onto the bike behind him, careful not to get too close.
He pushes his own helmet on and then reaches his hands back, gripping me behind the knees and pulling me closer. I can’t help the smile as he then grabs my arms and pulls them around his waist tightly.
“You really didn’t have to do that for me,” I murmur, glancing back at the warehouse.
“He shouldn’t have touched you,” he says, his voice startling me through the helmet.
He starts the bike and rolls out into traffic.
“Will he call the police?”
“And say what? That he attacked you, so I gave him a few scratches?”
I smile. “Well, when you put it like that.”
We ride in silence, and I take the time to give myself a much-needed pep talk. For a start, this guy is helping me out. He isn’t trying to date me, and so the swooning and the indecent thoughts I keep having, need to stop.
As the bike slows, I feel his hand trace along my forearm. I frown, wondering if he realises, and then he gently takes me by the wrist, and I feel cold metal slipping around it.
“What the hell?” I try to retrieve my limb, but it’s no use, he’s cuffed me. “Shadow, you can’t be serious.”
“Logan,” he corrects, slipping from the bike. He secures the other cuff to the bike, then removes his helmet. “Now, stay.” He winks before heading off into the building.
I sit seething, my anger swelling with each breath.
There I was thinking he was . . . oh god, that he was being cute stroking my arm, and actually, he just needed me close so he could cuff me to his damn bike.
And the cuffs. They bring back so many nightmares that I daren’t even allow one to creep in to my head.
He heads back towards me a few minutes later, looking pleased with himself. I’m glad I’m wearing the helmet so he can’t see how embarrassed I am.
He climbs on and removes the cuff. I snatch my hand back, rubbing where the metal pressed into my skin. When he starts the engine, I reach behind myself to grab on to the bars, and I feel him chuckle, like he expected the move. Bastard.