Chapter 2 – Remi
Two
Remi
Rain pours between us, soaking him just as much as me, but he doesn’t even flinch. He slowly raises both hands, careful with every movement, like he understands exactly why I’m pointing a gun at him and has no intention of giving me a reason to pull the trigger.
My grip tightens as I take him in properly.
He’s tall as hell, with shoulders broad enough to block the rain and a build that looks more suited to carrying trucks than driving them.
His once-white athletic shirt clings to his body, outlining enough muscle to make me wonder if he has a gym membership or a second mortgage paying for protein powder.
“Funny,” I say. “You don’t look like roadside assistance.”
The corner of his mouth twitches as he brushes curls back from his forehead.
“Didn’t think I did. But you look like you’re having a rough night.”
“No, I look like someone you should’ve announced yourself to before walking up behind.”
His eyes move between me and the barrel of my Glock, but he still doesn’t seem particularly concerned about the possibility of catching a bullet. I’ve met plenty of men whose sense of right and wrong shifts whenever it suits them, and I haven’t figured out where his lines are yet.
Either he’s exactly who he claims to be, or he has one hell of a poker face.
“Fair. But I promise I’m not here to hurt you. I was just passing by and saw you stranded with your hood up.”
“Yeah?” I tilt my head without lowering the gun. “That’s exactly what a serial killer would say.”
He laughs. “I walked right into that one.”
I don’t budge, even as the cold sinks deeper with every gust of wind. At this point, he can probably see the outline of the diamonds piercing my nipples, which is just fucking great.
“Let me use your phone,” I say.
He shakes his head, sending water from the ends of his curls.
“I was at the gym and left it in my locker. That’s why I’m out here in this weather. I was heading back to grab it.”
I narrow my eyes.
“That sounds like very convenient bullshit.”
He raises his hands another inch.
“I know. I can see how this looks. But I couldn’t just drive past you. Besides, I’m cold as fuck, and I wouldn’t mind getting out of the rain.”
“No shit. You look like a drowned bodybuilder.”
For a second, I consider taking his truck, but that still leaves me with the problem of what to do with him. I glance toward the empty stretch of highway, then look at him again.
“Turn around,” I tell him, motioning with my pistol. “All the way.”
He hesitates before complying, turning in a slow circle and giving me a clear enough view to confirm he isn’t carrying.
Remi, you better not regret this.
I lower my weapon but keep it in my hand.
“A GT-R,” he says, sounding a little more relaxed. “Nice. Want me to take a look?”
“No. I’ve got it.”
He nods once. “Okay. I respect that.”
I almost roll my eyes. Most men hear I’ve got it and treat it like a personal challenge.
“I don’t have my lamp, so I need you to hold this flashlight for me. Think you can manage that without getting shot, Mr. Maybe Serial Killer?”
He laughs, and my attention drops to his mouth before I catch myself. I’m not fucking blind. The man is ridiculously attractive, but that doesn’t mean I’m stupid enough to trust a pretty face.
I holster my Glock and bend over the engine again, handing him the flashlight as he moves beside me.
“Hold it steady.”
He adjusts the beam exactly where I need it without trying to take over, which earns him at least one point in his favor.
I lean closer, using the better angle to inspect the areas I couldn’t see clearly before.
“Fuck,” I mutter as I reach deeper and run my fingers along the fuel line, checking the connections by touch.
“It’s starving.”
“What?”
“Fuel. It’s not feeding right.”
I follow the line toward the rail, searching for anything the impact might have knocked loose, but I come up empty this time too.
“It held through the run,” I say, thinking out loud. “Then it started cutting after the hit. The throttle was hesitating, too.”
“Sounds expensive.”
I look at him. “Everything about this car is expensive.”
His mouth twitches, but I’m already over the engine again.
“Could be the fuel pump, or the line isn’t holding pressure.”
I check the housing one last time before accepting what I already know. I can’t fix this on the shoulder of the road with no way to properly test the fuel system.
“Can you fix it?” he asks, as if reading my thoughts.
“Not tonight.”
That leaves me with one very expensive paperweight sitting on the side of the highway. He steps closer and adjusts the flashlight.
“You have any idea what you’re looking at, or are you just trying to impress me?”
“Not nearly as much as you do,” he admits. “I’m Thiago, by the way.”
I pause at the name. It’s not one I hear every day, and I wonder where it’s from before reminding myself that curiosity isn’t the same thing as trust.
Trusting a man built like a freight train who appeared out of nowhere in the middle of the night would be a questionable decision under any circumstances.
Unfortunately, neither of us has a phone, my GT-R isn’t going anywhere, and his truck is the only way I’m getting off this shoulder before sunrise.
“Well, Thiago, I might take you up on that whole not leaving me stranded thing.”
He smiles. “Good. I was starting to think you were going to shoot me and steal my truck.”
“Don’t tempt me.” I glance toward the dark silhouette parked a few yards behind him. “There’s still plenty of time for you to fuck this up.”
He doesn’t seem fazed. Either he thinks I’m joking, or he’s the worst judge of character I’ve ever met.
I step back and let the hood slam shut.
“All right,” I say. “Let’s go.”
He reaches for my toolkit, and we make a run for his truck as the rain comes down even harder, our boots splashing through puddles. By the time we climb inside, we’re both drenched.
The storm becomes a muffled roar when I close the passenger door. I’m not surprised. It’s exactly the kind of feature a serial killer would appreciate.
Thiago starts the engine and cranks the heat.
“That should help warm you up,” he says before reaching behind my seat.
My hand goes straight to my Glock, but instead of trying to strangle me, he holds out a folded white towel.
I stare at it, then look at him.
“I promise it’s clean. I always keep extras for when I work out.”
“Thanks,” I mutter, taking it and feeling a little dramatic for nearly pulling a gun on him again.
“Where to?”
I’m already pushing my luck by sitting in a stranger’s truck. There’s no fucking way I’m giving him my address, too.
Mamá would kill me if she knew.
“There’s a gas station at the next exit. They should have a phone I can use.”
He pauses for a second and nods.
“Sure,” he says, pulling back onto the road.
Several minutes pass before I catch him glancing my way.
“Can I ask your name?”
“What difference would it make?”
He clicks his tongue. “Well, I gave you mine.”
“I didn’t ask.”
His eyes crease with amusement. “Are you always like this, or is it because you think I’m about to veer off and drag you into the woods?”
My fingers slip into my jacket pocket before I even realize what I’m doing. They find Papá’s signet ring, and I roll it between my thumb and forefinger, tracing the grooves carved into the metal.
Thiago’s attention drops briefly to my hand before returning to the road.
“Hey,” he says. “I’m not...That’s not what I meant.”
“You were right back there,” I cut in. “I am having a rough night. And in case you couldn’t tell, I’m not the kind of woman who gets into trucks with strangers.” I turn toward him. “I pulled a gun on you, Thiago. I don’t carry it for show.”
“Understood.”
The conversation dies there, but my brain refuses to follow. I think about AJ leaving tomorrow, my GT-R sitting on the shoulder, and whether I remembered to lock my toolbox before Thiago tossed it into the back seat.
My thumb continues over the grooves in the ring until I can focus on one thought at a time again.
When the gas station comes into view a few minutes later, a small part of me almost feels bad for being so cold to someone who stopped to help.
Almost, but not enough to regret it.
I don’t owe him a damn thing for something he chose to do. I don’t owe him a smile, my trust, or even common courtesy before I’ve decided he’s earned it.
We pull into the dimly lit lot where two cars idle at the pumps while another sits a few spaces away. Thiago leaves the engine running and taps his thumbs against the steering wheel, like there’s something he wants to say.
I decide to save him the trouble.
“Thank you for stopping and driving me out here...and for not dragging me into the woods.”
“I was already soaked down to my socks, and my ego’s a little bruised. Figured I shouldn’t add a bullet wound to tonight’s tally.”
Before Thiago can catch me smiling, I push open the door.
“Remi,” I say as I step out into the rain. “My name is Remi.”
He looks up, but I close the door before he can respond and head toward the mart without looking back.
A few years ago, I probably would’ve asked for his number. These days, getting into his truck was already further than I would have usually let him get.
“What can I help you with, sweetheart?”
The clerk looks to be in his seventies, too old to be working the night shift at a run-down gas station. His kind brown eyes remind me of Abuelo Antonio, so I let the endearment slide.
“Do you happen to have a phone I can use?”
“Of course—”
“You can use mine.”
A man in a faded blue hoodie appears from one of the aisles with a bag of chips in one hand and a forty-ounce in the other. He flashes me a grin as he approaches, ignoring every reasonable boundary of personal space. Stale cigarettes and cheap liquor reach me before he does.
“I’ve got something for you in my front pocket, pretty girl.” His words slur together. “Better yet, come home with me. I’ll get you out of those wet clothes.”
I give him a moment to reconsider whatever the fuck he thinks he’s doing.
He doesn’t.
“No, thanks.” I turn back to the clerk. “Could I still use that phone?”
Apparently, being ignored isn’t enough to discourage him because he steps closer.
“Come on. Don’t be like that.”
His sour breath turns my stomach.
“I said no.”
“You don’t mean that.”
His hand starts to lift, like he’s thinking about touching my arm, but he’s about to learn how much I fucking mean it. I shift my weight, already deciding how to put him on his ass without breaking anything important. Jail sounds exhausting tonight.
“What the fuck did you just say to her?”
I hear Thiago before I see him, and so does the drunk. His grin disappears as his attention moves past me.
“Hey, I’m sorry, man,” he says quickly. “Didn’t know she was yours. Can’t let a pretty little thing like her walk around alone.”
His eyes drag over me again, and I resist the urge to spit.
Thiago steps between us. “Back up.”
There’s nothing easy about his voice anymore.
“I didn’t touch her.”
“I said back up.”
The guy hesitates, then stumbles away. I leave them to it and push through the door, stepping outside into what’s left of the rain. By the time I reach the truck, the downpour has faded to a light drizzle.
I wait beside the passenger door until Thiago comes out a few seconds later and unlocks it.
“Why were you still here?” I ask once we’re both inside.
“You think I was just going to drive off without making sure you were okay? I noticed that asshole the moment you walked in.”
I stare at him, unsure what to do with that. He doesn’t know me. I’m just someone he met by the road, and he still stayed because he noticed something was off and wanted to make sure I walked back out.
I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself, always have been. But the fact that any of it mattered to him gets to me more than I want it to.
“I guess he should thank you, then.”
Thiago looks at me. “Him?”
“Yeah. He was about to have a worse night than I was.”
He shakes his head, but this time, he’s smiling.
“You’re scary, you know that, Remi?”
I roll my eyes at how quickly he takes advantage of finally knowing my name, but I can’t completely deny that I like hearing him say it.
“Good,” I say. “That means you’re paying attention.”
He starts the engine.
“Were you able to get in contact with someone?”
“Change of plans.” I say it before I can question why I’m suddenly willing to spend another minute in this man’s truck. Maybe I’ll regret it tomorrow, but he stayed when he didn’t have to, and not once has he acted like helping me earned him anything in return.
Ryuji would’ve stayed, too.