Chapter 3 – Thiago
Three
Thiago
We pull up to what looks like a large warehouse with wide metal doors stretched across the front.
I barely cut the engine before Remi is out of the truck without a word.
Unbuckling my seat belt, I climb out after her.
The rain is barely a mist at this point, but the cold cuts straight through my wet clothes the second my boots hit the pavement.
She glances over her shoulder before continuing toward a side door as though she’s already decided I’ll follow.
I remind myself to be patient. The first time I saw her picture, the night she was assigned to me back in Texas, something told me she’d be…
complicated. Less than an hour in her presence has proven I seriously underestimated her.
She already pointed a Glock at my chest without the slightest hesitation, and everything about the way she handled that weapon told me it wasn’t panic that made her draw.
She watched my hands instead of my face, controlled the distance between us, and never once let the muzzle drift.
Those aren’t instincts you pick up at a gun range on the weekends.
Her file warned me she was dangerous, but it never mentioned how disciplined she was.
Remi presses her thumb against a small panel beside a heavy steel door.
A green light flashes, and she pulls it open.
The lights overhead flicker on one by one as we step inside.
She moves differently once we’re through the door.
Her attention shifts to every corner and exit we pass, taking stock of the space before continuing deeper into the building.
That answers one question. Whatever training Remi has goes far beyond knowing how to handle a gun.
The corridor opens into a larger space with a bar, a low sofa, and enough entertainment to keep someone occupied for hours.
“This is nice,” I say, taking it all in.
As expected, she doesn’t answer. She simply gives me a look that tells me she knows I’m only trying to keep the conversation going.
I don’t bother trying again.
She slips out of her jacket and drapes it over the back of a chair, revealing intricate black ink that winds from her shoulders to her wrists.
The tattoos suit her. Nothing about Remi feels accidental; from the way she carries herself and sizes up a person to the art she’s chosen to wear on her skin.
Rain still glistens in the loose strands of her hair, and her shirt clings to her frame, but she never bothers smoothing it down or checking her reflection. It’s as if none of it crosses her mind.
Most people want to be seen. Remi only seems interested in seeing everyone else.
“I’ll be right back,” she says before disappearing up the spiral staircase.
She doesn’t strike me as the type to bring a random man home, and while this place has everything someone could need, it doesn’t feel completely lived in.
The air carries the faint scent of oil and metal with something heavier beneath it. I remember the oversized doors at the front of the building. Between the smell, the layout, and the way she handled herself under the hood, I’m willing to bet there’s a garage on the other side.
“A tow truck is already en route.”
I turn toward the staircase. She’s halfway down, tugging a black hoodie over a fitted tank top. The movement is quick, but not quick enough to hide the outline beneath it before the fabric falls into place.
“Hopefully, they get to it before someone else,” she says, making her way behind the bar.
“Yeah, that car wouldn’t last past sunrise out there.”
She shrugs as she cracks open an energy drink.
“I’d find it.” She says it with the same certainty as when she told me she had it handled earlier.
There’s no threat behind the words because, to her, it’s already a fact.
“I obviously don’t have dry clothes for you to change into, but I can toss your shirt in the dryer for a few minutes. ”
I reach for the hem, then stop. “Is this all right?”
“I offered, didn’t I?”
I should’ve expected that answer. Pulling the shirt over my head, I hand it to her. Her eyes make one quick pass over me before she turns away. No pretending she didn’t look, and no interest in looking twice.
I’m not sure which one surprises me more.
“So what do you do, Thiago?” she asks when she comes back. “Other than spending your Friday nights at the gym and forgetting your phone.”
“I just got to Philly a couple of weeks ago. I work downtown, mostly behind a desk for now until I get my bearings.”
Remi tosses me a beer without asking, and I catch it one-handed.
Her eyes narrow. “You don’t really seem like a desk guy.”
I chuckle, shifting on the stool and pretending to get comfortable when, really, I’m trying not to topple off the damn thing.
“I won’t be for long. It’s just a transition thing.”
“Ah,” she says, sounding almost bored as she brings the can to her lips. “And where did you move from?”
“Houston. I lived in Texas most of my life. After my father died, my aunt took me in.”
She doesn’t offer condolences, and I’m grateful for it. I stopped knowing what to do with people’s sympathy a long time ago.
“Texas, huh? I had a feeling.”
“Yeah? You ever been there?”
“No, but my—” She cuts herself off with a long drink. “I haven’t.”
Whatever she almost told me stays buried, and I know better than to push when I’m finally getting somewhere with her.
“Can I ask you something?”
“You’re going to ask anyway.”
“Why did you change your mind back there? Why did you decide to come with me after all?”
She gives me a long look before setting her drink on the counter and rounding the bar.
Instead of keeping the distance between us, she drags the stool beside mine closer and takes a seat.
Under the brighter lights, I finally get a good look at the woman I’ve spent the last few weeks studying in photographs.
Her eyes catch me first. I’d seen the blue in her file and caught flashes of it through the rain, but neither came close to seeing them from a few feet away. They’re striking against her black hair and the dark olive tone of her skin. I spend a second longer looking than I should.
And then there’s her mouth, painted a deep red that somehow survived the rain.
“You weren’t supposed to stick around,” she says. “So...why did you?”
“It was late. You were alone, without a phone. Vulnerable...”
She rolls her eyes.
“You know what I mean. What kind of man would I be if I just left you there?”
“The kind that doesn’t know me,” she shoots back. “So they wouldn’t care.”
“Knowing you wasn’t a requirement.”
She reaches over and steals my beer, taking a drink like it already belongs to her.
“I didn’t need you to do that for me—”
I let out a dry laugh.
“Most people would just say thank you.”
“Most people wouldn’t interrupt in the middle of me trying to say thank you.”
I reach for my bottle, but she’s quicker, pulling it out of reach.
“You’re really fucking huge, Thiago. Do you live at the gym?”
I shake my head as she hides a smile behind the rim of the bottle.
“I wouldn’t say I live there. I like knowing my body can do what I ask of it. I like to be ready.”
“Ready for what? War?”
“I hope not.” I tip my head toward her. “I’d rather spend years preparing for something that never happens than need those years and not have them.”
She takes another sip before nodding. “I guess I can respect that,” she says, looking away from me. “And I heard sitting behind a desk can be life or death.”
I catch another smirk she tries to hide.
“Was that supposed to be a joke?”
“Maybe.”
I’m still smiling when she drains the bottle and steps off the stool, heading toward a side door.
She doesn’t ask me to follow, but considering she hasn’t kicked me out yet, I take my chances.
We’re halfway across the room when it hits me that I haven’t thought about the assignment in several minutes.
That realization puts my attention back where it belongs.
I take in the space as we enter the garage.
Bright honeycomb lights glow overhead, reflecting off the gunmetal epoxy floor.
Three custom builds sit lined up near the doors I noticed earlier, and off to the right, a black Demon rests on a lift, stripped down enough to tell me it’s in the middle of a rebuild.
Remi heads straight for the cars without checking where I am. For the first time tonight, she's not watching every move I make.
“So you do know your way around an engine. I’m impressed.”
She rolls her eyes again, but the smile stays as she walks past me. “I’m insulted you doubted me in the first place. You think I’d be out in the rain under the hood for fun?”
“No, I suppose not.” I trail after her. “Is this what you do? Fix cars?”
“I don’t own a public garage or anything. This is for me.”
Her hand glides over a bright green Supra.
“That’s one hell of a car. And that GT-R back there...whew.”
“I brought this one back from the dead a few years ago,” she says. “But it isn’t mine. I’m just keeping her safe for someone I care about.”
I don’t ask who. The way she touches the car tells me enough.
This is the part Elena’s file couldn’t give me. I knew where Remi lived, where she worked, who she spent her time with, and enough of her history to recognize the names that mattered. But standing here with her is already showing me how much simple words on paper can leave out.
“I think your shirt is dry enough now,” Remi says.
“Kicking me out, huh?”
“You can leave on your own, or I can help. Your choice.”
That sounds more like the woman who held me at gunpoint less than two hours ago.
I nod once. “Message received.”
Five minutes later, I’m standing beside my truck, turning the night over in my head. We didn’t exchange numbers, she didn’t invite me back, and she still doesn’t trust me.
She has no reason to.
I press the key fob, but before I can climb in, the large garage door behind me begins to rise. The low rumble of a motorcycle follows as Remi rolls to a stop a few feet away and flips up her visor.
“One more thing, Texas.”
I grin despite myself. “What’s that?”
“Don’t come back around here.”
For some reason, hearing her say it bothers me. But she doesn’t wait for an answer. Her visor drops into place, and a second later, she’s gone. I watch her taillight disappear down the road before climbing into my truck.
She told me not to come back, but that’s going to be a problem.