Chapter 10 – Remi
Ten
Remi
Ilean over the engine bay, lollipop shifting between my teeth as I tighten the last coil pack and step back. I’ve been at this for hours…maybe. I lost track of time two playlists ago.
“Come on,” I mutter, wiping my hands on a rag already stained beyond saving. “Don’t start this shit with me.”
Tearing open the door, I drop into the seat, turning the key while silently praying to a higher power.
“This is it.”
The GT-R fires up, smooth for a second, then stutters.
Again.
“God-fucking-damnit!”
I squeeze my eyes shut and exhale through my nose before climbing back out and heading under the hood.
“Pick a problem and stick with it, Remi,” I mutter as I pull the coil back out. “You already fucked up once.”
The lollipop taps against my teeth as I inspect the plug, turning it between my fingers and searching for anything that explains the stutter. Everything looks fine. Of course it does.
What the fuck am I missing?
I swap it anyway, grabbing another from the tray and pushing it in harder than necessary before snapping the coil back into place. I know I’m using too much force, but I don’t stop. I’m too wired, too frustrated, and too disappointed in myself.
Thiago is no one. This isn’t about him. And if he knows what’s good for him, he’ll stay away, and I’ll never see him again.
No. This is all me.
“Either work or don’t,” I mutter, tightening everything down. “Don’t play games with me.”
I slam the hood and slide into the driver’s seat again. The engine catches, running smoothly for two breaths before the same uneven break in rhythm returns, like one cylinder is just off enough to throw everything else out of sync.
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
At this rate, I’m going to turn the steering wheel to dust. My grip eventually eases as I listen to the inconsistent stutter, trying to figure out what the hell I’m missing.
I press the lollipop against my cheek and lean forward until my forehead touches the steering wheel.
“Get it together,” I mutter. “It’s a fucking coil. It’s not that deep.”
Except I know it’s not just the coil.
It’s the way his mouth felt against mine, the way I shoved him away, only to pull him right back and kiss him myself.
Absolutely not.
“Bad idea, Remi. Real bad.”
I push out of the car and pop the hood again, ripping the coil out like it personally offended me.
“You don’t get to show up, kiss me, and then…”
My jaw clenches when I realize I’m arguing with a man who isn’t even here.
“Yeah. No. We’re not doing this.”
I grab another even though I already know the damn thing isn’t the problem and shove it into place.
“Fix the car,” I tell myself. “That’s it. That’s the job.”
I drop into the driver’s seat and turn the fucking key. The engine catches, and I hold my breath, waiting for it to screw with me again.
One second. Two. Three.
“Fuuuuuck.”
That same goddamn stutter. I sink against the seat with a frustrated laugh, pull the lollipop from my mouth, and toss it somewhere behind me.
“Of course. Why the fuck would anything be easy tonight?”
“Remi?” Papá calls over the music I didn’t even realize was still playing.
I must really be off my game if I didn’t notice him walk in. He’s standing beside the hood with a warm smile as he reaches over and switches off the speaker, leaving the garage painfully quiet.
Without the music filling my head, everything I’ve been trying not to think about comes rushing back. I grip the gear shift until the pressure against my palm gives me something else to focus on. Once I trust myself to move without losing my shit, I climb out.
“Princesa, I called you five times.”
“Why? Is someone dead? Dying?” I ask, grabbing a rag and wiping the oil and soot from my hands and forearms.
“Not yet.” He smirks and opens his arms for a hug.
“I’m filthy. I’ll ruin your jacket.”
He doesn’t care. He pulls me against his chest anyway, and I wrap my arms around him, resting my cheek against a place that has felt safe for as long as I can remember.
My father has never asked me to make myself easier for anyone else to understand. I’ve never had to be quieter around him or pretend to be the daughter anyone expected him to have. Whatever version of myself I brought home, he loved her.
The criminal underworld may know him as Kai Cain, a former contract assassin for Ares and The Six whose name still carries weight decades later. I just know him as Papá.
“Let’s go for a ride.”
I look up at him. It’s been a while since we’ve gone on one together.
He’s the reason I fell in love with engines and speed in the first place.
I remember sitting beside him as a kid, fascinated as I watched him work and wanting to be just like him.
It was one of the few things that could hold my attention for hours.
Some of my favorite memories are of the two of us riding the back roads with nowhere we needed to be.
“Really?”
I’m not even on my bike yet, and the idea already sounds like exactly what I need.
“Yeah. I’ll give you some time to get cleaned up and meet you out front.”
When the door closes behind him, I turn back to my car and grimace. “Later, you and I have a bone to pick.”