Chapter 22 – Remi
Twenty-Two
Remi
Itighten the ratchet beneath the hood of my GT-R, music echoing through the vast space as the car fights me another goddamn day. Most people would’ve given up already and handed the problem off to someone else, but I’ve never been good at walking away from something I know I can fix.
Eventually.
I wipe the sweat from my jaw with the back of my wrist, then lean farther over the engine bay, adjusting the socket against the timing assembly.
“Come on, baby,” I mutter. “Don’t embarrass me. It’s been weeks.”
The engine coughs when I try again, but I hear enough of a difference to know I’m getting closer. I wipe my forehead and can’t help but grin.
This is exactly why I prefer cars to people. Engines make sense. Every problem has a source, and every sound has meaning. People…now, that’s the complicated part.
My brain immediately proves the point by supplying the image of a six-foot-six SWAT officer sprawled across my white couch two nights ago, eating my pizza and smiling at me as if he belonged there.
I slam the hood.
“Nope,” I mutter to myself. “We are not doing that. Dangerous territory, Remi. Dangerous fucking territory.”
Except I’ve been doing exactly that for the last forty-eight hours.
Thinking about Thiago Braga brings back the scent of his cologne and the way he rattled off details about me I didn’t even realize he’d noticed. Then I remember telling him about Ryuji and placing Papá’s ring in his hand—two things I don’t share easily with anyone.
Yet somehow, I trusted him with both.
My thighs clench together when I remember reaching for my vibrator last night, only to shove it back into the drawer the second I realized whose name would’ve fallen from my lips.
Shaking my head hard, I force the thoughts away, slide behind the wheel, turn the ignition, and hold my breath for one agonizing second before my baby finally roars to life.
A triumphant laugh bursts out of me as the engine settles into a smooth, aggressive purr that vibrates through the entire car.
“Yes! Finally.” I slap the steering wheel. “That’s my girl.”
I barely get a chance to celebrate before the side door slams open, echoing through the garage. I jolt, my hand flying to the Glock at my waist before I realize who it is.
“Mamá? What the hell?” Cutting the engine, I climb out.
She stands near the doorway, her arms tightly crossed over her chest, fury radiating from her.
“Is everything...okay?”
I’d be worried someone was hurt, maybe worse, but there’s nothing on her face except for absolute rage.
Growing up, I always knew when I’d fucked up.
She never held back when it came to calling me out, and I usually took the punishment, apologized, and we moved on.
This time, I have no clue what I supposedly did.
Sure, I forget things sometimes, but whatever this is pissed her off enough to storm all the way down here instead of calling or texting first.
Without a word, she stalks over to my speaker and shuts off the music.
Now I’m irritated. I happened to like that song.
“Remi Isabel,” she grits out. “After what happened with your dad, you didn’t think it was important to tell us that someone tried to kill you again?”
Ah. That little detail.
“Look—”
“No,” she cuts me off. “There’s no excuse. You, of all people, should understand what I’ve just been through. If something happened to you...” Her voice trembles. “I can’t even say the words, Remi.”
My frustration fades. I step forward and pull her into a hug, careful not to smear engine grease across her pretty blouse.
“Mamá,” I murmur, “because of what happened, I didn’t want to put this on you too. And I’m okay.”
“It’s not okay.” She pulls back to look at me. “That Lachlan man told me they still haven’t caught everyone involved. And how do you think I felt when I drove by and saw the windows boarded up and police tape still hanging across the parking lot?”
She cups my face between her hands. “Mi amor, you know what’s at stake here. You know there are powerful people out there. That night, it was the tattoo shop. Tomorrow, it could be the range.”
“Well, they’d surely fuck up then, wouldn’t they?”
“Remi, this isn’t a joke, and you’re not bulletproof.”
I slip gently from her grasp and lean against the hood of my car. “I know I’m not, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to stop living.”
“I’m not asking you to do that.” The anger in her voice gives way to something closer to fear. “I’m asking you to be careful and keep us informed. I can’t protect you if—”
“I don’t need you to do that for me anymore.”
Regret hits me the second I see her face. Her lips twitch, and something shifts in her eyes. The last thing I ever want to do is hurt my mother. But they raised me to survive without them, trained me to fight back and protect myself when no one else could.
Isn’t that what all of it was for?
“I can handle myself. And I did. He’s dead, and I’m not.”
“Who was with you that night?”
“A friend.”
The word leaves my mouth so naturally that it takes me a second to register what I just called him. I guess Thiago got his way after all.
“A friend?” Her eyebrows lift, disbelief written all over her face. “And he helped you gun down those men?”
Fair question. Outside our family, there aren’t many people in our lives who could walk into a shootout and know exactly what to do.
“Yeah...he’s a cop.”
She blinks rapidly, as if she’s waiting for the punchline.
I push off the hood and start pacing, suddenly wishing Papá’s ring weren’t sitting on the workbench, out of reach.
“I know what you’re thinking, but he’s not like that.”
I almost want to take it back. Not because I don’t believe it, but because I might be starting to.
Mamá exhales slowly, as if the weight of the entire city were on her shoulders. I hate being the source of that look, even though I’ve probably spent most of my life causing it.
“I-I don’t even know what to say.” She shakes her head. “I don’t know if I have it in me to dissect that right now.”
“Aunt Eva was a homicide detective,” I point out. “What’s the difference?”
Why the hell am I defending him this hard?
“Because that was a one-in-a-million chance.”
“Well, I happen to live a one-in-a-million kind of life, don’t I?”
She keeps talking, and I hear the concern in every word, but my mind is already drifting from the conversation. Between her fear, everything that happened at the tattoo shop, and whatever the hell I’m doing with Thiago, I need to get out of this garage and clear my head.
“I gotta run, Mami.” I grab my bag and Papá’s ring.
“Remi—”
I cut her off with a quick kiss to her forehead.
“Lock up for me!” I call over my shoulder as I slide into my newly working GT-R.
The garage door groans open overhead, and I back out without looking at her again. I don’t need to see her face to know what’s there. She loves me more than anything in this world, and I terrify her because of it.