Chapter 48 – remi
Forty-Eight
remi
Thiago: Movie night. My place.
Islide off my glove and stare at the message for all of two seconds before a cheesy grin spreads across my face.
A month ago, I would’ve laughed at anyone who said I’d be this excited about a text message. Today, I don’t even try to fight it. I wipe the residual grease from my fingers with a rag and glance back at the stripped engine bay of the RX-7 I’ve spent the past three hours bringing back to life.
Me: Is this an official invitation, or are you just assuming I’ll show up?
The typing bubble appears almost immediately.
Thiago: Chama, we both know you’ll show up.
I laugh to myself, then lean against the bench. He’s absolutely right.
Me: Pick a movie, Braga.
It’s been two days since the ball, since I laid out my feelings and went after what I wanted, and I already miss him. His job is unpredictable. He’s on call more often than not, and there’s always some fucked-up situation unfolding somewhere in this goddamn city.
I catch myself checking my phone more than usual, wondering whether he’s eaten, sleeping enough, and whether he’s safe. Worrying about someone outside my family like this is still new to me, but I’m starting to realize I don’t mind making room for him in my life.
Remi, Remi, what the hell have you gotten yourself into?
Setting my phone down with a sigh, I pop a lollipop into my mouth, hoping to keep my hands and mind busy until tonight, when the familiar chime of the biometric lock echoes through the garage, pulling me from my thoughts.
Papá strides in, his smile widening the moment his eyes fall on me.
“Sorry to stop by unannounced, princesa, but I was on my way home when your mom asked me to check in on you and invite you over for dinner. I’m not saying tonight, but soon.” He kisses my forehead before moving toward the open hood of the RX-7 and looking inside. “Still fighting the rotary, huh?”
I grin around my lollipop. “She started it.”
He chuckles and shakes his head.
“So why didn’t she stop by or call me herself?”
He looks at me for a long moment. “Why haven’t you?”
Good point.
I’m not avoiding her, and I’m not upset. I could never stay mad at her for more than a day. She’s my heart. But if there’s one person in this world I never want to disappoint, it’s Amalia Montesinos.
It's a strange thing, being the daughter of someone extraordinary. I know it's not a competition, and she's never made it one. Still, some days, her shoes feel too big to fill. She’s incredible. A leader, a survivor, and everything I ever wanted to be.
And while I know everyone looks at me and sees someone just as strong and capable, someone worthy of carrying her name, there are days when I don't feel like any of those things. Days when I feel like I'm still trying to become the woman she already was.
I swallow the knot in my throat. “Can I bring someone?”
“Of course.” He smiles, and right now, that’s all I need.
I throw my arms around him, and he squeezes me until I laugh. I tip my head back and look up at him. “I’m getting grease on your shirt.”
“It’s all right, Remi girl. You’ve been getting grease all over me since you were in diapers, following me around the garage and banging up my bike with a ratchet wrench.”
He’s not wrong.
“Now look at you.” He motions around us.
“Look at everything you’ve built.” His hand cups the back of my head.
“I’m proud of you, and I love you. Don’t ever forget that.
And don’t ever doubt how extraordinary and beautiful you are” he adds softly, as if he somehow reached into my head and found every insecurity I try to hide.
Suddenly, I’m five again, standing in his garage with tools too big for my hands, convinced my father can fix anything.
Part of me still believes he can.
We spend the next hour talking cars and engines. I see him off with another of his Hulk hugs, and before long, I’m back under the hood, so focused on what I’m doing that I barely notice the door opening again.
“Papi, you forget something?” I ask without looking up while tightening a bolt.
“Yeah. This.”
My eyes snap up.
A masked man stands a few feet away, a gun aimed at my head. I drop just as the shot explodes, sending the round into the wall above my workbench.
“Shit.”
Of course, this would happen the one time my gun is out of reach.
His footsteps close in as he moves cautiously, unsure whether I’m armed. He has to know the only reason he isn’t bleeding out on my floor is that I’m not.
How the fuck did he even get in here?
The thought of Papá hits me so suddenly that everything else disappears.
What if this man caught him outside?
Panic surges through me, but I force myself to think. There was no suppressor, and I would’ve heard another shot if he’d fired at him. He’s safe, or at least I have to believe he is until I know otherwise.
My fear quickly gives way to rage.
Reaching into my pocket, I pull out my butterfly knife and snap it open. It won’t kill him, but it might buy me the opening I need. I have one chance to get this right, and if I miss, I’m dead.
I focus on his footsteps as he moves around the front of the car. With one hand braced against the bumper, I shift away from the rear quarter panel and wait for him to come into view.
The moment he does, I throw the knife. The blade hits him, and he fires three rounds as I dive behind the opposite side of the car and stay crouched.
I recognize the Glock 43 and quickly count the shots in my head. He fired once when he came in and three more when the knife hit him, leaving him with two rounds in the standard six-round magazine.
Spotting a loose bolt on the ground beside me, I scoop it up and toss it over the hood.
He takes the bait and fires twice in quick succession.
Fucking amateur.
I round the front of the car with a grin.
“You lose something?”
His dark eyes snap to mine as he fumbles for another magazine, but before he can get it loaded, I’m already moving.
I launch myself at him.
Going after an armed man while he’s trying to reload probably isn’t the smartest move I’ve ever made, but this motherfucker just shot up my garage, and I’m not giving him another chance.
He swings and catches me in the jaw.
Pain erupts across my face, but I swallow it and drive my knee straight into his groin. He doubles over with a strangled grunt, and I introduce his jaw to my right uppercut. It sends him stumbling backward, his eyes briefly losing focus before locking on me again.
“Bitch!” he grinds out as he lunges for my throat.
I pivot out of his reach, rip the butterfly knife from his arm, and plunge it into his side twice.
He roars and spins toward me, obscenities pouring from his mouth, but by then I’ve already grabbed the crowbar and swing.
The metal connects with his skull with a sickening crack, spraying blood across the windshield of the RX-7.
He collapses face-first against the rim and doesn’t move.
I crouch beside him, searching his pockets for weapons, and toss two spare magazines and another handgun across the garage before ripping off his mask. I don’t recognize him. He looks about my age, with dark, shaggy hair and a face I’m certain I’ve never seen.
“Who the fuck are you?” I ask, breathing heavily as the adrenaline starts to wear off.
I shoot to my feet and grab my phone. Papá answers on the second ring, and relief floods through me at the sound of his voice.
“Papi.” I do my best to control my breathing and keep from sounding like I just ran a marathon or like I cracked a man’s head open with a crowbar.
“What’s wrong?” he asks immediately, as if he can hear the panic I’m trying to hide.
I should tell him. I know I should. There could be more of them.
My gaze returns to the unconscious man on the floor, and rage churns in my blood.
“Nothing,” I lie. “I just wanted to thank you for stopping by. I needed that.”
He doesn’t answer right away. “Of course, baby. But are you sure you’re all right?”
As I pace, I glance at the security monitors. “Yeah. It’s just this rotary. It’s a bitch, and I broke a nail.”
That gets him laughing, and finally hearing it convinces me he’s safe.
We say our goodbyes, and I slip my phone into my pocket before securing the garage door and turning back to the intruder.
Memories of another garage from four years ago surface, bringing me back to the man I killed in front of Val and to the tattoo on his arm.
My stomach sinks at the possibility that this could somehow be connected.
It’s been years since I last saw that tattoo and read those words, but I’ll never forget either.
Sub umbra venimos.
I kneel beside him and shove up his jacket sleeve, exposing his forearm.
There’s nothing but a collection of seemingly meaningless ink.
When I check the other arm, I find more of the same.
Relief comes with my next breath, but it doesn’t answer the more immediate question of who the fuck this guy is.
“You’re going to tell me who you are and what you’re doing here, the hard way or the harder way.”
Fifteen minutes later, he’s in his birthday suit, bound at the wrists and ankles and secured to the RX-7’s front grille. I glance down at his limp dick and roll my eyes at the Jacob’s ladder.
Of course.
I slap a loaded magazine against his face, wait a second, then do it again. By the third hit, he groans and rolls his head to the side as he regains consciousness.
“Welcome back,” I say as his eyes finally open. “It was touch and go for a while, but I think you’re going to make it. For now.”
“Fuuuck.” He spits out the blood pooling in his mouth, and it dribbles down his chin.
“Gross.” I wrinkle my nose. “So, what brings you around here?”
The man glares up at me and spits again. “Untie me, bitch. Then we can talk.”
I stare at him for a moment. “Your balls are currently resting on my floor, and you still have the audacity to call me out of my name. Bold.”
His eyes widen as if he’s only now realizing he’s naked, and he frantically looks himself over.
“Must be a little chilly in here, huh?” I ask with a smirk, letting my gaze drift to his crotch.
“I should’ve blown your fucking head off when I had the chance. Untie me!”
Pushing myself to my feet, I pace in front of him. “Should have. Would have. Could have.” I stop, then turn to face him. “But you didn’t.”
I crouch in front of him again, tapping the magazine against the top of his head.
“It’s a tough lesson to learn, Jacob’s Ladder, but you should never hesitate. That’s one of the most important rules for surviving this cruel world.” I smile at him. “Luckily for you, you won’t have to worry about making that mistake again.”
He grinds his teeth and thrashes against his restraints. “Let me go.”
“Not until you tell me what I need to know.”
He growls as more bloodstained spit spills from the corners of his mouth.
“Fuck you, cunt. I’m not saying shit.”
My parents did their best to desensitize us to death without turning us into complete sociopaths, and I think they succeeded.
I don’t enjoy hurting people for the sake of it because that’s never been who I am.
But if you threaten me or anyone I love, you’ve already made the worst decision of your life
I look him over, then smile. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
Okay, maybe I do enjoy the look on his face when I pull out my old jumper cables and let them clank.
“W-What are you doing?” Panic creeps into his voice.
“Do you have any idea how well those pretty little barbells conduct electricity?”
He shakes his head frantically, not because he doesn’t know the answer, but because he knows exactly what’s coming. “No. Don’t. Please.”
Of course he begs when his manhood is threatened.
“Me neither,” I say. “I guess we’re about to run a test.”
I clamp one of the cables to the first piercing, and he jerks and cries out, “Help! Somebody help me! This bitch is crazy!”
“Who are you, and who sent you?”
“Shit. Shit,” he stammers as my finger hovers over the ignition switch. “Okay, okay. It was Rafe. He said you owed him and that you disrespected him on the track in front of everybody. He paid me. I was just doing my job. It’s nothing personal. I swear.”
“Pointing a gun at my head and pulling the trigger feels pretty personal, Jakey.”
I tap my nail against the panel.
“No, please. I told you. I gave you what you wanted.”
“You did, and I’m very grateful.”
He takes several shaky breaths as some of the panic leaves his face. “So you’ll let me go?”
I turn away from him and head toward my workbench. “No.”
“But you said—”
I glance back at him. “I said I was grateful.”
Then I fire.
The bullet strikes him in the forehead, and he slumps as his blood spills across my garage floor.
He came here prepared to kill me for a paycheck. If he’d arrived a few minutes earlier, my father could have been standing beside me when he pulled that trigger. There was never a version of this in which he walked out of here alive.
Pulling out my phone, I call Matteo.
“I need a favor,” I say before he can get a word in. “I need your full discretion and Santino’s cleanup crew at my garage.”
Matteo goes quiet before asking, “Are you good, Remi?”
“I am.”
“Okay.”
His willingness to leave it there is exactly why I called him.
“Oh, I need you to meet me at Furia tonight.”