Chapter 55 – remi
Fifty-Five
remi
The impact wrench rattles through the garage as I remove the last bolt holding Thiago’s driver’s-side door in place. I catch the weight of it before it can hit the floor and carry it over to a nearby stand, where the rest of the damaged panels are already lined up.
His truck took one hell of a beating. Bullet holes pepper the doors, rear panel, and bed. One round clipped a brake line, while another chewed through part of the wiring harness before lodging itself in the frame. It’s a miracle we made it back to my garage at all.
Those assholes got exactly what they deserved.
I slide beneath the truck on a creeper and shine my work light along the undercarriage. Fresh bullet holes scar the steel, but thankfully, there’s no structural damage. Replacing body panels is easy. Straightening a bent frame is another story.
This is where my brain has always made the most sense because every problem in here has a solution, and every broken part can be repaired or replaced if you know what you’re doing and have enough patience.
I wish people worked the same way.
There isn’t enough sanding in the world to smooth over what Rafe did, and I haven’t figured out how to repair the part of my psyche that keeps waiting for someone else to come after me.
It’s been weeks since the highway, and there hasn’t been so much as a whisper of retaliation. My parents haven’t uncovered anything new about the rumors surrounding our family either, but instead of making me feel better, the silence has left me wondering what the hell is still out there.
The hardest part has been staying away from Furia.
Some days, I wonder if it’s time to let that part of my life go.
I’ll always have my cars, and I’ll always love the speed, the adrenaline, and the roar of a high-horsepower engine.
What I haven’t wanted to admit is that the track doesn’t bring me the same joy it used to when Val and I tore it up together and gave everyone hell.
Maybe Rafe took some of that from me, and I hate him even more for it.
Blowing out a slow breath, I reach for my ratchet, reminding myself to deal with one problem at a time. For now, I can fix the truck and figure out the rest later.
The lock to my garage disengages with a familiar click, followed by the hiss of the door sliding open. I smile before I even see him. By the time I slide out from beneath his truck, he’s already standing above me with that panty-melting grin firmly in place.
“Hey, handsome.”
He offers me a hand and pulls me to my feet, caging me against the frame.
“Hey,” is all he says before capturing my mouth with his.
His hand slides over my bare waist before settling on the coveralls tied off around my hips. Fisting the fabric, he pulls me closer.
“God, I’ve missed you all day.” His tongue sweeps along mine. “Couldn’t get here fast enough. There was so much fucking debriefing.”
He hooks a hand beneath my thigh and lifts me until my legs wrap around his waist.
“Busy day?” My voice comes out breathless as his mouth trails down my neck.
“Busted a warehouse downtown. Drugs, guns, and enough illegal shit to keep us occupied for a while.”
“Baby, I’ve been sweating,” I warn as his lips skim my collarbone, and my fingers tangle into his still-damp hair.
“Mmm,” he groans against my skin. “Even better.”
A laugh slips out of me, and I tip his chin up until our eyes meet. “By the way, your truck has seen better days.”
“What’s the verdict, Doc?” He grimaces and scrunches his nose, and I swear it’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. I kiss the tip of it and laugh at how hopeless I am when it comes to this man.
“Well, you’ve got a couple of options. We can order the parts and Frankenstein this beast back together, or we can haul it to the junkyard and let it become scrap metal.”
“What are you thinking?” he asks, his lips now brushing the swell of my breasts.
“A normal person would total it and never look back.” I grin. “But I’m not normal, and this is basically my dream project. Plus, I may or may not have already ordered you a set of Method Race Wheels.”
His eyes lift. “You did what?”
“No more factory for you. Not on my watch. I can’t be seen driving around with you on stock tires. I know people.”
He drops his forehead against my shoulder and laughs. “Fera, how much do I owe you for all this?”
“I’ll give you my friends and family discount. Only, instead of lollipops, I want something else from you.”
Thiago growls low in his throat, gripping my ass and rolling my hips against him. “Name your price. Whatever you want, it’s yours. I’m all yours.”
“Your tongue on my pussy is a really good place to start.”
“Fuck, done. My favorite.”
He carries me toward my GT-R and sets me on the hood. His hands go straight for the knot securing the coveralls around my waist, but before I can lose myself in him, something sticking out of his pocket catches my eye.
A folded photograph. I reach for it just as it slips free.
“Braga, you dropped something.”
I unfold it without thinking, assuming it’s nothing important, but the moment I catch a glimpse of the image, every ounce of warmth drains from my body. It’s me, standing outside the tattoo shop, completely unaware I’m being photographed.
“What’s this?” I lift my eyes to his. “Why do you have a picture of me?”
Thiago’s expression darkens.
“Thiago.” I search his face. “Where did you get this? Who took it?”
He opens his mouth, but the hesitation before he answers scares me more than the photograph itself.
“Was it…” The question nearly sticks in my throat. “Was it you?”
His eyes snap to mine. “No. Absolutely not.”
“Then tell me.” My fingers grip the edges of the photograph. “Braga, tell me where this came from.”
“I didn’t want to tell you until everything was over. I wanted to make sure we shut them down first.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The warehouse we hit today belonged to Rafe and the rest of his crew.”
It takes a second for his words to register.
“What?”
“After the highway, we started pulling at every thread we had. The weapons, the bodies, the vehicles, and everyone connected to Rafe. Eventually, everything kept circling back to Los Blancos. We built the case, got a warrant, and hit the place this morning.” His attention shifts to the photograph in my hand. “I found that in one of the offices.”
I stare down at my own face, taken from far enough away that whoever held the camera made damn sure I wouldn’t see them. “So they were watching me.”
“They were.”
“Since when?”
“I don’t know.”
“Was this the only picture?”
“The only one I saw.”
“What about Val? My parents? Did you find pictures of them?”
“No.”
“Names? Addresses? Anything about my family?”
“Not that I found, but they recovered a lot from that warehouse. It’ll take time to process everything.”
I think back to everything Rafe said on the highway. He knew about the massacre. Casper. Balterra. He knew enough about Val and me to realize there was more to our family than anyone outside our world should know. And now I have proof that someone had been watching me.
“Do you think this ended with him?”
“Is there a reason you think it didn’t?”
Shit.
I’ve already said too much.
“No.” I force myself to loosen my hold on the photograph. “I just found out someone was secretly taking pictures of me. I think I’m allowed to be a little paranoid.”
“You are. And I’m not going to tell you there’s nothing to worry about when I don’t know that yet.”
I nod, even though my mind is already racing through everything I need to tell my family. Then another question hits me.
“Wait. If this is evidence, why do you have it?”
Thiago hesitates before answering. “I took it because I didn’t want your name ending up in the case file. The drugs, the guns, the money, we got all of it. We didn’t need that photograph to put them away.”
It takes a second for me to understand what he’s admitting. “You took evidence from an active investigation?”
“I did.”
“For me?”
He cups my face. “I didn’t want anyone asking why Rafe had a photograph of you or digging into your life because of it.” His thumb brushes my cheek. “So yeah, chama. I did it for you.”
“You know you could get in serious trouble for that.”
“I know.”
“And you did it anyway.”
“I did.” A small, incredulous laugh escapes him. “But you know what’s even crazier?”
“What?”
“I don’t know if there’s anything I wouldn’t do for you.”
I dig my fingers into the front of his shirt and draw him closer. “That has to terrify you.”
“It should.”
“But it doesn’t?”
“No.”
I kiss him, breathing him in because I don’t know what else to do with the weight of everything I’m feeling.
“I brought you something,” he says.
He walks over to my workbench, where he left a bag I hadn’t even noticed, and turns it upside down. Several dozen watermelon lollipops spill across the stainless-steel surface.
“I also stocked more of these at my place.”
I laugh. “You’re unbelievable.”
“I’ve been told.”
I shake my head, grinning like an absolute fool.
They’re just lollipops, and I know that.
They’re cheap, sugary, and ridiculous, but they mean everything because Thiago knows they’re my comfort food and that I always keep one nearby.
He noticed something so small that most people would have overlooked, and then he made sure I’d never run out.
It isn’t the candy that means so much to me. It’s the fact that he pays attention.
“How are you so obnoxiously perfect?”
He’s beside me again in seconds with a lollipop already in hand. He unwraps it and flicks the wrapper onto the workbench behind him.
“Why watermelon?” he asks, bringing the candy to his mouth.
“I was maybe six. Milly, who was our cook before Estela and practically family, helped raise my mom. She and I were on a grocery run about a month before she passed, and I’d been a real pain in the ass all day.”
Thiago shifts the lollipop to one side of his mouth and chuckles.
“When we got to the checkout, I spotted one and begged her to buy it for me. She said no, which, naturally, was the greatest injustice I’d ever suffered.” I laugh at the memory. “I was crying those big, dramatic kid tears, convinced my life was over.”
I reach for the stick. He lets it slip from between his lips, and our eyes meet as I bring it to my own.
“What happened?” he asks.
“I noticed an older woman drop one of her grocery bags. Everything spilled onto the floor, and even though I was still crying, I ran over to help her pick it all up. I even chased down a stubborn lime that kept trying to roll under the next checkout lane.”
Thiago’s mouth curves as he listens.
“That night after dinner, Milly came into my room and sat beside me on the bed. She kissed my forehead and told me how proud she was of me.” I glance down at the candy between my fingers.
“She said I was a good girl and that I should never let the world convince me otherwise.” I smile at the memory.
“Then she reached into her pocket and pulled out that watermelon lollipop. She died just a few weeks later.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
Slipping the candy back between his lips, I shake my head. “It’s okay. Losing Milly used to hurt, but it doesn’t anymore. The way losing Estela still does sometimes. Now I like to think they’re somewhere together, watching all the irresponsible shit I do.”
“I bet they’re exhausted.”
“I know I would be.”
We laugh together, and I reach for the stick again, trying to steal it back. He grins around it and refuses to let go as he slides my coveralls farther down my thighs.
“I can see why you like these,” he murmurs, rolling the candy over his tongue. “They’re sweet.”
His attention returns to me, and the playfulness in his expression gives way to something far less innocent. Drawing the lollipop from his mouth, he traces it slowly across my bottom lip, holding it there.
“But I can’t help wondering how much sweeter they could be.”