Chapter 67 – remi
Sixty-Seven
remi
Idon’t remember leaving the terrace. I don’t remember driving to the garage, taking off my makeup, or curling up on the couch. Yet somehow, the sun is up.
I squint against the light streaming through the windows, my head still pounding from all the fucking crying. The second I let myself think about why, more tears threaten, so I shove it all away before it can take hold.
I don’t want to remember.
Stop it, Remi.
My gaze lingers on the stripped frame of his truck.
The front fender still leans against the wall where I left it. The driver’s door sits on a stand, half-sanded and awaiting fresh paint. I’d spent hours repairing the bullet holes he took for me.
I’d planned to finish it today.
“Now what?”
I push myself off the couch and walk toward the truck. When I reach the open hood, I stare down at the engine, not registering a single thing in front of me.
Instead, I see Thiago throwing himself between me and a hail of gunfire. I remember him refusing to leave me behind and getting us out before the police arrived. He protected me from those men and then risked his career to keep me out of handcuffs.
My lungs constrict, and I press my lips together as my eyes burn again.
How am I supposed to reconcile that man with the one who lied to me from the start? How am I supposed to hate someone who put his own life on the line for mine?
Or was that a lie, too?
Before I can let myself go any further, my phone vibrates again.
It’s been going off ever since I texted my family to let them know I wouldn’t be coming to dinner. I told them I was fine and that I’d reach out later.
But they keep fucking calling.
“Leave me alone!” I roar, snatching the damn phone off my workbench. “Why don’t you get that? Fuck!”
I hurl it across the garage, where it slams into my toolbox and shatters on impact.
A half-empty energy drink sits near my feet, so I kick the can hard enough that it skids across the concrete and crashes into one of the door panels, knocking it off its stand.
A small white square slips free as the panel hits the floor, landing near my boots.
I stare at it for a moment before bending to pick it up.
It’s a Polaroid of Thiago, Zara, and me.
We took it the day we went out for ice cream, using the little camera she’d gotten for her birthday. I’d stuck my tongue out for the picture, making her laugh so hard she’d nearly dropped it.
I never noticed until now that Thiago isn’t looking at the camera.
He’s looking at me.
I know that expression because I caught it on his face more than once when he thought I wasn’t paying attention. His eyes were fixed on me as if nothing else in the room mattered.
“No.” I shake my head. “No...”
My fingers tighten around the edges of the Polaroid, but when I try to crumple it, I can’t.
I stand there staring at him, then the anger rushes back.
“Fuck you, Thiago Braga.”
I crush it into a tight ball, let it fall to the floor, then turn toward the truck.
“Fuck this truck.”
The breaker bar hangs from the side of my toolbox. Yesterday, I used it to loosen the bolts securing his replacement fender.
Today, I wrap my hand around it and swing.
It punches through the windshield, spraying glass across the seats.
I swing again, and the front fender buckles beneath the impact.
“You lied.”
The bar comes down on the hood.
“I trusted you.”
Another strike caves the metal beneath my hands.
“I defended you.”
I bring it down harder.
“I chose you.”
The next blow sends a jolt up my arms.
“I loved you.”
I hammer it into the truck again and again.
“I fucking loved you!”
I keep swinging until every word turns into a scream and the truck barely resembles the one I spent hours putting back together.
The breaker bar slips from my fingers and crashes onto the concrete.
“Why weren’t you real?” I stare at the damage in front of me, struggling to catch my breath. “Why did you let me love you?”
A sob shudders through me as I take in what’s left of his truck. After everything I did to it, it’s still here, just like him and every fucking memory.
“Why won’t you leave me alone?”
My attention shifts to the top drawer of my workbench. I yank it open and grab the Glock inside.
“I couldn’t do it.” My hand tightens around the grip as I stare at the wreckage. “But I can do this.”
I raise the gun and squeeze the trigger. The shot echoes through the garage, and the driver’s-side window explodes outward, scattering shards across the concrete.
It isn’t enough, so I fire again.
The next bullet chews through the driver’s door, leaving a fresh hole in the metal. I fire again, this time into the hood. Then again and again and again until the slide locks back. The sudden silence leaves my ears ringing, my ragged breaths filling the empty garage.
I lower the gun and stare at the ruined truck until it blurs behind my tears.
Whatever was keeping me on my feet disappears. I stagger back until I hit the wall and slide to the floor, pulling my knees to my chest as the Glock falls from my hand. I bury my face in them and finally let myself fall apart.
I’m crying so hard, I don’t hear the garage door open or the footsteps crossing the concrete. When I realize someone is here, I don’t care enough to look.
“Baby girl.”
Papá.
“Go away,” I whisper between sobs.
“Remi.” He crouches in front of me. “Look at me.”
I shake my head. “No. Just...just go. Please.”
His hand closes gently around my chin and lifts my face.
For a long moment, he says nothing. His eyes sweep over my swollen cheeks, then the bruises across my knuckles before dropping to the gun beside me. When his gaze returns to mine something in his expression has changed. The softness he always saves for me is gone.
“Where is he?”
“No. Don’t. It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“The hell it doesn’t.”
“Killing him won’t make this stop hurting.”
Some of the anger leaves his face as he brushes his thumb beneath my eye.
“He hurt you, princesa.” His voice lowers. “The day you were born, I held you in my arms and made you a promise that if anyone ever hurt my little girl, I’d make them regret it.” He presses a kiss to my forehead. “I meant it then, and I mean it now.”
“Papi...” I grab the front of his shirt. “It hurts.” Another sob tears out of me, and my fingers bunch in the fabric. “It hurts so fucking much, and I don’t know how to make it stop.”
His arms wrap around me, pulling me against his chest. “You don’t have to know.” He holds me as my cries grow louder. “And you don’t have to carry it alone. I’m here.”
I cling to him and let myself be his daughter, without trying to be strong or figure out what comes next. I just sit there with him and let it all out.
“It was all a lie,” I murmur once I can speak again. “And I was so stupid. So fucking stupid.”
“Don’t say that.” He brushes the damp strands of hair from my face. “You trusted someone you loved. That doesn’t make you stupid.”
I squeeze my eyes shut.
“You love hard, baby.” His fingers stroke gently over the back of my head. “Just like your mother.”
My breathing slowly steadies, and my attention shifts to the ruined truck, riddled with bullet holes and shattered glass.
I stare at the destruction.
For the past several hours, all I’ve been able to think about is Thiago, his lies, his betrayal, and everything he knew about me before I knew anything about him.
My eyes settle on the holes torn through the metal, and a new thought begins to push through the grief.
Thiago knew about my family and our history, but none of that information started with him. Someone else gave it to him.
Helios gave it to him.
They knew exactly who I was and sent someone to get close enough that I never saw them coming.
If they did it once, they can do it again.
They know who my family is, where we live, and what we’re capable of.
They have access to information we didn’t even know existed and enough reach to put one of their own right in front of me without raising anyone’s suspicion.
I pull away from Papá and wipe away the remaining tears from my cheeks.
“What is it?” he asks.
“It’s not over.”
“What do you mean?”
“Thiago betrayed me, but he wasn’t the one making the decisions.” Saying his name still hurts, but I force myself to continue. “There are people above him who know everything about us. They could be the ones looking for the Ledger and the ones who coordinated the attack four years ago.”
“What aren’t you telling me, Remi? Who are they?”
“There’s an organization called Helios.”