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I tap my watch. “Clock’s ticking, Remy. What’s it going to be? I’ve got more important things to do than worry about your fucking feelings.”
Or whether he’s going to keep striking. Remy is angry enough and stupid enough to keep causing problems.
Remy curls his hand into a fist and swings, missing my face by a few inches. “You moved!”
I take his hand in mine and shift closer so our faces are inches apart. “If you do this, this is all you get. No truce. No land. No money. Nothing, and if you ever go after my family or my empire again, I will not just fucking destroy you; I will end you. Got it?”
Remy squares his shoulders. “And if you fight back, the terms of the truce are going to change, and you’re going to give me a piece of the pie. I will pummel you until you can’t stand.”
I glance at the people in attendance, all of whom are braced against the table, tightly wound and ready for what comes next. I linger on Tristan, who gives me a slight, imperceptible nod. Then I look over at Ernesto and see the flicker of unease on his face before he stamps it out. Slowly, I look back at Remy and release his fist.
He staggers back and rubs his knuckles. “Do we have a deal?”
“No more killing. Do your worst.” I let my hands fall limply to my side and give him a blank look. “I won’t fight back.”
Disbelief and shock rise through the room, but I ignore them all.
When Remy takes a second swing, I hold myself completely still. His fist connects with my stomach, but I don’t flinch. His eyes are tight and focused as he takes another step forward and punches me again. This time, he lands a blow to my ribs, and it knocks some of the breath out of me. Still, I remain upright and think of Isabella and our daughter.
He punches me again, landing a heavy blow to my jaw. Pain blossoms behind my eyelids, and the metallic taste of blood fills my mouth. I resist the urge to fight back and dig my nails into my palms.
Remy is wild-eyed and flush with color as he circles me, like he’s looking for a weakness, anything to exploit to make it feel better for him. He’s enjoying this way too much, and I can see the cold and calculating gleam in his eyes as he studies me.
I wonder if he knew it was going to come to this.
Outside of my inner circle, no one else knows about the promise I’ve made to keep my hands clean and do better. And I intend to keep it that way.
As far as everyone else is concerned, I’m allowing Remy to have his moment in the sun for the greater good in order to secure a truce with several powerful warring families. Still, as Remy throws punch after punch, sending little pinpricks of pain racing through me, I have to ask myself if it’s worth it.
Or if Remy isn’t going to stop until he’s claimed my life in exchange for his cousin’s. I have no idea how close they were or if Remy is the kind of man to exercise restraint. But I do know what it’s like to be in the throes of bloodlust, and he is on the precipice.
His blows are coming quicker now, and they’re a lot more precise, as if he’s throwing all his weight behind them. It’s taking everything in me to stand upright and ignore years of instincts and a lifetime of clawing back.
Every inch of me hurts, and I’m sure there are going to be bruises littering every inch of my skin.
Blood is dripping down my temple and the sides of my face. I dig my nails into my palms hard enough to draw blood, but it doesn’t matter because it’s distracting me from the need to retaliate, from the monster thrashing and pulling against his chains. Remy begins to sweat, and his movements are growing clumsy and awkward, but he shows no sign of stopping.
He is fueled by his rage and adrenaline. And his hate for me, a man he’s never met and will likely never cross paths with again.
Remy presses his face to mine, and I give him a grim and bloody smile. His pupils dilate, and he kicks my legs, forcing my knees to give out. I lose my balance and crumble into a heap on the floor. There’s a low ringing in my ears as I place both hands on my thighs. My muscles are aching and screaming in protest as I lift my head and look directly at Remy.
He is breathing heavily now, his knuckles bruised, and spatters of blood on his shirt. It’s obvious he’s nowhere near being satisfied, and everyone in the room is growing uncomfortable.
A part of me can’t help but wonder if they still think this is about the truce. Another part of me wonders if they can see right through me, all the way to the scared little boy who is desperate to cling to Isabella, and the kind of life he’s always dreamed for himself.
Am I really going to throw it all away? For the chance at a family and a normal life, I sure as fuck will.
Remy growls and shoves me, so I fall onto my back and find myself staring up at a gray, cracked ceiling. He places his shoe over my throat and presses. I ignore him and continue to stare at the ceiling, seeing Isabella’s face instead of the cracks. I blink and see her smiling and laughing at me.
Remy presses down harder, and spots dance in my field of vision.
“Enough,” Tristan snaps. “Your agreement wasn’t to kill him. Remove your foot or else.”
“Or else what?” Remy shoots him a withering look. “We have a deal. I get to keep beating the shit out of him until he can’t stand, and he isn’t there yet.”
Tristan takes a step in my direction. “You also agreed there would be no more killing.”
“Take another step in my direction, and you’ll find out how much of a shit I give at upholding my end of the deal.”
