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Jeremiah was jealous. Over him.
As much as he was sure Greg would teach him, he wanted it to be Jeremiah. Needed his grumpy little puppy to be the one to show him how to defend himself.
For… reasons.
“I know what you’re doing,” Jeremiah said lowly, advancing on him.
Heart speeding up, Remi held his ground and pasted on an innocent smile. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Steam was rising from Jeremiah’s heaving shoulders as he stepped in close, looming over him and blocking out the rest of the world. Their gazes locked and held, and Remi had to stop himself from putting a hand over his belly when it swooped at the dark desire he saw shining back at him so brightly.
“Fine,” Jeremiah bit out, fangs just a little longer than was polite. “Get in position.”
* * *
“This was a terrible idea,” Remi said after he hit the ground—again—with a grunt. He wasn’t looking, but he could feel Jeremiah rolling his eyes at him. If he’d thought the Hellhound was tough on him the day before, he’d been proven wrong within the first twenty minutes.
“Quit being a whiner.”
“I’m not a whiner.”
“Get back on your feet, Remi.”
“No,” Remi said, drawing out the word in what was most definitely a whine. He threw his arms over his eyes and panted, letting the mat beneath him cool off his overheated body.
He wasn’t meant to be working so hard or sweating so much. He was a prince.
What the hell had he been thinking?
“This was your idea,” Jeremiah reminded him.
For the first time in an hour, Remi was almost positive there was amusement in his voice. Lifting his forearms off his face, he glared up at the Hellhound. Yep, definitely a smirk.
“Well, I changed my mind,” Remi sniped and then let his arms fall back over his head. He was sure his face was already red from the exertion, but just in case, he wanted to hide any evidence of a blush as he admitted his mistake. “This is dumb. I don’t know why I thought I could do this. There’s no way I could take out some lunatic who’s trying to kill me.”
A bare foot nudged one of his calves. “What we’re doing isn’t about you taking down anyone,” Jeremiah said slowly. “Your only job is to get away and get to somebody whose job it is to take down the bad guys.”
Remi puffed out his cheeks and then let out a noisy breath. “Well, it doesn’t matter because it’s pointless either way. Out of the water, I just don’t have any sort of grace.”
Jeremiah grunted and dropped to one knee next to him. “Look at me, Remington.”
He didn’t, at least not right away. He had a feeling all he’d see was pity on the Hellhound’s face. That was the last thing he wanted, especially because that damn connection he felt to the man had only grown stronger the longer they’d been in the gym together.
It was like a string was tied between their chests, and the more time they spent in close proximity, breathing the same air, touching each other’s skin, the tighter the string became, reeling them closer together. It was the strangest sensation.
Remi wasn’t even a hundred percent sure he liked it, but there was no denying the visceral pull he had toward his stupid bodyguard.
“Remi,” Jeremiah said again.
He let his arms fall out to the sides but kept staring at the ceiling. “I just thought I could…” He trailed off, not quite sure how to explain what it was he was feeling.
He knew he would never be a badass like Jeremiah or the rest of his team, and that wasn’t what he’d wanted. Those guys had probably been training most of their lives to do the things that they could. All Remi wanted was to feel like he wasn’t completely helpless.
But that was beginning to feel more and more unrealistic.
If the assholes who were after him and his family got their hands on him again, he doubted he’d be able to get away. The first time at the club was a complete fluke, and that realization was humbling… and terrifying.
It was obvious to him now that Jeremiah had been right. Whoever was behind the attempt hadn’t been as organized as they were now and had simply taken the opportunity to go after him at the same time they’d targeted the rest of his family.
