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I wished for the impossibility of seeing Cat in the crowd amongst cheering faces, and it disappointed me that she wouldn’t be able to attend a show for a while, even if she actually wanted to attend. Forcing a smile to stay on my face, I addressed the crowd, and they went wild.
“Thank you all for coming out here today. All proceeds will go to a charity very close to my heart. The Rhylie Sutter Foundation which will give support to victims like her, who, unfortunately, can say they were once a human sale. Rhylie was a nineteen-year-old girl who was stolen from one of my shows eleven years ago. She came back into my life a few weeks ago and became a great friend to me. She became more than that. She became family to me. But she made it out of a terrible situation with so many pieces of herself missing that she wished she hadn’t survived. This charity is to try and prevent thoughts like that from tarnishing the futures of other women like Rhylie, of the girls, boys, and men whose lives have been forever changed by such a heinous crime. Every cent you spend here today, be it merch, your tickets, or food, will be donated to the Rhylie Sutter Foundation. So, please, put your hands in your pockets for her before you put them in the air for me.”
Doughnuts, also known as Detective Brooks, saluted me from the crowd. He was here for the charity, and he’d donated generously. He’d been given a bulletproof story on Rhylie and others like her. Some contract between Alerion and Daniel was offered as proof that they were behind it all. Ollie and Dec had schooled me well when I first brought up this charity gig. Their experience in law taught me what to say and how to say it, preventing implications.
Saluting back with a smile, I snatched my gaze away from him, ramming the second doughnut he’d just purchased into his mouth.
“Right, on with the show.”
Moving to the side of the stage, I collected a pink electric guitar from Dec—my assistant today. It wasn’t my instrument of choice, but grand pianos were harder to move around the stage. I caught the crowd’s attention by strumming a matching pick through the strings.
And the show began.
Catharina
Freshly cut grass attacked my senses through the open windows, and my eyes itched. I fought with the urge to scratch them because Jolie had spent the morning doing my makeup and hair. She’d also gifted me a dress. It was nothing like the white denim one she wore as she and Woodrow jumped from Ollie’s car to get a closer view of Remi’s show, but it was pretty, with a scoop neck and dropped shoulders. Regardless of how pretty it was, it was hidden below another one of Remi’s sweatshirts.
Ollie’s car was parked up in the field where Remi was performing. We had a decent view of the giant screens where his face was plastered.
“He looks happy, doesn’t he?” I said of Remi as he took a break for water and then scratched his eyes—the fresh grass bothering him, too.
“Just wait until he sees you.”
Ollie had also decided to watch the show from the car, putting my health and safety before a front-row view.
For some reason—probably because Woodrow had joked that Hell would show up if anyone commented on how Jolie’s ass looked in her dress—Ollie was already on edge when he started side-eyeing two nearby men suspiciously. They stood in suits, fancy and expensive. Designer.
Tapping the shiny panel of the car to get their attention, he waited for them to decide to walk over after sharing a glance with each other.
“You a fan?” he asked.
The bigger of the two bent down to the window and smiled. He was around Remi’s age and younger than his companion—who stood right behind him—by about twenty years. “Not especially.”
“Then why are you here?” Ollie wondered, and I wondered that, too, and wondered why they were watching Remi’s every move whenever their eyes weren’t on us.
I didn’t like it.
Ollie, who’d go to war for Remi, didn’t like it, either. I could tell by his overly straight back and the forced expression on his face. His nostrils always flared slightly when he was holding back his emotions.
“He’s easy on the eye,” the stranger responded flatly.
With a meticulous stare, I inspected him. He was tall, dark, mysterious...French, like the Devil.
“What would your boyfriend say about that?”
“What makes you think I have a boyfriend?”
“You’re on my radar, Monsieur Heroux. Just like we’re on yours.” Ollie straightened his lapels. His own fancy suit rivaled those the strangers wore.
Both men eyed Ollie warily. “Remington is not a threat. He’s completely out. We want what you want. Alerion’s legacy gone.” Ollie remained vague. Careful. His eyes flit around quickly. “Take a look at my family. Cat, here. Jolie and Woodrow, who just left this car. They’re survivors. Like your family are survivors. Like Remington, himself, is a survivor. All victims of Alerion Rubbichon, in some way. I wasn’t. I was a cop who went rogue to hunt down the girl he still hasn’t found. You know my name, the name Remington Cole. You don’t know our story. You don’t know there was a hit on your brother while he lay comatose in a Spanish hospital. He could be dead. He isn’t. He’s with his pregnant wife at home, probably excited over the new arrivals. Twins, isn’t it?”
Monsieur Heroux and the older guy shared a look, probably wondering how Ollie knew so much. I wondered about it, too.
“We don’t have to be enemies. Allies work better. What do you say?” Ollie held out a hand, and Monsieur Heroux refused to shake it.
Retracting his hand, Ollie added, “Give my best to Charles Rafael. And tell him thanks for doing me a favor by taking out his cousin. Bringing this empire to the ground will be easier with him not around. I’d say I owe him one, but I did call off the hit.” Ollie smiled, stealing the dark and mysterious aura as he turned his head back to Remi’s screen. “Enjoy the show, Robbie, Maurice.”
Starting the car, Ollie drove us away, parking up a little farther. Closer to Jolie and Woodrow, who spoke to another man. Ollie told me his name was Karma.
