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“I’ve seen it,” Roman growled with rage as he burst into the room, throwing the door open with such force it bounced off the wall with a sharp crack and swung closed again, “and I’ve solved it. Was this Shepherd’s idea, or yours?”
Remi was sitting behind a modest desk in a low-ceilinged room. The windows at her back flooded the room with natural light, her own body casting a shadow on the stack of documents in front of her. She was writing something in black ink; making notes or forging documents, nothing unusual. It was also not unusual, these days, that she practically ignored him, making no acknowledgment of his stormy entrance. She didn’t look up when she finally spoke, her voice tinged with boredom. “Was what our idea?”
“You know what,” he responded petulantly. The tattoos had taken months of design, with constant tweaking as new information came to light, but the map that represented her body hadn’t changed substantially in nearly two weeks. Hadn’t changed, until one conspicuous new addition had appeared overnight: a snarling leopard, prowling down the side of her neck. A leopard with a puzzle in its spots that, when solved, contained Kat Jarrett’s social security number.
She finished with whatever she was writing while he waited, fuming, for her to set down her pen. He was just about to speak again when she folded her hands on the desk in front of her, finally lifting her head to look at him in silence.
Roman met her eyes with a glare, but as usual, he was the first to blink. He tore his gaze from hers and spun on his heel with a sound of frustration. His fists clenched as he stalked toward the door, and she arched a brow in mild surprise as she realized he might actually leave.
“Does it matter?” she asked, heading off his retreat, “You were warned.”
He stopped in his tracks. Last night’s deal with the Kings was your last. Right; a warning.
“It. matters.” he ground out. He didn’t much like anything about recent events, much less where they were headed, but right then he needed to know where he stood with the each of the two women that commanded him. Shepherd was harsh and uncompromising. Remi was harsh, too, as she was expected to be. He had hoped that in spite of those expectations, his sister would let him have this one thing, but there was no way to interpret that leopard as anything other than a threat. Ordinarily, he’d have put the blame at Shepherd’s feet without a second thought – that kind of narcissistic malice was right up her alley – but the only reason Shepherd even knew about him and Kat was because Remi had outed him.
Now he didn’t know what to think. He and his sister were equals in a fight and together they were an unstoppable team, but in most other regards Remi was the star pupil. She spoke far too many languages and their mother’s was one of them; she would do Shepherd’s bidding even to the point of anticipating her will, but she usually managed to frame it in terms he could abide. Somehow, she made the cruelty make sense.
He couldn’t see any sense in this, at all.
And she was watching him thoughtfully – appraisingly – now, as if deciding which dialect would best suit her audience.
“I told you…” she started, slowly, “Shepherd feels you’ve been distracted.” She waited for a response, but on receiving none apart from his angry, nervous pacing, she continued. “I do, too. You’re losing sight of the mission.”
He rounded on her. “The Kings are my mission! Shepherd put me in charge, made me their liaison-“
“You were seen, Roman,” she snapped. “With her, and Farrell. It was careless. Get in, make the buy, get out. That is your mission, not hanging around showing your face to every one of their associates and every camera the local eye candy happens past. You know that Farrell is exactly the kind of job we’re lining up for Weller. Gangbangers and lowlifes are one thing, but if your toy is going to be openly consorting with corrupt officials on street corners, she’s fair game.”
Her attempt to play it off as if this was some perfectly reasonable, ordinary tattoo case was so infuriating that he didn’t even register the guilty feelings such a flimsy excuse must imply. “Fuck, Remi! Farrell is just a border agent. One border agent, taking bribes to wave through guns and drugs. Some dime-a-dozen asshole in an upstate passport booth is not the kind of win we’re trying to put in Weller’s column. I’m not stupid.”
Her jaw clenched as they stared each other down.
“You were told to end it,” she deadpanned.
“And you were told that I love her.”
He knew right away he’d said the wrong thing. Or maybe it was the right thing. Remi went deathly still and in the space of a single moment her face displayed a thousand emotions before settling into the nearly-blank mask that he recognized, on her, meant ‘bewilderment’.
“You said you liked her,” she paused, and the silence stretched as she stared at him. The quiet scrutiny in her eyes as they bored into him was unbearably uncomfortable but he didn’t look away. “You love her?” she finally asked.
“Do you love Oscar?” he countered.
“That’s different.” She knew it wasn’t.
He held his tongue and met her eyes with a challenge of his own, refusing to back down this time.
“Family has to come first, Roman,” she finally said with a sigh. She stood and moved around the desk to place a gentle hand on his shoulder. “We’ve come too far to lose sight of that. Of one another. You know what price Oscar and I will pay.”
“I know,” he conceded, looking away from her, but not before she caught the flash of pain behind his eyes.
“You really love her?” she asked again, softly.
“I really do.”
She searched his face in profile, assessing, considering. “End it,” she said. Her tone was gentle but the firm squeeze on his shoulder told him there was no more room for argument. “We need you here now more than ever. Family sticks together.”
He nodded. “Except for you,” he mumbled, and where there should have been bile or anger or resentment in his voice, they both heard only sadness. With that, the lid was off, no more sense in pretending. They’d been carefully avoiding talking about her departure as anything more than a battle plan for months. Time was almost up.
He turned toward her again, no longer trying to conceal his grief. She looked at him a moment longer, then set her brow as if he’d insulted her. She drew back; her posture and voice hardened again.
“I’ll do what I have to for the mission,” she stated resolutely, “and so will you.”
He didn’t need to see or feel her moving away to recognize that as the dismissal it was. She returned to her seat behind the desk while he tried to mirror the shift in her demeanor, to marshal the soldier within him. But in that moment he couldn’t find the energy to steel himself against it all. His shoulders slumped and he hung his head. When her hardened eyes met his across the table again, he simply nodded and headed for the door.
She should let him go, she knew; should hold firm and watch as he walked away. He looked like a sulking child, and that crap had no place among them anymore. He’d already been too soft, and since this girl had caught his eye he’d grown even softer. Remi needed him to toughen up, to be prepared for when she left. Their mother could be ruthless, and he’d have no one to mediate, no one to protect him. He needed to be able to take orders and still stand strong.
But maybe she could protect something - someone - he cared about.
“Roman,” she called firmly and against her better judgment. He stopped. “I’ll see what I can do about Farrell.” His body was still but his head snapped up to look at her over his shoulder, so that she could see the conflict that overtook his features. They both knew that with Shepherd’s reach, removing anyone from the board was a big risk. Farrell was a flimsy pretext for pointing at the biker gang, but he was still a pretext. This close to the mission, whether it happened by death or by law enforcement, any change to the circumstances underlying the tattoos would be looked into. Even if Shepherd didn’t manage to confirm the source, the timing would leave her suspicious. It could blow back on both of them. Neither one said a word, letting that unspoken truth hang in the air between them until they were both certain the other understood its gravity. The silence was finally broken by a deep sigh from behind the desk.
“And I’ll talk to Markos.”
As insurance went, it was tantamount to a guarantee.
He exhaled a long, slow breath. Remi’s farewell would be the last job their current medical facility would handle. They wouldn’t be taking any chances on anyone but their compartmentalized group being anywhere nearby when it came time for the ink and the ZIP. Shepherd would be long gone, and she would never see the finished product before the day came when – if – Remi returned home. With Thornton already in play, Markos was the next most experienced medic, and once Remi went under, he was in charge. Markos was committed to the plan, but more than that, he and Remi were friends. If she asked, he would see to it.
The leopard would never see her flesh.
“Thank you,” he said quietly. It wasn’t enough, but he knew she’d understand how much he meant it. The door thudded softly as it closed behind him, leaving heavy silence in its wake.