Revenge Forsaken Page 3

  He came! She thought, her heart pounding with excitement. He came to surprise me. The butterflies already in her stomach multiplying and fluttering even more with nerves, knowing her father had taken time out of his workday to see this. She didn’t want to let him down.

  When her cue sounded, she could barely contain herself as she stepped out on stage. Her pure voice carried throughout the auditorium, as she followed the musical cues to practiced perfection, her body swaying to the gentle beat of the song. The audience was clearly captivated as she carried the final crescendo of notes and made her way off stage, but not before she caught a glaring look from her father as he left the auditorium with her mother in tow.

  Her friends were waiting for her in the wings, congratulating and hugging her as the next act was introduced. Before she knew what was happening, she heard her father’s angry voice calling her name. Her friends scattered quickly as he closed the gap between them. Olive saw her mother, trying to grab hold of his arm and tell him to lower his voice.

  “What in God’s name were you thinking? Going out there so exposed?!” he ground out, his voice quieter but his stance just as menacing. “And just what the hell was that song – you’ve got a long way to go before you’re a woman — you think dressing like a slut makes you a woman?”

  Shock and embarrassment swept through Olive’s body as she opened her mouth to explain that there was nothing bad about what she was wearing and that the song was just about a girl feeling stuck, wanting to grow up too fast.

  “Just shut up, before you embarrass me any further!” Victor snarled, seizing Olive’s arm in a bruising grip and dragging her from the hall. In his other hand, he held his jacket which he all but whipped at her.

  “Put this on!” he snarled.

  “Honey, please don’t be so rough on her,” Sondra pleaded but he ignored her and in less than a minute, they stood in the parking lot, near the family vehicle.

  Only then did he turn to glare at her, his own brown eyes liquid with fury.

  “Who said you could dress like that?” he snarled. “Your mother?”

  Olive balked and cast her mom a terrified look.

  “There’s nothing wrong with her out—” Sondra started to say but to Olive’s shock, she was silenced with the back of her father’s hand.

  Sondra whimpered and cowered, her hand covering her face as Olive stood on wobbling knees, waiting for a blow of her own.

  “Are you happy? You’re raising your daughter to be just as trampy as you are!” Victor hissed, the fury in his eyes only growing.

  His outbursts didn’t make any sense to her and tears blurred her vision as she gaped at him.

  I wanted him here, but not like this, Olive reminded herself. I brought this on myself and God heard my prayers.

  “Like mother, like daughter. Get in the car!” Victor spat, turning to glare at his wife.

  Olive didn’t want to, but she knew she had no choice in the matter. She had never seen her father so upset and she wished she could do something, anything to go back in time and change everything about that night. Little did she know that night was only the start of the changes in her life.

  Keep the past where it belongs ... Olive thought, as the outer door opening brought her out of her reverie. If that night taught her anything, it was that there were no do-overs. Unfortunately, that didn’t stop her from reliving that awful night over and over like a shitty version of “Groundhog Day.”

  So much for leaving early, she thought, as the inner door flung open. For a second, her breath caught in her throat.

  Is this guy real?

  It was the only thing she could think of, staring at the sexy Adonis that had barged into the dingy, sparsely-decorated waiting room. His eyes were the color of the sky anticipating a tornado, grey with a hint of stormy bluish-silver.

  What would bring this man to her boss’ office? Truth be told, it was her father’s office – the very man who had humiliated her so long ago. Victor Chaminga, the starring villain in both roles.

  The imposing man who stood before her was too sophisticated to be one of her father’s henchmen, but too brawny to be one of the politicians that Victor rubbed up to. A twinge of familiarity tickled her brain, like she’d seen him before, her eyes trailing along the strong lines of his neck, down the perfectly tailored blue shirt which only enhanced the broad, muscled definition of his shoulders.

  Holy hell. Would I like to nibble on that.

  She struggled to maintain her stoic disapproval, the same one she reserved for all the men walking in there, but it was incredibly difficult when his eyes seemed locked on hers. The aggression and animosity that he had stormed in with dissipated somewhat as a spark of sexual interest lit in his eyes.

  “Can I help you?”

  A devilish smile formed over his sensuous mouth as he sauntered forward, his intention lasering onto her.

  “I’ve no doubt you could,” he responded, that smile nothing short of unholy. Olive was taken aback by his forwardness.

  It was only then that she caught sight of the numerous tattoos, peeking out from various parts of his well-sculpted body. Before she could stop herself, she craned her neck closer for a better look.

  Another niggle of recognition tickled through her, but as soon as it had come, it was gone.

  “If you’d care to see more – it’ll cost you.” he bargained cockily. In that moment, Olive felt like he was going out of his way to lay it on thick, like the person he was pretending to be was not who he really was.

  That, Olive, is called “wishful thinking.” You just don’t want to believe a man this gorgeous can really be that big of a pig.

  “I think you have the wrong office,” Olive told him, deciding that was precisely the case. Sometimes, strangers wandered in from down the hall, looking for Legal Aid.

  “I hope so,” he replied, his grin widening. “But I doubt it. I’ve been here before.”

  She wished he’d stop raking his eyes over her like she was a raw steak and he was a coyote.

  If you hate it so much, why did your nipples just get as hard as ice, hmm?

  Her face flushed crimson and she looked down at the desk.

  “Do you have an appointment, Mr., uh…?” She looked for a non-existent calendar.

  “Anders. Remy Anders. And no, I don’t have an appointment, Miss…?”

  Remy Anders. Of course. The tattoo god.

  Olive decided that only made him hotter and it bugged the hell out of her. She was looking for points that would stop the surge of heat flowing through her veins and her dampening vagina.

  “I-I don’t know if Mr. Chaminga is seeing anyone,” she said but when she spoke, her words were barely audible and she cleared her throat in embarrassment and tried again.

  “I’ll have to see if—”

  “I heard you but I’m still waiting on your name.”

  “Oh.”

  She blinked her chocolate eyes. This time when their eyes met, she saw a spark of humanity behind the almost boisterous persona he’d barged in with, that was until she provided her name.

  “Olive — Olive Chaminga.”

  “Of course you fucking are.” Remy Anders muttered, his eyes frosting over, the humanity she imagined she had seen, disappearing as though in ice.

  “You’re the celebrity tattoo artist,” Olive offered, tentatively. “I’ve seen Blotted a few times. You’re really good.”

  She couldn’t say why she felt the need to stroke his ego when it was clear that Remy Anders had no deficiency in that department.

  I bet he doesn’t have deficiencies in any department.

  Inadvertently, her eyes dropped toward his crotch and to her amazement, she could make out a distinct bulge beyond the muscle of his thigh as he lounged causally in front of her.

  And he saw her looking.

  Shit. Busted.

  Quickly, she raised her eyes back up to meet his and managed a tight smile but her heart was pounding in her chest.

 
; “Stop by, I’ll do a tight one with you,” Remy almost sneered.

  Olive gasped in shock at the brazenness of his comment, her color going to bright scarlet as her mouth parted in shock.

  He arched an eyebrow and laughed, some of the warmth returning to his gaze.

  “Tight ... it means a great tattoo, what did you think I meant?” he asked deliberately, and Olive wanted to sink through the floor with embarrassment.

  “I didn’t – I mean,” she murmured. “I’ve always wanted a tattoo, but you know how it is…”

  “You want it to mean something,” Remy finished. He sneered at her and leaned in close enough that she caught a whiff of his aftershave. It was sporty, not spicy, and again, not what she had expected.

  But nothing about this complete stranger added up to her. Their gazes locked and Olive was growing dizzy in the smoky trance of his stare. Olive nodded in agreement, lulled into a secure sense of peace as Remy opened his mouth to speak.

  But the spell was broken as the door to the inner office flew open and Victor Chaminga stormed out, his barrel chest puffed out in a sign Olive recognized as anger.

  “Olive, what the fuck are y—”

  He stopped speaking as soon as his eyes rested on Remy, a thousand emotions skirting across his face before they rested on a grimace attempting to be cordial.

  “Remy!” he choked finally, forcing a smile that Olive knew he wasn’t feeling. “What are you doing here?”

  “Well,” Remy drawled, slowly sliding off the desk, much to Olive’s disappointment. “Now there’s the quarter of million dollar question, right, Vic?”

  At least I get a better view of his ass this way, she mused and she took full advantage of it. She’d never seen Remy Anders before, other than on TV and she probably wasn’t going to see him again, based on the way her father was looking at him. Olive knew the guilty look well and she could smell it oozing off him in spades. She decided to use the little time she had to commit Remy to memory.

  “Why haven’t you returned any of my calls or emails?” Remy continued, as he stalked threateningly toward Victor. Olive’s heart stopped beating even though she’d already suspected as much.

  He fucked Remy Anders over too. How shocking. From the look on Remy’s face, Victor Chaminga might just finally get his. She only hoped she and her mother wouldn’t become collateral damage. Remy definitely looked like he was on the warpath and given what she’d seen and heard from him so far, she doubted he would care who might get in the way of his redemption.

  A part of her hoped she’d misread the situation, that maybe Remy and Victor might have just had a misunderstanding. At least if that was the case, Remy wouldn’t loathe her by association.

  Olive almost rolled her eyes at herself and shook her head at her own girlish thoughts. What was she thinking? That they were going to go on a date? Have a one-night stand? Even if Remy hadn’t somehow been screwed over, why would she want to get involved with such an arrogant guy, especially one who had dealings with her father, of all people?

  No, it was just a stupid, silly fantasy, one which could never materialize into anything.

  4

  Chaminga was clearly uncomfortable by his presence, as Remy had known he would be. He expected Victor to avoid him, after what Remy had learned, so banging on his door seemed the best option, if he wanted to confront the thieving asshole, face-to-face.

  What Remy hadn’t been expecting, however, was the stunningly beautiful woman in the office, staring at him with wide, innocent doe eyes that made his cock hard on sight. He somehow doubted innocent was a word he should use for her, though, given the DNA she shared with this fuck.

  It wasn’t often that Remy was struck by the beauty of a passerby but there was an internal radiance about Olive, one he didn’t often see. Radiance? There he was again, assuming the best of someone who was likely groomed to screw him out of his money, too.

  He’d busted into the office, intending to use his usual skills of intimidation on Chaminga, but catching sight of Olive had caught him completely off guard. His cockiness was forced as he studied the delicate lines of her face, memorizing the perfect contours of her glowing complexion.

  It was hard to maintain his composure when looking at her had been an instant hard-on. He’d almost forgotten why he’d come — until he’d learned that the stunning beauty was Chaminga’s daughter and then the asshole showed his face as well. Just how much did she know of her father’s schemes and how far would she go to protect this snivelling piece of shit?

  “Come inside my office,” Victor urged. “I’m sorry I missed your calls. I must be having problems with my receptionist.”

  Remy cast Olive a glance but for the first time, she didn’t look directly at him.

  “Is she coming?” he heard himself ask and he wondered where the hell that question had come from.

  “Olive needs to man the front,” Chaminga replied sternly, his eyes growing cold as he looked intently at her for a moment.

  “Good,” Remy said and only then did Olive cast him a hurt look.

  So she cares a little what I think. That’s something.

  He shot her an icy glare and followed his former Army lieutenant into his office.

  It reeked of cigarette smoke and bourbon, causing Remy to wrinkle his nose in disdain. The last time he’d been there, the place had been clean, and Chaminga hadn’t been in a track suit, looking like a third-rate drug dealer.

  Looks like you were absolutely right, Luke. Desperation was leaking through Victor’s “great guy” façade…

  The evidence was stacking up against him and when the door closed at his back, Remy put all thoughts of the sultry black-haired vixen in the lobby, on hold.

  “You lied to me, Victor,” he said shortly as Chaminga walked stiffly toward his desk. The man resembled a walking cadaver at times, not unlike Edgar Bugman in “Men in Black.”

  “Lied to you?” Victor echoed, sitting down in a manner that seemed painful. “Please, sit down, son. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

  Remy bristled at the feigned conciliatory tone and scowled, anger rising through his body.

  “There never was a fucking solar panel company,” Remy hissed, closing the space between him and the desk. He leaned forward to glare daggers into Victor’s face. “I want my money back. Every cent.”

  Victor’s eyes widened in mock surprise.

  “What? What are you talking about? Of course there’s a solar panel—”

  Remy slammed his open palms onto the desk.

  “Don’t fuck with me. Do you have any idea how many people want your balls on a spit right now? One little slip and I can have your colleagues here with a cement truck, I promise—but not after I’ve had my time with you. I want my money, but so help me God, I’d gladly settle for your head on a rusted platter – and I’ll give the rest of the mob your balls.”

  Victor studied his face, trying to look nonchalant, but sweat was beading on his brow.

  “You’re bluffing —”

  Remy snorted at the remark as he leaned closer, shaking his head.

  “Oh, old man,” he cooed. “How quickly you forget what I’m capable of. I’ll chalk it up to your age but if you think back and think hard, you’ll remember our time in the Army.”

  “We’re not in the Army anymore,” Chaminga choked out, trying to maintain his firmness, but Remy could see the memories turning in his old commander’s mind. He felt a clenching in his gut as the memories threatened to spill back into his mind too.

  He didn’t want to recall his own time in the service, the things that he’d done overseas not really a part of who he was now, but Victor needed to know his options to weasel out of cheating him were very limited.

  A cold smile formed on Remy’s lips and he shrugged, turning away.

  “Suit yourself,” he said, feigning nonchalance.

  Fleetingly, he wondered what Simon would have done in this situation.

  But Simon’s not here and you can’t
let this asswipe keep screwing with people. He’s terrorized too many people for far too long to get away with this unscathed. This stops. Today.

  “Wait!” Victor cried out as Remy reached for the door. Remy smirked to himself before pivoting.

  “Let me guess ... you’ve had a change of heart?” Remy asked sarcastically.

  “You’re not the first person to come in here threatening me,” Victor growled, desperately trying to regain the upper hand. “I work with some of the most powerful men in Detroit. You step out of line—”

  “Who might these men be, Vicky? I’ve been asking around and it sounds like you’re walking on a very thin line. You’ve got your pissy little hands in other people’s business and that’s put a big target on your ass. You’re not liked by a lot of people.”

  Remy paused for effect, raising one brow mockingly.

  “Come to think of it — I’d go so far as to say you’ve been playing a bit of Russian roulette with the mob. Why the hell else would you feel the need to fuck your “comrades” out of hundreds of thousands of dollars. Hell, maybe my next stop will be to them, I’m sure they’d happily pay me to do what I’m going to do to you anyways. At least that way, I’ll get some of my money back. I might not get my two hundred and fifty grand back but at least I’ll have the satisfaction that you’re not gonna fuck with any other “friends”. That’s what I call a win-win.”

  Victor’s face paled and he struggled to stand.

  “You wouldn’t!”

  “I wouldn’t even fucking blink,” he growled. “You took advantage of our friendship, our history. And gutting you? It’s nothing I haven’t done before.”

  This guy is unfuckingbelievable. No wonder Luke saw right through him. How did I miss all the warning signs?

  Remy spun to leave. He’d track the piece of shit to his house, or anywhere he could catch him alone. He wasn’t about to kill him in the middle of his office, not when there was a witness – no — his daughter of all fucking people.

  “Nice knowing you,” Remy muttered, his hand on the doorknob. He’d just have to wait for Chaminga outside.