Revenge Forsaken Read online

  “OLIVE!” Remy yelled. “Where are you?”

  He stalked through the entranceway, looking around in fury. Half of him hoped that she wasn’t there—for her own good.

  “OLIVE!”

  “Why are you screaming?” she responded to him. “I’m right here.”

  He gaped at her dubiously – something about the hazy scene before him strangely surreal. Olive wore nothing but one of his shirts, which hung mid-thigh on her small stature. He let his imagination fill in what was hidden beneath that shirt and his cock hardened, instantly and painfully.

  “Where did you go? I looked everywhere for you!”

  “I clearly came here, I was ravenous – I hadn’t eaten all day” she replied without remorse. As though through a veiled filter, he took in her wet hair from a recent shower and he caught a whiff of his soap even from the distance between them.

  “You can’t just fuck off like that!” he growled, closing the space between them to glare at her, his heart was thudding, a heady feeling clouding his mind.

  “How did you even get in here?” he demanded. “Without triggering the alarm?”

  “Does it matter?” her answer was oddly muffled so he stepped closer to her still, so he could hear her more clearly. Closing the distance between them was proving too much for his cock.

  “What did you say?” he snapped, clutching her shoulders.

  What would she do if I kissed her right now? Would she resist? Slap my face?

  There was only one way to find out ...

  His muscular arm snaked around her waist, pulling her in close, his body dominating hers at the same time that his lips crashed down. Oddly, Olive didn’t seem surprised in the least, she literally melted into his grasp. In fact, she was ready for him, her tongue snaking out to twine with his as he backed her against the wall.

  His hand slid beneath the tails of his shirt to find her ass, squeezing her sweet cheeks, as his other hand cupped her face, tilting her jaw sideways so he could plunge deeper into her mouth.

  She gasped and thrust her hips forward, grinding against the hardness in his pants. He gave her ass one more squeeze, then dragged his hand forward, testing the limits of his endurance.

  She was already heated, the dampness of her crotch emanating against his hand and he groaned aloud – trying to focus, as the corners of the scene before him clouded over.

  All his senses suddenly centered on Olive’s face as her sharp little teeth clamped onto his lower lip, her dark eyes blazed as they stared at one another.

  “Remy?” his whispered name tantalized him. “What are you waiting for?”

  His fingers slid along the crack of her cheeks, finding the wetness of her center and Olive gasped, spreading her legs to allow him access, her own hands fumbling for his jeans to grasp his rigid shaft in her hand.

  “Fuck,” he moaned as her fingers clutched against him, stroking hard. He slipped his finger inside her, his thumb working against her swollen clit and Olive emitted a small cry of surprise, her grip tightening.

  His hand reached up to expose and then grasp her full breast, teasing the taut skin of her nipple as her head fell back, a tormented sigh escaping her lips.

  If his hand wasn’t holding her ass, she might have melted to the floor as his tongue replaced his hand on her nipple. His tongue and mouth drew on her taut nipple, intermittently suckling it and nipping at the sensitive nub with his teeth. He drew her nipple even deeper, while his free hand mimicked the sensation on her other nipple. The jolts of her engorged nipples had her mewling sweet sounds of release against his chest and her fingernails dug into his inked shoulders.

  “Easy on the tats, baby – ” he chuckled, releasing her nipple from his mouth and watching as it rouched into an even tighter nub.

  She shook her head then. The look on her face far from pleased and her eyes glittered with what ... rage?

  “What the fuck are you doing Remy?” she demanded. “This is not part of the collateral deal – no matter what Victor thinks. Get your hands off of me.”

  Confusion consumed him but before he could respond, she began shouting his name.

  “Remy???” Olive’s voice had changed again, was that concern he heard now? “Remy – wake up! Are you okay??”

  Remy opened his mouth to demand what the hell was wrong with her. When his eyes flew open, it took him several seconds to realize he was the only one who was prone on his bed. And the scene before him was no longer enveloped in a fuzzy haze.

  Fuck.

  He wasn’t sure if he was happy or pissed that it had only been a dream.

  That’s probably exactly how it would go down if it were to happen though, he thought, sitting up in the darkened room.

  “Remy?”

  He tensed at her voice, freezing her with a glare.

  “What?” He demanded, as he saw her silhouette at the end of his bed. He grabbed for the blankets to ensure that Olive wouldn’t see the raging hard-on beneath the covers.

  “Are you okay?”

  He stared at her silently, blinking.

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “You were making…sounds,” she trailed off and looked mortified. “Oh my God, were you—I mean … I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  He smirked, despite the situation. He couldn’t help but be amused by how uncomfortable she’d become.

  “I was sleeping,” he growled but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her.

  “Oh. Okay. Sorry.”

  She turned to leave him alone but he called out to her before he could stop himself.

  “Olive, those sketches on my desk in the office today – did you draw them?”

  She froze but didn’t turn.

  “Yeah…”

  “Where did you learn how to draw like that?”

  Very slowly, she pivoted and studied him skeptically, as though she was sure whatever he had to say would equate to condemnation.

  “They were just doodles. I was bored,” she said with a note of defensiveness. “I forgot they were still sitting on the desk. I threw them out – your office is as I found it.”

  Remy frowned.

  “Why did you toss ‘em? They were really good.”

  “I - uh, I’m certainly no Remington Anders,” she chuckled, but he could see his compliment completely surprised and pleased her.

  “You really do have a talent. Did you get any formal training?”

  Even in the dark, he could see her stance stiffen again.

  “No…my mom just loved art. She was always taking me to museums and teaching me about the artists. I can’t remember being without a crayon or paintbrush in my hand when I was a kid.”

  She stopped speaking abruptly as if she was saying far too much.

  “Anyway, it’s a hobby. I’m not great at it but I do love it.”

  “You’re good. Don’t say otherwise,” Remy told her with a firmness that brooked no argument. He knew art, after all, and the sketches he had seen in his office were more than amateurish drawings.

  “Does your mom still take you to museums?”

  Olive’s jaw locked and she responded quietly.

  “No ... no, she doesn’t.”

  It was clear that the question roused something painful for her but before he could say anything, Olive rushed on.

  “Sorry I bothered you. I just thought that maybe…”

  He stared at her expectantly.

  “What?”

  “I’d just heard that sometimes soldiers suffer from PTSD when they come home from overseas so…”

  It was Remy’s turn for his brow to crease.

  “How did you know I was in the Army?”

  She shrugged and looked away.

  “Google — it was a long day and I had some free time locked in the office, alone.”

  “I see,” He paused and tilted his head.

  “Is that what happened to your father?” he asked. “He suffered from PTSD?”

  She snorted.

  “My father is jus
t an asshole,” she replied. “His actions can’t be blamed on the war or anything else except shitty programming.”

  The answer surprised him, the sincerity ringing through his ears.

  Maybe I was wrong about her. Maybe she really isn’t the enemy. But then why does she work for him? Why is she here?

  “And your mother?”

  Olive tensed so visibly, Remy thought she might snap in half.

  “My mother was just an idiot in love.”

  “Was?” he pressed, even though he could tell he was treading in dangerous waters. “Has she…?”

  “She may as well be dead.”

  Their eyes met and pity overwhelmed him at the look of desolation in her eyes as the moonlight flowed over her.

  Yeah. This is all wrong — there was definitely something else at play with her.

  That didn’t mean all doubt was gone and that he trusted her completely, but he could see another side to her. Maybe.

  “I’m going back to bed,” she told him abruptly and Remy wished he hadn’t pushed her. “I forgot to ask you what time we’re back at the studio tomorrow.”

  He offered her a sheepish grin.

  “We’re back to normal store hours. We don’t have to be there until noon,” he told her and she exhaled with relief.

  “Oh thank God. I don’t think I could handle another day of shooting.”

  “Why don’t we swing by your place in the morning and pick up some clothes,” Remy suggested. He was going to take her shopping but suddenly, he had an intense desire to see where and how she lived.

  “Yeah…okay,” she replied, exhaling. He could plainly see she wasn’t looking forward to it but she didn’t put up much of a fight. “Good night, Remy.”

  “Hey,” Remy called after her as she turned away.

  “Hm?”

  “Thanks for helping out today — I know the days we shoot are long and tedious at best, it was good to have you there on the phones.”

  She seemed taken aback by his words and only nodded.

  “I-sure,” she managed. “Although I’m not sure how much I helped.”

  “You did,” he assured her.

  She nodded again and ducked out of his room, closing the door in her wake. Remy flopped back against the pillows and sighed deeply.

  It had taken all the willpower he had not to re-enact his dream, especially when she stood half-naked in one of the oversized shirts she’d donned in his dream, the vulnerability in her eyes didn’t help to curb his desire in the least.

  With a small noise of displeasure, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and padded out into the hall for a glass of water. He had a feeling he was going to have a hell of a time getting back to bed after that dream and the surprise visit from Olive. He was certain the only way he would have access to her body like that, would be only in his dreams!

  When he entered the kitchen, his eyebrows shot up in shock. Sometime after he’d gone to bed, Olive had taken it upon herself to clean up. All the dishes were washed and put away—even the dishwasher was empty.

  She’d cleaned the countertops before sweeping and mopping the floors. A wave of guilt washed through him.

  You’ve been such an asshole to her and she’s done nothing wrong at all. You need to go easier on her.

  But even as he thought it, Remy knew his conflicting thoughts and emotions would make it near impossible to dismiss the fact that she was Victor Chaminga’s daughter.

  And he wanted no part of that train wreck…did he?

  9

  Olive wiped her palms nervously on her pants and swallowed the lump in her throat as they neared the house in Woodbridge. Her heart felt like it was racing.

  This was a bad idea. I shouldn’t have let him bring me here.

  “You know what?” she said quickly. “Maybe we should just go shopping. I could use some new things.”

  Remy cast her a sidelong glance, his hands resting gently at the base of the steering wheel as the Navigator moved onto a residential street.

  “We’re here, aren’t we?” he asked. “Why don’t you go in and grab whatever you need and we’ll go buy whatever else you want.”

  Panic seized Olive and her breaths began to escape in short gasps.

  Oh my God! I’m having an anxiety attack!

  Remy noticed the change in her breathing and instantly steered the SUV toward the curb and parked before turning to her quickly.

  “Look at me!” he growled, and she raised her eyes to meet his warily, her chest still rising and falling and she was sure her eyes were wild. “Focus on my eyes and breathe.”

  It was easier said than done, but as Remy’s gaze bored into her, she found an odd calm sweeping over her, especially when he grabbed her hands, his thumbs tracing circles over them softly.

  His touch seemed to ground her and slowly, she found herself managing to inhale at proper intervals again.

  “Count your breaths,” he told her even though she was feeling better and she tried to wrench her eyes away from his but Remy seemed to have a magnetic hold on her.

  “Just count. Trust me. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. That’s it.”

  After a minute, the wave of dizziness and anxiety had passed and she dropped her head against the headrest to continue staring at him.

  “Sorry,” she mumbled. “I haven’t had one of those in a while.”

  “What triggered it? Going home?”

  She could read nothing but concerned curiosity in his eyes and she finally lowered her gaze to look at her hands.

  “You should probably just wait in the car while I run in.”

  “Is your father home?” Remy asked. Olive shook her head.

  “Probably not.”

  “Olive…”

  She realized that he was still holding onto her hands and a warm flush flowed through her body.

  “Olive, look at me.”

  Reluctantly, she did as he asked.

  “You live here, don’t you?”

  She nodded.

  “Then why are you so apprehensive?”

  I shouldn’t tell him about Mom. I’m not sure if I even trust him…

  But that wasn’t entirely true. Olive recognized that she was warming up to the idea of spending the next couple weeks with him.

  And not just because he’s so fucking sexy.

  It had taken every ounce of willpower she could muster the previous night not to climb into bed with him when she’d gone in to check on him.

  That morning, there had been far less tension between them and Remy had even poured her a coffee, unlike the morning before.

  Maybe he’s trying to make this bearable now. Is it possible he’s starting to come around with me, as I am with him?

  “Olive, I’m not trying to push but if there’s something you want to tell me…I’m not going to judge you.”

  She laughed shortly.

  “You’ve been judging me for the last two days,” she reminded him. “You’ve had your mind made up about me, since I told you who I was.”

  “Can you blame me?”

  She sighed.

  “I guess not,” she conceded, feeling a spark of unhappiness. It didn’t really matter what she said to him, she realized, nothing was going to force his change of heart. He would need to form his own conclusions from her actions.

  “Keep going,” she conceded, gesturing toward the two-storey house across the street. “Let’s get this over and done with.”

  His brows arched but he didn’t say another word as he put the car in drive, guiding them toward her childhood home.

  She’d always marvelled how from the outside, one could never know what pain lay beyond. The snow-capped lawn showed no signs of despair. The house was in a higher-end neighborhood, embraced among other charming structures just like it.

  “Do you want me to wait here?”

  She looked at him, debating the question.

  Why hide it from him? If it gives him a glimpse of why I’m doing what I’m doing, it
might go some distance in modifying his opinion of me – despite my father.

  Or it could backfire horribly and he would think she was a terrible enabler for letting her mother live like this.

  It was a chance she was going to have to take.

  “No,” she replied quietly. “You can come in but…”

  He waited, his eyebrows up.

  “But?”

  “My mom isn’t well.”

  Compassion colored his face.

  “Oh. Are you sure I should come in then?”

  Olive gulped back her misery and bobbed her head.

  “Yeah,” she muttered. “You can come in.”

  She didn’t say anything else as she exited the passenger seat and made her way up the unsalted steps.

  No one bothered to shovel the driveway either. Jesus Christ, Victor.

  As if reading her mind, Remy called out from behind her.

  “Where’s the shovel?”

  She turned her head and cocked it to the side.

  “You don’t need to do that,” she mumbled, humiliated that he was already getting a sense for how things were even before they stepped foot into the house.

  “You didn’t need to clean my condo and yet here we are,” he replied lightly. His eyes rested on the plastic shovel inside the exterior overhang of the entranceway.

  “Why don’t you go ahead and I’ll get this cleared off?” he suggested. Gratefulness entrenched Olive. He was giving her time to prepare her mother for a visitor.

  “Okay,” she breathed, offering him a wan smile but Remy was already tackling the task of snow removal.

  The house was deadly silent when she let herself in with the key she’d had since grade school. As always, the place was in disarray, dishes, clothes, papers strewn about without regard for pests or guests.

  Olive ground her teeth together as her eyes rested on glasses and bottles strewn haphazardly about the floor and table tops.

  The once prized home of her mother was a dark mausoleum - her prison, thanks to Victor. Rage snaked through Olive’s veins.

  How can he do this to someone he loves?

  The answer was simple—Victor didn’t love anyone but himself.

  “Mom?” she called out quietly. “Are you here?”

  It was a dumb question. Of course she was there. She never went anywhere else.