Revenge Forsaken Page 8

  Why would she when her husband had her confined like a rat in a cage?

  “Mom? It’s Olive.”

  She stepped over two empty wine bottles and cringed. Silently, she hoped Remy wouldn’t come in before she had a chance to make the house somewhat presentable.

  And he thought me cleaning his condo was a big deal.

  “Ollie?”

  Sondra’s weak voice called out and Olive hurried toward the kitchen where her mother barely raised her head from the table to look at her with glassy glazed over eyes.

  “Jesus, Mom,” she muttered, hurrying toward the woman.

  “Did you bring anything for me?” Sondra asked hopefully, her eyes wide. “I really need something else to just take the edge off.”

  Olive scowled furiously.

  “I’m not bringing you any of that shit!” she snapped. “Come upstairs and lie down. I have someone with me.”

  Olive helped her mother onto her feet and half-dragged the wan, intoxicated woman up the back stairs toward her bedroom.

  “Where is your father?” Sondra whispered. “Have you seen him?”

  Olive froze and glanced at her.

  “What do you mean?” she demanded. “How long has it been since he’s been here?”

  “Days!” Sondra cried. “Days and days!”

  Then she giggled ridiculously, pressing her full weight of a hundred pounds against Olive so that the younger woman could feel her ribs.

  Olive stifled a sigh, knowing that wasn’t true. At most, Victor had been gone two days but Sondra’s sense of time was skewed.

  “Mom, you need to eat something,” she muttered, pulling Sondra into the bedroom and laying her on the bed.

  “Not hungry,” Sondra mumbled. “Need another drink.”

  Olive ignored her, tucking the blankets in around her.

  “Just rest,” Olive instructed. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Get your father!” Sondra called out after her but Olive had no intention of doing that. She made her way back downstairs, determined to clean up some of the remnants of her mother’s addiction, before Remy could see what she’d invited him into, but it was too late.

  He stood in the entranceway, his eyes trailing over the mess of the living room as shame choked Olive.

  What was I thinking letting him see this? He already has a low opinion of me because of Victor. Now this?

  Slowly, his eyes raised to meet hers and tears of embarrassment wet her vision. She willed herself to smile.

  “Welcome to the Casa d’Hell,” she said shortly, making her way into the living room to deal with the mess. The tears filling her eyes, blurred her vision and she tripped on a bottle. As her hand reached out to steady herself, she knocked a glass off a side table and it shattered as it hit the floor. In an effort to hide her shame and her tears she immediately bent to retrieve some of the larger shards of glass, but froze at Remy’s voice.

  “Leave it!” Remy growled, striding toward her and pulling her away from the glaring shards on the floor. “Get a broom – I’ll help you.”

  His eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

  “Is this what Victor blows his money on — ?” His eyes took in the empty bottles, trash and mess surrounding him.

  “Does it matter?” she shot back defensively. “My whole family is fucked up.”

  “Your mother,” he realized. “This is her illness.”

  “Yeah. Thanks to Victor.”

  Olive clamped her mouth shut and shook her head, wishing she hadn’t said anything at all.

  “You can’t blame alcoholism and drug abuse on a person,” Remy told her softly. “It’s an active choice and then it becomes a disease.”

  “Damn right, I can! Especially when that person does everything in his power to provide her with an endless supply of booze and prescription drugs and then keeps dangling them in front of her, deliberately keeping her tied to them, making her believe her very survival depends on them —,” she broke off suddenly, dragging in a choked breath. “What the hell do you know about any of it, anyway?” Olive snarled.

  “I know that my mother went off the rails when my brother died,” Remy replied quietly. “Her poison was prescription drugs – although she came by them ‘legally’.”

  Olive’s head whipped up and she studied him with regret in her eyes.

  “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “How could you?” He shrugged with a certain amount of nonchalance, but there was the unmistakable pain of a young boy in his eyes.

  “She would see me while she was in her drug-induced haze and think I was Simon,” Remy continued with some bitterness. “And when she wasn’t mistaking me for him, she was screaming bloody murder that I’d killed him.

  “My father wasn’t much better, but he didn’t use substances to hide from the truth. Instead he turned is back on his family…on me, altogether.”

  Simon. That was his brother.

  “W-why would your mother think that?” Olive asked, unaware of the pandora’s box she was prying open.

  “Because I failed to see the signs of his suicidal tendencies. Signs that even they didn’t recognize,” he barked out a mirthless laugh. “The day he killed himself, I was right there. I should have seen it coming and instead of following him, I just let him go.”

  Remy gazed past her, memories overcoming him.

  “Needless to say, it got a little hard to be around my parents when they looked at me not only as a killer, but as the son who had died, embarrassing them and shaming them to their friends and peers.

  He heaved a sigh, “My family was a little shallow, you see. Image was important. Money was important… Only Simon knew that something was missing. I was too fucking blind to look deeper than the surface.”

  “How old were you when it happened?”

  “We were fifteen,” Remy replied, stepping over the shards of glass and further into the living room to pick up some dishes. Olive could see he was just using the opportunity to distract her as he spoke.

  “I finished high school, and then college, but after, I knew I couldn’t go back home. They didn’t want me home anyways. They never once called me to see if I was okay… So I enlisted in the Army and decided to become my own man, not just Simon’s twin and a painful memory to my parents.”

  Olive stared at him in disbelief.

  “You just cut out your family, just like that?”

  “Trust me ... They don’t miss me,” Remy snorted. “I haven’t spoken to them in eight years.”

  “I’m sure you’re wrong,” Olive whispered. “They must miss you terribly. They already lost one son—”

  “If they miss me, Olive, they know where to find me. Believe me, I’m nothing more than a horrific reminder of what they lost.”

  He flashed her a wry grin.

  “So I know a bit about family dysfunction, okay?”

  “Not like this,” Olive sighed but she shook her head. “Not that it’s a competition.”

  “No, it’s not,” he agreed and turned his attention back to the mess in the living room.

  “I need to get my mom something to eat,” Olive told him. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  “I’ll clean this up,” Remy replied without turning. Olive stared at him in disbelief, wondering why he was bothering.

  We’ve both made a lot of snap judgements about the other, she realized, standing there longer than she meant to.

  “Do you need help?” Remy asked and she started at the sound of his voice, catching herself in a reverie.

  “What? Oh no, I got this.”

  She turned to hurry into the kitchen but she paused.

  “Victor goes out of his way to make sure she stays dependent on him, the booze and the drugs — he’s managed to con or blackmail a number of shady doctors into getting him endless supplies of opioids, which he then feeds to Mom. Like giving candy to a child.” she told him, dismally. Remy’s head jerked up, his face a mask of anger as the words sunk in.

&nbs
p; “What the hell is wrong with your father?” Remy breathed. “Is nothing sacred to him?”

  Olive grimaced.

  “Just money,” she replied. “And power.”

  Remy’s eyes flashed.

  “Yeah,” he muttered, turning his back fully so that Olive could not longer see his face. “Well, we’ll be seeing about that.”

  A shiver of anticipation shot through Olive as she continued to stare at him.

  10

  Jillian cried out in protest over the Bluetooth.

  “But your client is already here!” she whined. “What am I supposed to tell him?”

  “Tell him what I just told you,” Remy snapped. “That something came up and I’m not coming in today – reschedule him.”

  There was a long silence and Remy’s hands tightened over the steering wheel.

  “Is this about that girl from yesterday, Remy?”

  Through his peripheral vision, he caught Olive’s cringe and his jaw tightened.

  “Bye, Jillian.”

  He disconnected the call and took a left toward his condo.

  “We can still go to the shop today,” Olive offered, the contrition in her voice palpable. “I mean, we’ll obviously be late but—”

  “It’s fine,” Remy interjected. “I’m the boss, remember?”

  Olive didn’t say anything as she turned her crown of black toward the window. A soft snow had begun to fall again, the grey skies seeming to match the mood of the parties in the Navigator.

  “Let’s go home and have a shower,” Remy said. “And then we can hit the mall if you want to grab some more stuff.”

  She’d only packed a small bag after they’d tended to Sondra and attempted to clean up the house in Woodbridge.

  “Sure,” Olive replied, her voice barely audible. “Whatever you want to do.”

  Remy frowned.

  “Olive, I’m trying to make this easier on you too,” he said, trying to keep the curtness from his tone. “Stop acting like I’m your father.”

  She whipped her head back to gape at him in shock.

  “I-I’m not!” she choked. “I don’t think you’re anything like my father!”

  “Then why are you sulking?”

  Her mouth pulled in.

  “I’m not sulking, Remy.”

  “Looks like you are.”

  He cast her another look as he steered into the underground parking garage.

  “I can’t stress enough that you’re free to go if you want. I’m not your kidnapper.”

  She snorted.

  “You’re the one who keeps saying it like that. I’ve never accused you of being my kidnapper. If anything, I’d say you have a chip on your shoulder about this situation. If you’re telling me to go, I’ll go.”

  He parked.

  “Where are you going to go? Back to that lovely situation at home?”

  She paled and glared at him furiously.

  “It’s worked for me this long, hasn’t it?”

  “Has it?”

  She pursed her lips and inhaled deeply before speaking again.

  “Why are you fighting with me?” she asked in a quiet voice. “Why do you act compassionate one minute and then treat me like I’m some spy the next?”

  It was a valid question, one with merit and Remy was both impressed and annoyed by her astute observation.

  The problem was, he didn’t know how to deal with Olive and what was happening. The more time he spent with her, the more he wanted her. Now that he had some understanding of who she was, and what she was dealing with, he liked her more, but his sense of suspicion was telling him that it was all wrong, that he needed to keep her at bay.

  And yet you’re taking the day off to go shopping with her. You’re a hypocrite.

  “Come on,” he muttered without answering her question. “I’m filthy and cold and I want a shower.”

  At least that much was true. Between cleaning the house and the sweat he’d broken shoveling the driveway and walkway at the Chamingas, he felt gritty, dirty.

  In silence, they climbed the stairs to the loft and Remy let them in, closing the door behind them.

  By the time he turned around, Olive had already disappeared, her bag in hand.

  He was feeling emotionally drained, tired of fighting with himself on how to feel about Olive and the entire Victor Chaminga situation.

  Victor is drugging his wife and Olive feels responsible for her mother. That’s what’s happening here. That’s likely the sole reason why Olive is going along with this.

  Remy admitted to himself that he was losing some of his skepticism toward her, especially after he’d seen the way Olive had been with her mother.

  Sighing, he moved into the apartment, stripping off his shirt as he did and threw open the main bathroom door without realizing Olive was already in there.

  “Shit!” he cursed, freezing on the spot. “Shit, what are you doing?”

  She gaped at him, naked in the steaming shower, drenched as he had envisioned her the first time he had fantasized about her.

  “I’m taking a shower!” she retorted, refusing to scramble to cover her nakedness. Their eyes locked.

  Idly, he wondered why he had gone into that bathroom and not his ensuite. Had it been by subconscious design, knowing that she was in there already?

  Olive cocked her head to the side slightly, her eyes still snapping with indignation, but then she was biting on her lower lip, as though debating something. Remy felt a surge of blood rush to his cock.

  She was every bit as beautiful as he had imagined, her silky hair spilling like a sparkling waterfall over her shoulders to caress the top of her luscious breasts.

  His eyes trailed along her flat stomach, down to the tantalizing apex of her crotch and back up toward her heaving chest. Even as he stared, her nipples grew harder and he ran his tongue over his lips, wanting to suckle them as he had last night in his dream.

  “Are you just going to stand there – looks like you might have something else in mind?” Olive challenged him boldly, dropping her gaze momentarily to his crotch. Before he could reconsider his actions, Remy’s hand dropped to the zipper on his pants. In a blink, he had joined her in the shower.

  He paused, half-expecting her to protest but she only tipped her head back to stare him in the face, almost daring him to…what?

  “You seem to be warming up?” she commented and he crushed his lips against hers, dancing her back along the jets of the shower shooting from the wall.

  “I’m more than warm,” he growled, reaching around to cup her ass. His head dropped to taste the combination of water and sweat forming along the lines of her neck as he began his exploration of her body.

  The brush of her nipples against his abs made his cock harder and Olive bucked toward him, her lips parting to allow his shaft to slide against her.

  Her hands found his hair as his mouth darted over the flesh of her body, his toned body lowering until he was on his knees in front of her, pulling one of her legs to drape over the muscles of his tattooed shoulder.

  The first flick of his tongue caused her to groan with abandon, but when his finger joined in the party happening in her dripping pussy, Olive’s moans became pleading cries of pleasure.

  Deeper, he lapped, soaking up the sweet juices of her core, relishing the quick jerks of her body as her calf clutched to the spot between his ear and neck.

  His fingers slipped in and out, drawing her orgasm closer to his lips and when she finally let herself go, he tasted the succulence of her release eagerly.

  With long, even licks, he swallowed every drop but before he could move, she unhooked her leg and dropped herself to his level, crushing her mouth to his.

  “I had a feeling you’d be good at that,” she murmured. “Now it’s my turn.”

  Grasping his hips, and guiding him back to his feet, Olive got her tongue between her teeth and began her own exploration of his frame. She traced the lines of his six-pack as her mouth made its way
lower, her tongue circling across his pelvis.

  She paused, her dark eyes meeting his in mild disbelief as she introduced herself to his huge, throbbing cock.

  “Goddamn!” Remy hissed, her suctioning mouth taking him in, tentatively at first. Then her warm hand wrapped around his cock to pull as she took more of him into her sucking mouth. His hand went out to hit the wall for support, his ass clenching slightly to ease himself deeper down her windpipe.

  And Olive took him all, his sack touching her chin.

  “Fuck, Olive,” he growled, his spare hand grabbing her head as her movements grew bolder and faster. Using his strong legs as support, she latched onto him sucking him until Remy couldn’t take much more.

  With a reluctant grunt, he managed to pull himself away but he didn’t manage to get the upper hand as Olive pulled him back down and onto his back in the huge shower enclosure.

  Around them, the water continued to spill, covering them both to wash away the sweat and juices emanating from them. Olive straddled him, and his hands reached up to grasp her breasts, the temptation to use them to anchor her on his shaft more than he could resist. Her face contorted into a combination of pleasure and pain as his cock stretched her with a satisfying burn.

  “So…good,” she gasped, her hips sliding lower. Her pussy grabbed at him, causing him to curse again. He pulled her forward, roughly forcing a rigid nipple into his mouth as he bucked up into her, savoring the sound of her mewls.

  Without mercy, he pounded into her, one hand firmly on her perfect ass, lips wrapped around her breast, his suckling matching the rhythm he’d set with his pounding cock.

  “Come for me,” he growled around her breast, knowing that his time was almost up. “Come. Hard. Now.”

  Goosebumps appeared over her skin and he felt her tensing above him. He nibbled on her nipple sharply, eliciting a low moan to echo through the shower as she came again – hard, nearly collapsing over him.

  “Good girl,” he murmured, as he felt the walls of her channel spasming around his shaft. The sensations forced a storm to erupt from his sack, streams of hot cream jetting from his cock, again and again. With the explosion of a man who had held on two days too long, he spilled into her, hot, fast and furious. Olive sank onto his chest, her breasts precipitously in his face and Remy held her closely as they struggled to compose themselves against the endless twinges of after-orgasm that held their bodies entrenched.