The ridiculousness of it all makes me bold: “Answer thequestion, Rem. Tell me what you were doing in my apartment that night.”
Rem stares at me, his fingers practically putting dents in his hips. “I told you already. I was keeping you safe.”
“Butwhy? Tell me the truth.”
“I can’t.”
Two words and I feel like a battle line has been drawn. “Why not?”
Rem stays silent. That silence stretches, fraying my nerves. Just when I think I’m going to really lose my shit on him, he says, “I can’t because there’s a connection. There has to be. It’s the only thing that makes sense. A connection between why I was there and who is trying to kill you.”
“What?!” I’m so taken aback and freaked out, my voice comes out in a squeak. “What does that mean?”
“I means,” Rem says carefully, “that I can’t tell you what I was doing in your apartment, not yet. Not until I know more about why you’re being targeted.”
If I thought his answer was going to make me feel better, I was wrong. In a matter of seconds, our connection has gotten even murkier. And one question is pounding in my head even harder. I lock my knees, bracing for impact—maybe even to run—as I ask, “If there’s a connection between your reason for being there and the reason someone is trying to kill me…were you trying to get to me first? To hurt me first?”
“No. No.” Rem answers so fast, moves toward me even faster.
I back up. I can’t help it. He only stops when my back is against the shelves of his open closet, the smell of wool and Rem surrounding me as he captures my face in his hands. “I will never hurt you, Lena. I wouldn’t have that night and I swear to you I never will.”
“How—” My question of how I’m supposed to trust him when he won’t tell me the truth is cut off when he pulls a knifefrom somewhere in the closet behind me, like having weapons stashed around a bedroom is a totally normal thing.
My knees do buckle then, but Rem keeps me upright, one arm banding around my lower back.
“I wasn’t going to give this to you now, but—this is for you.” He presses the hilt of the knife into one limp hand. He wraps his fingers around mine, forcing me to hold it. The knife is surprisingly light, the blade wickedly sharp. “The grip is just your size.”
Struck mute, and more than a little freaked out, I stay limp as Rem maneuvers the knife to the inside of his thigh, just below his groin. He pushes my hand down until the blade meets his leg.
“This is the kill strike. If you ever feel in danger from me or anyone else, this is where you sink the knife. It’s low on the body, you’ll have enough leverage, enough strength to push deep, and more likely than not, you’ll hit the femoral artery. The person will bleed out in seconds.”
“I don’t want them to bleed out. I don’t wantyouto—” Despite everything, the idea of hurting Rem—ofkillinghim—makes it impossible to speak.
“Listen to me. I know you want answers,piccolina. You want to understand what’s going on as much as I do. The truth is, I don’t know who is trying to kill you, but their motive might be tied to the reason I was in your apartment that night. I need a little more time to figure it out. So, I’m asking you to trust me.” Rem’s being honest. His eyes glow with it, along with a naked desire for me to believe him. “But if you don’t feel like you can, if you don’t feel safe, despite my promise, I want you to know how to use this knife. Even if it’s against me.”
We’re so close together, bodies touching, breath co-mingling. I can almost feel his blood pumping in the vein beneath the blade. But that battle line is still drawn, and we’re still on opposite sides.
Rem is making it my choice.Askingme to make a choice.
I can trust him, willingly put my life in his hands and take his, apparently, in mine.
Or, I can say fuck it, fight like hell to escape, and pray that I survive on the run.
It’s a choice between life and death, between the beautiful devil holding me close and the ones still lurking in the shadows.
For a second, I close my eyes. I let everything Rem’s said sink in, let the strength of his body hold me upright. Let the truth really hit home. Because the knife might be in my hand, but it would take Rem less than a second to turn it on me, the result bloody and lethal. I’d die in his arms, just like that. Yet I still don’t fear him. I still want to bury my face in his neck and wrap my arms around his body and let him carry me away. My subconscious has already made the decision for me. For better or worse, I trust him. It turns out I’ve crossed the battle line without even realizing it.
Not that I’m going to let him think he won that easily.
“Fine,” I say, opening my eyes and giving him a flat stare. “I’ll do what you’ve asked. I’ll stay here, I’ll follow your rules, I’ll even work for Bianca—afteryou talk to the symphony board members you seem to know and make sure an audition is waiting for me once all of this is over.”
Rem holds that stoic expression for a heartbeat then triumph fills his eyes. Maybe a bit of relief, too.
I let him bask in his victory for a moment, then wipe the smirk off his face by saying, “I’ll do all that, but you have to do something for me first.”
19
REM
