This woman, right here and right now, she was it for him. He just knew it. Always knew it. Even when he bedded his short flings, he knew it. He was just waiting for time to pass. Always waiting. Story of his fucking life.
She was worth the wait.
He spoke his words, bleeding honesty with her. Fuck, he never spoke this gently to a soul in his life. Not even Rita, that annoying little brat that had him wrapped around her little finger. He was well aware he was giving it all he had to get this girl. To get her to believe he was as genuine as he sounded.
It broke him how scared she was. She knew damn well what happened to Brett. He’d seen the fear in her eyes the second he brought it up at the bar. She knew. For a moment, he didn’t give a fuck if she killed him herself. Brett was a piece of shit that couldn’t be put on the straight and narrow. Remy tried, but time after time he was proven wrong. He’d loved Brett, always had. Always remembered the days growing up with his big brother. It was hard looking at a monster and not seeing what he’d once been: an innocent boy who loved to ride bikes, swing on the monkey bars, collect baseball cards and laugh it up with his little brother when it was just the two of them.
Remy pushed away the thoughts. Whatever was going to happen, it wasn’t going to be taken out on Sara. He knew his birdy wouldn’t have caused his brother harm. If anything, it would have probably been the other way around.
“I need your trust, and I need your help. I need to know what happened to my brother. Can you give me that, birdy?”
He watched her for a long while, lost in her thoughts. There was a war inside that little mind of hers. Her eyes darted all over the place, her fingers fisted into the quilt, and her lips pressed so hard against each other, they paled. Then, finally, after what felt like three centuries to Remy, she took a deep breath and breathed it out, slowly. Her previous turmoil filled posture was now calmed down as she directed her eyes back to his.
Then, “Okay.”
End of book one…
Thank you for reading the first instalment of Ignite. Book two, titled Burn, is out and is the second instalment to the series.
All reviews and ratings are welcome and would be very much appreciated.
I have included the first chapter to Burn.
Thank you again,
R.J. Lewis
BURN
One
The Black-backed Jackal clubhouse was a black industrial looking building with blacked out windows and, with the exception of the black iron gates, a ten-foot-tall cement wall bordering the entire area. There were cameras everywhere, securely fitted to every corner of the perimeter, big in size and shameless, broadcasting to all its members every single soul approaching its vicinity.
Currently, there were five souls standing in front of the gate, and one angry motherfucker snarling up at the camera. In fact, he’d been snarling there for a couple hours now. They’d ignored him long enough -- the fucker wasn’t going to go.
And now he had a gun in his hand. Motherfucker.
Remy stared at the screen, watching the douchebag put his arm up in the air. In the distance, gun shots were heard. Any second now, Prez was going to walk into the room and demand –
“What the fuck is going on?!” Right on cue. The white haired, large burly man stormed into the surveillance room, zipping up the fly on his jeans. His shirt was off, fat and muscle combined and loaded in ink, taking up every inch of his torso.
He took a single look at the screen, went all kinds of impossible shades of pink, and darted his eyes at Remy. The veins in his neck were protruding now, which was bad. The veins were always a bad sign. “What in God’s name is that motherfucker doing firing shots into the fucking air outside of my fucking compound, Remy?”
Remy stood there for a few moments feeling the heat of Prez’s gaze as well as the gaze of all the other men emerging from their slumber. It was four in the morning and everyone was pissed off.
“He won’t go away,” he simply stated to Prez.
“What do you mean he won’t go away? How long’s he been standing there?”
“Few hours now.”
Prez’s eyes twitched once. Then they twitched again as he regarded his VP. Remy knew he knew. Of course he knew. He hated he knew. Prez knew everything.
“What. Did. You. Do.”
From his peripheral, two of his men slinked back – the same men that had helped Remy eight hours prior. Remy didn’t respond. And when Remy didn’t respond, Prez always lost his shit.
“I’m going to lose my shit!” he screeched. Everyone but Remy flinched. He was used to the temper tantrums, albeit not at him, but still, they were all one and the same. “I don’t fucking believe it! You went behind my fucking back, didn’t you? You motherfucker! You cocksucking mother fucking--”
“I had to,” Remy interrupted, but the man continued to rage on.
“For a fucking woman! A goddamn piece of pussy that you can get anywhere you want! Always after that one slice of--”
“He killed Brett!”
Prez shut up. His face went blank as the words processed. Brett wasn’t one of them, but he was Remy’s brother. A part of the family. Prez was never fond of the fat douche, but he was his best poker bud. Poker was big for Prez. Finding a good poker bud to play with was very hard on Prez. So the fact he loved poker and his favorite poker bud was dead was big. Very big.
However, this was different. The Jackals and Scorpions were on good terms now, and it had taken for-fucking-ever for that to happen. They were essential to the Jackals. This complicated shit, and Prez hated complicated shit.
“You got this out of her?” he asked, calmer now as the words sunk in.
Remy gave him a single nod.
Prez’s eyes wandered to the screen again. “What do you want to do?” Remy had every right to retaliate. Depending on how severe this retaliation might be, it would inevitably stir the nest if it involved killing Jaxon Barlow.
“I want the girl.”
The words took Prez off guard. He looked back at the dark eyed man. Remy was always a damn hard read, yet for once the emotion of certainty was profound in those dark eyes. He wanted the girl as retaliation? Talk about dodging a fucking bullet! If pussy would keep the peace going, then Remy could have it.
Prez took a step closer to him. They equaled in height, and although Prez had buried most of his muscle in fat, the fucker was still strong as hell.
“Then you’re going to go out there and settle this,” he demanded firmly. His blue eyes spoke volumes that no one else around the room could see. They said: Remy, you fuck this up and I fuck you up, too. A warning that had Remy nodding in agreement to.
“I’m going back to sleep. I better wake up to no dead bodies, and would someone please shut those fucking kittens up in Darcy’s room?!” They watched Prez storm out, and then dispersed themselves. There were only three men standing in the room: Remy, Fritz and Logan.
More shots in the distance.
“Guy’s losing his shit,” mumbled Logan. “I’m gonna get some guns out of the artillery room. Fight fire with fire, yeah?”
“No,” Remy said. “We don’t need that shit.”
Fritz bristled uncomfortably. “That fucker looks angry enough to shoot--”