Charlie lay in the bed watching as pale sunlight began to trickle around the edges of the curtains. The other half of the bed was empty, but she couldn't say she was terribly surprised. She had seen the look on his face last night, even in the shadows. She'd watched as something behind those devil's eyes of his had fractured.

The problem was she didn't know what had broken, or how important it was.

What did surprise her was that he was still in the house somewhere. She could hear aggressive music echoing through the hallways and drifting up the staircase.

The blades of the ceiling fan swirled lazily, moving the air just enough that she didn't feel smothered. The sheets were soft and warm against her bare skin. It felt like moving would make something break—would shatter some spell that was protecting her from his wrath. Moving was a bad idea. Besides, she was still drowsy after her late night and the bed was far too comfortable.

But eventually, her complaining bladder drove her from the cocoon of blankets and into the cavernous master bathroom. Cool golden marble met her feet and it took about a second to decide that she would need to explore the massive shower.

Charlie took pains not to look at her reflection in the mirror, which was harder to do than usual, given the size of the glass. She turned the tap, watching in amazement as water gushed in a torrent from the shower-head. Why did any one person need so much water to bathe?

By the time she'd finished using the toilet, coils of steam had begun to loop through the air, fogging the clear glass of the shower walls. Tentatively, Charlie stepped through the door and attempted to get her hair wet without drowning herself. The water pattered down more softly on her skin than she would have guessed from the sound it made on the stone beneath her feet.

What did they do now?

Charlie pondered this as she scrubbed the remnants of last night's makeup from her face with a soft cloth, grimacing at the red and dark grey smeared across the white cloth. 

Where did they go from here? Were they an actual couple now? Was that what she had wanted when she'd told him to take her to dinner last night—when she had kissed him and let him lay her down on that bed?

She scrubbed at her skin with a soap that smelled subtly of pine and sea salt. It was a familiar scent. One that clung to the skin of his chest and the delicate spot just beneath his ear. Charlie inhaled deeply, trying to decide which scents made up his cologne. Something sharp, almost peppery. Just a hint of citrus—maybe lemon verbena. 

Then there was just his natural scent. The indescribable smell that was simply Remi.

She bit her lip as every trace of him was rushed down the drain by the torrent of water spilling over her in gentle waves.

Should she just leave, or would that make him hunt her down like the fox that raided the henhouse? A dreadful little shiver—two parts anticipation, one part unease—skittered down her spine as she imagined that.

No. She wouldn't just leave. That felt distinctly cowardly, and she didn't much care to feel like a coward.

When her fingers started to prune—the water never seemed intent on turning cold—Charlie shut it off and wrapped herself in one large, fluffy towel, using another to sop up the water from her hair. Padding back into the bedroom, she stopped and blinked stupidly at the folded clothes sitting neatly on the end of the bed.

She approached them with caution, lips parting when she realized they were her clothes. A faded red t-shirt and a pair of gym shorts along with a bra and underwear sat on the covers, waiting for her. Music still blared from somewhere deeper in the house.

Had he slept at all?

Charlie got dressed slowly, working up the nerve to search him out. After that, she made the bed. When every wrinkle had been smoothed, she knew she couldn't put it off any longer.

After a few bracing breaths, she ventured out of the bedroom and down the stairs, letting the music lead her through the foyer and down another set of stairs she hadn't realized was there. Once in the basement, she slowed subconsciously. She hadn't been in this part of the house yet.

It didn't feel quite so polished as the upper floors. The walls didn't display any tasteful art, the paint was a bland off-white. The rooms were bare-bones—two were completely empty, one held nothing more than a bed and a dresser.

The music shattered down the hall now, a vicious guitar riff shrieking in her ears. It led her down the hall to the very last room. There was no door. Charlie crept forward, tiptoeing even though there was no way he would be able to hear her coming. She couldn't even hear herself.

She was vaguely surprised by what she found as she stood in the doorway. The room was huge and lined with mirrors. One section had pads on the floor, a punching bag suspended from the ceiling and a martial arts dummy. The rest of the room was filled with free-weights, weight-machines and a few aerobic machines.

It looked like she'd accidentally stumbled into a 24-Hour Fitness.

Charlie took a few tentative steps into the space, wincing at the decibel level, eyes oddly dazzled by the light and how the mirrors made the space seem somehow stretched. It was a moment before she found Remi near the back of the room at a bench-press.

She bit her lip at the heavy weight he was pressing, suppressing a warning about how pushing himself too hard, too fast might keep the wound in his side from healing quickly.

He wouldn't listen. Remi wasn't the type to believe in moderation. 

The muscles in his arms strained, beginning to tremble as he continued to lift the bar. She let out a sigh of relief when he finally hooked it back onto the rack and sat up. He wiped at the sweat on his brow with the back of his hand and stayed there for a moment, his elbows resting on his knees, his head bowed.

She didn't dare move.

It startled her when he stood and began weaving his way through all the gym equipment toward the quarter of the room laid with softer mats. It was just by chance that he looked over and saw her.

Remi drew to an immediate halt, staring at her. Sweat darkened the neck of the t-shirt he was wearing and soaked his light brown hair. He had circles under his eyes that made her think he definitely hadn't slept at all last night.

His lips moved, but Charlie couldn't hear him over the music thundering through the room and bouncing off the glass. She shook her head and he frowned before he turned away and strolled over to the punching bag. He shifted onto the balls of his feet, bobbing lightly before he began to throw punches. Charlie leaned against the doorframe and crossed her arms, watching.

It was an enthralling sort of dance, punctuated by the blur of his fists snapping out.

This went on for an interminable amount of time. Then, when he was breathing hard, he spun gracefully and headed toward the door. Charlie let her eyes drop to the floor, studying her bare feet until the music was cut off abruptly. The silence rang in her ears, punctuated by the sound of his breathing.

Charlie started when he grabbed her hand, tugging her fully into the room.

"I asked if you wanted to join me," he rasped.

For a moment, all she could do was blink in abject confusion. Join him in what? Lifting? She didn't have any shoes on. In fact, just being in the same room as all this equipment without something on her feet was making her kind of twitchy. Since she didn't have an answer, she simply raised a questioning eyebrow. 

That somehow seemed safer than assuming anything.

Remi didn't smile in amusement. He didn't frown. He didn't so much as blink. The lack of expression more than anything else frightened her. What did it mean?

What did he want?

They stared at each other for a moment before Remi sighed and turned around, waving over his shoulder for her to follow him. After a moment's brief hesitation, Charlie picked her way toward him, eyeing a row of dumbbells warily. When she'd made it safely to the padded floor, she let out a small breath of relief she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

It startled her when Remi grabbed her arm—gently—and pulled her forward until she was standing between him and the punching bag. He hooked a foot around her right ankle, drawing it back and away so she was in a staggered stance.

"Do you know how to make a fist?" The question brushed against her ear, making her mouth go dry. His sweat-slick skin glided against hers as he wrapped his fingers around her wrists, bringing her hands up to about chin-level.

Charlie balled her fingers into fists in response to his question. He covered her fists with his hands, squeezing down almost hard enough to hurt. "Keep your fingers in tight," he murmured. "The harder you squeeze, the better."

Suddenly, she realized what he was doing.

"Keep you arms raised. Whatever hand you're not punching with needs to stay up," he murmured. "Rule number one is always protect your face. And not just because it's so pretty."

Charlie raised an eyebrow at their reflection. He copied her expression. Then he tapped her front arm. "Jab."

He stepped back, assuming the same stance she was in and demonstrated by punching the air with his left. Charlie did the same, lightly tapping the bag. His reflection gave her a dry look, and he snapped out another punch. She hit the bag harder this time.

Then Remi punched at the air with his right. "Cross."

Charlie mimicked him, and this time the chains suspending the bag jingled with the force of her blow. A smile began to tug at her mouth as she mirrored Remi. Jab, jab, jab. Jab, cross. Jab, cross. Jab, jab.

Then, he tilted down, driving his fist up from his hip to his chin. Charlie stood in front of the bag, panting lightly, and frowned at him. Remi repeated the motion. "Uppercut," he said. "Best aimed at the solar plexus or right under the chin."

Charlie copied him, repeating herself until he nodded in satisfaction at her form.

Then it was back to an unpredictable slew of punches. Jab, cross, uppercut. Uppercut, uppercut. Jab, cross. Over and over again until he threw a punch that came around from the side.

"Hook," she muttered before he could. He nodded and watched as she copied his form, hitting the bag over and over again.

They kept at it, Charlie hitting the bag and Remi shadow-boxing, until they were both out of breath. Charlie shook her still-drying hair out of her face and let her arms drop. Remi continued for a few more seconds, his movements restless. She watched him in the mirror for a moment before slowly turning to face him, biting her lip nervously.

He inhaled deeply through his nose to slow his breathing, then gestured her toward the middle of the mats. She crept forward, letting out a startled breath when he lunged forward and grabbed her, pulling her into his body. She stood frozen as one of his arms locked around her throat.

"How do you get away?" he asked.

Charlie looked at the mirror and frowned. She had no idea.

When the silence stretched too long, he sighed. "Grab my wrist with your left."

She did as instructed.

"Peel my arm as far from your throat as you can and tuck your chin. You need to be able to breathe. You need to maintain blood flow."

Charlie resisted the childish urge to roll her eyes, once more following his instructions.

"Take your right hand and put it on my elbow." Once she had positioned herself properly, he said, "Now shove straight up with your right, pulling with your left, turn your face to the left, keeping your chin tucked." He flexed slightly, just enough that an uncomfortable pressure built around her windpipe. "Step backwards and a little to the side, leading with your left."

Charlie's lips parted as the pressure on her neck increased. All of his instructions blurred in her head and her fingernails scraped along the back of his hand. The pressure decreased and she slowly followed each step he had given until she found herself behind him, his arm held straight out behind him.

He smiled joylessly at her in the mirror. "Now put my wrist to my back and try to pull it to my shoulder blade."

Charlie hesitated, knowing that would hurt him. When he sensed her reluctance, he turned—lightning fast—and she once more found herself with his arm hooked around her throat.

"Do it again," he whispered, steadily increasing the pressure until a slight buzzing filled her head.

Fumbling, Charlie clawed at his hand with hers, jerking his arm away and tucking her chin. There, she hesitated, trying to remind her body of each step. Awkwardly, she managed to extricate herself, fingernails still digging into his wrist.

She didn't hesitate this time with the last instruction. Remi hissed as she forced his shoulder to strain in its socket, then grinned at her. "Now, drive your heel into the back of my knee."

Before he could do anything else tricky that would end up with his arm back around her neck, she lashed her foot out. It nearly surprised her how easily his knee gave, putting him on the floor. A breath eased from her and she immediately let go of his arm, skittering back a few steps as he got to his feet.

Gently, he took her wrist, pulling her into him once more. "Do it again."

Charlie made a face, but stood still as he wrapped his arm around her throat. They went through the movements over and over and over again until she could do it without stumbling or pausing. 

"Good," he finally said as he pushed himself upright one last time.

Charlie raked her hands through her hair, grimacing at the tangles that snarled around her fingers. Her heart was beating hard and her cheeks were flushed with exertion. Remi had lowered himself to the ground, stretching his lean body. Charlie idly studied her reddened knuckles. They stung a bit, but it was an interesting sort of pain. Satisfying, in a way.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, making her glance up to find him lingering at the door.

She gave a silent nod, following him out of the gym and back up to the main floor. The tile was cool under her bare feet as she padded over to the stools on the other side of the kitchen island, watching as Remi raided the refrigerator. Her stomach gave a belated growl, loud enough that Remi looked over his shoulder, a satisfied sort of smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

Snorting, Charlie hopped back down off the stool and reached around Remi to grab a carton of orange juice. She could feel his amused gaze on her as she looked apprehensively at all the cabinets. It took three tries before she could find a glass. With as much dignity as she could muster under his widening grin, she went back to the kitchen island.

Neither of them said anything until Remi had slid a plate in front of her. Charlie looked down at the omelet and couldn't help a grin of her own. His culinary skills never ceased to amaze her.

They ate without speaking a single word, and Charlie took their plates to the dishwasher. She closed the door with a small snick, then stared out the window into the back gardens. They were lush and green, bursting with color. She wanted to go out there, but wasn't sure enough in her ability to navigate this labyrinth he called a house.

When she heard his restless movement, she turned to find him staring at her, expression inscrutable. It might have been anger. Or confusion. Or desire. It could have been all of those things, and about a dozen more.

"Why the boxing lesson?" she asked, the words popping out of her mouth before she could think them over. She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned her hip against the counter, turning her head to stare into the garden again.

A sigh rustled the air between them. "Everyone should know how to protect themselves," he said quietly, the low pitch of his voice shaded with something just a little too raw to be overlooked.

Charlie bit her lip, watching as drooping gardenias bobbed in the light breeze. She wanted to know how it smelled out there. She finally just sighed and said, "I want to see the garden."

If he was surprised, he didn't show it. He simply stood and moved toward a door beside the one leading into the garage. Charlie hadn't been sure if that was an exit or a pantry. She followed along in his wake and found herself blinking in the morning light, the sky a muzzy sort of blue above them.

A dozen scents slammed into her. Gardenia, magnolia, the purple smell of irises and the green smell of fresh-cut grass. Charlie smiled ruefully at the painstaking tastefulness of the garden. Small flagstone paths rambled around arrangements that were practically works of art, which occasionally centered around works of art themselves. Statues of pale white marble watched them both mournfully. Remi walked down one of the paths before sinking onto a stone bench situated beside a burbling little koi pond.

After another hesitation in a morning of hesitations, she joined him, stiffening slightly when he draped his arm across the backrest behind her.

"Do you give all your girlfriends a crash course in self-defense?" she murmured, staring unblinkingly at the water that shimmered green and blue with reflection.

Remi snorted. "I've never had a girlfriend." When Charlie sat up straight and turned to gawk at him, he gave her a dry look. "There were women whose company I enjoyed...for a time. But they were never around long enough to count as anything special. Most of them weren't anything special to begin with."

Charlie knew that—as a woman herself—she should be affronted by his attitude. But—as an individual—she realized that meant there was something special about her.

"What?" she pressed. "Not even in high school?"

He rolled his eyes. "Nope. Too much of a trouble-maker."

"Shocker," she said dryly. Then she shook her head. "Bullshit. Girls love troublemaker boys."

"No, girls love boys they think will change for them." He turned toward her, green eyes flashing in the sun. "Girls love troublemakers they think they can turn into knights in shining armor."

There was a challenge in there, somewhere. 

Charlie tilted her head, considering her next words. "You weren't always this person, Remi. You're telling me you always had aspirations toward this life?" She gestured around the garden hidden behind the palace walls and the castle looming behind them, all built and bought on blood money.

As she watched, his eyes glazed over and his brows drew together. He didn't blink, a look of internal concentration shadowing his face. He looked like he was trying to solve a calculus problem in his head.

Or perhaps something much more complicated.

Finally, he murmured, "I grew up poor. Dirt poor. I wasn't gonna stay that way."

She waited. She knew that he was about to say something important here. Something irreversible. It felt safer to return her attention to the pond.

"My mother," he said, every line of his body tense against hers, "was a prostitute. She did what she did to keep me and herself fed, though I've always wondered if there wasn't another choice." He shook his head and muttered, "There's always a choice. Sometimes it's just between bad and worse."

"Between worse and worst," Charlie replied, her own memories creeping over her. 

Her own mother had done whatever it took to afford her next fix. She could still remember curling into a ball on her bed, hands clamped over her ears so she didn't have to hear everything her mother had been willing to do. Was still willing to do.

Remi gently grasped her chin, turning her face back toward his. His thumb brushed over her lips, making them soften from the tight line they'd pressed into.

He held her gaze for an impossible amount of time. His voice was flat and dead as autumn leaves when he said, "When I was fifteen, I came home to find her dead on the floor, throat cut from ear-to-ear, stabbed thirteen times and raped at least twice."

Charlie had the insane urge to clamp her hands over her ears like she'd done when she was a kid. Horror kept her frozen in place. Bile burned the back of her throat and her mind buzzed with emptiness. 

There wasn't a single damn thing you could say in response to a revelation like that.

"I tried for a while," he whispered. "I stayed in school and I got some shitty job at a fast food place. I scraped by. I could have gone to college. I could have been a lawyer or a CEO or what-the-hell ever." He lifted his other hand to cradle her face. "I decided not to. I knew a few people. Drug dealers. Smugglers. I made a choice."

She heard the confession behind the confession. He hadn't been funneled into this life, even if he should have been. He had tried, and learned that the life of a law-abiding citizen wasn't to his taste. Not after what he'd seen.

"The boxing lesson?" he said, leaning forward a little. "The self-defense? Those give you a choice between being defenseless, and being able to defend yourself. A choice between having to rely on someone else and being totally independent."

Charlie lifted a hand, tracing the circles under his eye with a butterfly touch. His eyelashes quivered in response and he tilted a little closer. "Why now?" she asked. "You already warned me about the dangers of being around you. What's changed?"

Now he gave her a dirty look, pulling away. His mouth moved to a stubborn line, and she knew she'd asked the wrong question. 

Everything had changed. It never stopped changing, this thing between them.

"Does it matter that much?" She swallowed hard against her dry throat. "Do I matter?"

Remi stared blankly at her. "Do you...matter?" he repeated haltingly, and she wasn't sure if he was asking her or himself.

Then his mouth was on hers, lips hot and demanding, nearly feverish. She let out a muffled hiss when his fingers dug into her waist, hoisting her into his lap. His arms circled around her, one hand buried in her hair, the other pressing hard into her lower back.

When the need for breath became too overwhelming, she tore herself away from him, shaky hands resting on his shoulders, chest heaving as she gasped at the thick air. Remi stared at her, eyes flooded with shock or fury or hatred or hope.

He bowed his neck, forehead resting against her sternum. Tentatively, she buried her fingers in the silky threads of his hair. He shuddered, the movement so small as to not be there.

"You matter," he rasped. "Hard as I tried, you matter to me. I don't know how much, or even why." He shuddered again. "But you do."

Charlie stroked his hair, staring blindly at the wall in front of her. Quietly, she asked, "What happened to the men who murdered her?"

He went so still beneath her touch, she was afraid she'd finally managed to cross an uncrossable line. He began to shake again, a choking sound coming from him. It took a long time before she realized he was trying to keep from laughing. He looked up, a savage grin on his face.

"Everyone knows everyone in this world." He barked another wretched laugh. "Leon helped me hunt them down. We drugged them and dragged them out to the middle of the swamps, where the only thing that could hear them screaming was the trees." His smile dropped, his expression blank. "I tied them up and cut them up and dumped them in the shallows, splashing around a little. It didn't take long after that for the gators to find them."

His eyes flashed up and Charlie gulped in air, her lungs aching when she realized she hadn't been breathing as he confessed his first crime to her. Slowly, always giving her the chance to retreat, he brushed his thumb along the line of her cheekbone. His movements were so careful, so tender, it nearly brought her to tears.

How could someone with so much blood on his hands touch her like that?

He didn't say any more, just waited for her verdict.

It didn't take as long as she would have liked to realize this changed nothing. Revenge was something she could understand. Revenge was probably why she had gone back to his hotel with him that night, so long ago.

She placed her hand against his cheek before lowering her mouth to his. A muffled groan of either surrender or surprise brushed past her tongue and his arms wrapped around her once more. His movements weren't feverish anymore. Instead they were almost...reverent? 

Charlie grinned against his lips. No. Definitely not reverent.

Self-assured seemed more accurate.

She mattered and she wasn't leaving or condemning or judging.

They sat there kissing until the humidity was more than uncomfortable and the sun was beginning to make the air hot. Then they went inside where Remi pressed her against the cool cabinets and took her there, and again in the shower.

After a third time on the bed, Charlie lay in a nest of pillows, Remi's head resting on her stomach. His soft breath smoothed over the skin of her abdomen as he dozed, slipping steadily closer to true sleep.

Charlie let her heavy eyelids droop closed, the knot of apprehension wrapped around her heart beginning to loosen, ever so slightly.

Fun Fact: The technique to get out of a chokehold that Remi taught Charlie is real and one I've practiced myself. The type of hold he employed is called a standing rear-naked choke and is extremely dangerous because it works by cutting off the flow of blood to the brain, not by stopping your breath. Just as a disclaimer do NOT try this without proper training by a professional please.

Also, everyone should learn self-defense if given the opportunity. Like Remi said, it's the difference between being defenseless or not, which is a pretty big difference.

Thanks so much for your patience and continued support.