Charlie woke up slowly, her eyes fluttering open several times before she could convince them she truly was awake and force them to stay open. The sheets were wrapped around her legs, making her feel trapped. 

For a moment, she lay there, just thinking. Last night she'd been in a fog—one she'd wanted to be in. Now that it was morning, she was clear.

She'd squared herself with Grayson and thought she should feel happier. But she didn't. All she felt was a vague sense of mobility—like the world had been opened a crack, just enough for her to slide through. 

It wasn't as satisfying as she would have thought.

It wasn't the absolute freedom it had felt like yesterday, before she'd given Grayson that check. She was more free, but she wasn't truly free. And she knew there was something incredibly messed up about the fact that she didn't really care about the difference.

At least the cage Remi offered was under her control. She didn't feel like she was at the mercy of his whims, not like she had with Grayson or her father. He would honor their agreement—that much she believed. Even if she did piss him off.

And she could live with the chains until the right day came to break them.

Slowly, she stretched an arm across the bed, not surprised when she found it empty. Sighing, Charlie stared toward the window to find the skies overcast. That seemed about right.

Last night had been what she wanted. She couldn't bring herself to regret it. Wouldn't, as a point of fact. She'd accept the consequences of her decisions.

Rolling onto her back, she stared up at the ceiling, ruminating on what those consequences might be. It wasn't illegal to sleep with him, just morally questionable. It was the illegal stuff he was paying her for. And yet, somehow, one of those felt infinitely more dangerous than the other.

Her chest tightened, squeezing down on her lungs.

What did it say about her, she wondered, the fact that she knew what he was, but wouldn't walk away. Did that make her just as terrible as him? Did she care that the answer might be yes?

She bolted upright when she heard the shower turn on.

To her complete and utter shock, Remi's clothes were still piled on the floor with hers. Charlie's eyes trailed toward the open door. Above the sound of water hitting tile, she could hear what sounded like singing. She closed her eyes again, listening.

He had a nice voice. Low and rich, it made her think of that grand piano sitting in his house.

Charlie actually giggled, muffling the sound with the sheets still wrapped around her. The king of the underworld of New Orleans was in her shower... singing.

Slowly, she untangled herself and padded quietly across the room and the hall, stopping at the door to the bathroom. She listened for a moment, a little grin pulling at the corner of her mouth. The song wasn't anything she recognized beyond sounding vaguely bluesy.

She opened the door silently, steam already billowing around the room. Remi was nothing more than an outline behind the frosted glass of the door. The door clicked shut behind her and the song trailed off.

"Don't stop on my account," she said, her voice a little throaty.

His only answer was to push the shower door open. A shiver of heat went through her, pooling in her lower stomach. She paced across the white tile, which was still a little chilly under her bare feet, then hesitated.

Remi met her eyes and smiled, the expression slow and satisfied and extremely male. She bit her lip to stop an answering smile and stepped into the shower, shutting the glass door behind her.

She opened her mouth, found there was nothing to say and instead reached forward, tracing a finger over the neat line of stitches on his abdomen. The skin around them was red, a bit irritated and it looked like some of them had been pulled and strained a little. But none of them had torn, which almost surprised her a little, considering all they'd done last night.

Remi tipped his head back, rinsing soap from his hair.

Charlie raised an eyebrow and looked behind her at the cheap, coconut-scented shampoo she used. A shrug from him was her only answer before he nudged her under the stream of hot water, trading places with her.

Closing her eyes, she tipped her head back, soaking her hair. His fingers grazed along her throat, soon followed by his lips. She hummed with pleasure when he pressed her up against the wall, and wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders.

He took his time making his way up to her mouth, his hands keeping pace down to her hips. Charlie all but purred when he bit her lower lip gently. She gasped when, in one smooth motion, he hooked her leg around his waist and thrust into her.

Her back arched, pleasure drowning her as he took her against the wall.

A laugh rumbled through his chest when she bit his shoulder to muffle every ridiculous sound he wrung from her.

He took his time with that too.

When it was over, she stayed leaning against the wall, panting. Still silent, Remi lathered up a washcloth with soap and started scrubbing his neck, then his chest.

Charlie debated turning the temperature over to cold. Swallowing hard, she reached past him to pick up the shampoo, then began to wash her hair. She scrambled through her routine and somehow finished before he did.

He grinned as she slid past him. After drying off, she wrapped herself in a towel and Remi started singing again as she left the bathroom.

As she got dressed, she wondered again what in the hell she was doing. The endorphins still rushing through her were pretty sure they didn't care. 

Leaving her hair to air-dry, she went downstairs, her stomach growling.

She'd taken all of three steps toward the kitchen before a knock sounded on her door. Charlie stared blankly at it for a moment, hesitant to open it, hesitant to let the world back in.

But then she shook her head. The world would come back in whether she wanted it to or not. With a heavy sigh, she crossed the living room and opened the door, not particularly surprised when she found Moira leaning against the doorframe, a knowing grin dancing around her mouth.

Charlie stared in horror at the purplish-red bruise around Moira's left eye, and on the side of her mouth. The Irishwoman just shrugged and said, "It's not near as bad as it looks."

Then her hazel eyes swept over Charlie from head to toe, taking in her damp hair and probably a couple other things as well. "Have fun last night?" she purred, immediately making a blush crawl up Charlie's neck to burn in her cheeks. 

Not deigning to respond to that, Charlie waved the petite devil of a woman inside. "How are your hands," she asked, eager to talk about literally anything else.

Moira just shrugged, holding them up so Charlie could see. A motley collection of cuts and bruises graced the lightly tanned skin of her hands, telling Charlie enough about what she'd done to that pimp.

A perverse sort of pleasure reared its head as she imagined Moira beating the crap out of some faceless asshole. Charlie shook her head sharply, but couldn't stop the feeling.

All she could do was wish she'd known someone like Moira when she was sixteen, and her father would come home drunk and mean as a cottonmouth. 

"Let me take a look," she said finally, but then paused and frowned as she wondered what in the hell she was supposed to even do to treat them. There was nothing here she could use.

Which seemed like a bit of an oversight on Remi's part.

Making a mental note to have that fixed if she was really going to be doing this, she led Moira into the kitchen. She turned the coffeemaker on before they settled at the table, and Charlie began checking for broken bones.

She'd barely started when Remi swaggered into the kitchen, smirking like a cat and wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his lean waist. Moira muttered something that sounded suspiciously like a prayer for patience, but just returned her attention back to her hands.

Charlie blinked when Remi held out a hand, but before she could even wonder what he wanted, Moira was tossing a set of keys to him.

"Leon picked it out," she said, amused. 

"Of course he did," Remi replied serenely. "You wouldn't know the first thing about dressing a man." He grinned when she rolled her eyes, and left the kitchen.

The front door slammed moments later, making Charlie blink in astonishment. Another moment had her resisting the urge to run to a window, to see if he had really just walked into public wearing nothing but a towel.

"Well he's in a rare, fine form this morning," Moira remarked when Charlie went back to lightly pressing on the metacarpals in her right hand.

Charlie kept her head down, centering all her focus on bending and flexing Moira's fingers, waiting for a flinch or perhaps a small gasp to indicate any discomfort. The bruises ranged from deep purple, almost black in some places, to nothing more than light red splotching. Most of the damage was centered around the first knuckles of her index and middle fingers.

"Especially considering he's gotta go meet Dimitri." It was impossible to miss the sour twist Moira put on the name. "Usually he'd be about as pleasant as a bear with a sore tooth."

Charlie finished with Moira's right hand, choking down a small laugh at the comparison. Moving to her left hand, Charlie asked, "Who's Dimitri?"

Silence practically rang through the kitchen at that, and she looked up to find Moira frowning slightly. Slowly, Charlie said, "I remember that name. That name has something to do with Remi getting stabbed."

Curiosity was scratching delicate claws along her skin. She remembered three names from that night: Dimitri, Yuri and Gabriel.

Gabriel, she had deduced, worked for Remi in a capacity she didn't care to think about too hard. Dimitri was who he had threatened Yuri with, making her think Yuri was the one who had left Remi bleeding.

Something sour and hot trickled through her at the thought, but she didn't care to pay it any attention right now. She did have to wonder why Yuri had only received a threat—why Remi had been reluctant to send either Moira or this Gabriel person after him.

Moira let out a heavy sigh. Her gaze was unflinching when she said, "You'll have to ask him. I don't pretend to know what's between you two, and I have no intention of stepping in the middle again. If there's something you want to know, you'll need to be asking him."

That struck Charlie as oddly fair. She jumped a little when the front door slammed, and watched Remi walk back into the kitchen with a new suit draped over his bare shoulder and a white box under his arm.

He put the box on the table and slid it over to Charlie without a word before he again exited the kitchen. With a slow sigh, Charlie opened the first-aid kit and went to work on the small cuts scattered across Moira's knuckles.

The cuts were already clean, but she went over them again, just to be thorough. She bandaged up a few of the deeper cuts, making sure Moira still had full use of her fingers.

When Charlie was finished, she asked, "Do you want something for breakfast?"

Moira just shook her head. She stood up, then flexed her fingers, looking pleased. Before she could ask, Charlie said, "During high school I volunteered with the athletic trainer." She shrugged. "Just another reason to stay away from home for another two hours after the final bell, you know?"

"I do," Moira said with a level of sincerity and understanding that was shocking. There was no pity, just... sympathy.

Charlie found she could only nod before busying herself with clearing away the first-aid supplies. It caught her by surprise, the fact that the only people who had ever seemed to understand her were... these people. 

Remi, Moira, probably even Leon.

And not like Jazira understood her. No, Jazira had only ever really seen one part of Charlie—the one she allowed the world to see. And she knew now that Greyson had never understood, even though he should have.

But Remi had seen those parts of her that she had tried for years to hide, and he'd never once flinched away from the monster that lurked in her soul.

In fact, he'd delighted in it.

A great empty chasm that she didn't understand opened up in her chest as she met Moira's eyes, and she had to swallow hard against the sudden lump in her throat. The other woman offered her a little smile, then said, "I hear congratulations are in order."

Charlie gave her a blank look until her brain snapped into gear. "Oh! Um..." she let out a nervous chuckle. "Yeah. Medical school."

"Well that was... astonishingly underwhelming," Moira said dryly. Raising a dark, neat eyebrow, she added, "Please tell me you are actually excited?"

"I'm..." Charlie shook her head. "I am. Seriously. It's also just... hard not to freak out over the idea of how to pay for it. Or consider that... it might not pan out."

Now it was Moira's turn to give her a blank look. Then she shook her head and cast a disparaging glance at Charlie. "None of that. You've earned your spot, Charlie. Besides," now she gave a sly grin, "you remember who it is you're takin' to bed, yeah?"

A blush burned Charlie's cheeks again before she managed to roll her eyes and scoff. "Old dog, new tricks, blah, blah, blah," she said. "And that has nothing to do with our deal. What he does in bed and his bank accounts are two separate things for me."

"Well that's a shame considering those are some of my better attributes," Remi drawled as he came into the kitchen once again. The suit he wore now was a light, almost silvery grey over a pale blue shirt with a darker blue tie.

Moira chuckled at that, but shook her head at Charlie. Her hazel eyes darted between the two of them, settling on Remi the longest, but he didn't spare her a glance in that moment.

Charlie met his gaze, ignoring the smirk she suspected would linger for a while. He made a point to brush his hand against her shoulder as he passed, heading directly for the coffeepot. 

Her stomach tilted nervously when Moira again glanced between the two of them. The other woman winked at her, then made a beeline for the door. Over her shoulder, she said, "Anya offered up her place."

Remi poured himself a cup of coffee, then turned and leaned against the counter. A speculative look crossed his face, then he quirked an eyebrow at Moira. "And I should assume that's safe because...?"

"Oh, Remington," Moira said, stopping just at the kitchen door, "nothing's ever safe."

He gave her a droll stare before taking a sip of coffee. Charlie had to bite her lip to keep from laughing when he swore.

"It's hot," she said, leaning back in her chair.

Remi shot her an unamused look before saying to Moira, "I understand that Anya is..."

"Looking to move on her father?" Moira supplied, crossing her arms and leaning against the frame.

"We don't know that for sure," Remi corrected her, risking another sip of coffee. "And even if it does, it doesn't mean she will. What's worse is that she told you, she knows I know and she might get jumpy when I'm sitting across from her father."

"Anya doesn't get jumpy," Moira said softly.

Charlie stayed silent, trying to decide if she really wanted to be privy to this. But Moira was standing in front of the only path to escape.

Remi's green eyes fixed on Moira with astonishing focus. Charlie could practically see him weighing and measuring everything he was about to say. Finally, he sighed. "Sure. But she's still a Kalnikov. Dimitri is still her father."

"Be that as it may, that doesn't change the fact that she wants out from under her family's thumb," Moira argued. "If you meet at Anya's place, that has the benefit of lulling Dimitri into a false sense of security."

"How so?" He raised an eyebrow.

Charlie found herself thinking it would be better overall for them to meet in a place neither controlled completely. She blinked, her eyebrows drawing together at the thought, and she looked up at Remi again.

His attention was mercifully still on Moira, who was saying, "Anya knows you'll back her when she makes a move. That counts for something. Leon told me Dimitri wants it private, just you, him and Yuri."

That sentence settled heavily against Charlie's skin, making her blood turn cold.

All Remi did was hum in amusement. "He's not that stupid."

"He's prideful, which might as well be the same thing," Moira countered.

"Rude," he said mildly. "Do you say the same thing about me when I'm not around?"

Moira gave him a pained look. "I talked to Anya this morning."

From the corner of her eye, Charlie could see Remi freeze momentarily with surprise. She hardly dared do more than breathe.

"What?" The word was cold enough to make Charlie shiver. Remi set his coffee down on the counter, waiting for Moira's response.

"She contacted me. Dimitri had told her about the meeting, and she offered her place. I didn't say anything to her, Remi. I swear. She came to me with the idea."

It pained Charlie to hear the undercurrent of worry in Moira's voice. She dared a look at Remi, who once more lounged against the counter, the picture of perfect ease.

His voice was barely short of arctic when he said, "I believe you." He huffed out a short sigh. "Call Leon and ask what he thinks. If I asked Anya to put five men with guns in the balcony, what would she say?"

Moira was silent for a beat too long. "She'd say yes, or she'd lose a rather valuable ally."

"Would she?" Remi snapped, making Charlie flinched.

"Yes," Moira replied softly. "She would."

Silence reigned again, Remi staring at Moira. Finally, and much to Charlie's relief, he nodded. His voice softer and warmer, he said, "Loop Leon in. I'll be out in a moment."

Moira only nodded before she darted from the room and out the front door. The ticking clock on the western wall was the only sound.

"You're kind of a bastard, you know that?" Charlie said before she could really think it through.

"Yeah, I acknowledge that," Remi said smoothly, picking up his coffee cup again. 

Charlie got to her feet, just to lean her hip against the edge of the table and cross her arms over her chest. She took a deep breath, then said, "Who's Dimitri?"

"The head of the Russian mob in New Orleans." The answer was as quick as it was brutal.

Charlie's arms went a bit loose, her arms dropping down to her sides. She blinked at him, then shook her head. "It's stupid to meet someplace he picked."

Much to her chagrin, he threw back his head and laughed. She crossed her arms again, glaring. 

Remi finally looked down, still grinning. "Indeed it is. But there are... extenuating circumstances. Everything has to be considered. And Moira's literally in bed with Anya, which I won't assume gives me an upper hand, but I will consider that it certainly helps her cause."

Charlie bit down on her tongue to keep from saying anything else. This wasn't her world, she didn't know what the situation was beyond the stitches she had sewn, and she'd be damned if she let him drag her further in.

Or so she told herself. Even still, she couldn't deny a morbid curiosity. Not that he needed to know that.

"Okay," she said sweetly. "Well, you have fun with all that."

She turned to head back upstairs, but he lunged forward and grabbed her elbow. Gently, he pulled her backwards into him, wrapping an arm around her waist.

Her heart slammed against her ribs, but she didn't pull away. His breath stirred the hair at her ear. "Don't stop on my account. You weren't wrong, it just amused me," he murmured. "Tell me what you would do."

"Nothing," she snapped, "because I don't do stupid things that get me stabbed by Russian mobsters."

"He didn't stab me," Remi corrected.

"Does that matter?" Charlie asked in exasperation, trying to pull away now. After a moment, he let her go. She whirled around, just to gasp in surprise when he put his hands on her hips and backed her toward the table.

"I'll make sure Leon gets around to stocking you with what you'll need," he said, pressing closer to her. He grasped her chin gently between his fingers, tilting her head back so she was looking him in the eye.

"Great," Charlie said, struggling to make her voice as bored as possible.

She hissed in surprise when he kissed her, but didn't bother pretending like she wanted to resist. Her fingers knotted into his jacket, pulling him closer as she deepened the kiss.

Remi only pulled away when they were both breathing hard. His gaze wandered down to the table behind her, then turned regretfully to the clock on the wall. With a casual voice that didn't match his eyes, he said, " Tonight I think I'm going to fuck you right here."

Heat flooded out to her very fingertips at the thought, but then she shook her head, pushing him away. "Can't," she managed. "I have plans."

They engaged in a short staring contest for a moment, Charlie raising an eyebrow to see if he was about to do anything phenomenally stupid. Instead, he just shrugged and ran a hand through his mussed hair. 

"Pity," he murmured. "Some other time then."

"Maybe," she couldn't help but tease.

He smirked, downing the last of his coffee before he turned to leave. "What plans?"

"Plans that involve people you're supposed to stay away from." She knew he could hear the warning in her voice. "I'm using your card."

She was curious how far she could push what passed for his goodwill.

"That's what it's for, cher," he replied carelessly. 

Charlie stayed silent as he left, only letting out a breath when the front door closed behind him. Then she all but wilted against the edge of the table, fire and ice making for strange companions in her blood.

Putting his coffee cup in the sink, she wondered if she should cancel with Jazira, just in case she ended up with blood on her sofa again.