She grabbed his arm again.

She couldn't help it. The sound was just too close to home. Too real. Too painful. She smelled the blood before she saw it, and it made her grab him in an effort to shield herself.

In an effort to not admit how afraid she suddenly was.

A horrible, wet gasping sound was coming from farther in the room. A sniffling, wheezing sort of sound, like someone was trying to breathe, but couldn't quite manage it. A metallic tang in the air coated the back of her tongue.

Charlie squeezed her eyes shut, her face pressed into his shoulder so she smelled his cologne instead. He twisted his arm so that he could put his hand on her waist, pulling her forward as he turned to stand in front of her. The warmth from his body seemed to jump the small space between them, chasing away the chill.

His mouth touched her ear. "You can still walk away."

Her resolve wavered.

She could. She could walk away. Pretend like he was just some other corporate asshole with too much money, clean up any mess that came her way and not think about it so she could sleep at night.

She could do that... 

Her eyes opened to find him watching her impassively, standing so his shoulder blotted out what was happening behind him. A naked bulb dangling from the ceiling on a thin, black wire created a halo around him, which very nearly made her laugh.

It tickled at the back of her throat, almost choking her.

There were no halos to be found here.

Remi stood patiently, waiting for her answer. And part of her was quite honestly wondering why she hadn't turned around and run back out the door as soon as she heard the hit. She didn't understand the sick compulsion to see what had caused it, and who it had happened to.

The other part wondered how long she'd be here cleaning up the blood.

Like he'd read her mind, he said, "You aren't here to fix this one."

Her stomach dropped, which made her feel minimally better. She wanted to see because she wanted to help. He'd told her she couldn't, and she didn't like it.

Certainly preferable to the other option.

She nodded once.

"You're staying?" he asked, face grim.

"You're starting to make me think you don't want me around," she said, keeping her voice as flippant as possible.

"Maybe I don't."

Charlie raised an eyebrow at that, but he didn't back down from the statement. She narrowed her eyes at him, stepping around him.

What she saw immediately made her lip curl in a sneer.

This time it was Leon blocking her view. For an uncomfortable minute she was nearly thankful for the delay. But then she remembered the things he'd said to her this morning, about not being able to hack it in this world of Remi's, and she was just pissed.

And what angered her most was that she didn't know if she wanted to prove him wrong... or prove him right.

He was immaculate as ever in a black suit with a white shirt now. And he didn't spare her a glance, looking at Remi over the top of her head. "We found the money," he said.

"Where?" was Remi's curt reply and she sidestepped, not liking them talking literally over her.

Charlie had to bring a hand up to her mouth to stifle her gasp.

It wasn't anything like she'd thought it would be. She'd taken her fair share of beatings, but her parents had been careful never to touch her face. Those bruises were just too hard to hide.

In front of her right now was nothing more than a pulped mess.

What wasn't blackened flesh was raw and bloody. He was slumped forward, blood mixed with saliva dripping in a viscous stream from his open mouth as he choked and spit, trying to drag in a breath that could get past the blood thick in his throat.

Blood dripped from his nose and when his head lolled to the side, she found a small trickle of scarlet coming from his ear as well.

At his feet, in the small pool of red, were three or four shiny, white pebbles. Her vision focused and she realized they were his teeth.

One eye was swollen shut, but the other was glittering like he had a fever, the sclera dyed a bright red from the broken capillaries. He was staring at Remi, his face blank. Or, at least, that's what she thought his face was doing. It was hard to tell with all the swelling.

A young man—probably no more than seventeen—stood to the side, watching her with curiosity. Strips of white tape were wound around his knuckles. These too were soaked red. She tried to keep her face as still as possible as she stared into his brown eyes. 

She bit her lip as he continued to hold her gaze, wanting to look back over her shoulder. But she could hear Remi and Leon murmuring together and instinctively knew that no attention would be spared to her right now. 

She looked down to find him holding his hands delicately out to his sides. Her eyes flicked between the bloody mess he'd made and the proof covering his hands. She'd be willing to put money on the idea that his knuckles were screaming.

Skirting carefully around the blood of the bound man, she stood in front of him. "Can I see your hands?"

He blinked several times before looking over her shoulder. She turned just in time to see Remi giving the both of them a small nod. He caught her looking and raised an eyebrow, but she hastily turned back around. This kid might need his permission, but she sure as hell didn't. 

She held her hands out, gesturing for him to let her look. But he shook his head and waved for her to follow him to another door hidden in a dark corner.

Reaching past her, he pushed the door open, cursing under his breath in Spanish when it forced his fingers to extend. She went in before him to find a small room with nothing in it but a sink and a metal shelving unit full of bleach and other cleaning supplies. A shiver slithered up her spine.

There was something inherently insidious about this room clearly meant for nothing more than cleaning up a mess.

Or maybe that was just because she knew exactly what kind of mess would be cleaned up.

She turned the tap on, quickly scrubbing her hands before she stoppered the drain and turned, searching for some kind of cloth. "What's your name?" she asked.

"Qué?" he asked, and her stomach went straight to the floor.

She threw her mind frantically back to high school freshman Spanish. "Uh..."

But before she could embarrass herself stumbling through her non-existent Spanish, he laughed, the sound surprisingly warm.

"I'm just messin' with you," he said with another laugh. "I'm Mateo, but they call me Matty."

"Hi. Charlie," she said, waving toward herself.

"Yeah. I know. New doc, right?"

"Which begs the question what happened to the old one?" she said dryly, wondering how many people knew who she was. She turned the tap off when the sink was about halfway full. "I don't suppose you know where any washcloths are, do you?"

He turned with a frown to the shelf, dark eyes scanning the higher shelves. Then he stood on his toes, hissing as he pulled down a stack of what appeared to be neatly folded cleaning rags. "These work?"

Some of them had dirt smeared into the cloth.

"I don't know where those have been!" She shook her head, snorting in disgust before she sighed. She wished she had some rubber gloves. "Okay. Just a heads up, this is going to hurt a lot more this way."

"I'm used to it."

"Remi have you beat hell out of a lot of people?" she asked, tone judgemental as she took his left hand, the less bloody of the two, and started trying to peel the tape away.

Something in the air between them shifted. "Mr. Robicheaux pays me a lot of money to do something I'm already good at. He keeps my kids fed and I'm grateful for him," he said, holding himself stiffly.

"Kids?" She gaped at him, pausing in her ministrations.

He gave her a defiant look, jaw setting. "That's right. Twin girls."  

Not knowing what to say to that, and uncomfortable with the notion that one person's pain put food on the table of another, she continued trying to pull the tape away. He swore when it tore at already torn skin.

"Isn't the tape supposed to keep you from busting them up like this?" she asked in dismay.

"Bones on the face always cut up your knuckles," he said curtly. "Sharp edges and corners, but I didn't want to use an elbow. That would knock him out too quickly. And gloves can turn into evidence."

Her stomach lurched and she turned sharply to the sink, pulling him with her. She held his hand over the water, using her free hand to create a cup, gently trickling the water over his cut, bloody hands.

The water quickly turned red, dripping into the basin of the sink and tinting the clear pool a sickly pink. When she could see where the cuts were, she deemed them shallow enough and submerged his hand. Matty swore quietly as she rubbed at his cut up hands with care, cleaning them as best she could.

They didn't speak as she worked, Matty only making small sounds of dicomfort every now and then. Once the blood had been cleaned away—and she was afraid to wonder how much was Matty's blood, and how much was the other's—she looked around again, wanting something to wrap his fingers with.

"This is okay," he said quietly. 

"We need to put at least some kind of antibiotic or something on them," she argued. "You have no idea what was in that guy's blood."

"Isn't it a little late for that?"

Remi's voice from behind her made her jump, whirling around to find him standing in the door she hadn't heard open, a small, white box in his hand.

"Here." He tossed the box to her.

She fumbled, nearly dropping it. Then she caught a glimpse of the red cross on the front. Eagerly, she popped it open, quickly sorting through it to find the antibiotic paste she wanted and some sterile bandaging.

"I don't suppose—" Before she could ask the whole question, he was tossing a roll of athletic tape at her. The same stuff she'd peeled from Matty's fingers.

"Nothing feels broken," she reported. "His knuckles will be a little tender. They're delicate joints, not actually made for smashing into other people's faces."

Matty scoffed.

"The cuts will stick around for a while." She glanced up at Matty as she wrapped up the cuts on the first knuckle of his index finger. It was awkward work since the cuts were at the base of his fingers.

He merely shrugged.

They all fell into silence until Charlie finished wrapping his hands. Matty thanked her, stepping quickly away from her. 

Then, Remi cleared his throat. "Charlie, why don't you leave me with Matty for a second."

A breath puffed from between her lips, and she shook her head. "Why?"

Remi cut his eyes at her, the green glacial. "Go. Now."

Matty had turned his face away from the two of them, concentrating on the label on one of the bleach bottles.

She wanted to argue—to say he'd promised to show her everything. But something told her she was skating on thin ice, questioning him in front of anyone who worked for him.

So she swallowed her pride for a moment, realizing that she was a tourist in his kingdom. "What am I doing now?"

Her tone was sour, and he shot another warning look at her. This one she didn't heed, just raising an eyebrow and folding her arms.

Remi's jaw clenched for a second, the movement barely noticeable before he grabbed her by the elbow, dragging her forward. He applied enough pressure to get her attention, but not to hurt.

Her palm collided with his chest, stopping herself from running into him. He leaned down, his breath hot against the side of her neck. "You can argue with me when we're alone. Anywhere else is liable to get you hurt."

"Excuse you?" she hissed, speaking just as quietly as he was, and he growled, the sound coming from the very back of his throat.

Anger made her want to pull away and slap him, but her self-preservation instincts were too refined after years of abuse to let her do something that stupid.

"Not by me," he said, confusing her and sapping some of the anger from her blood. 

She turned her head, a wrinkle forming between her brows. 

He met her gaze steadily. "Go with Leon. I need to sort out a few things with Matty, then you and I need to have a chat. Lay a few ground rules here."

"Or you could explain them now," she suggested, but had already turned. "Fine."

Leon was waiting for her in the bigger room. The beaten man had been removed, and she wondered where Remi had taken him. Then she decided it was probably better she didn't know.

Which called into question everything she had done today. And the days before.

Charlie grimaced at Leon. His face didn't betray any ill feeling, but she was pretty sure that's how his face always was. She had yet to see the man look anything but perfectly composed.

He waved for her to follow him. They stepped out into the hall, and she inhaled the stale, close air like it was fresh as spring. At the very least, it didn't carry the scent of blood.

Leon turned sharply to the right, leading her down the hall, towards the sound of cheering. She couldn't help but rub her hands against her jeans, still feeling sticky blood even though she'd made sure to clean every last trace of the stuff away.

The cheering got louder, but Leon didn't offer any explanation. She wasn't sure she wanted to ask.

Goosebumps broke out over her skin, making her shiver with cold. Sweat was sticky over her forehead and it took a moment for her to realize it wasn't a trick of the low light in the hallway. Her vision was tunneling. 

She grabbed Leon's arm, leaning heavily against him for a moment before sinking to her knees. The scent of ammonia burned her nose, though she couldn't tell where the smell was coming from.

Charlie quickly rolled around until she was sitting and lowered her forehead to her bent knees, breathing deeply. She felt as Leon knelt next to her.

"Told you," he muttered.

Weakly, she raised her hand, flipping him off. Her stomach was rebelling, rolling against her lungs, but she didn't think she was going to puke. She took long, slow breaths. In through her nose, steadily blown out through her mouth until her head no longer felt like the room was spinning.

When her hands stopped shaking she looked up, wiping the sweat away from her forehead. Leon was frowning at her, looking like he was working a complicated math problem in his head.

She extended her hand, and he silently helped her to her feet. Her legs shook a little in protest, but she forced them to hold her weight independent of any help.

"I'm okay," she said, more for herself than for Leon.

"No you aren't." He looked her up and down. "But I had thought you would be sick."

"Your confidence in me is overwhelming, Leon," she said dryly. "Please stop. You're making me uncomfortable."

His only response was to level another of those intensely concentrated looks on her. Then he flicked his wrist, gesturing her forward just as a roar came from the end of the hall.

Charlie walked forward, consciously keeping her stride even and steady until she left the darkness of the hall behind for a different kind of dark.

The room was bright in the center. Everything else was shouded in a thick dimness that reduced the people there to shades of themselves. They were impossible to recognize which, Charlie quickly understood, was exactly the point.

Red and blue ropes sketched out a square. There was no raised platform, no bleachers. This was a room designed to give no indication to the daylight what occurred in the midnight hours.

Which meant the fight in front of her was completely illegal.

Leon didn't push her farther into the room, so she had a little difficulty seeing beyond the cheering people. But she recognized the sound of a fight, and a jabbed fist or a swung hook peered between the gaps in the crowd every now and then.   

"Looks like Danny's doing well tonight."

She jumped once again as his voice came from behind her. Both she and Leon turned, but Remi was busy looking toward the ring.

"He always does," Leon said. "I've had a couple offers on him. I can send you the details tomorrow. Quite a few are legitimate."

Remi just nodded, and Leon turned neatly on his heel to walk toward a woman at a table. She was leaning over a thin ledger, scribbling furiously. Another man, big enough to take care of any rowdy patrons, stood behind her, arms crossed.

"Betting," she guessed. "That's illegal in Louisiana." 

"Seems like someone's found her sense of humor about this," he said smoothly. "Are you okay?"

"Do you care?" she asked. Her tone wasn't snappish or rude. Merely curious.

When Remi didn't answer, she turned to look at him. His eyes were black in the low light, making him look like the Devil himself. He had his hands in his pockets and a small divot had appeared between his eyebrows.

She waited, her eyes flitting over to the crowd every time a cheer went up.

"You'd hardly be useful if you were sick every time I call you in," he finally said.

Not the answer she wanted.

"I wasn't sick," she pointed out. "And besides, a little shock is a perfectly normal reaction to seeing someone nearly beat to death."

Remi scoffed, but didn't rebuke her. They stood in silence for a moment before he said, "This is what I am." He waved a hand around, encompassing everything from the club to the blood on Matty's hands. "This is what I do, and I told you as much."

"I didn't really believe you." She wrapped her arms around herself, getting chilled again. "I don't know why."

He shrugged. "It's ridiculous, that's why. I'm someone in a movie. I should be wearing a fedora and speaking with a ridiculously thick Boston accent."

The snort of laughter surprised the both of them and she covered her mouth with the back of her hand, not wanting to play into this movie as he'd called it.

The smile surprised her and he draped an arm over her shoulders. For a moment she considering sliding away from him. Something stopped her and she let him guide her closer to the fight.

People parted like the Red Sea, though Remi certainly wasn't Moses.

"I thought you said we have a few things to discuss," Charlie said quietly. "Ground rules."

"We do, but later."

"It seemed awful important when you were saying it." She twisted toward him, frowning. 

"It's all a show, darlin'." He sighed. "Though that evil eye you give me every time I so much as look at you wrong might kill me one of these days."

"Then don't look at me wrong," she murmured, watching as one of the fighters wrapped his hands around the back of his opponent's neck before driving his knee three times into the other man's stomach.

Charlie winced. That looked like it hurt.

"You still hellbent on sticking around?"

"Why do you ask me like I have a choice?"