"Get out of the car."

Remi kept his voice soft. This was going to either get him exactly what he wanted, or it was going to light everything on fire.

Maybe he just wanted to set everything on fire.

"You first."

The suspicion in her voice pulled a smile out of him. He took the key out of the ignition and got out of the car. Sliding the keys into his pocket, he didn't like not being able to see her behind the Audi's tinted windows. Not being able to see her left him feeling like he was at a disadvantage. He didn't like that.

She stepped out of the car, lithe body moving like dark water. Her steps were slow and measured as she looked around, and he nearly smiled again.

How he loved being right. 

Charlie knew this street the same way he knew it. In half-forgotten, repressed memories that ached like an old, infected wound. He knew she wanted to get into the car and drive, never to come back here or any place like it ever again, just like he did.

Unfortunately, his business dictated he come to places exactly like this on occassion. He turned, listening to her heels click as she scrambled to keep up with his long strides.

"Where are we going?" she asked, looking around, a wary gleam in her pretty eyes.

He wasn't going to talk about that first.

"That man Matty was workin' on, you know what he did?" His fingers did their little dance, brushing softly against each other. Even thinking about it, even knowing he'd taken back what was rightfully his, the very thought of what the bastard had done angered him.

Angered him to the point that he wished he'd been the one handing out the beating, not Matty.

But Leon had successfully argued that he couldn't risk walking around with busted knuckles. Not around the people he intended to rub elbows with this week.

"Not a clue."

He drew to an abrupt halt, turning so quickly she nearly ran into him. Before he consciously realized what he was doing, he reached out, fingers grasping her chin, leaning down a little to look right into her eyes.

A blush burned across her cheekbones. 

"He stole from me." He forced his voice low, not allowing his temper to control this conversation. "He got greedy."

Remi knew he couldn't very well judge a man for a sin he himself had embraced whole-heartedly. But he was also jealous of the vast riches he'd accumulated. Enough so that Moira had years' worth of running jokes. She even had a dragon emoji next to his number instead of his name.

Most days he could appreciate the humor. Others, he realized his jealousy was exactly the thing that would bring the empire crumbling down, and him to his knees. 

"Maybe he needed the money."

"But it's my money," he nearly hissed before jumping on his temper and wrangling it into submission.

She shrugged, making him realize he'd somehow drawn closer to her as they talked. Her next words distracted him from that.

"And you get your money from other people." She scoffed. "Are you tellin' me you haven't ever stolen money that wasn't yours?"

Of course he had, but he didn't say that. Instead, he smiled a little, not wanting to admit the thrill he got every time she played his game. 

"I pay most of my people" —the higher level ones at any rate— "well enough to ensure they don't want for anything too badly." He sneered, unable to help himself. "He didn't need the money. He wanted the money. And so he took what did not belong to him."

While Remi could appreciate that criminals by nature where more susceptible to making unfortunate decisions, he didn't believe in being lenient because of that fact. So he kept men like Mateo around, for when Leon convinced him that he couldn't deal out a little understanding himself.

Movement from Marcus' place caught his eye. He didn't need to look, he knew it was Dalen and his crew waiting for him to finish with a new plaything.

The problem was... he had the unshakeable feeling that Charlie was not the kind of woman to be played with. Against, perhaps, or beside, but certainly not with.

Charlie tried to look over, but that same jealousy swept over him and he pressed his fingers a little harder into the fine bones of her jaw. He wanted all of her attention, or none of it, and liked when she kept her eyes on his.

"What are you saying," she finally asked, cutting right to the heart of the matter.

It seemed to him like she should know by now.

"That I don't share." Was it just him, or did those words seem to mean something more than he meant to say? "That I'm a greedy, vain, selfish son of a bitch."

She swallowed, paling a little and he just couldn't help himself. Letting go of her jaw, he leaned in, brushing his lips across the satin smooth skin of her neck. The warm scent of her skin, not clouded by overbearing perfume, made him want to forget about the real reason he'd brought her here tonight.

Apparently she was wondering what that reason was. 

"Why'd you bring me here, Remi?" she asked, placing a hand on his shoulder as he kissed toward the graceful sweep of her collarbone.

He didn't stop moving, and she let him keep going. His mouth being otherwise occupied gave him a precious second to think—to consider if this would have the desired effect.

Really he didn't know why he was putting in so much effort. But he did know what he wanted. His hands slid to her hips, pulling her more firmly against him.

A little gasp, unnoticeable if he hadn't been paying so much attention, escaped her and her fingers dug into his shoulders.

"Because this is where you'll end up," he whispered against the tender skin of her throat. A truth clawed its way to the surface and he let it escape, hoping it would tip the scales in his favor. "Because people like you and me don't ever escape hells like this. Not really. Not unless we get ugly about it. Not unless we force it to let us go."

He'd waged that bloody war long ago, and wanted to be an ally to her as she fought her own battles against her past. It was just a matter of getting her to admit that she didn't care if she had to fight dirty.

"That's what I'm trying to do."

Perhaps it wouldn't be as hard as he thought.

"I'm trying to escape," she continued. "That's why I freaking cleaned up the hands of someone you used to break another guy's face."

He couldn't tell which part of that she disliked most: that he'd had it done at all, or that he didn't do it himself.

For a second he stopped moving, feeling her heartbeat pound against his mouth. Then he straightened, carefully placing a hand on her throat, thumb and index finger brushing the sharp corners of her jaw.

Another truth clawed its way out of him. "I want you to stay."

"To work for you?" she clarified.

"Yes, for that. You interest me right now, Charlie. You remind me of... me. And I can't quite decide if that makes me like you or hate you."

He knew he was dancing ever closer to the edge of a cliff, but he hadn't a clue what lay at the bottom. 

She quirked an eyebrow. "Charming. Just what every girl wants to hear."

Remi tilted his head and her lips parted.

Now, a smaller, less base part of his brain ordered.

"Can you do this?" he asked, finally getting to the heart of the matter. "Can you live with what you are?"

She blinked slowly, mesmerized like a cobra in front of its charmer. Her lips parted and she shook her head slightly. "And what am I?"

"You aren't a good person," he said, his voice deepening with the unsubtle words. "You're the kind of person who will cross any line, do anything to get what you want."

Even as he said the words, he suspected they weren't the whole truth. They certainly weren't nothing but the truth. 

And God help him if they were.

She pulled away from him, nearly stumbling as she yanked herself out of his grasp. Remi stayed very still, sensing this was the knife-edge moment. Which way they fell would depend entirely on her.

Her breath was loud, like she'd just run several miles. She was trembling, though he couldn't tell with what. Anger, maybe. Fear.

"Well... isn't that the pot callin' the kettle black," she said on a sharp exhale.

He stepped toward her, the movement precise. Her mouth was pressed into a thin line, and he wanted it to turn soft again.

A third and perhaps not final truth tore its way free. "Oh, I never said I was any different. I've just accepted my role. Accepted that," he drew his gaze away from her mouth, toward her eyes, "when it's all said and done... I'll burn in hell."

It wasn't something he cared overmuch to think about, but he knew it was truth whether he acknowledged it or not.

Her mouth turned soft and he threaded his fingers through the loosely tied hair at the back of her head. 

"What are you saying?" she said, voice quiet.

He resisted the urge to kiss her, and as he did, he understood he'd made a drastic mistake three days ago. Had it only been three days ago?

His voice as quiet as hers, he said, "Rapidly coming to the realization that you will destroy everything I have built if I'm not careful."

Confusion clouded the clear blue of her eyes, and he touched her lips with the very tips of his fingers, wanting to keep them from thinning down like he knew they would. Her mouth was expressive and liked to copy her eyes.

Her fingers had at some point wrapped themselves in the material of his suit jacket.

"Will you stay?" he asked, suddenly overcome with the need to know.

She blinked, eyes focusing. "You keep asking me like I have a choice."

He moved his hand, cradling her cheek in his palm. "You have a choice as far as I'm concerned, Charlene."

Remi wasn't actually sure that was right. But he knew better than anyone that an illusion of freedom was the best tool to keep people carefully in line.

"But I understand how you feel," he said. "I understand that you feel like I've backed you into a corner. That I've given you all these options on an impossible condition."

So much for the illusion of freedom.

And Charlie had been a caged creature long enough to recognize chains when they wrapped closer around her, no matter how lovely and soft they seemed. 

"Namely that I could end up in jail," she said firmly, wrapping her fingers around his wrist. 

For a moment, he thought she was going to throw his hand away. That she was going to call him out on this game and leave him to put away the pieces.

But all she said was, "People with criminal records don't wind up at Johns Hopkins, you know."

"I told you the less you know the better it will be." As he said it, he cursed himself. Hadn't Charlie told him he'd be unable to not say I told you so? Yet, he couldn't stop himself. "But you wanted to know."

He resisted the urge to hold his breath, nearly able to see as her thoughts spun around behind her eyes. His impatience was tapping steadily on his nerves by this point. It was getting late and he had some dues to pay.

"Why don't you let me take you home?" He made his voice soft, kind. 

To his relief, she nodded. It wasn't necessarily the answer he wanted, but it was a step in the right direction. 

"Get back in the car and give me a second." The words felt like a test. Would she listen? Would she pass?

"What are..." She trailed off before he could do anything and he raised an eyebrow. 

Then she turned, walking slowly back to the car, glancing back at him over her shoulder. He didn't move until she slid back into the car, and he locked the doors, the headlights flashing.

This night was stretching out into forever.

He turned and strode to the building on the corner of the street they were currently on. With a nod of acknowledgement he passed between the four men on the steps. 

They didn't return his acknowledgement, which was par for the course. Nobody down here was friendly until business had been finished. It kept things neat.

The door creaked as he opened it and he was met by a fierce-looking woman with dreadlocks. He held his arms out to the side, letting her pat him down. Everyone here knew he didn't need a gun, but he understood Marcus' need to put on a show.

Once she was finished, and slightly less than professional, she led him into a dim room filled with cigarette smoke and the murmurs of many people. Music came from somewhere, but it wasn't overbearing. He could hear the shuffle of cards and the plastic clink of chips being thrown.

Marcus had several games running at any time, but this one was only for close friends, though the word itself held a loose meaning.

The woman opened a door, letting him into a backroom, more brightly lit than the one he had just passed through. Marcus sat behind a large desk, tapping industriously on an iPad.

He looked up when the woman cleared her throat, and immediately set the device down, standing when he caught sight of Remi. He was a big man, but with muscle and very little fat. His was a position won by strength, and any show of weakness would kill him.

Remi smiled and extended a hand first. This was Marcus' turf, and while Remi might run New Orleans, his title would mean nothing without the warlords like Marcus under him. A show of respect here didn't hurt Remi, and it looked good for Marcus.

"Please, sit." Marcus gestured toward the chair Remi was already standing next to.

Remi considered for a moment, then slowly shook his head. "I'm sorry, my friend, but I'll have to decline your hospitality."

Marcus smiled, his teeth ultra white against his deep brown skin. "The redhead?"

Of course Dalen would have told Marcus about what he'd seen.

With a shrug, Remi let out a laugh. "All work and no play."

"Have fun," Marcus said, nodding. "Dalen said she has a nice ass."

His fingers danced at his side and his smile slipped, that nasty jealousy snarling inside of him. Instead of saying anything further though, he reached into his jacket, extracting an envelope from the inside pocket.

"With my thanks," he said, handing over the envelope. "Leon told me you had pointed him in Vance's direction."

Marcus didn't open the envelope. To do so with Remi still there would look ungrateful. In reality, they both knew he didn't owe Marcus anything, but it was good manners.

"Well, when he came here ready to pay fifteen grand up front, I knew something was a little off. Word got around you were looking for a skimmer." Marcus didn't say anymore, and he didn't need to.

"Mm." Remi nodded, putting his hands in his pockets. He didn't particularly like anyone else knowing of his problems. To have any problems could look weak, and that was a dangerous and slippery wire in his position. 

"Well," he said with a sigh. "I appreciate it. Won't forget it either."

Marcus' eyes lit up a little, but he just nodded as well. Remi wondered when he'd be calling in a favor.

"Have a good evening, Marcus."

Without waiting for a reply—not needing to wait for a reply—he left the office room, worked his way back through the front room and left the building. 

Dalen was sitting next to the door, and looked up when Remi let the screen door bang shut. That jealousy was still smoking inside of him, but to make them think he cared was unwise.

"Nice ass, huh?" he said, gesturing toward his car, where Charlie still waited.

Dalen shrugged and shook his head, looking uncertain. Like he didn't know if he'd crossed a line or not.

That calmed Remi a little. He liked it when he left people guessing. It meant he was the one in control.

"Couple other things that are better than nice," he admitted, and the other men laughed.

He gave them a wry smile, shook hands and walked back to the car, relieved when he saw Charlie's outline. The possibility that she would have just started walking if she got irritated enough had crossed his mind more than once inside Marcus'. 

A small sigh worked its way free as he got into the car, and he raised a hand as he turned the car around, heading back to the city center.

Charlie didn't say anything for a long time, and he let her stew. Let her roll everything around in that sharp-as-a-tack mind of hers. He knew she'd come to the right conclusion.

He wanted her to come to the right conclusion.

"Why did you take me there?"

Remi was pretty sure she knew exactly why and raised an eyebrow. 

"You could have said... all those things you did anywhere. Why there?" She looked out the window. He looked over at her reflection in the window. The only distinct image was her stark red mouth.

"I needed to see an acquaintance of mine." Telling her how much their little foray into the slums had been about her seemed unwise.

Her mouth twisted, and he knew she didn't really believe him.

He wanted her to believe him.

"That wasn't an answer."

Fighting against another smile, he looked at her fully. That one look told him she needed the exact truth—anything else would dump the whole thing over that knife edge. 

And it wouldn't be them falling together. 

It wouldn't be how he wanted it, and he had long become accustomed to things going his way

Fun Fact: The names for Marcus and his second Dalen are from some of my favorite paranormal investigators. Brownie points for anyone who knows which show I'm talking about.