Remi stood perfectly still, keeping his gaze and face impassive. This was her decision to make. He didn't want to do anything that might influence her. If he tried to push her one way or the other, she would despise him for it.

Just as he had been the only one who could make the decision about the men who had murdered his own mother. He couldn't take that away from her. He wouldn't.

Whether she decided to embrace the monster or strive for mercy, she was the only one whose opinion mattered.

Her eyes were still glued to the two bound men. They were struggling on the concrete, squirming against the zip-ties that dug cruelly into the skin of their wrists and kept them tied at the ankles. Rope had been threaded through the loops of plastic, ensuring that—even if they managed to stand—their mobility would be close to zero.

There was no outrunning what had happened. No escaping, regardless of what Remi had said.

If Charlie told him she didn't want them dead, he'd simply make sure she never knew they died. He knew he probably shouldn't have lied and said other arrangements could be made. But knowing the men were dead whatever her decision took away its weight.

He couldn't release them. He wouldn't keep them. Even if he pulled strings and got them sent back to El Salvador or wherever the hell they were from, he knew they'd be back in weeks. Meeting the vicious eyes of one, Remi knew that they understood this as well as he did.

They were dead men either way. But he'd be damned if he wasn't going to give Charlie the satisfaction of this choice.

Quiet shuffling just behind them drew his attention. He turned to find Dalen had come a couple steps closer. His gaze shifted between the gang members, Charlie and Remi himself. With a brief shake of his head, Remi dismissed the other man. Holding up a discreet finger, he let Dalen know that now wasn't the time for any additional input.

He flinched slightly when his phone buzzed against his chest. Charlie jerked as well, her head whipping toward him. Her eyes were wide, her skin the color of cold milk except for her lips, which were red from being bitten. She blinked once at him, then turned her attention back to the gang members. Slowly, she began to walk, pacing a wide, wary circle around them.

Gesturing for Dalen to keep an eye on the gang members, Remi fished his phone out of the inner pocket of his jacket.

Leon.

With a sigh, he cast one last look at Charlie. She had drawn just a little nearer to the men who had killed her mother, her fingers flexing and curling into fists. Dalen stood with his arms crossed, the barrel of a gun peeking out from beneath his bicep.

Remi slid his thumb across the screen, putting the phone to his ear. "Quickly," he said, voice low and demanding. He was too eager to hear what news Leon had concerning the stance of the Chinese. As important as this moment was for Charlie, there were other wheels beginning to turn.

"They want to meet," was Leon's brusque reply. "But overall they are open to the idea."

"Fine," Remi said. "Later."

He disconnected the call and turned back to find Charlie crouched down barely three feet in front of one of the gang members. Her chin rested in her hands, her head cocked in a way that almost looked curious.

Dalen hovered just behind her, watching with a hawk's gaze. The gang member had his neck craned, his eyes boring into Charlie's, his jaw and throat working furiously as he tried to speak around the gag in his mouth.

Remi tensed as she lifted her hand, fingers hovering just in front of the gang member's face. He prepared for a barrage of angry Spanish, knowing Charlie would want him to tell her what had been said. 

Then, her hand fell and she pushed back up to her feet. She looked at him and the look on her face made something inside him go very still. For the briefest moment, it felt like they were the only two in existence. The glazed quality that had been around her eyes since she'd seen her mother on a metal slab in a morgue was gone.

Now, rage dominated everything about her. He took a single step toward her, the movement seeming to snap her paralysis. Lifting a trembling hand, she pointed down at the two men. "Would there be any point asking which one nearly cut her head off?"

Even Dalen seemed to shrink in on himself slightly in response to her icy voice. Remi tilted his head, studying her. Yes, her hands shook, but not with fear. Her eyes didn't shift away from him, nor did she blink. The color had leached back into her skin.

Still, he shook his head. Murder was one thing. Torture was quite another.

If she really wanted to start down this path, Remi knew it would be a journey of one step forward and two steps back. Too much might break her. Just enough would forge her. Remi wasn't entirely sure he wanted her to take this path. He also knew it wasn't his decision to make. However, he had no qualms about judging how much was too much. 

At this moment, for her, torture would be too much.

"No," he finally said. "They both killed her. It's likely that wasn't even the death blow, if that's what you're looking for."

"Mm." She narrowed her eyes, mulling that over.

As was so often the case, Remi felt like he was just on the cusp of understanding what she was thinking. Simultaneously, he was sure he would never understand exactly what it was that made Charlie tick.

She looked down at the men again, extending a foot. When she lightly nudged one of their shoulders the gang member arched back, another garbled string of what were likely insults spewing around the gag. Her lips twitched, but the movement was so quick Remi couldn't tell if it had been the precursor of a smile or a frown.

Then she turned to him. "I need some air for a moment."

There was nothing terribly dramatic about her exit. She simply cast one more glance toward the men tied at her feet, then turned on her heel and strode to the door. Every pair of eyes in the room watched her leave, Remi's lingering on the door as she kicked it closed behind her.

A moment passed. 

Dalen let out a low whistle and crouched down in front of the gang members. Placing the barrel of his gun beneath the nearest one's chin, he forced the man's head back. White teeth flashed in a grin. "I think you're fucked, cabrón."

A low laugh escaped Remi before he could stop it, and Dalen straightened, his gaze going to the door Charlie had just left by. Then, his attention went back to Remi. Several questions flickered to life on his face. He even went so far as to open his mouth.

Remi kept his expression impassive, neither inviting nor discouraging the man. It was really more of a test than anything. He wanted to see if Dalen was smart enough to know when he ought to keep his mouth shut and his opinions to himself.

"I'm sorry this is the first chance we've had to talk," he said, turning neatly to a different topic. He tucked his gun into his belt. "I would have come to you about Marcus sooner, but—"

"Things move fast," Remi said, sliding his hands into his pockets. "When an opportunity comes, you gotta take it."

Dalen nodded, relief falling over his face. "Yeah. Th-That's exactly what happened."

Remi bobbed his head in a nod. He continued to watch Dalen, knowing his own silence might win him something important here. After all, if Dalen came to the conclusion that he might owe him something, who was Remi to argue that.

A quick glance was spared at the door, but it remained firmly closed with no sign of Charlie's return. Remi returned his attention to Dalen, pleased when he found the other man shuffling from foot to foot.

When he realized he once more had Remi's undivided attention, Dalen cleared his throat. "There've been some rumors."

Remi raised an eyebrow, suddenly very interested in the direction this was taking. "Oh?"

"I know some people who are friends of Gabriel's." They both smirked a little at that. Gabriel had contacts. He didn't have friends. "They ran into him a while back."

And had seen the hitman's bruises. Remi just continued to watch the man, allowing him to string this conversation along.

"There have been some rumblings around the Russians." Dalen rubbed at the back of his neck. "A little chatter. A little movement."

"Movement?" Remi asked, zeroing in on the information. Part of why he needed Dalen's people was simply because they were on the streets. They heard and saw and knew more than Remi ever could in his ivory tower.

Dalen perked up at his sudden interest, obviously eager to demonstrate his usefulness. "A couple of my people have just noticed a few more Russian accents than normal."

"Where?"

"Just...just in some of the clubs. I've got people workin' in a lot of places in the north."

Remi suddenly smiled. What a wonderful little tidbit. Most of Dimitri's territories were in the northeastern parts of the city. "You don't say."

Dalen nodded, flashing a small grin. He was obviously still unsure of Remi's stance on his power-grab, but wanted to press the sudden advantage that had been allowed. "And there's always more can be done. More eyes can be put on the streets. We'll have our pushers let us know who's buying, what they're buyin', everything. Even some of the girls can—"

The door creaked and Remi held up a hand. Dalen immediately fell silent.

"We'll talk more about this later." Remi eyed the other man for a moment. Instinct told him honey would get him more than vinegar here. "I'm appreciatin' this change in management a little more every minute."

Dalen kept his reaction subdued, but Remi could see the relief in his eyes moments before a pleased smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. Remi gave him a nod, then turned to find Charlie stalking toward the men who'd murdered her mother. She took a moment to circle them once more, then crouched down, tilting her head in an effort to meet the eyes of first one, then the other.

She stood, turning toward Remi. "Do they know...why they're here?"

Remi nodded. He'd asked them himself before he'd even considered telling Charlie. That, combined with a few of his own people who'd overhead the pair bragging about what they'd done, served as enough proof.

"Did they say why they did it?" she asked, her voice growing ever softer.

Remi ran his tongue along his teeth, watching her. Her breath was a little shaky, her chest hitching every now and then. Her eyes were shuttered—dark, cold hollows that revealed nothing. Not even to him.

He supposed that told him everything he needed to know.

"Because they could," he said, eyes flicking down to look at the men in question, disgust seeping through him. Killer he might be, but at least Remi had always had a reason. "Because she started owin' the wrong people and instead of coming to a suitable arrangement, they decided on murder."

Of course, the idea that there might have been a deeper meaning behind the murder of Charlie's mother had crossed his mind. But Remi had decided to leave that to Charlie's FBI friend. If they were busy searching for dead men, they weren't spending that time looking in his direction.

Besides, neither Moira nor Leon had managed to suss out if it had been connected to him. If they couldn't find a connect, Remi was almost certain there wasn't one.

Charlie's fingers twitched at her side. She blinked, looked at the men, then looked at him and blinked again.

"What if I said I wanted them to suffer?" she asked, head tilting to give her the appearance of a curious cat. A cat wondering what would happen if it extended its claws just a little more. She was testing boundaries here. Those both internal and external.

Beside him, Remi heard Dalen let out a slow breath. Remi rubbed at his mouth, understanding the sentiment. From Charlie's point of view—hell, from his own—these men deserved to die as horribly as her mother had. However, he stood by his initial assessment that Charlie wanted blood, not pain. Not necessarily.

"I'd say this really isn't the place." He slid his hand back into his pocket. At her raised eyebrow, he said, "It's isolated, but not exactly soundproof. Which is fine when you can do a quick clean up. Making them suffer will get a bit messy, though."

Charlie frowned, her fingers beginning to twist the edge of her shirt. She looked at the gang members, then back at him. Something about her expression told him she was remembering her mother's destroyed body. She was thinking of the brutality of the murder. The complete lack of remorse.

"They would do this again," she said slowly. "Wouldn't they?"

Both Remi and Dalen nodded. 

Charlie closed her eyes, breathing deeply. She shook her head slightly before turning her back completely on the gang members. Remi very nearly held his breath when she met his gaze.

"I want..." She shuddered, chewing on a tag of skin on her lower lip. "I want them gone."

Now his breath did catch.

She walked forward until she was only a few inches away from him. Tilting her head back, she let out a slow breath. "I want them," she swallowed hard, "I w-want them...dead." 

The words hung in the air for a moment. Even the gang members themselves had stopped their squirming. The air was so still, Remi could have heard a pin drop.

Charlie's eyes unfocused. Then, she nodded. At first it was just a small dip of her head—an uncertain motion. When Remi didn't make any move, she met his eyes and nodded again. This time, it was more assertive. "I want them dead."

"You're sure?" he asked, leaning down to speak in her ear. Still keenly aware of the presence of Dalen and his men, Remi knew there was a certain image being built here—being maintained.

She looked over her shoulder, then turned back to him. Her face was hard and cold as chilled marble. Severe. Unforgiving. 

"Yes," she hissed, and something inside Remi relaxed.

Her place by his side would be so much easier to justify if she presented this face—if she hid behind this curtain. If she seemed as monstrous as he himself was.

He didn't ask if she wanted to do it herself. Being asked to make such a decision on the heels of the one she'd just made might crack that cold exterior of hers.

Besides, queens didn't perform executions. They ordered them.

So Remi beckoned Dalen forward, then turned to Charlie and slid his arm around her waist. Meaning to lead her from the room, he was surprised when she jerked him to a halt, digging her heels in as he tried to direct her toward the door.

"No," she snapped, her voice like a whip. "I want to see it. I want to know they're dead."

Remi blinked, not quite able to hide all of his shock. Dalen hesitated beside the gang members, his gun half-raised as he waited for Remi to give the word.

But...this wasn't his call.

He looked down at her, studying every minute detail. Her pupils were huge, her skin once more pale. Her breath was steady, if a little fast. Her body trembled against his, but she didn't blink. She didn't shift away or break his gaze.

She meant every word. And she wasn't the type to flinch away from death.

If this was what she wanted, he wouldn't deny her.

So, he turned to stand beside her, keeping his arm around her waist as a precaution in the event her body betrayed her. He nodded at Dalen, pleased when the man nodded first to him, then to Charlie. Her breath came a little faster. Her hand clenched into the material at the back of his suit jacket.

The gang members had started to jerk against their bonds again, blood running out from under the zip-ties as they cut themselves on the plastic.

First one shot rang out, swiftly followed by the other. Charlie flinched each time. The sound rang in his ears, the smell of gunpowder burning at his nose. Blood began to seep across the concrete.

Everything fell still, the echo of the gunshots fading away.

"I'm going to the car," Charlie whispered.

Remi nodded, watching carefully as she made her way back toward the door. She didn't skirt a wide circle around the bodies. She didn't stumble or weave as she walked. Sunlight spilled over her as she opened the door, and then she was gone.

After letting out a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding, he turned to Dalen. He was watching the door Charlie had disappeared through, as were his two companions. It was hard to judge, but he thought he might have seen a little unease flicker across their faces.

Good.

"I trust you can take care of this?"

Dalen's eyes darted back to Remi and he nodded, tucking his gun back into his belt. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. Gently kicking one of the fresh corpses, he asked, "Anything in particular you want done?"

Remi pursed his lips, running through his options. The longer it took for the police to find the bodies, the longer Charlie's FBI friend would spend searching, which was good for him on a certain level. However, the longer Charlie's mother's case stayed open, the more likely it was the FBI would be around Charlie.

He smiled as a stroke of brilliance hit him. "Why not kill two birds with one stone?"

Dalen frowned at him in confusion. 

"Take them up north," he said with a wolf's grin. "Turn it into somethin' that'll give Dimitri a little grief. Think you can do that?"

Dalen return his smile, nodding his head. 

"Good." Remi turned neatly on his heel and began to head toward the door. "We'll talk later, Dalen."

He didn't wait for a reply.

There were more important things to take care of at the moment.