Page 45 of The Vow

I thought I had been prepared for anything, and just when my defenses began to fall, that was when he struck. When he did something he couldn’t undo and I couldn’t prepare for:when he branded me in front of a wealthy and influential world as the wife of the country’s foremost and most famous traitor.

By some miracle, I stayed standing. Or maybe it was less a miracle and more the urge to murder that rooted my heels in place.

“Mr. Remington. I didn’t realize you received an invitation,” Belmont said, his eyes narrowing on Damon and ignoring me entirely, proving Damon’s introduction was purely for selfish reasons.

“As you know, I’m good at getting all kinds of things for all kinds of people.” Damon tipped his head, his eyes darting to the approaching security. “And I hear that particular skill of mine might be something you’re interested in.”

With a slight flick of his wrist, Belmont halted the approach of his henchman and then directed them away.

“Mr. Remington. Have you seen the gingerbread house yet? Please, allow me.”

The gingerbread house, which was nothing more than a candy-coated replica of Belmont’s home placed on display next to the Christmas tree, also guarded a small alcove in the room where Belmont felt he could speak more freely.

The older man led the way, making curt greetings to a few people we passed. Meanwhile, I kept silent by Damon’s side,feeling as unsteady as a grenade rolling across the floor, afraid that as soon as I removed the pin sealing my lips shut, I would explode on the man who’d just handcuffed my fate to his.

For years after his disappearance, after he’d been declared a traitor to this country, I wondered why none of the alphabet soup agencies had come knocking at my door, demanding information on my treasonous husband. I almost started to convince myself that maybe we hadn’t truly—legally—gotten married. That the judge we’d stood in front of, the license we’d signed…that it had all been a sham.

But how did I prove it? How did I know for sure? Go check at the courthouse?

“Hi, yes. I’m wondering if you could look up a marriage license for me. My name is Robyn Keyes, and I may or may not be married to Damon Remington. Yes, the former FBI agent turned traitor. Yes, that’s the one.”

If my name hadn’t come up in the FBI’s nationwide search for their defected agent, I surely would’ve set off alarms by requesting a copy of the marriage license. And if it was all a sham, the request itself would trigger the same response. Even if I wasn’t truly married to him, a lot of people would have a lot of questions as to why I believed I might be and what I knew.

I didn’t want to be involved. I didn’t want my life to be scrutinized for many reasons, not the least of which was knowing Sinclair wanted me dead. I didn’t trust the feds to keep me safe from that man, not knowing what I knew.

My connection to Damon was safer kept a secret. And if I was being honest, there was a twisted part of me that hoped for a very long time he would come back and explain everything—too long a time considering how he’d left.

“Your house looks a little unsteady right now,” Damon said, and he wasn’t talking about the mock gingerbread version northe real structure we stood in. “I’m sure I’m not the only one who’s heard the rumors, old sport, but I do feel I can help.”

I drew a slight breath. Damon’s chummy nickname for his targets—an ode to his love forThe Great Gatsby—wassomething that hadn’t changed about him either.

Belmont banded his arms over his chest, his jacket looking fit to burst at its seams. Not unlike the anger in his expression. He didn’t appreciate being caught off-guard in his own home, even less being forced to confront his numerous failures by a stranger.

“You know what I hear, Mr. Remington? I hear you might be responsible for some of the…turbulence I’ve been experiencing.”

“Me?” Damon’s eyes feigned surprise, but his smile was nothing but sure. “That would be quite a fantastic feat for someone to accomplish.”

My teeth ground together. Here he was, standing in the lion’s den, being threatened by the lion himself, and he was fishing for compliments? Looking to stroke his own ego?

“Quite,” Belmont clipped. “I’m curious how you think you can help me. And why should I believe you want to?”

The CEO was angry, but he wasn’t a fool. Not only would it be stupid to turn down help from a man like Damon, but it would also be dangerous. And, as Damon pointed out, Belmont was already treading precarious waters with his company and the ties he was trying to form with the Pakistani Mafia.

“I’m sure my reputation precedes me, Mr. Belmont, but in this particular case, you have firsthand experience witnessing how adeptly I remove…obstacles from business that I want to transact.”

Belmont’s nostrils flared at the all-but-blatant admission that Damon was responsible for the deaths and arrests of everyone else working in concert to achieve a deal with Shazad—to be the ones supplying, and profiting, off of the warlord’s expansion of his heroin empire.

“So, you’re going to shift gears from being one of my obstacles to removing them?”

I couldn’t be one hundred percent certain, but my best guess was that after so many failures on Belmont’s end and so many money-minded criminal organizations vying for a piece of Shazad’s business, the boon of having a man like Damon Remington in his corner would greatly weigh the scales in Belmont’s favor.

“For the right price,” Damon said, casually reaching forward and plucking a gumdrop from the rim of the gingerbread house.

Belmont seethed at the blatant display of disrespect. In fact, he looked to hate my husband almost as much as I did in that moment, but money was more important than feelings, and sometimes, enemies made the best bedfellows.

Not like that.

“I’ll consider it,” Belmont grumbled, irritation twitching his lip. “Though I don’t appreciate being ambushed in my own home, Mr. Remington.”

---