Page 55 of The Vow

I tried to not think too hard about how Robyn was texting him; yes, she had his number in case of an emergency, but was this an emergency? Because I didn’t bring her with me? Or did she regularly text Pat?

Since I told her the puzzle in the living room was his, they’d been working on it together the last several nights. I knew she was doing it to make me jealous. At least, partially. But it was fully working. I was jealous of the man who’d give his life for me—who’d cut off his own arm before he even thought about touching something that belonged to me.And yet, I. Was. Fucking. Jealous.

“I wouldn’t if you just told her even a little about what’s going on.”

And risk Robyn putting herself in more danger? Not a chance. She’d be right up there next to him insisting I didn’t take this meeting alone.

“It’s safer this way.”

Pat snorted.

“He won’t kill me. He needs me too much, and you can’t get rid of me that easily.” I opened the door and exited the car, leaning back through the opening to say, “If I’m not back in an hour, then you can come find me.”

His expression was flat. “Hopefully, it’s in better condition than the last time I rescued you from prison.”

“Theonlytime you rescued me from prison,” I corrected, winked, and then closed the door, patting the trunk as I rounded the car and strode toward the building.

There were plenty of other times Pat had rescued me those first few years. From beatings. Torture. Injuries inflicted with as brutal finesse as the suits that covered up their scars. Plenty of times the man he saved looked more mangled than a man.

Head down, hat angled just right to obscure my face, I strode through the glass doors of the entry, my footsteps resonating with an unmistakable frequency.

“Hi, I’m here to see Mr. Belmont.” I smiled at the perky receptionist, and that was all it took for her face to flush and a nervous giggle to erupt.

“Can I…have your name?” Her lashes batted, Morse-coding her desire to have more than my name.

“Tell him Mr. Remington is here.”

She stamped her teeth into her bottom lip, fumbling with the phone twice before she entered the correct number, another giggle escaping when she said my name the second time.

The phone clicked into its rocker.

Here we go,I thought, tipping my head up to the towering ceiling and taking in the light.

“So, Mr.—”

“Mr. Remington.” Belmont’s voice boomed from across the lobby, obliterating whatever gumption the receptionist had worked up to flirt with me.

The stocky man was flanked by two very large men with grim, heavily scarred faces. But Belmont, he smiled. In fact, he had the distinct look of glee on his face like a cat with cream. Or maybe more appropriately, like a pig in shit.

“So glad you could make it,” he purred, taking my hand in a hard shake.

“So glad we could come to an arrangement, old sport.”

There, disgust flickered on his face for a nanosecond before he wiped it clean. “Please come with me. We’ll want to discuss these matters in private.”

That night when I’d won that money and pissed off the Japanese gangster, I’d had no idea what was coming my way. I had no idea that celebratory shot of sake was drugged and would lead to my arrest, a Japanese prison, and a slew of Yakuza inmates who were just as pissed off as their friend on the outside. And because I didn’t know then to not look a gift horse in the mouth, I knew now that this win with Belmont wouldn’t come without cost.

I’d brought his company to the brink of ruin. Destroyed the lives of his friends. Ruined his opportunity to partner with Shazad more than once. And then I’d strolled into his home, into his Christmas party, and rubbed it in his face that after all of that, I was the only one who could help him.

There were going to be consequences for that, and they were going to hurt. But for her…for my wife…I’d endure any pain if it meant I could give her peace. And Pat could hold his damn tongue about this being just one more unnecessary opportunity for me to punish myself.

The bag hit my side again, and the sickening thud registered before the explosion of pain. My insides felt lined with landmines, each strike demolishing more blood and muscle.Hopefully not organs.

My eyes shut for a split second before I forced them open and focused on the man executing my torture. Belmont stoodfront row and center to where I was currently strapped to a pole in the basement of the building, masquerading as his personal piñata.

Even though I wanted to gasp and curse, I only took a measured breath, knowing another blow was coming. Sure enough, the guard ordered to do the dirty work of actually beating me, launched his arm forward, and the weighted bag hit my stomach this time.

Now, I gasped, a fresh citrus scent bursting into my nostrils.

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