Page 17 of Remi's War (Four Dark Horsemen 2)

Maybe she is crazy after all.

She huffs in exasperation, hooking the curl behind her ear. “I’m not crazy.” Shit, I must have said it out loud. “Let’s just say we all have a past, and the key to mine lies somewhere I don’t have access to.”

“Okay.”

She leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees while I rub my forehead, hoping that whatever she requests will be within my means.

As entitled as it might sound, money is easy in my world, but everything else… now that is a big challenge.

“There is an elite club in Chicago that allows only the richest of the rich inside.” A beat passes. “You can get in by invitation only. I’ve tried everything and even used my best friend’s connections, but they have still denied me access.” She turns her head and looks at me, her eyes drilling a hole in me. “I need you to get me in there tomorrow night. That’s the only time of the year he interacts with women.”

Blinking several times because this is the last thing I expected for her to ask of me, I shake my head, and my stomach flips in panic at the prospect of losing my chance to find Amalia. “How am I supposed to do that? You just said they allow people inside by invitation only.” Another thing pops in my mind. “And who is he?”

She ignores my last question and says, “You’re different.”

“How?” I exhale a heavy breath at this bizarre request and the comment about her wanting to meet the mysterious man. “Look, I can pay you any amount you want, but please just—”

She gets up, pacing back and forth in front of me and running her fingers through her hair while I watch her, wondering how people get access to this club. Do they hand over their bank statements or what?

I grew up with private schools and all that hoopla attached to it, but we never had secret access to things unavailable to my other friends.

Finally, Isla hooks her thumbs on her jeans pockets and faces me. “You’re Theodore Walsh’s daughter. You were raised by a Walsh too. Your family comes from old money, and you guys are worth millions.” Since I’m not sure how to react to this obvious information, I stay silent. “If you want, you can get the invitation.” She snaps her fingers. “Just call your uncle.”

“My uncle? You mean my dad?” Okay, how in the hell did he get into all this?

She nods, determination written all over her features. “He used to work on a project with Rebecca Esmeralda Cortez.”

The name vaguely rings a bell. My father once prepared a show in France for her around fifteen years ago; she is considered one of the best artists of her generation.

“And Rebecca Cortez owns this club?”

Isla laughs, finding my assumption hilarious it seems, and then shakes her head. “No. But she will get us an invite.”

Still reeling from the information about me having to call my father regarding this, who wasn’t the biggest fan of Isla to begin with, something snags my attention among her words. “Us?”

“We’ll go together. After that, I will give you Amalia’s file.” She grabs my hand, squeezing it hard to the point my knuckles turn white, but all I can do is stare at her as hope and desperation lace her voice. “One phone call. That’s all that separates you from reuniting with Amalia. And me finally finding the truth about my past.”

My heart pangs painfully in my chest, sending hurt through my system, and compassion swirls inside me, because I understand her.

And the anguish reflecting back at me in her gray eyes, begging me to accept her agreement and give her the key to unlock the Pandora’s box residing in her mind.

It’s clear that whatever she needs from that man in the club burns her alive every single day, the same way my sister’s absence does. A kindred spirit who recognizes the agony of another because they’ve experienced it themselves.

At the thought of Amalia, deep longing sinks hard in my bones and the familiar ache in my chest blazes anew.

The ache that sometimes won’t let me go to sleep while tears form in my eyes with no reason, yet everything inside me begs to run far, far away.

Emotions that don’t belong to me, but I can feel, taste, and experience them all the same.

Snatching my hands from her grip, I place them on my collarbone, my fingers wrapping around my platinum medallion, and I step back. “My twin… is she in danger right now?”

“No.” Although an odd note dances on the edges of her tone at this reply. “I promise you. I wouldn’t withhold any information if she was.” Her fists clench. “Your sister can actually kick my ass if she wanted.”

Pride fills me at this, while happiness spreads through my veins, easing the earlier tension as a small smile curves my mouth.

Amalia has character, and that’s the first real thing I know about my twin, which intensifies my desire to meet her.

I can’t kick anyone’s ass though, but still… I’m far from an idiot. “How can I be sure you’ll keep your word?” My eyes move up and down her form while she frowns. “You know how they say appetite grows with eating?” Since she still has a clueless expression, I explain, “Your demands might grow with time.”

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