Revenge Forsaken
Chloe Fischer
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Also by Chloe Fischer
PREVIEW FOR ‘BLACKMAIL’ BY CHLOE FISCHER
Prologue
“Do you ever think about what it would be like to get out of this shithole?” Simon asked without looking at his brother. “I mean, really get out of here? Like live in Africa or something? On another planet maybe?”
Remy snorted, pulling at a blade of grass between his fingers and toying with it, his grey eyes still trained on the clouds moving above their heads.
“Who the fuck wants to live in Africa?” he demanded, thinking about giving up everything he had to live in a straw hut. Shit, they didn’t even have their drivers’ license yet and his brother was already talking about throwing away his whole life.
But Simon had always been more melancholic than his twin; an old-soul, prone to bouts of depression and deep thinking. Sometimes Remy thought that Simon was born in the wrong body, that he was really a hundred-year-old man with arthritis and a bad back. Remy liked his Egyptian cotton sheets and his wide circle of friends. The younger twin knew his DNA was made for the high life. Simon was better suited to be a missionary—or an emo band leader, depending on the day. Today, though, he seemed more low and distant than Remy had ever seen him.
But it wasn’t just today ... Simon had been closing himself off for weeks —Mom and Dad had been so wrapped up in their own shit, they probably hadn’t even noticed. Nothing unusual there.
Remy had started hearing rumors though…and they worried him. Just little comments here and there, whispers that quickly shut down when he came close. But there weren’t a lot of ‘Simons’ at their school, so he was starting to realize that maybe he’d better start asking some questions. He hadn’t really thought too much about it, but today he felt an unexpected stab of apprehension at his brother’s musings.
“What’s eating at you ... what part of leaving our life here in Detroit can possibly appeal to you?” Remy nudged. “We’ve got it made — like Dad’s always reminding us, we’ll never have to work as hard as he had to to succeed. And we have an empire to step right into. Dad just wants us to get our Ivy League schooling and then we’re set. Literally. For life.”
“Money’s NOT everything, you know. It doesn’t stop bad shit from happening. It doesn’t stop people from doing shitty things to –”
Simon stopped suddenly, clenching his jaw as if to stop a torrent of…what? What could be bothering his brother so damn much? Their life was essentially so fucking easy.
“Never mind. You don’t understand.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Remy asked, as the feeling of unease settled over him like some sort of black cloud. Had something happened?
“I can’t stand — Nothing!” And just like that, Simon closed off. “There’s just got to be more to our life than…money.”
“If there is more to this life, I don’t want to know about it,” Remy insisted, propping himself up. A stray strand of hair fell over his face as he studied his brother.
An identical face met his, Simon’s grey eyes shadowed with something dark, almost forbidding. Then he looked down, as if trying to break the moment. Remy sighed.
“You know I’ll always be here for you, bro. And I’ll fuckin’ drag your ass to the country clubs and the high-end strip joints – I’ll even go with you to the spa for a pansy-assed pedicure if that what it takes,” Remy joked, trying to lighten the mood. “Whatever it takes to get you to enjoy life, my man.”
“I just want to be somewhere better. Anywhere.” Simon confessed and Remy’s twin intuition was strong, a sweeping sense of emptiness and finality falling over him as he felt his brother’s pain.
“Come on, Si. In a couple of years, we’ll be graduating – then you’ll have all the time in the world to find your better place.” Remy told him brightly, hoping to cull Simon’s inexplicable despair.
His comment seemed to fall on deaf ears. If anything, Simon seemed more agitated by the thought of spending those years here. Remy wasn’t sure how to empathize with his brother, especially when on some level, he knew Simon was holding something back. For his part, Remy was satisfied with life – he didn’t know anything different and he didn’t care to. He knew he was going to finish high school, go to a ridiculously expensive college and probably end up working in finance with his father. There had never been any question. Simon, on the other hand, seemed to share their mother’s gentler disposition.
Is this about a chick? Surely that couldn’t be what’s brought Simon lower than Remy had ever seen him. Of course, he didn’t know of his brother dating anyone but Simon was always good at keeping his personal feeling under wraps, until today.
“Yeah, maybe that’s the plan,” Simon replied quietly. Remi got the distinct impression his brother wasn’t responding to what he’d said at all. Abruptly, Simon jumped to his feet and shuffled toward the park exit, leaving Remy to stare after him in surprise.
“Where are you going?” Remy yelled after him, but his brother didn’t respond.
What the hell is going on with him today? Remy grimaced, also rising to follow his brother out of Grand Circus Park but when he arrived at the street, Simon was nowhere to be seen.
He’d pulled one of his moody, disappearing acts again and Remy sighed, debating whether to look for Simon or not.
I can’t leave him alone, this time. Remy thought, his worry for his brother mounting. It was after school hours now and therefore safe to return. No one would be the wiser that the twins had blown off their last two periods at Simon’s request.
Which was odd in itself. Simon was always the one who had to be dragged into mischief. It was completely out of character for Simon to instigate skipping classes.
Remy slowed his gait and paused, a twist of fear knotting in his stomach.
Why did he want to skip school today? Was his despondent mood somehow connected to school?
Unexpectedly, Remy’s heart began to pound and he looked around desperately, perspiration forming on his brow. Outwardly, there was no reason for his onset of anxiety but in Remy’s pounding heart, he knew that something terrible was about to happen.
Where was his brother?
With shaking hands, Remy reached into his pocket for his cell phone and called Simon but the call went through to voicemail, causing even more panic in Remy’s body.
Everything’s fine. Everything’s fine, Remy told himself, struggling to catch his breath but nothing could stop his pulse from roaring in his ears.
Breaking into a sprint, Remy retraced his steps, the vest of his school jacket flapping as he rushed back toward the park.
“SIMON!” he yelled uselessly. Passersby gave him disdainful looks but Remy ignored them, spinning around wildly to look for his brother. “SIMON!”
“Young man, why are you screaming?” An older woman stopped her walker to give him a reproachful look but Remy returned her stare with a wild look of his own.
“My brother,” he gasped. “I can’t find my brother.”
The lady’s brow furrowed with concern. The idea of a missing child seemed to trouble her.
“Oh dear,” she murmured. “How old is he?”
“My age!” Remy gasped desperately. “Fifteen.”
The compassionate look slipped off her face and she scowle
d.
“My word,” she huffed. “When I was fifteen, I was working full time and taking care of my niece. Stop your screaming in the street or I’ll find the police.”
She shuffled off, muttering about entitled brats, but Remy didn’t hear her. An almost physical blow assaulted him with so much force, it brought him to his knees and in the middle of the park.
“Simon!” Remy gasped, clutching his heart.
He didn’t need to be told that something terrible had happened to his twin. He felt it with every fiber of his being, just like the time Simon had fallen out of the tree when they were five, twenty miles apart. Remy’s leg had pained him for days.
But this was no broken leg and a deep anguish filled Remy as he realized that a part of his soul was gone, never again to be reclaimed.
Something tragic was happening to Simon in those moments, something that Remy could not stop. And as Simon took his last breaths, something inside Remy also died.
1
The bell to the shop chimed, but Remy barely looked up as a waft of cold air flowed inside. His concentration was on the intricate dragon before him, the needle steady in his hand. The low tone of an alternative rock station played in the background but little else could be heard but the hum of the tattoo needle.
“Excuuuuse me!” a girlish voice called out but Remy still didn’t avert his eyes until the client in the chair whistled.
“Hot damn,” Mario chuckled. “Looks like Paris Hilton is in town.”
Reluctantly, Remy pulled his eyes toward the reception counter where Jillian had shuffled to address the scantily clad newcomer in her neon pink bomber and diamond choker. Instantly, Remy tensed, his sooty eyes narrowing as he peered at the bleached blonde.
She must be freezing. It’s thirty degrees out there today.
“Can I help you?” Jillian sounded just as unimpressed as Remy felt when he sat back against the footstool and watched the scene unfold.
“I’m looking for him,” the girl said excitedly, pointing at Remy, and jumping up and down. “You’re Remy Anders, aren’t you?”
Remy’s full mouth pursed into a fine line and he cast Jillian a look which she knew well. She scowled at the girl, folding her tattooed arms over her boyishly flat chest.
“Do you have an appointment?”
The blonde ignored Jillian and sauntered around the counter toward him, her crystalline eyes wide with excitement.
“I love your show Blotted!” she gushed, putting her hand over his exposed bicep – her fake nails fluttering lightly on his skin. “I really want a butterfly right…”
Her other hand moved to drop the waist of her jeans over the curve of her hip and Remy looked away, his annoyance mounting. He had no interest in seeing flesh that young under any circumstances.
“Here!” she concluded, giggling. “When can you do it?”
“When you turn eighteen,” Remy snapped, unhinging her claws from his arm. “You shouldn’t even be in here.”
Her face froze in a smile and she peered at him in confusion.
“I’m eighteen!” she lied. “Look!”
She fumbled for her purse and Remy nodded toward Jillian who approached to steer her away as she looked for her fake ID.
“Great,” Remy said sarcastically. “Jillian, call that in to the local PD and if it clears, we’ll set up an appointment. I have availability next year.”
He turned his attention back to Mario who snickered.
“Aw come on, man. How you gonna turn away that piece of ass?” the huge man demanded, casting the girl a longing look and Remy scowled.
“She’s a child,” he growled, wishing Mario would shut his hole. There was nothing more repulsive than an older man harassing girls. Of course, it wasn’t a prerequisite that he like his clients, but it certainly helped. And until that moment, Remy had considered Mario half-decent.
“You’re an asshole!” the girl shrieked. “I have money—lots of it!”
For effect, she yanked a handful of green notes out of her purse and waved them around dramatically. Remy turned his head to glower at her, his blood pressure rising as she returned his with a glare of her own.
“You’ll be sorry if you don’t squeeze me in!” Sullen child ... all she was missing was the stomp of her foot.
“I’d like to squeeze in—” Mario started to chortle but Remy slammed his fist down on the chair so hard that the client gasped.
“If you finish that sentence, so help me God,” he hissed before turning his attention back to the girl.
“Get. Out.” he snarled at the blonde. “And don’t come back until you’re twenty-five.”
“TWENTY-FIVE? I thought I needed to be eighteen!”
“For you, it’s twenty-five. Now get out before I ban you for life.”
Her perfectly pink lips parted but no sound came out. Unbidden tears sprang into her eyes and Remy groaned to himself.
Ah shit. Don’t turn on the waterworks! He thought furiously. He just wanted the girl to get out of his tattoo shop before everyone got arrested.
She wasn’t the first underaged girl to ever try her luck but she also wasn’t the first who had been booted out. Judging by the four-hundred-dollar track suit she was wearing, Remy was sure she wasn’t even from around there but had probably travelled to his renowned shop specifically to torment him.
“I thought you would be nicer,” she sniffled, trying to regain her composure but big, fat tears slid down her cheeks and Remy was left feeling like a giant asshole. “I’m going to post all about your shitty service on Twitter and Yelp!”
Not my problem. She knows she’s not supposed to be in here.
Still, he couldn’t help but feel guilty, even as he turned his back, deliberately ignoring her as she half-pleaded, half-cursed at him.
“Jillian…” Remy snapped. His concentration was broken now and a familiar feeling of upset coiled around his guts. It took time for him to get to a certain place in his art and the slightest distraction could put him back hours.
“Come on, sweetie,” Jillian said condescendingly, ushering the sniveling teen out of the shop.
“Damn,” Mario chortled. “That was cold.”
Remy cast him an icy stare.
“Do you want me to finish this?” he asked crisply, fully prepared to kick this idiot out of his shop, too, before he punched him in the face. Mario’s lazy smile faded as he correctly read Remy’s thoughts through his glare. He looked at Remy in confusion.
“You can’t just leave it —” Mario shut his mouth on whatever else he may have said and let Remy get back to work on the scales of the dragon in silence. He clamped down on his own temper, forcing himself to fall back into the flow of his art. He didn’t want Mario coming back for some time, if he could prevent it.
Several hours later saw him completing the tattoo and leaving Jillian, an artist in her own right, to dress and go over its care with Mario.
Remy’s irritation with the events of the day hadn’t disappeared completely and the obtuse way a man of Mario’s size was intimidated by Remy wasn’t helping. If the overweight man had a tail, Remy was sure it would have been tucked between his legs as he took Jillian’s instruction and paid for the ink.
Not that Remy was a small man. Not in stature and certainly not in personality. Perhaps it was his deadpan steadfastness which unnerved the best of people, the way he carried his six-foot three frame.
With another chime of the door’s bell, Mario was gone, leaving Remy alone with Jillian in the shop.
His grey eyes rested on the redhead and she shrugged as if reading his mind.
“I have no idea where they come from,” she said, like he’d asked. “You should be used to them by now.”
But he wasn’t. Remy wasn’t used to any of the clients any more than he was used to what his life had become in the past fifteen years.
Sometimes, when he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror between clients, his eyes hard and glittering, he wondered if he truly was th
e same person he had been before. There was still the same untamed hair, long since grown out from his time spent in the Army and the strong jawbone. But aside from that, he wouldn’t have recognized himself if he’d seen his own face a decade and a half apart.
Sure, he was sill the charismatic Remy that his parents had raised and then promptly dismissed as if he too, had died when his brother had taken his own life.
What would Simon say about the man I became?
Shame and bile filled his throat as Remy lowered his head.
“With this TLC show, we’re going to need to hire security,” Remy muttered, more to himself than Jillian. “There are more and more groupies popping by. It’s distracting.”
Jillian grinned happily.
“And so awesome!” she squealed gleefully. Remy wasn’t so sure about that but who was he to rain on her parade. He’d had his tattoo shop in the grittier area of East Detroit for almost three years. Eminem had chanced upon his small but stylish store a year back and before Remy could blink, he was being bombarded with celebrity requests for tattoos. Then came the t.v series, Blotted, which featured his shop and the three artists who worked there.
It wasn’t fame that Remy was after, not when he’d already come to terms with leaving that all behind.
Still, the high life seemed to follow him, no matter where he went. It wasn’t hard to remember a time when he’d wanted the fortune and notoriety that came with it. Now, he was happier to focus strictly on his art and ignore the fact that the years were slipping past.
“You really hate the show, don’t you?” Jillian commented and Remy realized he had zoned out slightly.
“Of course not,” he replied, forcing a smile. “It’s just taking a little bit of getting used to. If I hated it, I wouldn’t be doing it.”
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