18
Remy stared at the shrub. Comprehension of what Boyer said was slowly seeping in like heated tar, coating his limited memories.
“You’re full of s**t!” Remy shouted, though lacking conviction. He didn’t remember. But he wouldn’t slaughter his men. He’d never.
But with the drugs . . .
“You’ll remember sooner or later,” Boyer said, gasping.
Remy squeezed the trigger, but held off. It’d only prove what Boyer had said; that Remy was a killer.
A force rammed Remy from the side. He skidded, the soles of his boots biting into the rocky soil as he held onto the attacker.
David.
Remy, at first thankful David was alive and moving, looked down at his hands, bloody from David’s shirt. Before Remy could register what was happening, David struck out. Remy sidestepped the swing just in time. Ag
