3
David watched Remy as he paced the warehouse, pondering the data-cluttered wall. They had spent days going over it again and again. It was all the same. Just as it had been six years ago.
The only change was Remy.
He didn’t even think of Remy as Brock anymore. They were two different men. Sure, they looked exactly the same—a tank on legs—but Brock had been snuffed out just as surely as if he had been killed in the raid.
David never blamed Remy for the change. He was just glad Remy had survived at all. But gone was Remy’s humor. Gone was his smile. Gone was his purpose.
Security director in a casino.
And before that, his brother’s chauffeur and bodyguard.
David scoffed. It wasn’t as if those were bad jobs, but they weren’t Remy. Just watching him stalk the warehouse like a lion con
