Callum's POV
Remy's blood coated my hands. It was warm and sticky, soaking into the fabric of my shirt as I pressed down on the wound. His breathing was shallow, his skin pale under the dim restaurant lights. I needed to move fast.
I pulled out my phone and dialed Alex, head of my security. He answered on the first ring.
"Code Black," I said. "My location. Cleanup and silence."
"Understood," Alex replied. No questions. That's why I paid him.
I slid the phone back into my pocket and hooked an arm under Remy's shoulders. He groaned as I lifted him, his body heavy with shock.
"Stay awake," I ordered him again.
His eyelids fluttered, but he didn't respond.
I half-carried, half-dragged him out the back exit, avoiding the shattered glass at the front. My car was parked in the alley, engine already running—Alex must have activated the remote start. I shoved Remy into the passenger seat gently, buckling him in before sprinting to the driver's side.
The tires screeched as I pulled onto the road. I glanced at Remy. His head lolled against the window, his breathing uneven.
"Hang on," I muttered, gripping the wheels tightly. I drove faster than I should have, weaving through traffic. My penthouse was the safest place I could think of. Private, secure, and equipped for situations like this.
Ten minutes later, I pulled into the underground garage in my home. The elevator ride up was tense. Remy slumped against me, his weight pressing into my side. I tightened my grip, keeping him upright.
The penthouse doors opened. I hauled him inside and straight to the guest bedroom, laying him down on the bed. Blood had seeped through the makeshift bandage. My jacket. I ripped it away to assess the damage.
I'd shoot people and seen them got shot so I knew this was bad. Whoever took the shot was aiming to kill but the bullet hadn't gotten clean through though.
The bullet had penetrated his side, leaving a deep, angry wound. Not fatal, but bad enough.
I grabbed the secure line and called Dr. Varma. She has been working for me for some time now. Very discreet and loyal.
"I need you. Gunshot wound. Non-life-threatening but needs immediate attention," I rasped when she picked up. "My penthouse. Now."
She didn't ask for details. Not that she usually do. "Fifteen minutes."
I hung up and turned back to Remy. His eyes were half-open now, glazed with pain.
"Where…?" His voice was rough, laced with pain.
"My place," I replied. "You're safe."
He exhaled, shutting his eyes again. I grabbed a towel from the ensuite bathroom and pressed it to his side. He hissed but didn't pull away.
The intercom buzzed. Alex.
I strode to the door and let him in. He was already giving orders into his earpiece, coordinating the cleanup team.
"The restaurant is contained," he said. "No police. No witnesses."
I nodded. "And the shooter?"
"Gone. But we're tracking."
"Find them."
Alex left as quickly as he arrived.
Dr. Varma arrived soon after, her medical bag in hand. She barely glanced at me before moving to Remy's side.
"You can wait outside," she said.
I didn't move. "I'll stay."
She gave me a measured look but didn't argue.
As she worked, I watched Remy's face. His jaw was clenched, his fingers gripping the sheets. I should have seen the threat coming. Should have been more careful.
This was my fault.
He didn't ask for any of this. He didn't know who I was when I walked into his restaurant. He has no connection to my brother. No stake in this mess.
But he was bleeding beside me because someone had used a silencer from across the street. Because someone had tracked me.
He has nothing to do with any of it. Just a man doing his job. And I'd let him get caught in the fallout of my family's destruction.
He should've gone home tonight. He should've closed up, changed clothes, maybe gone to a bar or just collapsed in bed. He should've forgotten I ever walked into his restaurant.
And now he was tangled in my mess. I dragged a hand in my hair and cursed under my breath. Dr. Varma finished stitching him up and handed me a bottle of painkillers.
"He has no fever and there is no signs of infection yet," she said. "But monitor him. If he gets worse, call me immediately."
I nodded. She left without another word.
The room was quiet now, just the sound of Remy's steady breathing. The painkillers had pulled him under, his body finally surrendering to exhaustion. I dragged a chair to the bedside and sat, elbows on knees, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest. The doctor's stitches were clean, the bandages fresh.
My eyes strayed over his features, taking a closer look now that I wasn't in a rush, now that the adrenaline had simmered into something quieter.
He was… fuck. Even unconscious, he was pretty. Too pretty. If men could be described that way.
No wonder I was attracted to him at first sight. I'd never looked at a man like this before. Never had to fight the urge to look longer, closer.
His tan skin made mine look like bleached paper. It stretched smooth across his cheeks, down his throat, over the sharp cut of his collarbones. His lips were parted slightly, pink and full, like he was just one soft breath away from whispering something reckless. I hated how my gaze lingered there.
I told myself I was just checking for signs of life. But if I was being honest... it wasn't just that.
My gaze fell lower. The sheet was bunched low around his hips, exposing the slope of his torso. Tight stomach, narrow waist, tattooed arms, the kind of lean muscle that made you want to touch just to see if he'd twitch under your fingers.
He shifted slightly in his sleep, and the sheet slid an inch lower.
My throat went dry.
I wasn't supposed to notice that. The thin trail of hair disappearing beneath the fabric. The faint outline of his cock pressing lazily under the sheets, thick and unapologetic. Jesus.
My jaw clenched. I looked away. Then I looked back.
Goddamn it.
This wasn't me. I didn't let myself get rattled like this. I didn't stare at anyone like this. Not man or woman. I controlled myself. Always. That was the rule. My rule.
But he made something inside me slip. Not just now. From the first time I saw him in the church. The way he'd talked back to me at his restaurant.
I had told myself this was probably something fleeting. Some sort of interest that will pass.
But this? The way my cock was already throbbing with need by just sitting here, watching this man breathe despite his condition? That wasn't curiosity. That was want.
I hadn't felt this in years and now, what? It pissed me off.
I stood abruptly, fists clenched. Adjusted myself through gritted teeth. He made me feel out of control, and I didn't do out of control.
I leaned down, close to his ear, and said low, "You've got no idea what kind of fucking mess you're stirring up, pretty boy."
He stirred, his lips parted just slightly in his sleep, like maybe he'd heard me. Or maybe I wanted him to.
Either way, I stood up quickly, adjusting myself with a quiet curse. Yeah. I needed to leave the room. Before I did something stupid.
My phone buzzed on my way out. It was a message from Alex.
"Shooter's trail went cold. Working on it."
I clenched my jaw but didn't reply. If my team couldn't track them, they were either highly skilled or had inside help. Neither option sat right with me.
A second notification flashed. This time from a news alert. I almost dismissed it until I saw the headline.
I stared wide at my phone, my eyes almost bulging from their sockets. "What the fuck?"