Page 11 of Tracked By the Fixer

“I’ll explain when I get back,” I say before climbing out of the car and taking off, heading deeper into the alleyway.

Chapter Seven

Lilly

I know that Isaiah told me to stay here, and I keeptellingmyself to stay put. But when I see two men following Isaiah, I just can’t listen to myself any longer.

I wait until they’ve rounded a corner, going deeper into the alley, before I get out of the car. My phone in hand, I follow the group of people. As a precaution, I dial 911, but don’t call. I won’t unless I see signs of struggle. I don’t want to be seen or heard.

Despite my best efforts at being silent, my heels clack on the ground, echoing off the brick walls surrounding me. Even though we’re in the middle of the city, it feels eerily silent. I can hear each of my breaths, the sound loud in my ears. An uneasy feeling settles deep in my gut, and no amount of relaxation techniques that I’ve learned knock it loose.

Isaiah was always so calm and in control when we were together, and I would have assumed that in any situation, he’d be the level-headed person he was when he beat up Mr. Tomlinson, lost at putt-putt, or made love to me. I wanted to think that this was another situation he could take care of, but there was something about his behavior that just wasn’t right.

He had that gun, for one thing. On the drive to this alley, he couldn’t keep his eyes on the road, always looking in the rearview mirror. But… Maybe I’m overreacting. That’s why I’m doing this. Once I see what’s going on, once I’m able to wrap my mind around the situation, I’ll call the police.

Should I just call the police right now?

I’m about to do it, just in case. The worst thing that can happen is that they show up for nothing and everything is just a big misunderstanding. I want to make sure Isaiah’s safe. He’s strong, he has a gun, but there were two people following him. He’s just one man.

My finger hovers above the call button, but before I press it, I hear Isaiah’s voice, terse and blunt as he addresses the two men. I can’t make out anything that he says, so I creep closer, peeking around the corner.

Isaiah’s standing there, his body tense but steady. The gun is aimed at one of the men, who’s got his hands in the air. The other man is slowly approaching Isaiah, taking advantage of the fact that he’s not being watched.

“Who sent you?” Isaiah demands, an edge to his voice that I haven’t heard before. It’s almost like he’s a completely different person from the man I’ve met.

It scares me a little.

“It doesn’t matter,” the man who’s within Isaiah’s line of fire says. “Let us go and we’ll put this whole thing behind us.”

“Do you think I’m a fucking idiot?” Isaiah asks, deadpan and cold. “Two of our guys don’t report back after a hit and you think I believe that your boss will call off his dogs if I let you go?”

At that moment, the other guy runs forward, probably with the intent to knock the gun out of Isaiah’s hands. Isaiah moves faster, though. Without so much as flinching, Isaiah quickly aims and fires a shot.

The bullet lodges itself in the man’s chest. He falls to his knees, his hand weakly clutching at the wound, a gurgling sound escaping his lips. It’s nothing like what happens when people get shot in movies, and somehow that makes the sight even more appalling.

Every single fiber of my being is telling me to run, but I’m frozen in place. I’m hit with the absolutely horrifying realization that when my fight or flight instincts are activated, I don’t do either of those things. I freeze.

“You’re insane,” the other man says. And, even though it’s obvious that he’s freaking out, there’s something about the way he’s holding his body still, his chin high, that says he’s been in situations like this before. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Are you telling me that motherfucker wasn’t running at me to get his hands on my gun?” Isaiah asks, sounding almost bored. “Or do you expect me to believe that you two were trailing me for fifteen minutes to have a friendly conversation? That was self-defense, dumbass. Now tell me, who sent you?”

Instead of answering, the man surges forward. He doesn’t get very far, though. Isaiah pulls the trigger again, this time aiming directly for the man’s head.

I should look away. I’m well aware of what’s going to happen. But, again, I’m frozen. All I can do is stand there, my eyes wide as the bullet goes into the man’s head and exits through the back of his skull.

He collapses, his body deadweight. Without a pause, Isaiah tucks the gun away and pulls his phone from his pocket. As he begins a phone call, I stare at the two bodies on the ground, my stomach churning. For a moment I think I’m going to be sick but I swallow it down.

“--that so? Well, if that’s the case, the situation has been handled,” I hear him say, once blood stops rushing in my ears. “I’ll need takeout for two at my current location.”

He walks up to one of the bodies, looking down at it while he listens to the person on the other end of the line. I take the opportunity to step out of my hiding spot. My legs shake violently, but I force myself to stay upright.

“Understood,” Isaiah says before putting his phone back in his pocket.

Somehow, I find my voice, and I say, “You killed them?”

His shoulders tense before he turns around slowly. My body shakes even harder, and I want to run. I just can’t make my legs work, though. I might as well be glued to the ground.

“There was a situation,” he says as if that explains everything. “I had to handle it.”

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