Page 157 of Fixation
Holy shit. The night he fucked me against the wall. He killed him then.
Thankfully, he had the gaiter hiding his face. They’ll never find out it was him, no matter how much CCTV footage they go over.
He’s safe.
“You can see for yourselves that I’d been here. In my own neighborhood.”
“Then it wasn’t you,” the way Jerry says it, a chill runs up my spine. As if he doesn’t believe me. “You have family or a boyfriend or someone in the Bratva. You sent them.”
My eyebrows scrunch together. “The Bratva? What’s that?”
“Don’t play dumb.”
Athena shakes her head.
Jerry doesn’t stop for a second. “You have the head of the Russian mafia coming out of the grocery store around the corner, and you want us to believe you didn’t pay him or someone in hisorganizationto deal with your problem?”
No heartbeat. No pulse. No blood in my veins.
My chest tightens, panic flooding every nerve.
The head of the Russian mafia. Here, in my peaceful neighborhood. Well, relatively peaceful.
Anderson lives here.
And now this.
Oh God. Oh my God.
“I don’t have any ties to the mafia.” My lips are parched, my vision blurring around the edges. Impossible. Im-fucking-possible. I couldn’t date a mafia man or whatever Anderson does for them. I won’t—fuck. What a mess. What the hell. “Any mafia. I swear, I don’t.”
Athena jumps to her feet. “Let me go get you some water.”
I must look as fucked up as I feel. Face pale. Eyes unfocused.
Water won’t help me. No amount of water in the world could make me feel better right now.
“No, no. It’s okay.” Will my heart ever beat again? Doubtful. “You just—the mafia? Here?”
“Yeah. Well, this is an ongoing investigation.” I guess I’m pale enough, shocked enough, for Jerry to believe me. He gets up, smoothing his crumpled shirt. “Stay in the city where we can reach you.”
“Sure.”Stand up. Show them out. Do what any other innocent person would.
At the door, Athena hands me her card. “Call me if you remember anything. Thank you for your time.”
“You’re welcome.”
I shut the door in their faces. Put my forehead against it.
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
I’m about to count to a hundred. Then I hear the lock on the back door.
Boots stomp across my hardwood.
A large hand rests on my shoulder. The scent of a woodsy cologne filters into my nose.
“Who are you?” I whisper.
