Page 6 of Dirty
God only knows what they had made of the chaos and destruction they found when they threw up those roller shutters and saw what was inside. They probably still had nightmares about it.
The shower water was scalding, but that didn't seem to have helped the temperature inside the bathroom when I stepped out of the tiled cubicle. The air was frigid, biting at my skin, and I hurried to get dry as quickly as possible. While the rest of my body was suffering from borderline hypothermia, my dick didn't seem to have noticed the cold. I had a raging hard-on that was becoming difficult to ignore. I glanced down at it, contemplating stroking it for just a second, but then I decided against it. There was no such thing as just a second when it came to jerking off—I either completed the task at hand, or I didn't start it in the first place—and I didn’t have time to be touching my cock. Not with Sera sitting on the other side of the bathroom door. She was the reason I had a fucking erection in the first place. She seemed smart as well as beautiful, and it wouldn't take much for her to figure out what the hell I was doing in here if I didn't come out fairly soon.
Once dressed, I left the bathroom, rubbing at my damp hair with a towel. Sera pursed her lips as she looked up at me over the top of a book. She’d moved from the chair and was now lying on her bed, propped up against a stack of lumpy looking pillows. “Your cell phone’s been blowing up,” she said, curving a dark eyebrow at me. “Who, or what, is a ‘Fix’?”
Well, well, well. She’d looked at my phone? I curved an eyebrow right back at her. “Naughty girl. You make a habit of invading the privacy of total strangers?”
“I didn’t no such thing. Harold from front desk called the room while you were primping and preening in there. He asked me to give you a message. He said, a woman called Monica called, and said…” Sera cleared her throat, closing her book and laying it on top of her chest. “‘Fuck you, Fix. You’re already late. If you don’t come home soon, I’m coming to find you.”
Urgh. Monica. What the hell was she doing, calling the motel? I’d only told her where I was so she’d quit hassling calling me every five seconds. Now she had the name of the place I was staying, I’d simply given her another avenue through which to harass me, apparently. And Harold shouldn’t have given a message meant for me to another guest, but then again Harold was fucking useless and didn’t know his ass from his elbow, so…
I collected my cell from the night stand beside my bed, and sure enough I had six missed calls from Monica, alongside an collection of colorfully worded text messages that would have made a sailor blush.
“You still haven’t answered my question,” Sera said loftily.
“Hmm?”
“Fix?”
I laughed, sliding my phone into my back pocket. “Felix. Fix. I’m Fix. That’s what some people call me.” If they knew I murdered people for a living, that’s what they called me, anyway. Five years ago, I’d made a decision. I’d stood in a hospital, covered in blood, hands sticky with it, and I’d decided that there was no justice in the world. I’d decided to rectify the situation. I’d set Felix aside, and I’d become Fix.
Since that night, I’d spend every waking moment searching for the bastard who’d hurt the woman under my care. I hadn’t found him yet, but I had a long fucking memory. I wasn’t about to give up any time soon.
“A verb as a nickname. How pedestrian,” Sera mused, lifting a glass to her lips. Her tone was a little mocking, but I could see she was intrigued. She probably wanted to know who Monica was. She probably wanted to know what I was eight days late for. Shame I wasn't going to tell her.The amber liquid in her glass caught the light as Sera tipped it back, taking a healthy swig.
“That’s a healthy pour. You plan on driving with a hangover tomorrow?” I said.
She laughed softly, shaking her head. The glass was now empty. “I learned how to throw back tequila when I was fourteen-years-old. I can drink most people under the table. Haven't had a hangover in years.”
God. If I were any kind of asshole, which I was, this was the moment I’d offer to test out that theory. I wasn’t about to fulfill whatever expectations she’d clearly formed of me, though. Sera and I were still playing our little game ofwho’s in control here?And I didn’t lose that motherfucking game. Ever.
“I can leave the room if you need to return all those phone calls,” Sera said. Her voice was interesting—a little huskier than most women, which was a nice change. I’d had enough of nasal, high pitched, whiny girls to last me a lifetime. The tequila had probably set a rough edge to her tone, but I wasn’t complaining; it was sexy as fuck.
“Thanks. I’m good.”
“Ah. So you’re a player. You’re going to keep little Miss Monica waiting.”
Ha! Keeping Monica waiting? That was a fucking riot. I smirked, laying down on my bed. “You want to know if I’m fucking her.”
A scandalized look flashed across Sera’s face. She had a faint scar running along her jawline that I hadn't noticed before. The silvery line of healed tissue was narrow, no wider than the blade of a knife, and must have been expertly stitched, because it was barely visible. I probably wouldn't have noticed it had she not dramatically reacted to my statement.
“I don't want to know that. I don’t want to know anything. I’m merely making an observation.”
I assessed her scar surreptitiously, only allowing my eyes to skate over it one more time before I raised my gaze to hers. You didn't get a scar like that accidentally. It was too long and straight and perfect to have been caused by anything other than a weapon. So Sera was interesting, after all. She wasn’t just a prissy princess with a bad attitude. She had stories of her own to tell. Not that I was going to ask her to spill. That would make things complicated. That would be a point to Sera, and I was still keeping a weather eye on the leader board. “You’re judging me,” I said. “You’re trying to figure out who I am.”
A long pause followed, a small, shallow line forming between Sera’s perfectly manicured brows. “And?” She sounded frustrated. “That’s what people do when they meet other people. They form opinions of them. They try and decide if they like the other person or not.”
“What does it matter if you like me or not? Why would it matter if I was the biggest asshole on the face of the planet? We’re here for one night. Once tomorrow morning arrives, you’re going your way and I’m going mine. You’ll never see me again, and you’ll have wasted all that precious time makingdecisionsabout me.”
I could play this game forever. Sera stared at me for a drawn out second. All my life, I’d been told over and over again how confronting my eyes were. Too blue. Too cold. Too paralyzing. Too piercing. When Sera turned her warm, chocolate eyes on me, I finally began to understand what people were talking about. It wasn't that they were out of the ordinary, or even that remarkable for that matter, but the intelligence that existed in her eyes, shining out from her intricately painted irises, was enough to pin me to the mattress. Looking directly at her was like looking directly into the eyes of a tiger. There was so much happening behind the look, so much going on inside her head, and yet she managed to conceal it all so well. Still, I knew she was sizing me up. Trying to decide if she could take me on, one way or another.
Inhaling sharply, she sat up, breaking off our weird little staring contest. “You’re right,” she said, reaching for her purse. “I won’t waste my time making any more decisions.” Out of her bag came a bottle of Clase Azul Reposado tequila, which she set down on top of her comforter, leaning it against her leg so she could unscrew the top. Another considerable amount of the golden liquid went into her glass. She didn’t ask if I wanted a drink. She just grabbed the other glass sitting on her nightstand and poured. “Here. Take it. It reallyisunimportant if I like you, but we do have to spend the next few hours holed up in this room together. We might as well attempt to make them as bearable as possible.”
A series of potential outcomes flashed before my eyes as I reached over and accepted the glass of tequila: I drank with her, got wasted, and I woke up to an empty motel room, with all my hardware stolen; I drank with her, got wasted, woke up feeling shitty, and I allowed Franz Halford to get the jump on me when I paid him a visit at his auto-mechanics’ tomorrow; and, my personal favorite, I drank with her, got wasted, and ended up fucking Sera’s brains out.
This trip was a job, I reminded myself. I was here to take care of business. But how long had it been since I’d fucked anyone? At least three months. I was an attractive guy. No, fuck that, I washot. Girls stopped their conversations when I passed them in the street. I was followed by double takes and open stares everywhere I went. I was a bad call. I was dangerous. I was a risk that should never be taken. I was the devil, and I wasn’t even in disguise, but it didn't stop women from wanting to take the chance. I was selective, though. I didn't just sink my dick into the first available and willing, wet pussy, just because I could.
I took a sip of the tequila, relishing the burn that spread down my throat and into my chest, warming me from the inside. “This is nice. Expensive.” Sera might have learned how to drink at a young age, but I’d had my fair share of tequila, too. This wasn’t cheap and nasty; it was top shelf liquor.
