Page 21 of Nasty
“And that brunette? The friend you hang out with all the time?”
“Sadie?”
“Text her and ask to meet for coffee or lunch or something this weekend. Tell her you had a great time at the wedding, but you’re excited to be coming home.”
“Fix, I don’t understand why you want me to do that. Going back to Seattle is the last thing we should be doing.”
I gripped the steering wheel tighter, pressing my foot down on the gas pedal. This was fucked. This was allsofucked. “I know. Which is why we’re not going anywhere near Seattle,” I ground out. “We’re going to New York.”
NINE
EDDISON GAS & ELECTRICAL WORKS
SERA
Three and a half hours. That’s how long it took to travel from Pennsylvania to New York. Few words were exchanged on the drive, and Fix emitted fury and aggression the entire way. I wasn’t exactly calm myself. My heart rate kept spiking all over the place. I’d wrestle with the adrenalin pumping around my body for thirty minutes, finally be able to convince myself that everything was going to be okay, only to have a wave of dread slam into me, sending me spiraling back down into the depths of despair.
Who was this fucking Carver guy? And why the fuck did he want me dead so badly? I had no answers. None whatsoever. And since our trip to Centralia had done nothing but get us into even more trouble, we had no clues to go on, and no way of figuring this thing out. We were flying blind, and I didn’t like it. I could tell Fix detested it, too. He was probably used to being in control, calling the shots, and right now he was completely powerless.
As the city approached on the skyline, tall high-rise buildings reaching upward into the sky like pillars of shining glass, and metal and concrete, I bit down the urge to have Fix pull over so I could throw up. I’d never been to New York before. Never had the opportunity. I’d always wanted to, but work had consumed so much of my life recently. I’d been telling myself for the last eighteen months that I’d come visit soon, go do the tourist thing and check out the Empire State Building, go see The Lion King on Broadway. I hadn’t for one second envisioned my first trip to the Big Apple would be a flight to safety, because my very existence was in danger.
I watched the city explode up around the truck with a tight knot of fear sitting heavy in the pit of my stomach. Restaurants; bars; high-end clothes shops; souvenir stands; hot dog stands; bodegas; parks. There was so much going on, and so, so many people. Everything, everywhere. People hurrying, talking into cell phones, gathered in groups on street corners, gesticulating to one another like maniacs, waving their arms in the air.
Eventually, Fix spoke. “The Manhattan Bridge is coming up. Then we’ll be entering Brooklyn. We’re close.” There was a relieved softness to his voice, which had an immediate effect on me. Fix knew Brooklyn well. He lived here, so it stood to reason that he’d be much more confident on home ground. He probably had an arsenal of weapons at his place, and he knew how to get in and out of the city as quickly as possible.
Next thing I knew, we were on the bridge. I’d driven across the Golden Gate Bridge before, so I was used to the overwhelming depth and scale of such a massive structure, but the Golden Gate Bridge was outside of the city, spanning a vast stretch of water. This bridge was monstrously huge, but it was right in the middle of everything, connecting two metropolitan hubs, and the sheer size of the tangle of steel struts and supports momentarily overwhelmed me.
Traffic sucked. The vehicles in front of us crawled forward at a snail’s pace, and I slid my hands underneath my legs, sitting on them, trying to stop myself from shaking. Or, rather, trying to hide the fact that I was shaking from Fix.
Didn’t seem to be doing a very good job, though. “Everything’s going to be okay, Angel,” he said softly. I looked at him, and his ghostly eyes were burning with such intensity. “I won’t let anybody hurt you. I won’t let anybody fucking touch you. Ipromiseyou that.”
“I know. I…” I didn’t know. I didn’t know anything, but weirdly I trusted him. I knew he was going to do everything in his power to fix this situation. That’s what he did, after all. He fixed things. I looked out of the window to the right, across the expanse of gunmetal grey water, and I swallowed hard.
“The bridge’s safe, Sera,” Fix said. “It’s solid as fuck. And we’re almost at the other side.”
“Yeah. I just…” How could I explain all of the thoughts churning in my head right now? I’d lost the ability to communicate effectively. I was trapped inside my own skull with so much negativity and fear, so many potential threats presenting themselves to me, one after the other, that even breathing felt dangerous. I’d feel better once we were off the bridge. I’d feel even better once we were out of the truck, locked behind closed doors, and I could get the gun Fix had given to me out of my bag. He hadn’t even given me a chance to retrieve it before we’d set off earlier. Said I didn’t have need of it, not yet, but having it on my person would make me feel a little better, I was sure.
Soon, we were back amongst streets, immersed in the crawling madness that was Brooklyn. Seattle was a big city, but it was nothing like this. Didn’t even come close. Twenty minutes after that, Fix was turning the truck off the road, down a narrow side street that terminated almost immediately. A tall, old brick wall towered in front of us, trapping us, covered in torn, tattered, faded posters and a large white and red sign that read:
Eddison Gas & Electrical Works
Private Property.
Keep out.
Fix grunted as he climbed out of the truck and slammed the door closed behind himself. He navigated his way around the truck and opened my door, gesturing for me to get out, too.
“Through there,” he said, pointing to a rusting steel doorway in the building to our right, about ten feet from where the truck was parked. “The code is 3887. Go up to the top floor. I’ll be right behind you.”
I didn’t want to head into the building alone. Telling Fix that felt like an admission of weakness, though, so I walked to the door, punched in the code, and entered, breathing deeply through my nose. There was no elevator beyond, just a bare concrete stairwell that led up and up forever. My Converse scraped against the steps as I ascended, my palms sweating like crazy.
Life was so fucking strange sometimes. Three weeks ago, I’d been packing my rental, about to set off on what was supposed to have been an enjoyable, exciting trip across the country. I’d been planning on doing some sightseeing, relaxing, but instead I’d been met with hurdle after hurdle on my way to Alabama. I’d found myself stuck in a motel room in the middle of a storm with a complete stranger, and now here I was in New York City, and there were dead bodies everywhere I damn well looked, and I was sleeping with the most dangerous man I’d ever met. The most dangerous mananyonehad met.
By the fourth floor, I was beginning to think the stairs were never going to end. Thankfully,one more floor up and I found I’d come as far as I could go. I could hear Fix below, banging about, stomping up the stairs behind me. There was only one door in front of me, as there had only been one door to exit the stairwell on each of the floors below. I tried the handle, expecting to find it locked, but it turned and opened without protest. On the other side: a long narrow hallway, lit by small cut glass chandeliers suspended from the unbelievably high ceiling. The walls were a flat, slate grey color, and the floor was a much darker grey polished concrete, flecked with gold. Understated. Masculine. Tasteful. Somehow, I knew Fix was responsible for the appearance of this hallway, and I almost burst out laughing. Fix, painting and decorating? Picking out gold flecked concrete? It was a ridiculous vision that just refused to make sense in my mind. God knows what the rest of his apartment was going to look like. I’d given absolutely no thought to where he might live. What his space would look like. For the short time I’d known him, Fix had been a drifting entity comprised of violence and mayhem. Now that it appeared he had roots, a real home of his own, I supposed that altered my perception of him a little. Made him more…human.
There was only one door here in the hallway, too. Fix owned the whole floor by the looks of things. I didn’t know much about property prices in Brooklyn, but I did know that New York was one of the most expensive places to live in the country. Space was at a premium. To be able to afford an entire penthouse apartment, Fix’s bank account must have been really healthy. I guessed being a hitman did have its perks.
I turned back, about to go back into the stairwell to see what was taking Fix so long, when the heavy, hardwood door to his apartment swung open. My heart did a backflip, and then another. I stepped back, my body telling me to run like hell, but—
