Page 28 of Nasty
The silence woke me. A thick, stifling, roaring silence that jolted me from my dreams as effectively as a klaxon blaring right next to my ear. I sat up on the couch, my head reeling, and for a second I couldn’t remember where I was, or who I was, or what the fuck was going on.
It all came back to me in the time it would take to click your fingers. I was Sera Lafferty, and I was in New York. And Fix Marcosa was…Fix Marcosa was nowhere to be seen?
The penthouse was almost dark, the waning light of the day turned deep purple and blue, and shadows had grown in the corners of the huge, sprawling living room; they resembled masked figures, lurking, ready to jump out of the half-light, preparing to attack. I got up and hit the lights by the entranceway, casting the shadows away, and the apartment suddenly felt much friendlier, if not entirely safe.
Where the fuck was Fix?
I got my answer when I came across the note he’d left for me on the dining table.
Angel,
I was fucking you in your sleep.
You were moaning and panting, and I know only my dick can make you squirm like that. Probably the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.
I’ll come back and give you the real thing soon, I promise.
Gone to see a man about a dog.
F
I frowned at the note, trying to figure out through the haze of sleep what the hell he was talking about. He was getting a dog?
Damn, I was getting a headache. I need pain killers.
There were no medical supplies in the kitchen. Was Fix even the kind of guy to keep a medical kit? Of course he was. He was in a high-risk line of work. He probably had a full operating room set up in the penthouse somewhere, just in case he got shot and needed immediate surgery.
I found the bathroom and proceeded to rifle through the drawers and cupboards there, trying not to drool over the huge copper claw foot tub that sat pride of place in the middle of the room. Goddamn, that was an amazing bath. Could easily fit three of four people it. The thought immediately made me feel queasy. Fix probablyhadfit three or four people in there.Not a pleasant thought. I’d always had a vivid imagination. Looking at the tub now, I could picture three naked women, covered in soap bubbles, all stroking him, making out with him, rubbing themselves all over him.
I was a fucking grown up. I could handle the fact that the guy I was sleeping with had a past. Everyone had a past. Fix’s past was probably just a little more colorful than most, though, and the prospect that he’d had such scandalous adventures twisted my stomach a little. I was jealous, of all things, and I’d been convinced the man had wanted to kill me two days ago. What the fuck was wrong with me?
I opened up Fix’s medicine cabinet and right away I found a bottle of Tylenol. There was only one small blue pill left inside, so I tossed it back and stooped to chase it down with some water from the faucet. Closing the cabinet, I surveyed myself in the mirror, pulling a face at myself. My hair was a rat’s nest, and my eyes were puffy from sleep. I’d hardly been rocking a tan of late, but my skin seemed paler than usual. The truth was, I was washed out, and the shadows under my eyes made me look exhausted, even though I’d just woken up from what I’d thought had been a sound sleep.
Fix said I was moaning and panting. I couldn’t remember if I’d been dreaming. If I had, I sure as fuck would have remembered having a sex dream. I remembered the one I’d had on the way to the cabin vividly. I splashed my face with water, but it didn’t really help. Now I just looked tired and wet. Slowly, I shucked my clothes off, stretching my body as I got undressed. It would take a year to fill the tub with water, and after the mental images I’d just tortured myself with, I didn’t really feel like soaking in it anymore, so I got into the huge glass walled shower and turned the water up as hot as it would go.
Heaven.
Nirvana.
Sheer bliss.
As the scalding water poured over my body, I felt the muscles in my neck, my shoulders, and my back relax, and I near melted from the ecstasy of it. It felt so good. Once I felt a little more mentally alert, I began to investigate the bottles of shampoo and body wash sitting on the recessed, tiled shelf in the wall, sniffing each one.
Leather. Citrus. Dark roast coffee, and oak. None of the scents here wereFix, though. His smell was something else entirely, and I highly doubted I’d find it in a bottle. I got cleaned up, turned the shower off, located a towel and dried off as quickly as I could.
Clothes. I needed clean clothes. I’d passed out on the couch, so I didn’t know where the bedroom was, but I assumed that was where Fix had deposited our bags. The penthouse was bigger than I’d thought. I opened and closed five doors before I stumbled upon what was unmistakably Fix’s bedroom. The room was dominated by a huge four poster bed that sat in the middle of the far wall. It was higher than any bed I’d ever slept on and stacked so high with pillows that it seemed as though a person would struggle to actually climb into the thing. Everything was slate grey, simple, but cleanly designed and tasteful. There were no curtains at the windows, nor were there any blinds. The building next to the Eddison Gas and Electrical Works was much lower and looked like it might have been abandoned for the last few decades, so it wasn’t as if anyone could see into the penthouse, but still… Normal people didn’t want to wake with the dawn. The penthouse was eastward facing, so it would be blasted by the sun the moment it rose up over the jigsaw puzzle of high rises on the horizon. Maybe Fix just never slept. He’d driven for such insanely long stretches and had shown absolutely no sign of tiring. And when we’d stayed at a hotel, or at the cabin on Butcher’s Mountain, he’d been awake, showered, dressed and with a mug of coffee in his hand before I’d even opened my eyes. And I wasnota late riser.
For an assassin, sleep probably didn’t come easily. The mental images alone must have been enough to deprive him of rest. There were also undoubtedly occasions when things didn’t go smoothly. When someone ended up pissed off and looking for retribution, Fix must have been constantly on his toes, just waiting for someone to kick the door in and try to slit his throat while he slumbered. He’d probably become accustomed to functioning on three hours’ sleep or less.
There were matching dressers at either side of the room—the most beautiful mango wood, with hints of grey, and ash, and subtle green. The floor was the same polished concrete, but a huge dark grey rug covered most of it. The pile was thick and plush, and felt amazing when I dug my toes into it. The furniture all screamed ‘Fix!’ but the real reason I knew this was Fix’s bedroom was the fact that there was a semi-automatic weapon propped up against the wall by the door to the walk-in closet.
So unbelievable. Who just left an assault rifle lying around in their bedroom? Normal people slept with a baseball bat beside their bed. Was this Fix’s version of home invasion protection? Lord have mercy on the soul of the unwitting idiot who tried to break in here.
Everything was so much more extreme with Fix. He couldn’t just be well-off. He had to be stinking rich. He couldn’t just be a hot guy who liked me. He had to be a goddamn paid assassin/ex priest with a truckload of baggage, who, as far as I could tell, was a little obsessed with me. The world couldn’t just be in turmoil; it had to be crashing and burning, engulfed in flames and about to explode.
I tightened the towel around my body, stepping into Fix’s room, trying to find more of him here. There had to be some sort of personal items in here, though there were no knick-knacks or framed photos, or trophies on top of the dressers, or hanging from the walls. Just like the rest of the apartment, the room was meticulously clean and tidy, however it was sparse. Sparse as a monk’s cell.
Oh….
