Page 24 of Nasty
It was so, so quiet. Sadie had told me she hated New York because of the sirens and car horns blaring twenty-four hours a day, audible even inside your building, but Fix must have soundproofed this place, because I couldn’t hear a goddamn thing. It was lovely and peaceful, and I felt very at home, even though I had absolutely no right to do so.
I sat at the dining table and methodically emptied my wallet, cutting up one bankcard after another, four in total, just as Fix had asked me to. Having no access to my own money was worrying, but the alternative was flat out terrifying. I used a card to pay for something, and Fix’s replacement would be able to pinpoint my location no problem at all. Just because it turned out Fix had money, and plenty of it, didn’t mean I was going to rely on him for everything though. I was going to keep a track of my expenses, anything and everything he bought or paid for on my behalf, and the moment this was done I was paying him back every last dime. That was, if this thing waseverdone.
When I picked up my cell phone, I texted Amy first. The weird, terrible things Fix had said to me back in that cabin on the mountain had made me so freaking angry. They’d also scared the shit out of me. Was Amy actually sick? She’d seemed as though she were in peak physical fitness at the wedding, but Fix had mentioned a toxin report. I knew Aim. If she was ill, if there was absolutely anything wrong with her, she would have told me already. But the short message I sent her, asking her if everything was okay, would confirm either way.
I emailed work, and I texted Sadie. Jasmine, who’d been taking care of my client list while I was away, didn’t blink when I told her I wasn’t going to be back until next week. Sadie agreed to lunch at our favorite Italian spot, and wanted to know all about Amy’s wedding. Life for everyone else was skipping forward without a care but making these fake plans with my colleagues and my friends only served to highlight how dramatically it had screeched to a halt for me. Even if we managed to find Carver and resolve the fact that he wanted me dead, how was I just supposed to go back to waking up, hitting the office, working out, drinking the odd glass of wine, paying my bills, and keeping my apartment tidy? So much had changed. So much was going to change.
I made my way into the kitchen, planning on offering to help Fix with whatever he was doing, but when I entered the light, bright, open space, the delicious scent of cooking garlic and onions hit me, and I closed my mouth. Fix’s back was to me as he worked at the stove. His head was bowed, his shoulder blades and his muscled back perfectly defined through the t-shirt he was wearing. I’d assumed he was capable of whipping up something easy for us to eat, but watching him now, it turned out he was very proficient in the kitchen.
Who knew he was so accomplished. His dating profile would have been fucking stellar:
Felix Marcosa.
Handsome.
Charming.
Funny.
Safe driver.
Culinary genius.
Murderer by trade.
Cunnilingus level:expert.
“You gonna stand there, staring at my ass, or are you going to help?” Fix asked. He hadn’t turned around, but he was permanently aware of his surroundings. I’d noticed that back at the hotel—how his eyes scanned over things so quickly that it barely looked like he was paying attention, but I’d known he was cataloguing and recording everything, stowing the information away just in case he needed it. To have known I’d silently approached him now meant that he probably had eyes in the back of his head, though.
“Looks like you’ve got this covered,” I said, moving to stand behind him. “How very modern of you. What makes you think I was staring at your ass?”
“Because you were standing behind me, and it would have been impossible not to stare. My ass looks damn fine in these jeans.”
Good god. The man was incorrigible. He never fucking stopped. He thought so damned highly of himself, it was borderline infuriating. If he hadn’t been right most of the time, I wouldn’t have been able to stand it. “They are nice jeans,” I said, sighing. “You probably stole them from a dead man, right?”
Fix looked back over his shoulder, an incredulous look plastered all over his face. “No. What the fuck? I wouldn’t steal a dead man’s jeans. I sure as hell wouldn’tweara dead man’s jeans.”
“Oh. Right. So it’s just luggage and electronics you steal from the dead, then,” I observed.
“And Vinyl. And sometimes cars.”
“Got it.” I gave him a tight-lipped smile, slapping him lightly on the back. “How can I be of service?”
“Too late now, Lafferty,” he informed me. “I’m almost finished. You’re going to owe me for this.”
“I didn’t realize I was getting myself into debt.”
Fix’s eyes were filled with trouble as he shot me a sidelong look. “Anal. I want anal.”
My face was blooming with heat. “I’m beginning to think you might be a little obsessed withmyass,” I fired back.
“Damn right I am. I’ve seen plenty of assholes, and yours is by far the loveliest. You know it’s going to happen.” There was no humor in his voice. No edge of sarcasm. His expression was void. I didn’t know another person on the face of the planet who could tell someone in all earnestness that they had a lovely asshole and be completely serious about it. Fix was a law unto himself. He was never ashamed or embarrassed by the things that came out of his mouth, and that made the content of his shocking statements somehow seem…okay? I hadn’t made my mind up yet.
“Maybe we shouldn’t be talking about you fucking me in the ass while you prepare food,” I said, laughing.When in doubt: make a joke out of everything.
Fix stirred the creamy sauce he had bubbling away on the gas ring, his expression one of concentration. “You’re afraid too much,” he said. “You let words make you feel uncomfortable.”
“And why shouldn’t I? Words are powerful things. They make normal people feel things.”
