Page 35 of Nasty
“He lives here?”
“Yeah. Along with a handful of body guards and a Rottweiler named Jaws.”
I crinkled my nose, studying the building that was growing larger by the second, emerging out of the darkness like a monolith. “Seems like bad luck to live in a church?”
Fix’s fingers dug lightly into my side. “You’re superstitious now?”
I ignored him. “Aren’t you outraged that someone would turn a sacred space into their party den?”
“They could turn the place into a fucking brothel for all I care.” His expression was hard. Stony. Devoid of any emotion. “It’s just a building, Sera. It’s older than most, and the windows are pretty. That’s all there is to it.”
“You really don’t care?”
He turned and looked at me. The light from the countless candles played across his skin, casting him in both inky black shadows and a subtle golden warmth. He looked timeless: his suit was classically cut, and his eyes seemed ancient, as if they’d witnessed innumerous generations rise and fall and fade away. As if he, himself, were peering at me through a porthole in time, back from a long-forgotten age. “I don’t,” he confirmed. And he didn’t expand further on the matter. I could have probed, prodded and pushed for more of an explanation, but the set of his jaw spoke volumes. He didn’t want to talk about it.
The church would have been the perfect set for a horror movie. It was beautiful in its way, but the gothic tower with its high steeple was hardly welcoming, and the gargoyles crouched on the parapets, snarling and bearing their teeth, their tongues unfurled like banners, were unfriendly to the eye.
The windows Fix had just mentioned were the prettiest thing about the building. I couldn’t tell what the stained-glass scenes depicted from our vantage point, but the colors—red, gold, orange—backlit from the light inside the church, burned like flames.
At the door, two large guys in suits with shaved heads and wraparound sunglasses—Ridiculous. It was so dark, I could barely see three feet in front of me—stood with menacing authority, awaiting our arrival. There were no other people outside, and weirdly I couldn’t hear any sounds coming from within.
It had taken time, but I’d grown accustomed to Fix’s moods. I was able to read him more and more as the days passed. He was always watching. Always assessing. His quicksilver eyes always picking apart the scene before him. He listened with deep intent whenever someone spoke, analyzing and processing every word. I knew, whenever I opened my mouth, I was being catalogued, saved, committed firmly to memory. More often than not, the man was silent, his fathomless attention to detail occupying the larger part of his mind, but there were different qualities to his silences. His expression could barely change, but I couldfeelwhen he was angry. When he was amused, or when he was worried. It was easy to recognize when he was turned on now, too, though he hadn’t been doing much to hide those moments.
Having spent so much time learning Fix’s tells and tics, the shift that occurred in him as we approached the church was now obvious. The grim set to his mouth didn’t alter. The flint in his eyes didn’t harden further. The set of his broad, strong shoulders remained confident and self-possessed, and the swagger in his step was the same as always, butsomethingchanged. I couldn’t tell what exactly, but Fix was…nervous?
His teeth flashed in predatory warning as we arrived in front of the doormen. “We’re expected.” Producing a slim card from his pocket, Fix handed it to one of the heavies and made to push past him. The guy slapped a huge hand against Fix’s chest, stopping him in his tracks. Dull brown eyes studied me, traveling from my feet to the crown of my head.
“She hasn’t been vetted. You know the rules,” he rumbled.
With slow, drawn out movements, Fix took hold of the doorman by the wrist and removed the hand from his chest. “I don’t bring trouble here. I never have. Now get the fuck out of the way.”
The other doorman snarled, his lip curling. “You can go inside.Shehas to disappear.”
Fix’s face was a mask of nonchalance, but fury burned behind the ice in his eyes. “I’ve had a particularly shitty week, friend. I haven’t been able to vent my frustration quite as thoroughly as I might have liked. It’ll bring me great pleasure to throat punch you so hard you’ll need feeding through a tube for the rest of your life. So please. Continue standing in my way.See what fucking happens.”
Both men grew taller at the threat, puffing out their chests. They were like silverback gorillas, with the mean set to their faces, their sloped brows, and their over-the-top posturing. They were putting on a show of dominance. I tried not to laugh under my breath. I succeeded, but my mouth still developed a small, entertained quirk.
The doorman on the right, the one who had stopped Fix in the first place—narrowed his eyes at me, his nostrils flaring. “If you think anything about this situation is funny, then your asshole boyfriend did you a disservice. He should have explained this wasn’t the kind of place to bring a date. Time to run along home now and wait for him there like a good little girl.”
Fix was taut as a bowstring. I sensed him gathering himself, ready to launch at the guy, but I squeezed his hand, shooting him a sly sidelong smile. “He’s not my boyfriend,” I said. “But I do enjoy it when he fucks the shit out of me.” I turned my gaze back to the doorman. I hadn’t had reason to load my tone with such hatred since I’d abandoned Montmorenci and left Sixsmith in my rearview, screaming and shouting, and purple in the face as he chased the car I’d just stolen from him down the road.
“Just so you know, I’mnota good little girl,” I informed the doorman. “I’m probably what you two idiots would refer to as abitch. I don’t like being spoken to like I’m a mindless, worthless pussy with legs. And I take offense when Neanderthal bouncers are disrespectful and overstep.”
Fix chuckled under his breath. He hadn’t moved an inch. Unlike the two bruisers barring our way, he hadn’t pulled himself up to his full height, or swollen himself up to make himself look more threatening. To an outside observer, he appeared loose and relaxed, entirely at ease.
Only I knew better.
The bouncer to the right took a step forward—toward me, not toward Fix. He leaned down, his face filling my view. “You’re right. You are a bitch,” he snarled. “A mouthy one, who needs to learn her pl—”
He didn’t finish the insult. The other doorman had been watching Fix, waiting for him to fly at his companion in defense of my honor.Neither of them had expected Fix to stand utterly still as I drew my hand back, knuckles extended, and I drove my fist into the asshole’s neck.
The flare of pain in my hand was worth it; the doorman staggered back, clutching his throat, tongue sticking out as he tried to drag in a breath, his eyes bulging out of his head. He wheezed and hacked, but he couldn’t seem to draw any oxygen into his lungs.
“You dumb…fucking…slut!”
“Shouldn’t have done that,” the other doorman growled, skulking forward. “You don’t just hit a guy like Cruise. Your man hasn’t taught you any manners. Looks like we’re going to have to do it for him.”
“You good, Angel?” Fix asked casually. He slid his hands in his pockets, shifting his body to rest his weight on one leg—not the stance of a man about to jump in and protect his woman. Not even close.
