Page 95 of Fury

My shoulders stiffened. “What’s so funny?”

“Ciara gets upset by a fucking spider, forget the roaches.” He drank more wine.

“Good thing Ciara wasn’t at my place today then.”

He stared at me, a glimmer in his eyes, his tongue slowly swiping at his generous bottom lip. He handed me the glass of wine again. “Why did you call me?” he asked.

I took a small sip. A fleeting hint of chocolate and berries perfumed my strained senses, warmth raced through my chest.

“Say it, gorgeous. I want to hear you say it.”

I set the wine glass down, pushing it away. “I need you to clean it up.”

“You need me to clean it up,” he repeated, his very keen gaze sending a sharp jolt through my veins. He was thrilled to hear those words come out of my mouth.

“Yes.” I was crossing a line, and we both knew it. Brazen acknowledgement, tacit understanding.

“Why didn’t you call 911?”

“Plenty of reasons,” I replied.

He leaned his head down to mine, and I inhaled his warm breath. Wine and a fragrant tobacco, the sophisticated side of corruption.

“Then you’ve come to the right man,” he said, his voice a smooth baritone.

“I wouldn’t have asked otherwise.”

“You appreciate my professional talents?”

“I admire them from afar.”

A smile broke out over his lips. He gestured for me to come closer, but I only lifted an eyebrow in response. “How did you do it?” he asked.

“He had knives on him. I grabbed one and stabbed him in the side with it.”

“Good girl.”

“So, can you take care of this for me, or are we just chatting over vino while my flooring gets soaked in the other red stuff?”

He let out a chuckle. “Of course I can.” He poured more wine for himself. “I won’t ask what you’re hiding. That wouldn’t be professional of me. And I am a professional. After all, that’s why you came to me, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

He tucked his hand inside his jacket breast pocket and took out his cell phone. It was one of those newer ones, a really small model and thinner than any cell I’d seen before. Must have cost him a mint. He tapped a button.

“Hey,” he said into his phone, his voice curt. “Meet me in Pilsen with your toolbox. Now.” He gave him an address, a block over from my apartment.

Turo snapped his slim phone shut, the dull clap making me flinch.

“You know my address.”

“Of course I do.”

I let out a breath, but the dizziness still swirled in my head.

“Give me your keys.”

I handed him my keys.

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