A Thousand Cuts (Cursebreakers, Inc. #3)

1. Fix

Chapter 1

Fix

F ix parked his truck in his usual spot in front of Cursebreaker HQ. Black’s garish multicolored Beetle was already parked out front, half on the curb with the wheels left turned out. Wren’s SUV was just in front of it, without the trailer hitched but still covered in mud.

They seemed to be the only ones at the office so far today.

Fix hopped down from the cab, not having far to go at all before his boots hit the ground. He straightened his plaid shirt over his jeans then turned to grab the things he’d left on the passenger seat.

It was then he spotted a man across the road struggling with several huge boxes. He was young and had a cap pulled down over his eyes that had a delivery company logo emblazoned on it. The same logo showed on the side of the van he was trying to haul things out of.

Fix hurried across as the man staggered around, neck and arms straining.

Fix grabbed the edge of one box before it could tumble to the floor. “Woah! Need help?”

“I’ve…got it…thanks, sir,” the guy squeaked out.

Fix snorted, making an executive decision and taking the box from him entirely. It was heavy, but nothing Fix couldn’t handle.

The guy stumbled as the weight was lifted off, his whole body sagging like a limp noodle against the door of the van. Sweat was pouring out from under the cap’s brim and his face was entirely red.

“You haven’t got a trolley to help with this? Or another person?” Fix asked.

“They called out sick. Trolley broke,” the guy panted, eyeing him. “How are you holding that? Are you superhuman or something?”

Fix smiled. “The ‘or something’ category. Where do you need this?”

The guy gestured to the building and Fix got to work until the last box was transferred and piled up nicely.

“You’re a lifesaver,” the guy said, taking his hat off and wiping his brow. “I thought my arms were about to snap off.”

“Anytime. Get that trolley replaced,” Fix advised, knocking on the side of the van.

“Or I can pack on, like, fifty pounds of muscle,” the guy said, flexing his arms while looking at Fix’s.

Fix shook his head in amusement, waving goodbye as he walked back across the street to his truck. He felt the guy’s eyes following him, before he finally realized…

“You’re a cursebreaker!” he yelped across the distance. A few passersby glanced over as well.

Fix just chuckled. “Have a nice day!”

He walked into the building with his stuff, shouldering the doors open.

The airy reception greeted him, the bright sound of their intake manager’s latest music obsession playing through the speaker. Her blonde head was bopping around, her sparkly heels on the desk and a pile of mail on her lap. A letter addressed to Midas was open in front of her face and covered in glitter.

Fan mail.

The guy got it often from both past clients and random people on the street. Taylor delighted in reading it before Midas could throw it.

“Got you a coffee,” Fix said, placing a travel mug of Taylor’s favorite order on her desk—coffee with roasted caramel and a sprinkle of cinnamon.

Taylor glanced up and grinned, bright pink lips perfectly painted. “Thanks, Daddy.”

“Taylor,” Fix warned, and she rolled her eyes at him.

“It’s the voice,” she said. “I can’t help it.”

“You’re not—”

“The target demographic, I know,” she finished for him. “Two out of three isn’t bad, though.”

She gave him a wink and he raised a brow at her. “Two out of three?”

She held up three fingers.

“Young.” She put one finger down. “Pretty.” She put another finger down. “In possession of a dick.” She kept the last finger up. “That’s where I fall at the last hurdle. At least one attached to me, anyways. I do have several—”

“Okay! That’s enough.” Fix set a brown paper bag next to her coffee to stop her from talking. “I made cookies yesterday and saved you some.”

“You managed to save cookies from the beasts you live with?” She looked impressed, her eyes wide.

“I might have saved a bit of dough and baked them for you once they all left the house this morning.”

She nodded with a hum. “Yeah, that tracks. There’s a reason you’re the favorite.”

“Anything new this morning?” he asked.

“Not yet, no. Enjoy the slow day while it lasts!”

It was a rare day when Fix had nothing on the agenda. Nuisance curses were, as the name suggested, the most common curses, and they had an influx of them at all times.

He nodded at her and headed for his office, mentally cataloging the paperwork he had fallen behind on. He opened the door and immediately paused, sighing loudly.

It was way too early in the morning for sights like this.

He walked inside, closed the door, and turned to take in the damage. His desk was a mess, there were papers everywhere, and three of his drawers had been upended and left on the floor. He ran a hand over his face and slumped into his chair.

“Blaaaaack!” Fix called out loudly, not bothering to open the door or use their office phones to do it.

“IT WASN’T ME!” Black screamed back from his own office just across the hallway.

“What wasn’t?” Fix asked.

The question was followed by the sound of doors being opened and Black stomping across the hallway. He barged in, blond curls flying everywhere as he approached Fix’s mauled desk. “Whatever it is you’re screaming at me for.”

He was a whirlwind of pastel pink and embroidered stars as he took in the mess around them.

“Oh,” Black said, pointing at the scattered paperwork. “Yeah, no, definitely not me.”

“You didn’t nose through my files looking for gross case photos?” Fix quirked a brow at his youngest brother.

“Are there any gross case photos?” Black fired back, crossing his arms over his chest and holding Fix’s stare like a pro.

“No,” Fix said because, for once, his cases had been majorly boring lately and he had zero photos of any kind in his physical files.

“See? Totally wasn’t me.”

“You didn’t know there weren’t any gross photos until I told you just now, muffin,” Fix said. “It still could have been you.”

“I am more insulted by these heinous insinuations than I’ve ever been in my entire life.” Black gasped dramatically, throwing himself sideways into a vacant chair on the other side of Fix’s desk.

He draped a thin hand over his eyes and swooned, peeking to see if Fix took notice. Fix steepled his fingers on top of the desk and stared at him until he huffed and sat back up.

“Fine!” Black threw his arms up in the air. “The files were me. Your cases are so boring, man. A singing oven. Really?”

“I like my cases.” Fix gathered up the papers, sorting them into the correct folders and stacking them at the end of his desk. “And I don’t appreciate nosy little imps poking through my files and drawers looking for information they shouldn’t have.”

“Hey!” Black said, offended. “I said the files were me. I have no clue what happened to the drawers.”

“The drawers weren’t you?” Fix asked, frowning.

“Nah.” Black got up from his chair and headed for the door. “That is waaaaaay too much work for very little gain. I ain’t about that.”

“Well, who—”

His words were cut off by Black slamming the door to his office shut on his way out. End of conversation.

Fix shook his head.

Brothers.

They’d been a little more unruly as of late. With Hart working out of Cane’s office instead of his own and generally overhauling an underground fight ring into ‘a pleasant working environment,’ the firm, militant, perfectly polished hand of order was absent a lot more. Meaning there were fewer celebrated holidays and PowerPoint presentations, and more uncontained disasters.

Fix wasn’t about to complain though. Hart deserved his hard-won happiness. And the building hadn’t fallen down.

Yet.

A soft squeak caught his attention and he glanced around himself, looking under his desk and over it before another sound had his eyes focusing on the small nook between a large wooden chest of file drawers and the far wall of his office.

Fix stood up from his chair and crossed the short distance to the corner, peeking behind the wooden chest. The sight that greeted him pulled his lips into a gentle smile, and he crouched down next to the chest, steadying himself with his fingers on the floor between his spread knees.

“Watcha got there?” he asked softly.

Wren turned pale blue eyes to him, holding up his cupped palms to show him a handful of tiny, brown-furred creatures squirming around. He was sitting with his back to the wall, stuffed into the corner tightly. A small nest made of old rags was folded right next to his hips.

“Gerbils,” Wren said, thumbs moving soothingly over the tiny creatures. Fix counted four heads, but there could have been more in the little pile.

“Very cute,” Fix said. “How come you’re hiding here though?”

“They escaped their holding cage and tried to burrow into your drawers,” Wren whispered as they started to wiggle in his hands. “I found them and wanted to put everything back as it was, but you came in earlier than I thought, so I just…”

“Took cover and hoped I wouldn’t notice?” Fix finished for him.

Wren quirked a small grin his way. They were few and far between these days, but the sight of this one made Fix instantly forget about any mess.

“Do you have room for them anywhere?”

“Not yet.” Wren cradled the tiny things close to his chest.

“Right.” Fix stood up. “How about we make them nice and comfy in my bottom drawer here, since it’s already empty and they like it so much. You can move them once you find a permanent place for them.”

Wren looked up, the cursemark over his eye glowing even against the fluorescent light in Fix’s office. “Really? You don’t mind?”

“Why not,” he said, reaching down for the makeshift nest. “What’s one more weird thing in this place?”

He walked over to his desk and righted one of the upturned drawers, tucking the nest inside. He plucked a jacket he’d left there a few days ago off the back of his chair, using it to fill the empty space and make a warm and soft spot for the little guys.

“There we go,” he said to Wren, who got up from his corner and shuffled over to inspect Fix’s work.

“That’s nice,” Wren said with a pleased smile, placing the gerbils inside and fluffing the cotton of Fix’s jacket around them with expert hands. They squirmed a bit but settled quite quickly. “I’ll find them a suitable home today.”

Fix gave him a wink. “I don’t mind them paying rent for now.”

Wren giggled and carefully put the drawer back on its runner, closing the gerbils in but leaving a sliver of a gap. “I’ll grab them some food and water and check in on them. They don’t have a set sleeping pattern, so they’ll be up and down.”

Fix nodded. “I’ll yell if they get loose. I’m just doing paperwork today. No cases.”

“Slatehollow must have taken a day off,” Wren mumbled before plopping back onto the floor, legs folded beneath him and his torn jeans showing pale skin.

He started gathering the scattered papers he’d thrown out into piles, separating them by subject the way Fix always did. Fix bent down to help, gathering them up and placing them into their corresponding folders.

He looked up after clipping one closed and noticed Wren was lingering over one of the papers. He held it up to show Fix.

“Haven’t found him yet?” Wren asked.

Fix recognized this particular paper immediately. It was filled with the sadly small number of facts he’d managed to recall about the young man who’d come looking for their help at the height of Hart’s curse—the one Fix had brushed off in his own laser focus to fix his brother.

At the time he hadn’t put it together, but afterward he’d remembered the guy as the same one he’d helped in Cane’s warehouse. He could recall how lost and confused he had looked amid the police raid and the stampede of people flooding toward the exit, but he didn’t know anything else about him. Nothing that could help Fix locate him and offer the help he’d been denied.

Fix slumped into his chair and shook his head.

“Not yet, no,” he said, guilt eating him up from the inside.

Midas had told him it wasn’t his fault when they’d talked about it. He said if the man really needed a cursebreaker he would have been back or left his contact information like Fix had told him to. But he hadn’t. So he was most likely fine.

But Fix couldn’t get that face out of his head. The wide, scared green eyes as he asked for help. The shaky voice as he forced himself to speak. The shine of his long blond hair and the tremble of that thin body as he walked out, shoulders hunched and head bowed.

It was the first time someone had asked for help and Fix had done the one thing he’d never thought he’d do.

He’d turned them away.

Yes, Hart had been in danger, and yes, their entire team had been scrambling for stable footing trying to deal with the sudden realization that actually, cursebreakers were not immune to curses after all.

But the man was a client in need of their services and Fix had been rude to him.

“You know Hart said Cane could find him for you,” Wren said, setting the man’s file on Fix’s desk and looking up at Fix from under his long, dark lashes. “They said they’d seen him around the warehouse with some of the guests.”

“I know.” Fix’s stomach twisted uncomfortably at the thought of so much beauty at a place like Cane’s warehouse. At the thought of Cane’s guests with their hands on someone who looked the way the mystery man did—pure and beautiful.

“So why not let him?” Wren asked.

“It feels too invasive.” Fix scratched at his beard. “Cane won’t be able to find him without resorting to some very…underhanded tactics. And I don’t think my peace of mind is worth it.”

“It’s not just your peace of mind though, is it? He came asking for our help. So it’s about that as well.”

“He never came back after that,” Fix said. “Maybe he managed to get help elsewhere?”

Wren tilted his head and pierced Fix with those blue eyes of his. He narrowed them, dimming the shine of his cursemark, but not completely. Fix felt himself shrink under that stare, as if Wren weren’t half his size and as intimidating as the gerbils he’d placed inside his drawer. He was insightful. Dangerously so, sometimes.

“You know you don’t believe that,” Wren said finally. “You sent him off and now you’re feeling like you failed all of humanity because you couldn’t help one person. And you won’t accept help from anyone yourself because you think you have to do this the hard way to make up for your mistake.”

The words cut deep. Because they were true. Fix knew he was self-critical to the point of destructiveness when it came to failing people. Hart had sent him enough pamphlets about the issue to last him a lifetime and make sure he never forgot. He also knew he was…intense, in the way he cared. In how much he cared.

He thrived on making sure others were taken care of, and while he was sure he had gotten better over the years, the fact that he hadn’t noticed Hart was cursed made him feel guilty. That guilt had spilled into overcompensation, and then that had led to him fucking up with the beautiful boy who came asking for help. Combined, his own mistakes had sent him into a spiral. And right now, that spiral might be making someone else go through something they didn’t have to. Just so Fix could make himself feel better. Just so Fix could give himself a chance to right his own wrongs.

“You think?” he asked.

“I think you need to focus on the fact that you knowing who he is and where he is might be the best thing for him,” Wren said.

“End justifies the means?”

“One Hart on the team is enough.” Wren hopped to his feet. “But yeah. Accept the help. Make sure this guy is safe, whoever he is, and then get some sleep before you keel over. Mary will cuddle if you need someone.”

“I’ll pass. Thanks though,” Fix said with a barely concealed grimace.

“Your loss.”

Wren headed toward the door, a tiny white rectangle falling out of his back pocket as he moved. Fix stood to pick it up off the floor, realizing with a start that it was the letter Damir, the Arcstead cursebreaker, had left for Wren before leaving.

He bit his lip, remembering the way Wren had reacted. The mystery between the two of them that neither of them had spoken a word about. Fix had his suspicions, of course, and he worried. Cursebreaker relationships were one of the hardest lines Nexus took. If you got caught…

“Wren,” Fix called after him and Wren turned around, freezing as his eyes fell on the envelope.

He dashed over and snatched it from Fix’s fingers, holding it like it was both precious and hated—grip so tight it could strangle, but cupping it in both hands like he was protecting it.

“It’s still sealed,” Fix said.

Wren tucked it into his pocket again before turning his back to Fix.

“I can’t…” he said. “Not yet.”

He was gone before Fix could say another word, but something inside his chest ached at the tremble in Wren’s voice.

Wren was always the most fragile out of all of them. Not weak or defenseless, just…fragile. He felt deeply. And when you allowed yourself to feel so deep, you left yourself exposed to a world of hurt.

Fix wanted to shield him from everything and everyone. He felt that way about all of his brothers. That burning desire to be the wall between them and anything that could harm any of them. The instinct to wrap Wren in Bubble Wrap and shield him from the cruel world was one of the strongest Fix felt. But he also knew how self-sufficient and fiercely independent Wren fought to be, how far he had come to achieve that and how much pride he took in only needing someone occasionally.

Fix knew he had to respect that.

He sank back into his chair with a loud sigh, leaning his head against the rest and closing his eyes.

When he opened them again, they landed on the mystery man’s file. He stared a hole through it for a few moments, knowing he should get started on something else. He had a mountain of paperwork, and he didn’t get quiet days like this often…

He couldn’t get the guy out of his head.

He knew Wren was right. He was all out of options and the whole thing was making him spiral.

Fix knew he had to find him.

Make sure he was safe.

Make sure he hadn’t put the man in danger by being dismissive and rude to him. He didn’t think he’d be able to live with it if he caused someone like that harm.

Running a hand over his face, he picked up his phone.

“My favorite cursebreaker.” Cane’s sardonic voice rang through the phone over a background of heavy music and Fix grimaced. “Well, other than the one I’m sleeping with, obviously.”

“I do not want to know,” Fix said.

Cane chuckled. “To what do I owe the pleasure? Finally ready to take me up on my offer? Knock a guy out cleanly and there’s big bucks in it for you.”

“The answer is still no.”

“You’re missing a trick, Fix. A guy like you was built to smash people’s heads around.”

Fix rolled his eyes, wanting to get to the point. “Remember the man you offered to look into for me?”

“I sure do,” Cane said lazily. “You change your mind about being all noble?”

“Apparently,” Fix said. “Can you do it?”

“Can I do it? The fuck you take me for?” Cane huffed. “I’m sending you all the info I have on him. It’s not much—little fucker is slippery—but I have his name and address.”

“You already looked?”

“Hart said you’d call. And he said that once you set your mind to something, waiting for results made you antsy. It’s best to be prepared, Fix. Information is power. Even if you didn’t end up asking for it, it’s good to have.”

“You didn’t scare him, did you?” Fix demanded.

Cane barked out a laugh.

“Cane!” Fix growled.

“Calm down, Papa Bear. I didn’t exactly do this on my own. Ares is very stealthy. You don’t have to worry about your little twink. He has no idea he’s been found.”

Fix had no idea if that made it sound better or worse. But he knew he’d take it.

“Check your email,” Cane said before hanging up on him.

Fix pulled his tablet close, opened up his email and clicked on the document attached. It brought up a limited amount of information, but it was enough.

Enough for Fix’s heart rate to finally settle into something manageable again. Enough for the voices in his head to stop screaming at him for messing up the way he had. Enough for him to live up to his name and fix his own mistakes.

Liam.

His name was Liam.