A Thousand Cuts (Cursebreakers, Inc. #3)

12. Fix

Chapter 12

Fix

T he ‘urgent’ case turned out to be what Fix had come to name a house call, meaning the curse was quickly identified, broken, and finished within half an hour. The hysterical mother who had called it in was left spluttering in surprise as Fix gave her the invoice and saw himself out.

It was probably for the best; Fix’s mind was in a small apartment half a city over tangled up with golden hair and a sweet blush.

He rested his head back against his headrest and sighed out loud, letting himself indulge for a moment. In his mind’s eye he was still on that sofa, Liam in his arms and pressed against him. There were no urgent work calls, no threat of curses or strangers outside of the door, only soft whimpers as Liam clung to him. His green eyes were hazy with pleasure and hooded, his mouth parted as he pleaded, “Daddy.”

Fix wondered what he’d find when he got to Liam’s that night. Would Liam want him to just be close by while he streamed? Would Fix sit on the tiny sofa, listening through the flimsy door as Liam pleasured himself in front of the camera? Or would he be allowed into his room? Behind the camera. Watching. And wanting. So close but so far.

Fix’s hand ended up against his swiftly hardening cock. He was pressing down to try and relieve some of the pressure when his phone rang.

Typical.

The chance that it could be Liam calling for help had him abandoning everything and reaching for it lightning fast though.

“H-hello?”

“Did I interrupt you, princess?” Cyrus’s dry voice said.

“No,” he said, too quickly to seem normal.

“Whatever, I don’t even want to know anyway. I’m calling because I have news on the prints.”

Fix sat up straighter. “Yeah?”

“Or rather no news,” Cyrus corrected himself, papers shuffling in the background. “They didn’t flag anything in our database.”

Disappointment was a weight on his shoulders, dragging them down. “Nothing?”

“Not a thing. Double-checked, before you ask. Whoever sent them hasn’t been caught before.”

Fix swore under his breath. He’d been really hoping something would flag, but the faceless stalker was still faceless and he barely had any more concrete leads to follow up. Only…

“O’Malley,” he found himself saying. “Do you have him in the system?”

Cyrus was silent for a moment. “Now I know you didn’t just pull a wannabe crime boss out of your ass for no reason.”

“So he is?”

“He is. I don’t think he’s the type to send flowers though,” he said sardonically. “Wanna let me in on where this is going?”

“Liam was followed home last night, he said someone was chasing him. He’d met O’Malley earlier in the night and they exchanged words. They had a…past together, but Liam cut ties. O’Malley wasn’t happy about that and seems to be holding a grudge.”

“O’Malley’s rap sheet definitely reads like a bad dating profile, but he’s not so overt. There’s no reports of stalking by him or his men, especially not his tricks.”

Fix grimaced at Cyrus’s reading between the lines. He’d wanted to protect Liam’s privacy, but Cyrus was too astute to be vague.

“Things could have changed.”

“They could, but unless Liam can identify him as the stalker, it’s just speculation. All I know for sure is that he didn’t touch those flowers.”

“We have to do something!” Fix said in frustration. “Liam keeps being cursed and now he’s being followed. He’s not safe.”

“O’Malley isn’t a caster. Are you sure the stalker and the curses are connected?”

“They have to be! Who else would be doing it? It’s too much of a coincidence.”

“But do you have evidence ?” Cyrus stressed. “Anything at all.”

“I just told you he was followed home and has been being cursed for years,” Fix snapped. “Why the hell are you not on your way immediately?”

“Because you don’t own the PUMA department, no matter what it may seem like!” Cyrus snapped back, making Fix startle slightly.

“Look, Fix,” Cyrus said with a heavy sigh that sounded exhausted. “We’re up to our eyeballs in cases right now and we only have so many resources. If I could put a full detail on or compile a full investigation for every civilian that called up, I fucking would, okay? But the fact is we don’t have the manpower. People are being murdered, we have rogue casters on the loose, we’re just about keeping our heads above water every day. So I’m sorry, I know you wish I could drop everything every time one of you calls me up and to look into whatever you want that day, but if it’s a choice between actually helping someone who needs me right now and chasing ghosts around Slatehollow hoping for a lead, you know what I have to choose.”

It was sobering. He knew Cyrus was constantly turning a blind eye to their team, pulling strings and covering for them. He was putting his ass on the line all the time, letting them bend and twist the rules.

Fix didn’t know what to say. But his desire to do everything for Liam to keep him safe was hard to suppress into sense.

“I need something more concrete to work from. Get me that and I can do more for you,” Cyrus said, before finishing with, “Oh, and one more thing. O’Malley did part of his stint in the clink with Cane. Just…interesting, you know. Wanted to make sure you had all the facts.”

The line disconnected and Fix smiled wryly.

He’d have to bake Cyrus a whole three-tier apology and thank-you cake.

He quickly texted Taylor to let her know he was going to be off the clock for a few hours while he worked on Liam’s case, then pulled up Cane’s number.

Fix: You holding office hours today?

Cane: Taking me up on my offer, big man?

Fix: I want everything you have on O’Malley.

There was a pause, but it was only brief.

Cane: Everything? The teeth will cost you extra. My knuckles worked hard for those.

Fix: I’m not playing around, Cane.

Cane: And I’m not your personal information dispensary because your doll likes to get in trouble. You got something to offer me for my time, we can talk.

Fix growled and put the truck in gear, lowering his foot on the gas. He had half a mind to call Hart, but he didn’t want to start causing waves in his brother’s relationship after everything he’d already been through.

If Cane needed his palm greased, fine. Fix would pay whatever it cost.

He pulled up outside the warehouse sometime later and hopped out of his truck, seeing Ares leaning against the wall like he was waiting for him. Without a word he gestured with his head to follow him.

Fix fell into step, shadowing him through the hallways.

As they broke into the main ring where a few people were cleaning and setting up for the coming night, his gaze naturally fell to the place where he had first met Liam.

Tearing his eyes away, he traversed the stairs and entered the door to Cane’s office. A cloud of smoke greeted him and he coughed slightly, waving it away to find Cane lounging shirtless in his desk chair. A lit cigarette was smoldering in the ashtray, simply propped there while Cane messed with the pieces of a gun in front of him.

He didn’t even look up.

“Took you long enough,” he drawled. “Woulda thought it was more urgent. The doll not mean that much to you after all?”

Fix glared a hole straight through him, fists tightening. Hart would kill him, but he wanted to pound Cane’s head in sometimes. “What do you want?”

Cane snorted, reclipping the slide of the gun over the barrel with practiced hands. “Straight to the point, huh?”

“I don’t want to play games with you.”

“Not games. Negotiations.” Cane slid the magazine in next with a satisfying click. “It’s half the point.”

“How?”

Cane set the gun aside and grabbed his burned-down cigarette, taking a drag and leaning back in his chair as he finally met Fix’s eyes. “Because you can tell everything about a person by how far they’re willing to go for what they want.”

Fix flexed his jaw, heart pounding in the shape of Liam’s name. “Name it and I’ll pay it.”

Cane sucked his teeth in disappointment, eyes sharp. “You’re still not getting it. If I just name an asking price and you meet it, how am I supposed to know if that’s really what I could have gotten out of you?”

“Anything. You could ask me for anything.”

Piercing dark eyes stared at him. Through him. As if judging him and weighing his words for any hint of a lie. Then he nodded over Fix’s shoulder and Ares stepped up, offering Fix a piece of paper.

Fix took it warily, casting his gaze back to Cane, who gave nothing away. “That’s my price.”

Fix took a deep breath before opening it up, scanning the words before looking up incredulously. “You can’t be serious.”

Cane smirked. “You said anything. That’s what I want.”

Fix looked back down at the paper, rereading the words before glancing back up at a thump from the table. It was a brown folder with a stain of something suspiciously red in the corner. O’Fuckbag was written on the front in bold lettering.

Cane drummed his bruised knuckles over the surface of it. “Your choice.”

It wasn’t one.

“Fine.”

Cane smiled sharply and then pushed the folder forward. “Nice doing business with you.”

Fix pocketed the note before grabbing the folder with both hands.

“It’s all in there. Childhood, jail—with firsthand accounts from yours truly—associates, where he goes to get his toes pedicured.” Cane reached for a tumbler and splashed a fifth of vodka into it. “Hart’s rubbed off on me. I’m quite organized now.”

Fix snorted, but he couldn’t deny Hart’s influence everywhere around him. In every space, in every action Cane made, Hart was there.

“Do you know anything about Liam’s case?” he asked finally. “The curses or the stalker.”

Cane took a slow sip before putting his tumbler down with a clink. “No. But I can put some feelers out there. Think of it as a friends and family discount.”

“How generous,” Fix said dryly, then he sighed. Cane was a tough beast, but he wasn’t all bad. “Thank you.”

Cane curled his lip at the sincerity. “Better leave before I take it back.”

Fix shook his head, giving a lazy half salute and a nod before turning on his heel and brushing by Ares on his way to the door.

“Oh, Fix, I forgot.”

Fix glanced back, barely quick enough to catch the small glass jar Cane had just tossed to him. It tinkled and rattled, and Fix squinted to see the contents, eyes widening when he recognized what they were.

Teeth. Those were teeth.

He hadn’t been joking.

“Now that’s everything,” Cane said, amusement written in every word.

“There’s something wrong with you,” Fix told him.

“Like you didn’t think about doing the same the minute Liam mentioned that fucker had laid hands on him.”

Fix couldn’t refute it.

“I take care of what’s mine. How about you?” Cane said—a challenge and boast all wrapped into one, perfectly placed to get under Fix’s skin.

Fix pressed his lips together and squeezed the bottle tightly in his hand before leaving.

He ran into Hart entering just as he was exiting. He was perfectly dressed in a dark suit and polished from the tip of his gelled head to his shiny loafers. A small lunch bag was in his hand.

Hart’s eyes went wide. “Fix? What are you doing here?”

“Just, uh…picking something up from Cane.” He tucked the folder into the back of his jeans, pocketing the glass container before Hart could see either.

Hart narrowed his eyes on the actions and then lifted a brow. “Is this about Liam?”

Fix had to laugh. He supposed he was pretty obvious. “Yeah. I needed some info.”

“Did Cane play nicely?”

“The only one he plays nicely with is you,” Fix said. “Which is what I care about. But he was fine…by Cane standards.”

Hart pursed his lips, looking both pleased and like he was considering playing meditation seminars in Cane’s sleep to try and brainwash him into serenity. Fix knew it all too well—he’d heard it being played from multiple rooms in the house.

“I’ll talk to him,” Hart said.

Fix chuckled. “He helped me out, really. He does make an effort because of you.”

Hart gave a small smile, and that spark of joy made every decision Fix had made about Cane worth it. Everything he knew about the man’s history and his fears for his brother melted away in the face of how clearly happy Hart was.

“I gotta go,” Fix said. “I might not see you at home tonight…if you’re even going to be home.”

Hart raised a brow, not commenting on his obvious absences in the house and instead going for Fix’s jugular instead. “Are you staying with Liam?”

“For the case,” Fix said, because it wasn’t time yet to tell everyone there might be a chance for him and Liam. He didn’t want to jinx it. The thing between them was so fragile still, and Fix would hate himself if he did anything to destroy it before it even took shape.

“I put in a good word for you,” Hart said eagerly. “I talked about all your positive attributes and offered a list.”

Fix cringed.

“It’s very comprehensive!” Hart said.

“It always is. But thank you. For the effort.”

“Always remember someone’s effort is a reflection of their interest in you,” Hart said sagely.

Fix smiled. “See you later.”

He was a few steps away when Hart called after him. “Oh, Fix!”

He turned to find Hart staring at him with a worried crease between his brows.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Hart said, then pulled a face. “Or maybe something.”

“It’s not like you to mince words.”

“I promised Liam I wouldn’t get involved and I’m keeping that promise,” Hart said. “I just thought I should tell you that there may be more than meets the eye to Liam’s past. He may need someone he trusts that he can open up to.”

Fix thought back to their conversation and the almost aggressive refusal to talk. “I know. But I have to let him tell me in his own time. Unless it’s relevant to the case I don’t want to push him.”

Hart gave him an approving smile. “That’s wise.”

“First time for everything,” Fix said.

Hart waved and Fix made his exit. He walked back to his truck, laying the folder on the seat and tucking the jar of fucking teeth in his glove compartment under a roll of paper towels hoping nobody would be snooping there. And by nobody he meant Black. Seeing the thing would make him excited and he’d pester Fix until he gave him the jar. Then nobody would ever hear the end of it.

Teeth and folder taken care of, he decided to take a walk in the direction of the train station, trying to retrace Liam’s steps and see if he could find anything.

He knew it was probably fruitless, but he kept his eyes peeled for any cameras. If he could catch this asshole on CCTV, even just a glimpse of height or build, it might help them identify who it was.

It wasn’t exactly the best area, so a lot of the surveillance had long since been defaced or outright smashed so the shady people could keep being shady in peace. Still, Fix persisted, following the overhead train line on its huge metal struts until he reached the street Liam had named.

He searched the area, ducking into a few shops and flashing his identification for a look at any camera footage. He came up with a big fat zero, but he didn’t stop.

He combed through the alleys along the streets, picking through trash without shame. Shoving the last bag aside with a sigh, he froze just as he was about to lever himself back to his feet.

Something glossy was peeking out from under the dumpster. He reached for it, stomach rolling when he turned it over and saw Liam’s unmistakable profile from last night dead in the center of a photograph.

His heart began to pound in his ears, a deafening roar of sound.

He wanted to rip the picture in two immediately, the violation making him feel sick, his rage all-encompassing. Closing his eyes, he took some deep breaths to fight the bubbling volcano his body was turning into, molten heat running through his veins and smoke rising to choke him.

This was evidence.

He breathed out slowly and then carefully set the picture aside, looking for anything else the stalker could have dropped. Any curse materials, in particular.

Nothing was obvious, so he exited the alley, looking for a store so he could get a bag for the photo to avoid contaminating it any more than it already was. As he rounded the corner, he spotted an electronics store and promptly ducked inside.

He found a little plastic pouch and grabbed that. It was only as he was paying that he realized.

He looked back over his shoulder at the window display as the old man was punching the total into the register.

“Do you have any cameras set up in here or outside?” he asked.

Friendly eyes turned suspicious at once and Fix was quick to pull his ID. “I’m a cursebreaker.”

“There’s no curses in here, son. I’d know about it,” the man said.

“It’s for a different case. I’m trying to track someone down.”

The eyes went back to his ID and his bushy gray brow rose. “I don’t see PUMA anywhere on that badge, what are you doing chasing casters for?”

Fix smiled awkwardly. Damn old man was sharp as a tack. “I’m investigating with permission.”

A snort answered him. “Sure, son, and I can tap dance on the ceiling.”

“Look—”

“I don’t use cameras,” the man said. “I’m too old to fiddle with that. I have a protection spell over the place to repel potential burglars and that’s about it.”

“Protection spell?” Fix asked and the man nodded.

“Confuses anyone who tries to do harm inside these walls,” the man said. “Makes them think they have somewhere else to be.”

“That’s a pretty high-level spell,” Fix said, knowing how much something like that would cost.

“It’s mid-range,” the man said. “My wife and I are both level two casters. We don’t do magic other than this. We conserve our power and use it twice a year just for this spell so it keeps our store safe. Been feeding our family for two decades now.”

“Why twice a year?” Fix asked.

“We don’t have enough magic to make the spell last longer without draining ourselves,” the man said. “Six months ends up being just enough time to get the power levels back up after doing it.”

“Clever.” Fix was impressed by the resourcefulness. His phone ringing interrupted him and he pulled back. “Sorry. Give me a sec.”

The man waved him off and Fix turned his back, stepping away from the counter as he answered the unknown caller.

“Hello?”

“Fix,” a measured voice said. “It’s Tarquin.”

It took a second to attach the name to the posh caster he met at Nexus. “Oh…Tarquin. Hey.”

“I was wondering if you perhaps had a moment today to discuss the matter I was interested in?” he said, cutting right to the chase.

“Today isn’t the best, I’m currently on a case. Can it be done over the phone?”

“It’s…sensitive,” he said, not at all mysteriously. “I’d prefer if it was in person.”

“It might be a while. I’m in the middle of a really time-consuming case that requires my full attention.”

Quin fell silent for a long moment, and the only thing Fix heard was rustling and clicks of what sounded like locks.

“Okay,” he said finally. “I had some questions about a case you recently worked.”

“Nexus has access to all case files.” Fix frowned.

“I’ve read it. I had further questions,” Quin said. “It was a bonding curse, as I understand it. A house trapping the resident inside.”

“Morgan’s case?” Fix asked. “Ash worked that case. I’m a nuisance expert, as I’m sure you know.”

Quin sighed. “I’m aware of your field. But the file said you were involved in the case.”

“I was there to support and offer advice. Nothing more than that. I’m sure all of this is in our reports.”

“I’ve studied the paperwork extensively,” Quin said, a hint of annoyance creeping into his tone. “It seems incomplete, however.”

Fix narrowed his eyes. “What are you implying?”

“Not implying,” Quin said, too quickly. Not convincingly. “Simply asking.”

“Simply asking if we’re withholding case information from Nexus?” Fix asked.

“I have heard rumors of a list of names being saved from the fire that destroyed the house. The files hold no such list.”

“Because it was released to PUMA at their insistence,” Fix said sharply. “One of the names on it was involved in a curse placed on Hart, so I believe you can see why it was imperative for the people on that list to be accounted for.”

“And do you know the meaning of that list?” Quin asked, and Fix was honestly done with the conversation and the very thinly veiled accusations.

“I suggest you contact PUMA and talk to them,” Fix said. “The case is closed on our end.”

“Very well,” Quin said after another stretch of silence.

“Wonderful. I really have to go now.”

“Of course. Oh and, Fix, I’d like it if this stayed between just us.”

Fix frowned heavily. “Why?”

“I simply ask for your discretion,” Tarquin said.

Fix stroked over his beard before he sighed. “Sure.”

“Very good.”

He hung up abruptly and Fix took the phone away from his ear, staring at the blank screen in bewilderment.

Until a message came through from a different unknown number.

Unknown: Shouldn’t trust that one.

Unknown: Also don’t bother with the TV

Fix had to read it twice, pulse jumping when he realized who this might be. Who else texted them out of the blue? Who else knew more than they should? He’d had his suspicions when Liam had told him about the messages, but this solidly confirmed it.

Fix: Who are you?

There was no response.

Fix knew instinctively that he wouldn’t get one. This person had gone out of their way to be untraceable. Why would they stop now just because he asked?

Reaching another dead-end, Fix decided to call it a day. He was itching to see Liam again and make sure he was safe, but he couldn’t beg the day off. He also needed to drop this picture off with Cyrus.

He fired off a quick text and walked out of the store in the direction of his truck, head full of mysteries and blond hair.