Chapter Twenty-Two Lexie
I don’t do well when I’m being rushed. It’s not my best quality, but there’s no getting around it.
And Callum has a bad habit of announcing that we need to leave the penthouse with little to no warning.
And I’m completely at his mercy. So here I am—in the passenger seat of Callum’s car where I’m tucking the dress I slept in into a pair of scrubs because I didn’t have enough time to actually change.
I was lucky to put my bra back on before I was being herded into the elevator.
We crossed over into Brooklyn a while back, and the buildings passing outside the car window are becoming less identifiable and more industrial.
Turning onto side streets, we move farther and farther from civilization, instead driving through alleys and remote driveways until we slow in front of a large rectangular building.
“Are you really going to make me go in there?” I ask, taking in the looming monstrosity as our car circles around back.
By the size of it, I would guess this used to be a manufacturing plant of some sort.
The old concrete structure with broken, boarded-up windows really paints the picture of neglect and decay.
I’ve seen enough true crime documentaries to know that nothing good happens in abandoned-looking warehouses like this one.
And by the state of this building, I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s haunted too.
“Yes, I am.” He’s clearly not giving me a choice. He taps something into his phone and suddenly there’s movement. One of the old loading bay doors starts to roll upwards, and Callum inches closer.
Once the garage door is lifted high enough to clear the car, we pull forward. Two lights cast a dim glow over the small section where we park, the rest of the building disappearing in ominous shadows. My heart plummets when Callum shifts gears into park and turns off the ignition.
“I hate this place. No one should ever come in here without a death wish,” I inform him, my eyes scanning the darkness like something might jump out at me if I look too long.
“That’s the point,” Callum responds simply. He’s barely glanced at me since our little make-out session in the kitchen. Okay, little isn’t exactly the word for it—not with the heavy petting and whole ice cube thing. I’m trying not to overthink it.
Callum’s shoulders are tense when he exits the car, his expression menacing. The man I was with in the penthouse an hour ago is long gone, leaving me with the Fixer. I can practically see the wheels turning in his head behind those intense hazel eyes of his. He looks formidable.
My eyes are darting around the ominous building riddled with shadows. The industrial structure and use of steel tell me that this building was once a factory of some kind. But looking at the corrosion and disrepair, it’s definitely no longer in use—at least for the building’s original purpose.
I pause too long near a doorway and a strong hand grasps my arm to lead me forward. Judging by the fact that Callum seems to know his way around, he’s been here before. More than once. There’s a chill in the air that adds to the seriously sinister vibes this place is giving off.
“This building is definitely haunted,” I say, looking into an empty office as we pass, fully expecting to see a demon’s face peering back at me.
“Come on.” Callum’s hold on my wrist tightens ever so slightly as he leads me through the shadowy halls.
The fluorescent lighting is only so effective, especially since every third bulb works, allowing darkness to creep in between where the illumination of one ends and the next begins.
I inch closer to his side, doing my best to keep up with his brisk pace.
Right now, I’m not a big fan of Callum’s penchant for secrecy.
If this man doesn’t kill me, the suspense will.
“I just want to go on the record and say that I don’t like this part of the job. Walking around in places like this is how you end up the subject in a true crime documentary,” I announce. Callum glances down at me, this time really looking as his lips twitch in amusement.
“Noted.” The only response I get.
I was right, nothing good happens in a building like this. The long foreboding hallway opens up into an expansive room with ceilings over two stories high. Old industrial shelving sits empty and forgotten at one end of the space. But that’s not what catches my attention.
I can hear them before I see them, the sound echoing through the warehouse.
Shouting, incoherent and angry, spewing nonsense and profanities.
Just like the night in the storage room that started all of this, a man sits tied to a metal chair.
This one isn’t comatose, but he’s definitely broken.
His eyes are crazed as he gnashes his teeth, his mouth practically foaming with his screaming.
Roscoe stands in front of him, knife in hand.
The blade looks clean, so the blood dripping from the psycho man’s face must be from something else.
Three guys I’ve never seen before create a perimeter around the captive, looking like real goons.
There’s a small table set up a few feet from the chair the man is secured to, waiting for me to set up camp.
It’s a visual reminder that I have to get close to the deranged stranger, and the idea of having to touch him has dread settling over me heavily.
“I have a bad feeling about this.” I’m fighting against the sinking feeling in my stomach as we get closer to the crazed man. He’s absolutely seething, his glassy eyes manic. Callum pulls me closer and leans down to speak into my ear as he propels me towards the sinister scene.
“Roscoe has him secure, and that door leads outside,” he says, nodding his head to a metal door along the back wall.
“You’re safe. You’re not going to end up in any true crime documentaries.
” I believe that. A man like Callum knows how to get rid of any and all traces of evidence.
If something does happen, no one will ever know that I was here.
Approaching the group, I stop a safe distance away and focus on setting up the small table for treatment.
I’ll have to get a better look to know exactly what I need to treat him, but I start off by laying out the basics—gauze, suture kit, local anesthetic, disinfectant.
Callum doesn’t hesitate to get closer until he’s towering over the captive.
“Well, if it isn’t the bastard we’ve been waiting for.” The man sneers, glassy eyes gleaming. “You’re a dead man walking.”
“Big words for someone who doesn’t even know my name.” Callum’s hand clamps under the man’s jaw, forcing his mouth shut and his head up to examine his eyes. His pupils are blown out, and a thin line of blood trails down from his inflamed nose to his top lip.
“Is he high on cocaine?” I ask, staring at the captive man from my safe distance.
“Among other things,” Callum says. “Fucking idiot, sampling your own product.”
“That was some good shit you gave me. Colombian, right? You’re gonna give me more or I’ll destroy you. My name’s Finch but I’ll sing like a fucking canary.” His tone switches from taunting to raging in a single breath, spit flying from his mouth on the last words.
“And who are you planning on telling, Finch? Mikhailov is the one who gave me the green light,” Callum replies calmly, seemingly unfazed.
He shoves the man’s head back before taking a step, turning his back to him without a care in the world.
He walks over to Roscoe, who leans in to mutter something I can’t hear.
“Mikhailov might know, but what about the rest of them? I know enough about how this works. One right word and it’s war.
Once the Russians find out Alek’s arrest was a setup, you’re fucked.
” His maniacal laugh sends a shiver down my spine and his eyes land on me, pupils dilated.
“Your fat bitch is fucked too. They’ll have fun raping and torturing her after they kill you.
Maybe I’ll even take a turn, make you choke on my cock. I can’t wait to hear you scream.”
The man’s profanities are silenced when his head jerks violently to one side, blood and brain matter spraying out the opposite side of his skull.
Cold shock settles into my bloodstream, my eyes wide on the now lifeless man staring through me.
Tearing my eyes away, I slowly turn my head to see the gun Callum holds aimed at the dead mobster, a silencer extending the barrel towards me.
He killed him, he fucking killed him. Callum shot him in the head, and now he’s dead. Dread churns my iron stomach, threatening to make me sick.
We both know it’s pointless when I reach down to check for a pulse. Glancing up at Callum’s unapologetic eyes, he knows I won’t find one.
“He’s dead,” I state the obvious to everyone in the room.
Looking down at the body, I can feel Callum’s gaze on me, burning.
The feeling of his eyes on me doesn’t leave as he barks orders to the other men.
I watch numbly as two goons step forward to untie the bloodied body from the chair and haul it away.
Struggling to breathe through my pounding heart, I lean down to start collecting the medical supplies laid out on the short table. There’s no use for any of this now. A dead man doesn’t need stitches.
Dead.
I’ve seen death before, I work in a hospital. I’m a fucking ER nurse for crying out loud. But this, this is different.
Murder.
Callum is a killer. I’ve never seen that look in his eyes before, the emptiness. His blank calculation lacked any empathy or remorse. He pulled that trigger and ended a man’s life like it was an item on his to-do list, like the next step in an equation where death was the clear and simple solution.
A cold calm settles over me as I close the kit and snap the latches closed.
The panic and fear have twisted into something far more troubling—numbness.
Acceptance. I turn on my heel and walk towards the door.
Passing Callum where he stands overseeing the cleanup process, I can barely meet his eyes.
I don’t think I can stomach ever looking into that void again.
“I’m done,” I state coldly, my declaration landing heavily in the air between us. I say it knowing I’m tempting fate. But instead of waiting to see what my announcement ignites, I continue walking quickly towards the exit.
I barely make it out of the building when a strong hand grabs my wrist and I’m being backed against the rough brick wall.
The medical kit clatters to the ground, ignored and forgotten.
Trying to catch my breath, I stare up at Callum, who has me pinned between his large frame and the building.
Our eyes lock, and I can’t help the relief that I’m not staring into the gaze of a calculated killer.
Callum’s heated expression emulates fury and passion, threatening to swallow me whole.
“What did you just say to me?” It’s a challenge, a warning to change my answer instead of repeating myself. It doesn’t work.
“I’m done.” This time I say it slowly, purposefully enunciating each word.
“You’re not done.”
“You killed him. Shot him in cold blood.”
“He was a threat, so I fixed it,” he says simply with no remorse. Like it’s just that easy.
“You fixed it,” I repeat with a bitter laugh.
“That’s what I do, Lexie.”
“And at what point are you going to fix me?”
“I only fix problems. There’s no running from it. You’re in this now.” Suddenly it feels like he’s talking about a lot more than just a job. Something much heavier and more terrifying. “You’re not done.”
“Let go of me.” The feeling of his solid body against mine should be sickening.
The same hand that pulled a trigger to end a life not five minutes ago touching my skin should repulse me.
Instead I’m fucking turned on. Our chemistry is buzzing between us as sparks fly and it’s infuriating.
Because I shouldn’t want this man to be touching me at all.
But I do.
“Go back to the car and wait for me,” Callum orders before taking a step back, making my burning blood boil. He turns his head to address the man I hadn’t realized had joined us in the alley, his eyes never leaving me. “Roscoe, go with her.”
“I don’t need a chaperone,” I snap, reaching down to snag the medical kit off the dirty ground. With the rage that’s powering through me at the moment not even Satan himself could challenge me and win. Whatever’s waiting for me in the shadows can do their worst.
Callum’s struggling against his restraint, his expression flickering between cold indifference and fierce intensity.
His hands start twitching at his sides, moving to reach out to me once or twice before he thinks better of it and pulls them back.
I can practically see him wrestling with the urge to throw me over his shoulder like a caveman.
His computer brain is glitching. I’d probably find it amusing if I wasn’t so damn pissed.
“Have fun dealing with the body,” I say bitterly as I step around him to stalk back into the wretched building. Walking straight past Roscoe, I shoot a glare at him when he attempts to open the door for me. He’s not innocent in this either.