Page 38 of The Fixer

“Are you okay?” I asked as I knelt down beside her. And she turned those chocolate eyes to the gun still held in my hand.

“Are you?” Eliza bit out. She sat slowly, lowering her arms and wrapping them around her chest, inching away from me like she was frightened I might shoot.

“They often push away the help they need the most.”

Kosta.

I squeezed my eyes shut, and I tried to listen to my friend.

What do I do? Please, tell me what to do.

“I’m sorry.” My voice squeezed out of a tight throat, and I swallowed to clear away the lump lodged somewhere between my mouth and my heart. “I’m sorry, you startled me.”

“I could say the same.” She cupped a hand to the back of her head, then examined her fingers as if searching for blood. She hugged herself again. “I’m sorry, too.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“No.” Her throat worked and she chewed on her bottom lip. “I’m sorry I’ve dragged you into all of this. This isn’t your mess. You’ve done nothing but help me, and I’ve done nothing but impose.”

“You’re not imposing,” I told her, reaching out a hand.

She eyed the gun I held and I pulled away. Set the weapon gently on the floor, the muzzle pointing toward the living room.

“I should go,” the girl told me. She crossed her ankles, then rose so quickly it was as if she were never on the floor. She towered over where I knelt, and the sweat on my body chilled my skin. Shaking, I rose too, trying to control my racing heart.

“Go where?” I asked with too much bite.

There was a beat where I couldn’t tell if she was sighing or sucking in a breath. She rolled her lips into her mouth and blinked. “Home.”

“You can’t.” The words poured from my mouth without conscious thought. And without that thought, those words snapped like a whip.

She flinched. She fucking flinched, as if those two words were bullets to the chest. I rubbed at my own, as if those bullets were lodged inside me, too.

“Why not?” Where she gathered her strength from, I wasn’t sure. I expected her voice to shake. I expected tears to gather in her eyes. Instead, she looked at me like he did.

Kosta.

“I’m worried for your safety,” I tried, and the pain in my chest eased a fraction. “I don’t feel it’s safe for you to be on your own.”

“You don’t have to look after me, Jet, I—”

“I want to.” I didn’t realize I’d stepped toward her until her chin jerked up. The narrow expanse of her throat beckoned me, and I wanted to smooth my thumb over the cinnamon sprinkles covering her skin. Instead, I reached for her head, fingers diving into her hair as they slid to prod gently at the back of her skull. “I want to,” I said again, lower, smoother.

Because it was the truth.

She was right, of course. I had no business with her. No reason to look after her, to protect her. No reason to involve myself with the fucking police just to keep her safe.

No reason, except that I wanted to.

Since the moment she fell into my arms back at the funeral home, I hadn’t been able to put her out of my mind. I knew, more than anything, that I should let her go. Let Rinaldi handle whatever was going on so I could keep my head down, just as D’Angelo had instructed. I feared what I would do to her more than I feared one of the most powerful men in the world.

That was a problem. My problem. And I couldn’t make it hers.

“I want you to stay,” I told her, before pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I want to help. I want to keep you safe.”

She swallowed, her eyes squeezed shut. A tiny noise crept up her throat and I loosened my grip. “I’m taking your space.”

“I want you here.” I curled my hand around the back of her neck and my thumb brushed along her throat. “Please,” I whispered. “I’ll worry about you if you’re not here.”