Page 61 of The Fixer

“Pull over,” I told him, holding the muzzle of my gun to his shoulder.

“They’re after her!” he hollered even as he did what he was told.

“All the more reason for us to get out now. I can’t risk them catching up to us in this car. I need to get her somewhere safe. Get the hell out of here. Go into hiding if you must. Whatever you do, don’t look back. I know how to get ahold of you, and I will when the time is right.”

With his face pinched, Santini gave me a quick nod. “Will do, boss.”

I reached around Eliza and threw open the door, then steadied her as she climbed from the car. Once I was out myself, I reached back in, squeezing Santini’s shoulder. “Stay safe, brother.”

“You, too.”

As Santini pulled away from the curb, I rushed Eliza off the street, into a dark alcove between two buildings, pulling her body into me as she pressed her tear-streaked face into my chest. And it was just in time. The roar of engines rose above the sounds of her quiet cries.

Eliza whimpered, and I pulled her closer. She pressed her face harder into me and I peered out into the street. And I wished, with everything in me, that I’d hidden my face, too.

As Santini reached the corner, so did one of the cars that had been following us. Both were going too fast. Both swerved too hard and too late. The little red car was crushed as Santini’s SUV slammed into its side. But Santini’s SUV didn’t stop. Momentum carried it forward, the vehicle flipping in slow motion, illuminated by the headlights of three motorbikes and the last remaining car.

It landed on its top, bounced and rolled once more, coming to a stop on the driver’s side door. Back end on the pavement of the sidewalk, front end stuffed inside the bushes surrounding the park.

“No!” Eliza cried, peeking out at the street, her entire body trembling in my grip.

“Hush,” I murmured, pulling her close, even as a pain deeper than any I’d felt ripped through my chest.

Santini was a brother to me. A man who’d stood by my side since I was just a kid, helping me navigate Paulo D’Angelo’s world. He was the first I tagged for my crew, and if he died here tonight, he’d be the first I lost.

“It’ll be okay,” I forced out, more for myself than for the girl. “Everything will be okay.”

The remaining bikes and the last car sped off, headlights bobbing along as if they hadn’t been a part of that mess. I watched until they were gone, watched Santini’s SUV laying there on its side. Then I tucked my gun into the holster at my back, reached into my pants pocket, and pulled out my phone.

“Zee, I need your help.”

16

Eliza

We’d watched the ambulance take Santini away, me tucked under Jet’s arm like he was protecting me when, really, I was sure it was him who needed holding up. You didn’t get the kind of relationship those two men seemed to have without being close friends. The ability to trust on instinct, to act on impulse, knowing the other would respond the way he needed to without being told. I’d begun to suspect as much, but when Santini had pointed that gun in Jet’s face, when Jet had pushed me down and dove on top of me even as Santini shot, it was cemented as truth in my heart.

Santini wasn’t just a man who worked for Jet. They were friends, dependent upon each other to do exactly what they were supposed to, reliant on the other to know what that was.

I was sure I could feel Jet shaking as he held me, just as I was sure he thought it was me who was trembling in my spot. It’s not that I wasn’t shaken. The chase, the gunshots, all of it was enough to rattle me to my core. But even as I’d seen Santini’s gun come out, I hadn’t worried about me. Not really. I knew Jet would protect me. I knew he’d do everything in his power to keep me safe.

After the ambulance had pulled away, after that same cop, Rinaldi, had come over to the alcove where we hid to talk, the man Jet had called after the crash took us home.

“Have a seat,” Jet rasped as we walked in the door, sounding as if he were about to snap.

Glancing over my shoulder, I found the man, Zee, following us in. I settled onto the edge of the couch, worrying at the wrinkled green silk that had danced beautifully around my legs all night and now looked like it’d been balled up on the floor for a month.

“Are you hurt?” Zee asked, crouching down in front of me.

“I…” I looked at Jet, though he kept his eyes averted as he loosened his bow tie. “No.”

“Do you mind if I look you over?” Zee asked. Then, as if feeling it prudent to explain, he lifted the bag at his side and said, “I’m a doctor.”

Jet slid out of his jacket, tossing it over the back of a chair.

“Um, yes. I mean, that’s fine.”

While Zee checked me over, looking for cuts and bruises, prodding at the bones and muscles in my neck and shoulders, I peeked up at Jet. The man was watching the doctor with a scowl on his face, hands twitching upon his cufflinks as he worked to get them off.