Page 28 of Fixation

“Seriously?” Darla pauses mid-sip, brows pinching. “I don’t take that crap from my boss, and he could fire me on the spot. Just like that.” She snaps her fingers. “I’ll be damned if I’m putting up with it from someone under me. Werner’s a creep. You need to fire him, at the very least.”

Snap . That’s how easily I’d snap the neck of the man who dared to send Harper that email.

It’s really not that bad. Besides…” Harper gives a weak smile that slips almost immediately. “If he shows up here like he said he would, I’ll just stay inside. Maybe then he’ll get the hint then and drop it.”

My mind goes images of me murdering Werner. Then to my father’s notebook. To the vilest poisons he concocted.

There’s this one that can make a person throw up and choke on his puke simultaneously.

Another one that will make his insides cave in on themselves and have blood come out of his eyes.

Both will draw too much attention to Werner.

Law enforcement expects the people I kill to die in gruesome ways. They’re criminals. It’s possible.

Plus, the more creative I get, the less likely it is that they’ll think they’re dealing with a serial killer. There’s no pattern.

Your average, law-abiding man dying from a strange cause will raise red flags. Everyday people aren’t usually killed.

Frustrated, I slam the dashboard. Curse under my breath. The potassium chloride I keep in my car—just in case—will have to do.

“Harper. It sounded like a threat.” Darla rests her hand on Harper’s shoulder, a loving gesture. “I’d call the police if I were you.”

That hand shouldn’t be there. She’s mine to comfort. Mine to hold.

My molars grind. I’m like a bull and Darla just waved a red flag right in my fucking face.

“He’s harassing you, it’s all there, in the email,” she continues while I’m about to lose my mind. “They’d have to listen. And I mean…it doesn’t hurt that you’re famous, either. My guess? You could have a restraining order by tomorrow.”

“Pfft, I’d hardly call myself famous.” The lips I want to bite and kiss pinch together.

“What would you call a woman who owns a jewelry empire, then?”

“Now you’re really overdoing it.” This isn’t faux modesty.

Harper is successful and strong. She could’ve joined her family’s business, but look at her—holding her own.

At only twenty-two. She doesn’t see what a queen she is, and that’s a problem.

“Besides, it wasn’t that bad. Have dinner with me.

I’ll be outside your home this Friday, and I won’t take no for an answer.

Pajamas or a dress, I don’t care. I’m taking you out.

I doubt it’d be enough to even call him in for questioning. ”

With a scoff, I close the livestream. Working for Sergey teaches a man how to find anything, so it takes less than a minute to locate Werner Jade’s full name, business, and home address.

I slide the gear into drive and head downtown to handle it.

Tonight, the gloves, black gaiter, vial, and syringe in my glove compartment are going to be put to use.

Werner Jade won’t see another sunrise.

The fire escape in Werner’s building is sturdy. Doesn’t creak when I put one foot on top of the other. Doesn’t rattle.

No one hears me climbing it. This late at night, after waiting for hours in my car, there’s no one here to see me, either.

I’ve never killed anyone in SoHo before, but what I have discovered is this—as long as the man in a dark hoodie and a gaiter stays clear of their windows, they’d rather ignore my existence.

From behind the mask, I smirk as I go by the first floor. The second.

Here I am, on the third one. I’m at his window, looking into his home. At the man I saw online. The man who harassed Harper.

Shoulder-length brown hair. Blue eyes. The bridge of his nose is straight.

He watches TV in his flannel pajamas, entirely at ease.

Adrenaline sharpens me like a blade. My vision is clearer than it’s ever been. A sense of righteousness inflates my lungs.

This hit is as personal as they come. More personal than killing the delivery boy.

Harper’s the only thing I’ve ever felt deeper.

I leave my thoughts where they belong. In the recesses of my mind. I still can’t go in there. He’s up, and getting into a fight with him will end badly for me.

While I wait for him to fall asleep, I stalk Harper. The feed from home is a balm to my deranged soul.

Her friend left, and she’s back to work. Her workbench on the second floor is empty, but here she is, sitting around her dining table.

Back to sketching.

The jewelry she’s designing on the drawing pad is dark. While sketching some of the pieces, she presses the pencil harder on the paper. Gray shades turn to nearly black.

My own darkness reflected in them. I see that.

I’ve crawled under her skin.

I’m throbbing for her. So fucking proud of her.

More so when she isn’t throwing her sketches away. No, she turns the page and draws more.

My fascination nearly makes me forget about the task at hand.

I could watch her for the rest of my life.

Movement from Werner’s apartment halts everything.

His head is lolling to the side. He fell asleep on his leather couch, the remote in his hand.

How could he want a woman like Harper and be so casual about it?

How could he sleep peacefully, as if craving her is as dull as ordering takeout?

The thought infiltrates my head while I slide his window open and let myself in.

Ever since I saw her, I’ve been consumed. Obsessed. I haven’t slept. Haven’t eaten right.

Sure, I was able to concentrate on work. I did fall asleep eventually.

I haven’t been relaxed.

The soles of my sneaker hit the hardwood like a whisper. I move closer to him, my shadow casting over the slender man’s sleeping form.

He never deserved her in the first place.

He’ll never have her.

I squat down, careful as I pick his bare foot off the floor.

I spread his toes.

Syringe in. So is the untraceable potassium chloride.

His eyes pop open. “Wha?—”

The T is silent.

The T is dead.

Just. Like. Him.