Blood Bound

by Sasha Leone

  “Yes, sir.” My voice is so sweet I nearly puke.

  The man has the bill in his hands. He points at it with his sausage fingers. “I didn’t order this.” A wet smirk crawls over his sausage lips. This man is sausage all around. I’m nearly of the mind to throw him in the greaser out back and have Carlos make a sandwich out of him. Maybe then I’d finally have some leftovers to keep me well fed.

  “What didn’t you order?” I ask, keeping my distance.

  “This.” He points at the bill again, like a bully teasing his victim. This guy has probably been shat on his whole life and instead of letting it make him a better person, he’s decided to morph into the very thing he hates. I’d bet he tortures menial service workers all across the city—my gut clenches as I realize that I’m next. He wants me to bend over and check out what he’s pointing to on his receipt. His eyes are fixed on my breasts. He’s vying for a closer look. I’m not going to give it to him.

  I cross my arms over my chest and look back towards the kitchen. Through the counter, I can see flames skipping up, but Carlos is nowhere to be found. I’m on my own, as usual.

  “If you’ll tell me the mistake, sir, then I’ll do my best to fix it.”

  A snarl curls on the edges of the sausage’s lips. He doesn’t like that I’m not playing along. I don’t budge. I let the fire in my eyes burn at him while we have our little showdown. If this guy was any thinner, then I might be worried, but I’m pretty confident I could at least scream before he gets to me. Carlos has a platoon’s worth of knives back in the kitchen and he knows how to use them. This guy wouldn’t stand a chance. Sure, he might get a few wallops in on me first, but it’d be well worth it.

  “What ever happened to customer service?” mumbles the man, finally breaking the little stalemate. He reaches into his pocket and rocks in the little booth like an overblown beachball. His belly shakes the table and the fork he had been using as his toothpick falls onto the dirty floor with a clang. He doesn’t bother to pick it up.

  A few bills float from his greasy hand and onto the table—I can already see that there’s no tip among them. A wet smirk is plastered on the sausage’s face as he grunts and waddles out from his booth. “A little advice, honey,” he slobbers as he brushes past me. “Smile more.”

  It takes all of my willpower not to smack him upside the back of the head. I watch him go, only to make sure he doesn’t try any funny business, and when he’s out of sight, I can’t even be bothered to take his money. I don’t want to catch whatever makes him such an insufferable asshole. Sure, I’ve been having issues with my anger lately, but I’m a good person—I was even on my way to becoming a nurse before my whole life went down the shitter.

  I take a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. Desperate anger threatens to leak through my eyes at the memory of my downfall. The world is getting blurry, but I wipe away the tears before they can fully form.

  I hate that I’m stuck working this dead-end job. I hate that I have no other choice. I just want to punch the universe right now. I settle for the counter back by the kitchen. My hand stings as I slam a balled-up fist against the cold plaster.

  That’s all it takes for Carlos to finally poke his head up through the flames. I quickly wipe the frustration from my face.

  “You alright?’ Carlos asks. His bleached, platinum blonde hair stands out against his smooth dark skin. Sweat trickles down his cheeks and I can’t help but smile ever so slightly. At least I have a friend.

  I nod and turn to lock up for the night. The streetlights outside are swinging in the raging wind. I wish I could afford a car.

  I clean up the fat man’s table and deposit his cash in the register, and then I park my big booty on one of the counter stools and wait for Carlos to serve his meal of the day.

  “Hungry?” Carlos sings from the kitchen.

  “Always,” I snap back, wishing I could bear to be more playful. Truth is, I’m completely drained and teetering dangerously on the edge of a breakdown. I don’t want to be here anymore, but I don’t exactly want to be back at my dingy apartment either. I feel stuck in a cycle of loneliness and apathy and poverty and I can’t seem to spot a light at the end of the tunnel. Just a few years ago, I had so much hope and promise, and now it’s all gone, replaced only with the struggle to survive.

  I’ve been working 12 hour shifts here for longer than I care to remember, and I can still barely pay off my bills—let alone my debt. My life has become a slow slough with no end in sight; it’s exhausting and somehow even more tiring than back when I had two jobs.

  A plate filled with french fries and an overflowing pulled pork sandwich is shoved in front of me. Carlos plops down on the stool to my left and immediately digs into his dinner. He doesn’t have to convince me to join in. I stuff my face and let the warmth of the meal work its way through the insides of my frayed body.

  “Want a drive tonight?” Carlos asks through a mouthful of french fries. We both look back towards the storefront windows. The snow has stopped, but it still looks frigid as can be.

  “Who’s coming to pick you up?” I ask. Carlos doesn’t have a car—I’m not even sure if he has a licence, but he always seems to be on the in with someone who has no problem coming to get him at all hours of the night. I’m almost envious.

  “Just a ‘friend’,” he winks.

  “Another friend?” I roll my eyes. “Are you cheating on me, Carlos?”

  That garners a laugh from the eccentric cook. He wraps his long arm around my shoulder. “I’d never cheat on you, babe. You’re my best friend. These other candles don’t compare. It’s just... they have something you don’t.”

  I raise my eyebrow playfully. I’m finally starting to feel like myself again. Maybe a good meal was all I really needed. “Excuse me!?” I pronounce loudly. “If anything, I’ve got more than you can handle.”

  “You’ve got that right, queen,” Carlos chuckles. “I’m the only one allowed to have curves in my relationships.”

  I swat at his arm. “You’re bad.”

  Carlos absorbs the blow. “So, you want that ride or what?”

  “I don’t want to be a burden...”

  “Bitch, please. You know me. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want it.”

  I can’t help but smile.

  I polish off the last bits of food from my plate and accept Carlos’s kind offer, reveling in the little taste of fullness that I’m being afforded. Maybe life isn’t so bad after all... At least I have a job, a roof over my head, and a friend. What else could a woman want? Well, except for—

  Carlos’s cell phone suddenly buzzes loudly on the countertop between us, breaking me out of my little haze of self-reflection, mid-thought. I can’t help but flinch. My cellphone’s still in my purse in the backroom office—I don’t need or want it with me at work. The only people who call me nowadays are debt collectors and scam artists, and I’ve started to develop a bit of PTSD towards ringing phones.

  I shake my head and pat down my apron, trying to play it cool in front of Carlos, but my pudgy Frank Ocean-looking friend isn’t paying me any mind anymore. His attention has turned to whoever’s given him a ring.

  “Heyy,” he answers, jumping up from his stool and heading towards the kitchen. He seems so full of energy for someone who’s just worked a twelve-hour shift that I can’t help but feel ashamed for not being able to keep up. I take a mental note to ask him for his secret. The lively bastard...

  Before he can disappear from view, Carlos turns around and gestures for me to get ready. I nod and promptly scarf down the rest of his fries. The thought crosses my mind that Carlos might have so much energy after such a long day because he steals bits of food here and there throughout his shift. It’s not unprecedented, I do the same thing. But he’s all alone back there in the kitchen, with no customers to police him. I have to watch my ass every time I want to dig into someone’s leftovers, and the thought of being caught and shamed by some overzealous customer is enough to keep me from st
uffing my belly too much.

  I slip off my stool and slowly rumble past the kitchen, trying not to listen to the muffled lilt of dirty talk emanating from the other side of the door.

  Another thought crosses my mind... Maybe it’s not the extra food that Carlos might sneak that makes him so giddy, maybe it’s just the promise of something—or someone—waiting for him on the other side of this job that gives him his spirit.

  That thought doesn’t help my mood. A heavy stone starts to form in my gut, replacing the pleasant weight of my meal. My current relationship status is pretty simple: I’m single as fuck. To put it more poetically: I’ve been guarding a dry well for years now, and I haven’t met a single rain cloud that I’d be willing to let fill me up—not that there’s exactly a stable of prized horses waiting to knock down my door. The pickings are slim for a poor waitress working on the rough side of Chinatown, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to settle for someone who doesn’t deserve my true potential... though, I still might be damned if I don’t.

  It’s just my luck, to be damned all around.

  3

  Ronan

  “Is this what true love feels like?” Finn’s voice crackles over my Bluetooth ear-piece. I can barely hear him through the sound of my own heavy breaths; I can hardly see either—I’m shrouded in a fog of my own exhaustion. I thought I was in good shape, but bounding through the back streets of Chinatown at two in the morning is telling me I’ve got to hit the gym more in my free time.

  “You’re having a good time, huh?” I lash at him. He’s probably as cozy as a bedbug in his patrol car right now. If he was in the shit, like I am, I’m sure he’d be singing a different tune.

  “This is why I became a cop, buddy. Thrill of the chase.”

  Don’t I know it. I remember the first time we met—Finn had a look in his eyes like he was just hoping I’d try to run from him. But I was too smart for that.

  I must be losing my edge, though, because I feel like an idiot as I swing up onto a fire escape to avoid an alleyway filled with trash bags. “Who the hell tipped him off?” I grumble. My hands wrap around the freezing metal as I climb up to the roof.

  “Who did you tell before me?” Finn’s patrolling the southeast exit of Baker street—the only way out of China town that’s not through Russian or Italian territory.

  “Just Luca,” I grumble. The wind snips at my heals and makes me climb faster. My lungs are working overtime, I’m somehow both on fire internally and absolutely frozen externally. It’s not exactly the most comfortable state to be in, but I have a job to do, and I’ll be damned if I’d rather be doing anything else.

  “You think he told the Russians? You know because of the whole deal...”

  I growl and Finn gets the hint. He shuts up and the sound of my panting fills the air between us. “Never a word about that over the airwaves,” I bark.

  “My bad, big fella.” Finn’s still young and getting a hang of this crooked lifestyle he’s found himself thrown into, but he’s also the only person outside of the Barone family who I feel like I can trust. He’s also the only cop in the city who’s exclusively on my payroll—everyone else is either owned by the Barone family, the Volkov Bratva, or the Triad. As far as every other crook in the city is concerned, Finn Salley is a straight-shooting cop with no dirt on him. God, if they only knew him like I did.

  “Still no sign of Santino?” I ask, finally pulling myself up onto the roof. I’m met by hurricane like winds. All I can do is sneer and press forward.

  “No. But unless he’s stupid enough to go through the Russians or the Italians, he’s going to have to come through me.”

  It’s the truth. After my little meeting with Alonzo Bianchi, earlier in the night, I called the big boss’s left-hand man, his son, Luca Barone. I relayed the information I’d gotten and was given the go-ahead to take care of business. Santino Costa put everything in jeopardy when he shot and killed Alexei Molchalin, the second oldest son of the Volkov Bratva’s head of security. All the connections and trust that the Barone crime family has been fostering with the Volkov Bratva over the past year is now at risk of crumbling because of his actions, and there’s only one solution: bring Santino Costa to the Bratva, dead or alive—though, I know they’d probably prefer him alive. I haven’t yet decided on whether or not I’ll give Santino the mercy of death by my hand. I’ll make it quick; the Russians will not.

  Santino’s smarter than his little buddy Alonzo, at least, and he ran and hid as soon as he sobered up enough to realize what he’d done. He must have figured Alonzo was smart enough to eventually do the same, but the small-time loan shark had had a skull thicker than his brain inside; believe me—I saw some of that gooey grey matter when I blew it out of his head.

  After my call, Luca Barone had called in a favor of his own to the Triad, letting them know what was at risk if they sheltered Santino any longer. It didn’t take long for the Chinese to confirm that they wouldn’t protect the runaway, but someone inside the den must have tipped off Santino about what was coming for him, because he had taken off just before I could show up.

  Still, he couldn’t have gotten far. I was already on my way over when Luca gave me the green light.

  I climb down the other side of the building, hopping over the asphalt roofs of convenient stores and restaurants. The wind isn’t as strong down here—the surrounded skyscrapers take the main brunt of its lashings—and I can actually hear my own footsteps as I hurry towards the southeast exit of Baker street. I’m putting all my eggs into one basket—if Santino has decided to take a dumber route out of Chinatown, then I’m screwed.

  There’s no way he’d risk confronting the Russians, I tell myself. And he knows how brutal his own crime family can be to traitors and saboteurs. There’s only one way.

  It doesn’t take me much longer to get to the only spot a smart Santino could use for his escape. I can only hope that the smart Santino decided to show up tonight.

  I stop running at the edge of the last roof before Baker street. Finn’s patrol car glides down the adjoining road ahead. The white, royal blue striped car looks like a shark haunting its dark spot in the ocean.

  “I’m here,” I tell him.

  “Took you long enough,” the crooked cop teases. “I thought I might have to fight this guy off all by myself.”

  “You wish.” I let myself joke back, just a little bit. The adrenaline from my run is starting to fill my head with dopamine. I feel ready for a fight, whether with fists or fire.

  “Have you checked the shops for witnesses?” I ask, scanning either end of the street for light. I don’t see any.

  “Everything’s closed and shut down... well, except for maybe a diner on the corner. The lights are still on, but I didn’t see anyone inside—hopefully someone just forgot to turn the power off.”

  I spit down onto the street. Hopefully!? “We can’t risk relying on your hopes and dreams, Finn. Did you try and go inside?”

  There’s a pause over the airwaves.

  “... No.”

  Fuck.

  “There might be gunshots, Finn. We can’t have somebody calling the cops before we know that we can get out of here cleanly.”

  I can hear Finn chewing on something over on his end of the line. I grind my teeth. He may love the thrill of the chase, but he’s not taking this shit as seriously as he needs to. My ass is on the line. I can’t risk a fuck up.

  “I’ve got my radio right here. I’ll let you know if a call comes in over the airwaves.”

  “Not good enough,” I growl, climbing down from my perch. “I’ll go check. You keep an eye out. Santino has to be coming by here soon. I just know it.”

  I hear the sound of Finn sucking on his teeth. “Alright. Alright. Geez, I thought you liked this shit as much as I do—” he stops mid-thought. I can nearly hear the stupid grin coming over his face.

  “Hey, once we’ve taken care of this whole Santino business, let’s celebrate, huh?”

  I breathe a s
hot of air out of my nose like a raging bull. “We don’t talk about afterwards until we’re finished,” I scold him.

  “Come on! You know you want it,” Finn whines.

  God, sometimes I can’t stand him. If only older, grizzled cops were as easy to bribe as young, rash ones, then I would have gotten myself a quiet, grumpy old general to do my bidding.

  “Stop it,” I growl, turning the corner at the end of Baker street. Finn’s patrol car rolls past me, going in the opposite direction. He has his window down and his jester green eyes are trained in my direction. A mop of dark black hair waves in the wind as he puckers his lips. “Hey, muscleman, you looking for a good time?” he teases, in a high-pitch falsetto, as he slowly drives by.

  I just flip him the bird.

  “You just need to get laid, man. Trust me. I already know where I’m going to take you after all of this is over with. They’ve got the best girls...”

  I seriously consider hanging up on him. If getting Santino wasn’t so important, I already might have, but when I see orange light shining through a diner’s storefront up ahead, I know I’m going to have to rely on Finn’s eyes for just a little bit longer.

  “Stay alert,” I command into my earpiece. “I’m going to check out the diner.”

  I break into a jog, hardly considering Finn’s playful banter. My silence on the matter doesn’t stop him, though.

  “When’s the last time you even got laid, man? I can’t remember ever seeing you with a woman—” That does it. I hang up on him. He can set his siren off if he needs me. My frozen heart aches just a little bit as I forcefully wrestle back certain dead memories that only ever squirm alive at the mention of romance. There’s no room in my life for any kinds of non-business relationships anymore, if there ever really was. I tried to be normal once before, and it didn’t work out. Guys like me don’t get happy endings, so why drag anyone else into it? This is a dark world I inhabit, and company only makes it darker...

  I shake my head and take in a sharp breath of the cold air. It’s all I can do to remind myself that I’m alone for a good reason—because I deserve to be. The cozy glow of the corner diner bathes me in the promise of warmth as I walk up to its dusty storefront; I almost don’t want to go inside, lest I get too comfortable. I cross my fingers and try for the door.