Ashby Holler

by Jamie Zakian

  “Let me see that.” Dez knelt beside Sasha, swatting her hands from her side to lift her shirt. “Oh fuck!”

  A groan carried Sasha forward, and she peered down at the fringe of a giant purple mark. She sagged back, snickering through the ache. “That ain’t shit. When less than half your body’s a bruise, it’s been a good day.”

  “What the fuck, Sasha? You trying to prove something to me?”

  “Not everything is about you.” Sasha used the last of her strength to shove Dez, but he barely moved from her side. “I just wanted a regular drink, like a normal person, and these motherfuckers fuck with me. Now I’m getting all kinds of shit about it. This is bullshit.”

  Dez dropped to his ass, scooching so close their hips touched. “Did you really take out three dudes?”

  Sasha waved her hand, as if that could clear Dez’s question from the air. “I don’t know. There was a lot going on.”

  “You might’ve taken me.” Dez looked into Sasha’s eyes, then away.

  “I doubt it. You weren’t drunk.”

  “Neither were you.” His next words failed, leaving his mouth open and chest raised.

  “Yeah, well, I’m pretty fucking sober now. And it sucks.”

  Dez smiled, pushing a strand of blood-clumped hair from Sasha’s face. “I’d kiss you, but your lip’s all split.”

  “What, not attractive?” Sasha leaned back, shrugging.

  “Come on,” Dez said, climbing to his feet. “Let’s get you out of those bloody clothes and into bed.”

  Sasha held her arm out stiff. “Joint. Need joint.”

  A chuckle lifted Dez’s lips. “I got ya, man. Bed first.”

  “Yeah, all right.” Sasha took Dez’s hand, wobbling to her feet.

  Chapter Eight

  Sasha lay in bed, listening to the chirp of birds. The small amount of sleep she managed had cleared her drunken mind but did little to heal her sore body.

  “Fucking chicks,” she muttered, crawling from bed. No one but a woman could’ve sent her running to Jack’s bar, practically looking for trouble. She stripped off her shirt, stepped in front of the mirror, and stared at her reflection. Shades of blue, purple, and yellow spanned her left side, from thigh to ribcage. Her face was only a tad better. Fat lip, puffy cheek, and a few scrapes.

  “Little girl.” She hit the glass with her scabbed knuckles, shaking the closet door and rocking the image that failed to match her mentality.

  She dressed slow and careful. Each move inspired a new wave of sharp throbs. As she tied on her bandana, the phone rang. Piles of messy clothes tripped up her steps. She hopped to the side to keep from trampling her jacket and reached for the screaming receiver.

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s a go,” Jack said in a rush. “They already told the cops a group of blackies jumped them.”

  “Jesus.”

  “I think they were a little relieved. I mean, who wants to admit they got beat down by a girl?” Jack said with a bit of a chuckle.

  “What the fuck did you just say?”

  “Oh shit. Not that you’re a regular girl or anything.”

  “Every word is getting worse, asshole. I like you better when I’m drunk.”

  “Ha! I get that a lot,” Jack said, glasses clinking in the background. “Anyway. They’re all at my place now, waiting for the cash.”

  “All right. I’ll be there in an hour or so, but I ain’t coming alone.”

  “I’ve been a friend of the club a long time, Sasha. I don’t want no trouble with you.”

  “Nah, it’s more of a heads-up than a threat. Thanks, Jack. I’ll see you in a bit.”

  Before Sasha could hang up the phone, a light knock rattled her door. “Grand central fucking station around here,” she muttered. “What?” she yelled.

  “It’s Vinny.”

  A slew of grumbles erupted from Sasha’s lips at the sound of his voice. She popped a cigarette in her mouth, flicking her zippo to life. “Come in.”

  The door crept open, and the chain of a wallet swung into its frame as Vinny peeked inside.

  “Oh, you’re up,” he said, stepping inside the room. “I thought—”

  “What? I’d be a blubbering pulp.”

  “No. I don’t know.” Vinny shut the door, kicking aside the mess to clear a path to Sasha. His eyes lifted to her face, and he grabbed her hand. “Sasha, I…”

  Sasha backed away, shaking her head. Whatever dumb shit was about to tumble from Vinny’s mouth, she didn’t want any part of it. In the blink of an eye, his expression went from one of love to annoyance.

  “Why didn’t you call me?” Vinny yelled. “I would’ve chilled at the bar. I was so bored last night.”

  “I don’t know. I—”

  “And Jack’s bar, really. Only inbred fucks go there. What the hell?”

  A shrug was all Sasha offered. She couldn’t tell Vinny how she ran to Jack’s looking for a fight to dull the pain of losing Candy. It would make her look like more of a punk than she felt.

  “At least you look okay,” Vinny said, running his hand along Sasha’s cheek. “Pretty bad shiner, but—”

  “Oh my god.” Sasha pushed Vinny’s arm from her face, stepping away from him. “What are people saying?”

  “You really want to know?”

  “No.” Sasha snatched her jacket off the floor, muffling a groan. “Did she send you up here?”

  “Yeah.” Vinny sat on the edge of her bed, fishing a semi-bent joint from his pocket. “Ellen was worried. She wanted me to check on you.”

  Something between a snort and a giggle vibrated Sasha’s chest. “Yeah right.” She lit her zippo, holding out the flame. “What’d she really say?”

  White smoke drifted up in puffs, and Vinny leaned back, inhaling. “She said to go kick your retarded ass out of bed and drag you to the clubhouse,” he said through a long exhale, passing the joint. “Everyone’s here, so we’re gonna reconvene the vote.”

  “Great.” Sasha headed toward the door, smoke trailing behind her. “Let’s go, then.”

  “Yo, man. Quit bogarting my doobie,” Vinny called out, following Sasha outside.

  ***

  “Hey, slugger,” Kev said, pretending to sock Sasha in the gut.

  Sasha lifted her arms, backing away. “Aw, come on, man.”

  “Don’t encourage her,” Ellen said from the head of the table. “We don’t drop loads in our own town.”

  After a few snickers and grins, they all took their seats. Sasha peeked at her mother. Cold eyes glowered back, and she dropped her gaze.

  “Since everyone is here,” Ellen said, sitting back in her chair, “I want to get this vote out of the way.”

  Sasha tapped on the table, cutting off her mother’s next words. “Can I just say something before you vote?” She didn’t think it was possible, but her mother’s hard stare turned even fiercer. “The club is what matters, not alliances or bloodlines. I’m okay being a runner, for now, if that’s what everyone thinks is best for the club.”

  While ignoring the stunned eyes leering from all sides, Sasha eased back.

  “Okay then.” Ellen placed a patch in front of the empty chair beside her. “Let’s vote on a sergeant at arms.”

  “I nominate Dez,” Otis said.

  Kev looked at Sasha, his eyes wavering. She gave him a light nod, her head bobbing almost without her permission.

  “I second,” Kev said, his gaze low.

  “All in favor,” Ellen said, barely able to contain the giddy tone in her voice.

  Chewy shifted in his seat, and Sasha kicked Vinny under the table.

  Vinny turned, glaring at Sasha. She tipped her head, and his eyes narrowed, but he slowly lifted his arm.

  “That’s three to two. Motion passes. Dez.” Ellen gestured to the chair at her left.

  Sasha watched Dez strut around the table before sinking behind Vinny’s wide frame.

  “And I nominate Sasha for runner,” Ellen said through a smile.
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br />   “Second,” Otis added.

  “All in favor.”

  Sasha rolled her eyes as people raised their hands. A patch slid down the table, brushing her fingers, but she didn’t move.

  “Good. Now we just need some prospects to take care of the bitch work.” Ellen sent a set of keys with a green tab sailing down the table. It stopped beside Sasha’s runner patch. “I need you to take a run. Is there any other business?”

  Heads shook, lighters flicked, and Ellen rose. “Meeting adjourned.”

  Sasha stayed frozen in place as boots shuffled toward the door. Now the circle of pain was complete. Her insides felt as ugly as the bruise that stained her skin. A sigh breezed past her cracked lips just as the door clicked shut. She leaned forward, reaching for the skinny strip of fabric that represented her place in this world.

  “That patch don’t mean shit,” Dez said.

  Sasha flinched, spinning in her chair. Dez stomped forward, and her surprise warped to irritation.

  “I might have the title,” he said, giving her a hard stare, “but they all look to you.”

  After gathering the keys and patch, Sasha stood. Dez didn’t budge. His solid body pinned her between the chair and table, so she glared up. “See, everyone remembers you as the bad-tempered bulldog who spilled a pint of blood on the clubhouse floor every weekend. Now you’re the man responsible to make level-headed decisions for us all.”

  “You don’t trust me?”

  “I don’t know you.” She gave him a little shove from her personal space. “And the way you keep crowding me is—”

  “Turning you on.” Dez wormed his way back in front of Sasha, reaching for her waist.

  She whacked his hand away. “Freaking me out.”

  “They won’t follow me unless you do.”

  “I have your back. Do you have mine? I need my sergeant at arms right now.”

  Dez’s hands stayed at his sides, a serious gaze rushing in to replace his flirty leer. “About last night?”

  “Yeah.” A slump took Sasha back into her seat. “I can’t take this to my mother, and I don’t know which way to go.”

  “Gimme the dets.”

  “I got the guys to agree to a pay-off. They already lied to the fuzz so…is it better to pay up and hope they stay quiet, or should I just make ‘em disappear?”

  “Hmm.” Dez sat on the edge of the table, crossing his arms. “That’s a tough one. When’s this supposed to go down?”

  “Right now.”

  “Shit! You have a run to make. Green key. That’s Little Rock, right?”

  Sasha nodded, glancing at the clock on the wall. “I got about an hour before I have to peel rubber.”

  “All right, let’s go over to Jack’s and pay ‘em. If we have to, we’ll kill ‘em later. You got the cash?”

  “It’s in my room.”

  “Go get it. We’ll take a ride over there,” Dez said as confident as any other sergeant before him.

  Sasha stood, and her hand grazed Dez’s leg. That little touch was enough to spawn shivers, which spread throughout her body. “You know, if I had made sergeant, I still would’ve come to you with this. That just proves I’m not ready. I can’t even handle my own shit.”

  Dez grabbed Sasha’s arm just long enough to stop her from walking away. “You’ll be sitting at the head of that table before you know it.”

  “I hope not.”

  Sasha left the room, catching Vinny’s glare all the way from the porch. The closer she got to him, the faster his foot tapped the wooden planks. His face, a ripe mix of disappointment and appall, invoked the urge to bolt out the back door, but she marched onward.

  “What was that shit?” Vinny said the moment Sasha was in earshot. “You totally caved.”

  Without a glance, she walked past him, and he followed on her heels.

  “You would’ve had it.”

  “Maybe I don’t want it.”

  “What?” Vinny stopped for a second then scurried to catch up. “Yes, you do. Making sergeant is all you’ve ever wanted since we were kids.”

  Vinny shadowed Sasha up the stairs and into her room. “This is exactly what I’m talking about. I do not get you. Do you even get yourself?”

  Sasha hurled a glower over her shoulder, pulling a briefcase from her closet. With her back to him, she flipped open the lid and stuffed handfuls of neatly packed hundreds into a duffle bag.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Shut up. I’m counting.” She knew exactly how many stacks of thousands she needed, could easily talk while loading the bills, but really didn’t want to. She couldn’t explain herself. No, she didn’t get herself at all.

  After tucking the case back into the closet, Sasha dashed from the room. Halfway down the stairs, she heard the sound of her door slamming shut, and Vinny was right behind her again.

  “So I guess now we can’t even be friends. You’ll just live your secret life with duffle bags of money and I’ll do my own thing.”

  “C’mon, man,” Sasha said without a break in her stride. “I’m just going on a run.”

  “Since when does run money come out of your closet?”

  Sasha stopped short. Her glare iced over as she spun to face Vinny. “Shut the fuck up.” Turning, she hurried from her own bitchy vibe clinging to the air and toward the line of semis.

  “Hey, Vince,” Dez called out from beside a green Peterbilt. “Gimme a lift to Jack’s bar.”

  “No,” Sasha said. “Don’t get him involved.”

  “What the fuck, Sasha?” Vinny sneered.

  There was no reason for her to treat Vinny this way, aside from the fact that he wouldn’t leave her the fuck alone about this sergeant bullshit. Her remorse-filled eyes shifted to Vinny, but he veered from her gaze.

  “This way,” Dez said, stepping next to Vinny, “you can take the rig and hit the road straight from the bar. My little brother can give me a ride back, after a few drinks.”

  “Whatever.” Sasha opened the truck’s door, tossed the bag into the cab, and climbed inside.

  Chapter Nine

  Five hours of open road and Sasha still couldn’t shake those Archer brothers from her head. Her stomach churned when she left the bar after seeing them laughing and drinking together. If they found out about each other, everyone would hate everyone. A regular old cluster fuck, her specialty.

  It wasn’t until her client’s massive warehouse rolled into view that her brain unscrambled. Little Rock, home tuff of the Los Lobos, probably the sketchiest, deadliest, and biggest buyers on the roster. This drop-off definitely warranted a sturdy game face and sharp mind.

  Sasha drove through the wide bay door of the only structure untouched by graffiti on the block and killed the engine. The bay door slammed shut, and florescent lights blinked on. Her hand froze on the door’s handle, gaze locked on the beautiful woman strolling toward her truck. She stared through the windshield, watching long legs prance, a tiny waist sway, and feathery black hair bounce.

  “That is not Miguel,” Sasha muttered, opening her door.

  When her boots hit concrete, a swarm of men surrounded her. Rifles greeted her chest, bullets loaded into their chambers, and her hand inched toward the butt of her handgun.

  “What’s up?” Sasha said, unsnapping the button of her holster.

  “That’s enough. Ease off,” a silky voice said along with a train of obscene words in Spanish.

  Men backed away, their guns lowering as the woman strolled closer. The gray fabric of her dress hugged every curve, from chest to thighs.

  “I’m Carmen, Miguel’s daughter.”

  “Oh shit, Carmelita,” Sasha said, shoving back a grin. “He talks about you all the time.”

  “And you must be the infamous Sasha Ashby.” Carmen pointed to the truck, and men shuffled to unload the cargo. With just a flick of her wrist, a briefcase flew forward.

  “Infamous, huh?” Sasha took the case, chucking it into the cab. “I don’t know about all that.�
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  Heels clanked as Carmen sashayed to Sasha’s side. “You have no idea. People see what you do, how you carry yourself. More and more women are being accepted within the ranks of the underworld, the right women.”

  The last crate of drug-stuffed teddy bears was carried from Sasha’s trailer, joining the pile that now overflowed a corner of the warehouse. Sasha leaned against the front bumper of her truck, the entire rig shaking as its trailer door slammed shut. “Well, that’s something, I guess.”

  Carmen waved her arm, and everyone cleared the warehouse, leaving them alone in the cavernous room.

  “I think,” Carmen stepped closer to Sasha, a coy smile lifting her cheeks, “we have a lot in common.”

  Sasha stood up straight, leaning toward the luscious body that drifted just within her grasp. “Is that so?”

  A knee slid between Sasha’s legs, warm breath flooding over her neck.

  “Si, mamacita, except I’ve never been inside a Mack truck.”

  Creamy brown skin ensnared Sasha’s gaze, and all by themselves, her hands gripped Carmen’s firm hips. “I think I can do something about that.” Soft strands of thick hair swept Sasha’s cheek as Carmen spun, heading for the truck’s open door.

  Sasha’s teeth dug into her bottom lip. She unzipped her jacket, trailing the muscled thighs that moseyed to her truck’s door.

  ***

  Dez

  Dez sat at the bar of the clubhouse, watching his brother walk back and forth. Vinny had turned away three fine women so far who’d practically thrown themselves in his lap to pace on the front porch. If the guy wasn’t dating Sasha, something serious must be up. No man could’ve turned down that last blonde, not without a really good reason. Dez grabbed a bottle of whiskey, walking onto the porch.

  “What’s up, Vince?”

  Vinny flinched then shot a poorly forced grin.

  “You seem tense,” Dez said, sitting on the bench and unscrewing the cap.

  “Nah. I’m just…bored.”

  A long swig sizzled its way down Dez’s throat, burning away a fraction of the stench left by his brother’s bullshit. He lifted the bottle, dangling it between his fingers.