Pawns In The Bishop's Game

by Emilia Finn

  His muscles bulge and strain his shirt.

  His large hands shake and make me sick to my stomach.

  He looks like he’s dying.

  “Kane?” The tears that I pulled under control at my apartment now burn the backs of my eyes. I press my palm to his forehead. “What’s wrong with you?”

  He dives across the seats and throws his weight at me. Wrapping sweaty arms around my shoulders, he pulls me in tight. “I wanna go home, Blondie. Please take me home.”

  “Okay.” I reach up and run my nails through his short hair. “I’ll take you home. I’ll take care of you.” I pull his face back and look into his dead eyes. “What’s wrong with you? What happened?”

  “I don’t feel so good. I don’t wanna fuck anymore, I just wanna go to bed.”

  “You’re really warm, Kane. What’s the matter?” Worry turns to frustration when his eyes refuse to maintain contact. “Why are you hot?” I lower my palm to his chest and choke at the thunder of his heart. So fast. So unbelievably hard. “Do you wanna go to the hospital?”

  “Can’t go to the hospital, not allowed. Take me to bed.” His eyes flash for half a beat – my only warning – before he spins away, slams the car door open, and hurls all over the pitch-black road.

  Heavy vomit, noisy and sickening, wracks his large frame and forces me to hold my breath.

  Sympathy spewing is not what we need right now.

  As soon as his back relaxes, as soon as he pulls the dark maroon shirt over his head and wipes his face, he slumps back into his seat and closes his eyes. “Home, baby. Please.”

  “Okay.” I climb across his thighs and pull the door closed. His hands latch onto my hips like he can’t help his instincts to protect me, but his eyes remain closed and his chest rises and falls at a scarily fast pace. “It’s okay. I’ll take you to bed. I promise to take care of you.”

  “‘Kay, thank you.” He slumps in his seat as much as he can manage until his knees almost touch his chest. As I pull out into the street, his hand blindly searches for mine, so I take it and twine our fingers together. His are sticky and fiery hot, but I don’t let go. I don’t dare let him go. “Nobody ever took care of me before, beautiful. My daddy woulda beat my ass for being sick.”

  “You got in trouble for vomiting?”

  “Mm.” His face scrunches in pain. “My daddy’d beat me to shit just for giggles.”

  “I’ll take care of you. I won’t get mad, I promise.”

  “‘Kay.”

  “Kane? Do you know what’s wrong? Why are you sick?”

  “Cocaine.” My stomach jumps when he burps and turns to the window. “Abel musta cut it with something.”

  “You had cocaine tonight?”

  “Mm.”

  “Cocaine is…” I can’t even process. I don’t know anyone in my whole life who’s ever used such serious drugs. “Cocaine’s really bad for you, Kane.”

  “Mm.”

  “Do you use cocaine often?”

  He shakes his head and brings the shirt up to wipe sweat away. “Couple times.”

  “Do you… do you use it for fun? Are you addicted?”

  “No.” His eyes snap open similarly to before, and it’s the only warning I get before he shoves the door open and hurls so hard he almost falls out. I slam my foot onto the brakes and thank God it’s the middle of the night in a tiny town and the streets are empty.

  Diving half out of my seat, I grab his sweaty shoulder and attempt to pull him back.

  “Kane. Jesus.” Unsnapping my seatbelt, I half climb onto him in an effort to pull him back. “Please don’t fall out.” The roaring of his vomit drowns out my pleas. “I can’t pick you up, you’re too heavy. Don’t get out of this car.” Like he wants to stress me out, he lifts his right leg and puts it out the door. “Don’t!” I slam my fist into the muscles on the side of his back. “Don’t you dare get out, Kane! Get your foot back in, finish hurling, then we’ll go home.”

  “It’s like razor blades.” For the first time since I met him, he sounds more like a scared child than the scary man I’ve learned to love. “It hurts, Blondie. Abel’s trying to kill me.”

  “I won’t let him. I’ll kill him for you. Get your foot in.” I fist his denim covered thigh and work to pull it back in. I barely feel my snapping nail or my smarting ribs from the awkward angle, I simply grunt and work to get his leg back in. “Two minutes. Hold on for two minutes.” I grab the back of his neck, yank him back, and slam his shirt against his mouth. “Lock it up, Kane. Pull your shit together, otherwise I’ll take you to the hospital.”

  With tears in his eyes, his gaze comes back to mine. “That was fast.”

  “What?” I lean over him a second time and slam his door closed. I slap a hand over the lock to keep him in. “What was fast?”

  “You said you wouldn’t get mad. You got mad.”

  “I’m mad you’re trying to get out of the car! I’m not mad you’re sick. Spew between your legs. I don’t even care.” With that brilliant plan in my mind, I grab the back of his neck and push his head between his knees. “Spew down there. I’ll replace the carpet.”

  “‘Cause you’re rich. Rich girl can afford a new car when her deadshit friend chucked.”

  “Yup. Head down. Stay down.” With squealing tires, I take off and make it back to his apartment in record time. Pulling up in the dark parking lot near the smelly dumpster, I switch the engine off and turn to watch his broad back lift and fall. “Kane. Let’s go. You can get out now.”

  Shakily, he lifts his head and looks up at the five-story rundown apartment building. His knee bounces with nerves. “I dunno if I can walk that far. Lemme sleep here.”

  “Nope. Come on, get out.”

  He closes his eyes and lays his head back. “Can’t. Too far.”

  “I need you to, Kane. Come on.” I grab my purse and push out of my side of the car. Dashing around to his, I use my key to unlock to the door. “Get out, Kane. Stand up. I can’t carry you.”

  “No.” He licks his dry lips. “Wake up, sick. Sleep, not sick.”

  “You can sleep in three minutes. I promise, I’ll help you sleep.”

  “No.”

  “I’ll call my family. I’ll call them to help me carry you. You don’t want that, do you? Don’t make me call my cops. They’ll get mad at you.”

  “No.”

  Like a bad omen, a black cat jumps from the dumpster and lands on the roof of my car. I screech into the dark when beer bottles and empty cans fall to the concrete. “Kane! I’m scared, okay? I’m not even lying. There are scary men around here. What about that guy Murphey? You don’t want him to grab me, do you? I need you to save me. Please wake up.”

  Kane’s dead eyes snap open and watch me for the longest minute of my life. Licking his lips, he fumbles with his long legs and drops his feet to the asphalt, burping in my face as I lean in to help him. A foul odor – the scent of death and rot – nearly blinds me as my stomach threatens to revolt. I tuck my face into my shoulder, dig my arms under his, and work to pull him up.

  My stitches sting as the thread used to hold me together shifts, burning when I lift more than two-hundred pounds and try not to crap my pants. “Come on. You need to help me here, Kane. You’re letting the team down.”

  “I’m sorry.” Clutching to me and almost folding me into the car like wet cardboard, his right hand swings out and grabs the doorframe. Grunting, his eyes wheel around in the back of his head, but his feet move and his strong arms help me pull him out.

  He stands tall, sways, and crushes my ribs when he uses me to steady himself. “I’m so tired.”

  “I know. Let’s move. We just have to get up the stairs, then you can sleep.”

  “Don’t let me die, Jessie. I’m not ready yet.”

  “I won’t. I promise.” I don’t even know if that’s the truth. I don’t know what’s in him, so I don’t know how to help. And I’m terrified to call my brother who would know how to help. “Come on, Kane. You w
anna sleep in bed with me? This is your chance. I’ll take my top off.”

  His lips turn up into a stupid grin. “I’ve wanted to fuck you since I saw you.”

  “I know.” I kick my car door closed and swing his arm around my neck. He chokes off my air, but at least he moves forward.

  Three steps forward. One step back.

  That’s as far as we get before he falls to his knees and spews up every last thing he ate today.

  “No!” I cry out with frustration. Stepping around his head and avoiding the spew, I squat down and lift his face. “Please get up, Kane. I can’t lift you.”

  “Kiss me.” When he leans forward, I arch back so far I almost fall on my ass. “Come on, pretty girl. Lemme fuck you.”

  “No. Not fucking a man that’s got vomit in his mouth or cocaine in his blood. Come on.” Just like with the car but a thousand times harder, I push my hands under his sweaty arms and try not to gag at the stench of vomit. “Let me take you to bed.”

  “That’s what I just said, Blondie! Your brain getting in your hair?”

  If I wasn’t so concerned for his life, I’d laugh at his inability to form sentences.

  But I am scared.

  I’m fucking terrified.

  Just like last night when he was unconscious, I was vulnerable. I wasn’t safe. He’s conscious tonight, but he’s just as useless if someone stops us.

  I pull him up and hitch my bag over my shoulder, and with renewed energy, we move forward. I refuse to be caught down here with him this way. I refuse to be victimized again.

  Pushing through the shitty glass door that acts as security to this shitty building, we stumble to the bottom stair and look up with dread. Five flights of concrete stairs. No elevator. No escalator. Nothing but grit and a man stoned out of his head.

  “Alright.” Holding his weight up, I start up the first stair. One down, six-hundred-million to go. “What happened tonight, Kane? Why’d you take drugs?”

  “Had to.” His arm wraps around my shoulder until his palm rests over my boob, and each time his floppy hand brushes over my breast, he grins like a fool. “Abel will kill us if we say no. Nice titties, Blondie.”

  “Who is us? Who else?”

  “Jay.”

  “Who’s Jay?”

  “My best friend with an ugly ass. He was monster fuckin’ tonight, Blondie.” Stopping at the first landing, I pant and recoil back when he leans in and presses a vomity kiss to my hair. “Turned me the fuck on. I had one girl, but I wanted you.”

  “You called me?”

  “Yeah. I come home to you, beautiful. She was a virgin, but you’ve only been with peanuts, so you’re a virgin, too.”

  Moving up to the next flight, he overcorrects and slams me against the concrete wall. All two-hundred and more pounds of almost-unconscious muscle crushes me against the wall and constricts my lungs.

  “Get off me!”

  “Sorry.” Turning, he swings to the opposite side of the stairs and throws his head over the railings. With his bare back blocking my view of everything but an angry Grim Reaper and a handgun tucked into the back of his jeans, he throws up between the gap in the railing, and I grimace as lumpy liquid splashes against the tile at the bottom. “Fuck.” Groaning, he rests his arms on the rail and bends until his forehead rests on his arms. He shakes his head as his breath comes out on noisy rattle. “I dunno what he cut the coke with, Jessie. I don’t know what he did to me.”

  “We can still go to the hospital.” Stepping close to his head, I hold the rail with one hand – in case he swings out and sends me rolling down the stairs – as my other hand massages his scalp with my nails. “Please let me take you to the hospital. You’re scaring me.”

  “No.” He stands abruptly and knocks me back, just like I predicted. “I can’t. Not allowed.”

  “Why aren’t you allowed? Who said? Abel? Because I don’t particularly give a fuck what he wants right now.”

  “No.” He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head to clear away the fog. “Not Abel. Abel’s a pussy. Come on.” He throws a heavy arm over my shoulder and looks toward the next flight with a gray face. “Three more. We need to get inside.”

  “We should’ve gone to my place.” Grunting, I work him up the next flight. “I have no stairs, and no creeps hanging out in the yard.”

  “You wanna take me home to meet your folks, Jessie? Do you think I’d be allowed to sit at the table on Thanksgiving, or would they put me outside like a mutt dog?”

  “Do I look like the kinda girl who’d let you sit outside in the snow?”

  Snorting, he stops and clamps his mouth shut. Shaking his head, he grows heavier against me.

  “No,” I answer for him. “I don’t know if you noticed, but I get my way often. I wouldn’t make you sit outside. Will you let me get you a regular job, yet?” Turning at the landing, I sigh and lead him toward the next set. “Let me get you a job.”

  “I already got a job, Blondie. I get to carry guns.” Grinning, he bounces thick brows over glassy eyes. “Does that turn you on?”

  “No.”

  “Don’t worry about me, Jess. I got a job. How’m I supposed to take care of my girl if I got no job?”

  “What does Abel pay you?”

  “Cocaine and black eyes. Oh!” Knocking me to the side, he pushes his hands into his pocket. “Cocaine. I got a party bag, beautiful.”

  Pulling out a lunch bag filled to the top with white powder, he waves it around like it truly is a party bag filled with candy.

  “Kane!” I jump up to snatch it from his hands, but he simply yanks it out of my reach.

  “Nuh-uh. Don’t put your fingers on this, Blondie.” He shoves the bag back into his pocket. “Can’t have your fingerprints for when the cops come sniffing.”

  “You can’t have a bag of cocaine!” I’ve never in my life even tried a pot brownie, and yet, Kane stands half naked in his stairwell with a bag of cocaine that would be worth thousands on the street if he chose to sell. “Oh my God, you’re not gonna sell it, are you? Please don’t sell drugs. Please don’t be that guy.”

  “Not gonna sell it. It’s okay.” He trudges toward the final flight on his own, but before I can catch up and help, he trips on the bottom step and slams down onto the stairs. His face smacks against the concrete and blood splatters.

  “Kane!” I sprint the three feet between us and skid down onto my knees. “Come on. Come on. Come on.” Shoving my thumb against his eye, I pry the lid open to find the same fully dilated pupil he’s had since he got in my car. “Get up, please.” I’m so tired of him hurting himself. So tired of him being sick and sad. I cup his bleeding face. “Please get up, Kane. I need you to wake up. Stop being sick. I need you.”

  “Mm’okay.”

  “You’re not okay! You’re in the stairwell. Get up!”

  “Tired.”

  “No!” I’m so frustrated, I’m tempted to kick the shit out of him. “Get up! Get up! Get up! I’m never coming back again. If you let me down right now, I’m never coming back. You’re supposed to protect me.” I sob when his breath evens out. Slumping over him, I cry tears of heartbreak.

  I barely know this man, but his pain hurts me. He’s so unbelievably sick; so sleepy and defenseless, and the longer his eyes stay shut, the closer the shadows come. “I never needed to be saved before you. But now I need you. I need you to wake up. I need you to protect me. Please wake up.”

  “Need a hand, lady?”

  I jump to my feet with a cry. Arms flailing, legs flying, handbag slamming against my side, I back up until my heels touch Kane’s ribs. “Please go away.”

  A man – probably mid-thirties, with a slight stubble, and a red and black flannel shirt – stands at the top stair of the flight below us with his hands raised in surrender. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m sorry.”

  “Please leave.” Sniffling like a weak fool, I knuckle my tears away. “Please go away.”

  “Let me help you. Then I’ll leave
.”

  “No. We don’t need your help.”

  “I think you do, ma’am.” He nods toward my feet. “Your friend’s out cold, and you sure as shit can’t pick him up.”

  “I’ll sit right here with him till he wakes up.” Folding my arms across my chest in a faux show of bravery, I lift my chin like the spoiled princess Kane accuses me of being. “I’d rather sit out here with him than accept your help. Leave, or I’ll call the cops.”

  “The cops?” Moving up another step, our visitor lowers his hands and feigns casualness as convincingly as I do bravery. “You gonna call the po-po on a good samaritan?”

  “There are no good samaritans on this side of town. There’s kill or be killed, and I’m done being victimized. Leave now.”

  “Girlie, I’m telling you, I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to help, because you’re right, this area of town is fucked, and you’re making a bunch of noise in the stairwell.” Stepping close to the railing, he nods down through the gap.

  I take the bait and step closer to the railing. Peeking down, I find a dozen crackheads sticking their heads out of apartment doors.

  “I promise I’m not here to harm you. I just wanna help you get outta the hallway before they decide to come get your fancy purse.”

  My shoulders droop with defeat when I think of Kane’s non-existent locks. “Maybe I should take him back to my place. What if someone tries to get into his apartment?”

  “Set the alarms. It’ll be okay.”

  “He doesn’t have alarms.”

  Lifting his hands, the man steps closer until he’s within two feet of me and Kane. “You look pretty clever. I bet you can think something up.” Edging around me, he bends over Kane and brings him up to his feet. This man isn’t even close to Kane’s size, and though he’s not small, he isn’t packed with muscle the way Kane is. Yet, I watch him throw Kane into a fireman’s carry with ease. As the man turns to head up the stairs, I catch a glimpse of the Reaper, but more importantly, I see Kane’s gun. I lurch forward and snatch it out with a cry. I’ve never held a gun before in my life, but tonight seems to be a night of new experiences for me.