Pawns In The Bishop's Game

by Emilia Finn

  “Blondie…” My voice cracks. “Hey, beautiful.”

  “I’ll kill you, Bishop.” Her usually plump lips press into a thin line that promise death. Tears slide along her cheeks as the shaking in her hands intensifies. “I kept you alive last night just so I could kill you when you woke.”

  I drop my pain filled legs over the side of my bed and work to sit up. “Blondie.” Clearing my throat, I clamp my eyes shut until the room stops spinning. “Can you come over here? That’s a long way to walk, and I dunno if I can do it without falling on my face.”

  “No.” Lifting the gun higher, she aims at my chest rather than my knees. The shaking intensifies to the point even my foggy brain stops and realizes she might actually shoot me. “No, Kane. I can’t come over there. My ass is numb, my legs are numb, my hands won’t stop shaking. I kept you from dying approximately six-hundred times last night. I stuck my fingers in your throat because you were choking. I held you while you had seizures, and I’m pretty sure I saw your brain leaking out of your ears. Nobody has ever traumatized me the way you did, Kane. Nobody has ever made me worry like you did, and that includes the guy who had his fingers in my pussy two nights ago.”

  The shaking in her furious voice hurts my gut more than the poison ever did.

  “Jess…” Rubbing a hand over my eyes, I shake my head and pray I don’t vomit anymore. “I’m sorry. I didn’t do it on purpose.”

  “Your fever broke about four this morning. And when my eyes were finally closing, when I was sure that I’d wake again if I heard you choke, someone was trying to break into your apartment. It’s now,” she checks the phone by her leg, “nine. I’ve been sitting against this door for five hours, because your pots and pans weren’t fucking working!”

  She climbs to her feet on shaky legs, drawing my attention to her pale flesh. My eyes run up her body – her feet, her legs, an inch of sexy belly.

  Then I stop on the still pointed gun.

  “Actually…” Poke the beast. Go for it, Kane. Because obviously you aren’t done dying. “The pans aren’t there to stop anyone from coming in. They’re there to let me know if someone’s trying to get in. So really, they did their job.”

  “I heard dozens of gunshots overnight.”

  Lifting my head, I meet her gaze with a single eye. “Yeah? That happens a lot. Lots of bad people in this area.”

  “Yep.” She takes a step closer. “Gunshots. People knocking on doors. I was offered three separate whore jobs in the five hours I sat at the door.”

  “You’re very beautiful. I’m not surprised.”

  “Pretty sure I heard a baby being born. A woman being raped. Die Hard the movie on someone’s TV three blocks away.”

  “Okay.” I turn to my bedside table and find a half-full glass of water – the floating chunks bring memories of sips after vomiting, shaking hands, and a crying woman helping me not die. “Would you mind getting me a little water? I don’t think I can stand.” I don’t think I can sit anymore, either. Slumping back, I hit the pillow with a grunt and close my eyes. “Put the gun down, Blondie. I’m not fit to rush you to the hospital right now.”

  “I’m gonna shoot you, not me. You don’t seem to grasp how fucking angry I am.”

  “I get it, Blondie. I promise.” I turn to my side and try not to cry like a baby. “But my body really can’t play right now. I’m sorry.” I bring my legs up and hug them to my chest. “No one would come looking, beautiful. You said it yourself, you heard gunshots. Did you go looking?”

  “No.”

  “Right. And I promise, you’re the most upstanding person in a twelve block radius. If you didn’t go looking, no one else will.”

  “Perfect.”

  I spring to my feet as the canon blast of my Glock .45 deafens me. Smoke plumes from the corner of my mattress where a hole now ruins my bedding. “What the fuck?” Scrunching my face, I push fingers into my ears to clear away the ringing and dizziness. “You fucking shot at me!”

  “I told you I would!” Fury filled, she storms forward and drops the gun to the bed before she slams sloppy fists against my stomach. Finally, the dam breaks and her quiet rage turn to a torrent of sobbing. “I told you I’d shoot! I told you I just had the scariest night of my life. And even if you were right here, I was all alone! I thought you would die.” I clamp her hands together and stop her attack. She struggles against me, but I climb off my bed and stand toe-to-toe. “I don’t forgive you, Kane! I don’t like you. I don’t want to know you. I stayed because I’m the most upstanding person in a twelve block radius and I didn’t want you to die, but now you’re awake, I’m done!” She attempts to push me back, but I refuse to release her hands. Even weak as a baby, I refuse to release her. “Let me go! I liked you because you made me feel safe. Even with how your life is and who your friends are and the really horrible fucking career you chose, you made me feel safe!”

  “Blondie–”

  “I wasn’t safe last night! I’ve never been so scared in my life. I’ve never had my heart pound as fast as it did for so long. Each time the hall would go quiet, you’d choke on your fucking tongue and I’d have to deep throat you to get it out again.”

  “Thank you for helping me.”

  “Fuck you, asshole! I should’ve let you die. That’s one less drug dealer on the street – one less criminal – and one less girl that might be broken because of you.”

  “Stop.” I use whatever last remnants of strength I possess and shake her until her teeth rattle. “Stop hitting me! Jessie, stop.” I wrap my arms around her shoulders and squeeze her until her cheek smooshes against my chest. “Please stop. I know you’re mad. I know you were scared. I’m sorry. I didn’t set out to kill myself last night. It wasn’t my fault.”

  “It was your fault! Every choice you make is yours to make!”

  “I can’t defy Abel! I can’t tell him no.”

  “Yes. You. Can!” She slams her fists between us. “You choose to work for him. I’ve given you sixty billion alternatives for work, but you choose to do what you do and now I’m fucking traumatized.”

  “Baby, it’s not that simple.”

  “I will always see your blue lips when I go to bed. Every time I close my eyes, I’ll remember your convulsing body. Every time I have a minute alone in the quiet, I’ll remember sitting against a door and pushing back with all my strength because someone wanted to come in. If they got in, would you have protected me? No! Because you took drugs and nearly killed yourself!”

  “I’m sorry.” Despite the rot in my mouth, I press a kiss to her hair. Then her brow. Then her temple. “I’m so sorry. I swear I didn’t do what I did just for fun. I’d never have put you in danger if I knew. Last night was a clusterfuck of bad decisions, but I swear, I never would’ve called you if I knew what was happening.”

  “If you didn’t call me, then you’d be dead!” She slams her fist into my chest and pushes a river of vomit up my esophagus. My brain feels too big for my skull. My ears ring from the gunshot and her screaming. My eyes are like balls of lava. And yet, I keep holding on. “You’d be in a virgin’s bed,” she snaps. “She wouldn’t be a virgin anymore, mind you. You’d have fucked until she bled, then you’d die, because after you raped her, she sure as shit wouldn’t have helped you. Is that what you want for your life, Kane? Because that’s where your shitty fucking choices are taking you.”

  “No. It’s not that black and white, Jessie. It’s–”

  “Stop calling me Jessie! Don’t call me baby. Don’t fucking touch me.” My phone rings on repeat from somewhere in the room, but I have bigger things to worry about as she kicks and scratches. “You have claw marks on your hands! That’s from the girl you were given last night? Was she good? Did she have a nice, tight cunt?”

  “No! I didn’t… How much did I talk last night?”

  “You talked enough that I should’ve let you choke!”

  “Then you know I didn’t touch her! I got her ass out of the club and handed her over to
someone who’d get her home. I didn’t do anything wrong except what I had to do to avoid a bullet in my brain. My head hurts right now, Jess. Not a headache, but brain-explosion fucking pain. You’re screaming at me, but I’m too woozy to process your words before you scream some more. I did my job last night. I didn’t mean to put you in danger. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  Waves roar in my head and make me dizzy. Pushing her back, I sprint for my bathroom and drop to my knees. I don’t get the lid all the way up before boiling hot stomach acid splashes on my hand and wrings me inside out.

  Her stomping around my living room doesn’t stop the river of bile tearing up my throat. The sound of my cell phone blaring does nothing to slow the pain or wracking heaves. The movement of my pots and pans makes my heart lurch, but the vomit refuses to stop.

  The front door slams closed and splinters my heart, but still, the cocaine and whatever else I ingested refuses mercy until my body is empty.

  Each breath I drag in restarts the nausea. Each beat of my heart booms in my head. What the fuck did he cut the coke with?

  I’ve been working for Abel for more than a year.

  Last night was not the first night I’ve tested product for him.

  But I’ve never in my life felt the way I feel right now.

  Sweat beads on my forehead and my hands shake. The racing of my heart terrifies me that I’m in for a round two of last night, but this time, I’m at the mercy of the universe.

  Jess is gone and I’m left by myself.

  No one will save me.

  Groaning, I push away from the toilet and crawl toward the shower. Just like Jess two nights ago, I flip the taps on – but I go with ice cold to her boiling hot – and when the freezing torrent splashes against my bare back, I drop to my ass and rest my elbows on my lifted knees.

  Was Abel purposely trying to kill us?

  19

  Jess

  Feed The Beast

  I stomp out of Jonah’s store with a loaf of bread, a tub of butter, a gallon of orange juice, and a bad fucking mood. Swinging the bags in my arms, I open my car door and fling them inside.

  I’m pissed. I’m worried. I’m furious. But I’m still worried.

  I can’t take control of my emotions, so instead of forcing it, I’m just going to buy some fucking bread and juice.

  I flop into the driver’s seat and slam the keys into the ignition. I barely even react to the tug of my stitches anymore. They were a lifetime ago. A whole other event that, while the center of my universe a week ago, they’re now a tickle in my side that I remember only when my shirt brushes against them.

  They haven’t dissolved yet, but my cut is healing. They’re no longer red and sore, though I am still putting the stupid cream on twice a day.

  Because I take medical advice from a criminal, it would seem.

  I put my car into gear and pull away from the convenience store on Main Street. Taking a ten minute detour, I run inside my still empty apartment and toss fresh clothes into my backpack. Toothbrush, hairbrush, panties, deodorant. The underwear I borrowed from Kane – was that only yesterday? – sit at the top of my dirty clothes hamper. Rushing past, I grab the pile and twist them so if my sister comes in here, she won’t find a man’s pair of boxer shorts on top.

  She wouldn’t give me trouble about it. But she’d ask questions I don’t have the answers to right now.

  I’m mad at my sister too, seeing as she’s always with her stupid boyfriend rather than at home. Best friends since the womb, we shared a bed right up until junior high. We didn’t want to be apart, but now that Graham’s in the picture, she never has time for me.

  I’m pissed that she chooses him over us.

  But as I rush past Kane’s case files on my bed, I realize I’m the pot. Or the kettle. One of them. I chose Kane instead of spending time with my sister, and now I’ve radically slingshot away from everything I know and have become an accessory to god knows how many crimes.

  I know of deaths.

  I know of drugs.

  I wasn’t lying when I said someone was raped in the apartment building last night. The old me would’ve reported that in an instant, but the new me kept her mouth shut and her eyes closed. I had my own problems, and no inclination to step outside that apartment.

  Self-preservation 101; I’m trading other people for my own life.

  Why?

  Because of a man.

  How dare I get mad at my sister for dating a regular guy, a real estate agent, a guy that takes her on regular dates and buys her flowers, when the guy I’m kinda – not really – dating is a fucking criminal whose actions continue to compound?

  Hypocrite!

  Now, the girl who’s never done a damn thing wrong in her life – the girl who literally snitched on her friends for stealing candy bars when we were seven because I was so worried we’d be caught and it would forever remain on my record – that girl, the goodie-goodie is shooting at men and declaring a forever silence on his past crimes so long as he stops committing them.

  I’m such a bad person.

  Swinging my bag over my shoulder and passing through the kitchen to make a to-go cup of coffee, I collect my things and move back to the car. Less than ten minutes after locking my front door, I pull up next to the stinky dumpster in Kane’s parking lot and switch my car off.

  It’s closer to ten now. A lot of people in this small town are at church. But of course, the people in Kane’s life skulk around corners and peek at me as I collect my things from the passenger seat.

  Last week I’d have been terrified.

  Hell, even yesterday, this would’ve had sweat sliding along my spine.

  But I’ve officially reached my limit. I’m done.

  Swinging my backpack over my left shoulder and taking my coffee in my left hand, I grab the shopping bag in my right and slam the car door closed. Standing at the hood and looking up to Kane’s apartment window, I catch sight of that creep, Murphey, in my peripherals. Braver now, instead of skittering away like a coward, I turn and meet his dead eyes with my own.

  “If you come near me,” I speak loud enough that he’ll hear, “if you so much as touch your dick while I can see, I’ll take the fishing knife from my pocket and cut your dick off. I’m done. I’m already a criminal, therefore, you’re the only one here with something to lose. You see this coffee in my hand? You see the steam coming out the top?” The man watches me with equal parts worry and defiance. “I’ll dunk your dick in the boiling liquid. I’ll slice if off, boil it, then I’ll feed it back to you while you bleed out. Does that sound like fun?”

  Yellowing eyes flick between mine and my coffee. A week of growth on his jaw and throat can’t cover the way his Adam’s apple bobs nervously.

  “Answer me, motherfucker!”

  “No.” Clearing his throat, he steps back until half his body is covered by the corner of the building. “Not fun.”

  “Right. So stay the hell away from me. Stay away from 5A. Go have a shower and get a fucking job, you derelict loser.”

  His head bobs nervously. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Yes, ma’am. Exactly!

  I juggle my things and work a ten dollar bill out of my back pocket. Setting it on the ground, I place a rock over it and meet Murphey’s eyes. “Leave me alone, and you can eat fancy today.”

  Those yellowed eyes light up like a kid on Christmas morning. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Good.” A truce made, I stomp across the parking lot, push through the security glass door, and hit the first flight of stairs at a jog.

  Like every other time I’ve been here, heads poke out of doorways, the sounds of TVs blast through thin walls, and people grab their dicks like they think that’s inviting enough that I’ll drop to my knees.

  I give them no reaction.

  No whimpers of fright.

  No mouthful of attitude.

  I give them nothing but the ice princess impersonation I’ve somehow mastered in the last hour. But it all comes to
a screeching halt when I reach the fourth-floor landing and come to a dead stop at a familiar face.

  Red and black flannel shirt, sandy blonde hair and light stubble, he stands in a doorway with his left ankle kicked over the right and a broad hand scratching his jaw.

  “I’m forgetting I ever met you.” Eyes down, I continue past him to the next flight. “You told me to forget. I’m asking you the same thing.”

  “Did he die?”

  “No.”

  “Did you accidentally shoot off a round? I warned you not to play with guns.”

  “I shot, but it wasn’t an accident.”

  His light eyes twinkle with humor. “Ya know, it would seem I’m in the apartment directly below the one you spent the night in.”

  “Okay. Don’t care. Go away.”

  “Your gunshot woke me the fuck up.”

  “Uh-huh. Loads of gunshots kept me awake last night. I absolutely don’t give a shit that you were woken up in the middle of the damn morning.”

  His chest bounces with laughter. “Right, that’s true. Lots of crime around here. Lots of assholes. Those gunshots in the street are barely a bother, but the bullet zinging through my ceiling was something else entirely. You had me hauling my naked ass into the bathroom and bunkering down until the war ended.”

  That brings me to a dead stop. “It went through the ceiling?” I look up, like I’d magically find a bullet hole. “Did I nearly kill you?”

  He points at his ribs, at the same spot stitches hold me together, and lifts a brow. “It was a kill shot, lady. I’m a little offended you tried to kill me after I helped last night.”

  “I didn’t try to kill you. I tried to kill him.”

  “Why’d you try to kill him?” He laughs. “Last night you were all about saving his life. But Sunday arrives and you figure you’d be happy to help him along the path to church? You on the rag or something?”

  I lift my juice-carrying arm and point a dangerous finger. “You’re an asshole. Next time, I’ll aim a little more to the right and help you find God that much sooner. Go away. We’re forgetting we know each other. Stop skulking around halls, it’s creepy and might get you shot.”