by Jamie Zakian
“Little girl?”
Dante’s voice flowed up the crooked steps, and Sasha ran toward it.
“Dante!” Her boots hit the dirt floor at the bottom of the steps, slipping. She teetered, bumped against a stone wall. Her mind whirled as Dante glared at her from behind rusted iron bars. There was no great bond between Sasha and Dante, yet panic ran through her. After what happened to her, she couldn’t bear to see another person trapped in a tiny cell.
“That’s fucked up,” Dante practically growled, reaching through the bars to point a stern finger at Sasha.
“I’m sorry.” Sasha rushed toward Dante’s cell, grabbed onto the cold bars. “I had no idea she’d take it this far. I thought they’d lock you in a fancy suite, with whores and a fruit tray or some shit. I didn’t even know they had a dungeon here.”
“So you’re just gonna play along, punish me because you can’t stand the fact I’m your real father?”
“No.” Sasha squeezed the iron bars, strained to keep from clutching onto Dante in search of comfort. He had saved her from a cell much like this one once. Although she was free to walk around as she pleased, it still felt like she was trapped inside that cell. That is, until Dante breezed back into her life.
“I’ll get you out of this shit. Here.” Sasha tore through her pockets, collecting handfuls of weed, papers, and cigarette packs. “Take this, to hold you over.” She shoved her stash onto Dante’s hands, the quake of her fingers slowing at the feel of his skin. “This type of shit usually takes lengthy negotiations.”
Dante tucked the weed into his pocket and lit a cigarette. “You’re bullshitting me. You probably set this up so you can run off with Ellen.”
“I swear.” Sasha pushed her shaky hands into the cell, latched onto Dante’s arm. She kept her stare low, away from the metal cot in the corner. “I don’t want you in here. I’m gonna get you out.”
“Go,” Dante said, wiggling out of Sasha’s grip.
“What?”
“I’m good.” Dante reached through the bars, took ahold of Sasha’s trembling hand, and squeezed lightly. “You shouldn’t be in a place like this. Go on, little girl. Get the fuck out of here.”
The words were like a sledgehammer, breaking free an invisible shackle. Sasha sprinted up the stairs. She wanted to look back, flash a comforting smile Dante’s way, but fear wouldn’t allow for it.
“I’ll get you out,” she yelled over her shoulder before bursting through the doorway at the top of the stairs. The walls swayed, her lungs clenched shut. She had to keep going, escape this corridor where sun didn’t shine, breathe in air that flowed on a warm breeze.
Sasha pushed her wobbly legs, forced them to move faster. Sweat poured from her brow, doing nothing to cool the heated waves rolling beneath her skin. She glimpsed a hint of light beaming through a door’s seams. The tiny shimmer strengthened her will, cleared her blurry vision. Her hand steadied, enough to grip the handle, and she yanked the door open.
The gleam of metal appliances greeted her and a brightly lit, empty kitchen welcomed her to stay. She slammed the door shut behind her, gasping to catch her fleeting breath. The momentary lapse of courage, which had carried her punk-ass this far, fled her body. She slid down the wall, pulled her knees to her chest. Tears streamed from her eyes, thumped along the scars on her cheeks, and she wiped them away. This couldn’t happen. She couldn’t lose her shit here, alone in Mexico, so close to her mother’s touch.
Within her mind, Sasha screamed at her muscles to quit their quivering. Much to her surprise, her body actually listened this time. She rose from the floor, lifted her chin high, and left the kitchen.
***
Sasha stepped out of the shower, careful to avoid the mirror. She snatched a towel off the silver rack and wrapped it tight around her mangled body. The icy water had done wonders at chilling out her fiery soul. If only she had a joint.
Water dripped, splashing the marble floor as Sasha opened the bathroom door. She stopped short once she caught sight of Angelina sprawled out on her bed puffing on a freshly lit doobie.
“Hey,” Sasha said, hurrying to dress.
Angelina rolled onto her side, held the joint out to Sasha. “Who is that man to you?”
“What’s this now?” Sasha took the joint, turning her back to Angelina. The seconds of distraction that puffing and brushing her hair provided was enough time for her to come up with a ton of bullshit, but she was so sick of lying.
“I had cameras installed last year, everywhere. The kitchen, every bedroom.” Angelina pointed up, at the oversized smoke detector on the ceiling. “Even in the old parts of the house and basement.”
Sasha sat on the edge of the bed, keeping her back to Angelina. The girl behind her had only seen the hard Sasha, and the pout stuck on her lips clashed with that façade.
“I think you know who he is.”
“I do,” Angelina said, scooting closer to Sasha. “And I know what happened to you, and that the people who hurt you disappeared when you rose from the dead.”
Sasha could feel the warm body behind her damn near vibrating. If she tilted back, just a tad, she’d fall against a soft chest. There was a good chance delicate hands would hold her, but she didn’t budge. Her entire life, she’d used people to fulfill her needs. She wouldn’t do it again, not to the daughter of a man she considered family.
Angelina crawled to the edge of the bed, stared at the side of Sasha’s face. Sasha glanced Angelina’s way for only a split-second, which lured Angelina even closer to her.
“Why won’t you look at me, Sasha?”
Angelina’s hand landed on Sasha’s shoulder. The grip, although light and tender, seemed to have enough power to crush the frosty layer that clutched her bones.
“Did you know,” Angelina said, caressing Sasha’s arm. “I had a huge crush on you when I was fourteen? You blew into town, took out all those men, and the people whispered your name for years. After that, I was never able to let a man touch me again.”
That drew Sasha’s gaze, her wide eyes veering to Angelina. “You were having sex at fourteen?”
“Weren’t you?”
Sasha shrugged. She shouldn’t be used as an example, for anything. “I’m sorry I ruined sex for you.”
“Oh no.” Angelina planted her hand on the mattress, leaned against Sasha’s chest. “I have a wonderful sex life, now that I know what I want.”
A sexy, young woman pinned Sasha to the bed. It was strange. Sasha was the one who made women’s bodies quiver, who warped their rational thoughts to wild, lusty desires. She played the man. Yet here she was, on her back, a prisoner to her trembling muscles and Angelina’s sensuous leer.
Angelina’s lips brushed Sasha’s neck. When hard nipples rubbed against Sasha’s chest, she gripped onto Angelina’s hips. The idea was to push Angelina away. Sasha was a fucking idiot. She should’ve known once her hands clutched onto luscious curves, they wouldn’t be letting go.
“This isn’t right,” Sasha managed to mutter. It was amazing her brain allowed for speech at a time like this. Strands of silky hair caressed her skin. The scent of roses and vanilla filled her head. Just the fact she could produce a single word was a goddamn miracle.
Angelina glided her hands along Sasha’s arms, across her palms, locking their fingers together. “I’ve fucked every juera who stumbled into my country, but none of them were you. You’re even more fierce and beautiful than the first time I saw you.”
A passionate kiss landed on Sasha’s lips, shocking her. It took a few seconds and the sliding of Angelina’s tongue into her mouth before Sasha pulled away.
“I can’t.”
“You can’t?” Angelina said, climbing atop Sasha’s lap. “Or you won’t.”
It was a tough question, one Sasha had a bit of trouble answering. Won’t was such a harsh word. It ruled out so many possibilities.
Sasha looked up at Angelina, finding a naughty stare. One glimpse of that girl’s crooked smirk, and Sas
ha’s already low morals blew to dust. “I can’t,” she mumbled, chewing back a smile.
“Okay.” Angelina leaned down, kissed Sasha on the neck. “You don’t have to do anything, amor.” The soft lips tickling Sasha’s ear came with tingles of mind-numbing proportions. “Just lay back, let me take care of you.”
Any attempt to resist would be useless at this point. Sasha’s tank top had already been hiked up, and Angelina’s tongue was on its way down her neck. Angelina was so powerful, so strong. Sasha had never been handled this way by a woman before. It excited the fuck out of her. If this was how all those girls she fucked felt while trapped in her clutches, she was owed a whole mess of thank you letters.
Chapter Nineteen
Somewhere between the three orgasms Sasha had, and the five she gave, sunlight faded to night. She should enjoy this. A tranquil buzz radiated throughout her body, which was currently snuggled against a naked woman, but she couldn’t relax. Every second she wasted was another second her mother had to sneak off, disappear into the millions of other faces in the world. Plus, her level of scumbag was verging epic. Not only was she rolling in a soft bed with a gorgeous young woman while Dante withered away in a dark cell, but she’d cheated on Vinny. Already.
“Angel?” Sasha sat up, which pulled Angelina’s lips off her shoulder.
“He’s down the hall,” Angelina said, hopping off the bed.
“What?” Sasha grabbed the joint from the ashtray, watching Angelina wiggle back into her tight jeans.
“Dante.” Angelina pulled on her halter top then plucked the joint from Sasha’s lips. “Your real father. I had him confined to the suite at the end of the hall. Gave him a few whores and a fruit plate.”
A smile lifted Sasha’s cheeks as she leaned closer to Angelina. “Seriously?”
“Of course.” Angelina planted a quick kiss on Sasha’s lips before shoving the joint back between them. “You’re family. I’ll do anything for you.”
Sasha climbed off the bed, collecting her clothes. “We can’t be family anymore. You just fucked the shit out of me, and family don’t do that.”
Angelina leaned against the closed bedroom door, her gaze narrowed on Sasha. “We can do anything in my world. You should stay here, with me.”
It was a gracious offer, delivered in a chilling tone. Something told Sasha it wouldn’t matter how she answered. If a spoiled teenager with an army of seasoned killers wanted something, that spoiled teenager would get it. Fucking the sexy, young chick didn’t seem like such a great idea now.
“I have a son, with a man I really care about back in the states.”
That would’ve ended the conversation, in a perfect world. Unfortunately, Sasha had created a world of shit for herself to live in.
“You can bring them here,” Angelina said, her face completely blank and unreadable. “I don’t mind sharing. We’ll talk more, at dinner. Finish getting dressed. I’ll get Dante.”
“What? Now wait a minute.” Sasha hurried across the room, but Angelina slipped out the door and slammed it in Sasha’s face.
“Oh…” Sasha raised her hand, palm out. “…no she didn’t.” Sasha might have to bitchslap that little brat. Or better yet, she’d wait and let her mother do it.
***
Sasha hurried down the wide staircase. Her boots squeaked against marble tile when she hit the bottom and cut to the left. Candlelight gleamed from the dining room’s doorway. Sasha practically barged inside the room, stopping short. Dante sat alone at a long table, eclipsed by the shimmer of china plates and real silver silverware, and Sasha almost hugged him. The way Dante jumped up from his chair, rocking in place…it looked like the man wanted to hug her too. The whole situation was a bit unsettling, and extremely awkward.
“Hey,” Sasha said as she dropped onto the chair across from Dante.
“You came through, little girl.” Dante smiled—a true, warm smile—and Sasha actually felt like a little girl staring up at her daddy. “But I knew you would.” He sat back in his seat, glancing at the fancy spread of gold-rimmed plates and wine glasses around the table. “I like your girlfriend’s style.”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” Sasha said, a little too fast. She forced her tight shoulders to loosen. “Angelina is an old family friend.”
“Right.” Dante leaned onto the table, staring into Sasha’s eyes. “Are we prisoners again? Because it’s hard to tell with all the women, liquor, and great food.”
“We’re not gonna be prisoners.”
“Aw, shit.” Dante pulled a pack of smokes from his pocket and lit one up. “We’re fucked.”
In a thump of combat boots, Angelina and her entourage of gun-toting men strolled into the room. “I have good news,” Angelina said, plopping into her chair. “My man has an address to go with your coordinates. It’s only ten miles from here.”
Sasha sat up straight. It took everything she had to keep from running out the house and into the desert to scream her mother’s name.
“I’ll assemble a team,” Angelina said. She gestured to the wait-staff across the room, which sent them into a fluster. “After dinner. Maybe we’ll go in right before dawn, si.”
Dante coughed, shifted in his seat, cleared his throat, but Sasha refused to look his way. It was best for everybody that she stared at her wine glass. To see annoyance on Dante’s face, the asshole who started this jumble-fuck, would only flare her temper. And Angelina. Her dear friend, her hottest lay, the girl who’d given her the best night she’d had in years sounded so excited. She’d never wanted Angelina to be one of the many people crushed beneath her train-wreck of a life, but it was too late. She’d fucked the girl. Now she had to hurt the girl. It wasn’t what she liked, just what she did.
A plate of crazy looking food that was either cut to resemble a bouquet or was actual flowers landed in front of Sasha and she leaned back. “Angel—”
“Leave us,” Angelina said. Before her arm could wave, the room cleared, leaving Sasha to stare into Dante’s nervous eyes and Angelina’s pissed off glare.
“You’re not going to stay with me, are you?” Angelina asked through clenched teeth.
Sasha stared down the table at Angelina, holding a hard edge to her gaze. “No, I’m not. But if you need anything, I’m always a phone call away.”
Angelina drummed her fingers on the table. Not one hint of emotion crossed her face. Sasha had expected shouting, foot-stomping, maybe a gun to the head, but silence was far worse. A bullet could be seconds from Sasha’s brain, and she wouldn’t know what the fuck had happened until her ass was roasting in Hell.
“I see,” Angelina said, settling back in her chair. “You’re a hard one to get, Sasha Ashby. But you will be mine.” The words were spoken in such a flirty tone, they could never be mistaken for a threat. “I can wait, amor. Family life isn’t for you. You belong here, with me, where the action is. You’ll see.”
It could be true, probably wasn’t, but damn well could be. Sasha snickered, until Dante chuckled. Then she grumbled.
“And you,” Angelina said, turning her stare to Dante. “Is there something wrong with the girls I sent you?”
Dante stopped picking at his food and set down his fork. “The girls were hot as hell, muy bien,” he said in a choppy, thick-tongued attempt at Spanish.
“Then why you no fuck them?” Angelina asked with a mouthful of what turned out to be tamales wrapped in cornhusks.
“She has cameras,” Sasha said, pointing at the ceiling. “In every room.” The fluster that lit Dante’s eyes warmed Sasha’s soul. It was worth keeping the guy around, permanently, if only to watch him squirm.
“I have a woman,” Dante said, into his lap. Must be a pep talk he had with his cock on a daily basis, because it sounded rehearsed. “I cheated on her once. I’ll never do it again.”
“Aw,” Angelina said, pushing her plate aside to lean on the table and swoon over Dante. “It’s so romántico, no?”
“No,” Sasha sneered, narrowing
her gaze on Dante. “It’s bullshit. He knew your girls would tell you, and you’d tell me. The fucker’s just slinging angles, trying to get back in my mother’s good graces, and he thinks I can do that for him.”
Angelina stared at Dante, a slow nod rocking her head. “Serpiente,” she said, before turning to face Sasha. “You see. That’s why I need you by my side. You can teach me how to spot puto liars.”
“That, my dear, is a talent you can only acquire through experience,” Sasha said, tearing into her food.
“You sound just like my father.”
That was one pretty amazing compliment, and a man Sasha was proud to be compared to. She grabbed her wine glass, lifted it high. “To Felix.”
After glasses clinked and smiles faded, Dante cleared his throat. “In all honesty, Sasha is right. The man she knows would’ve ran that very con, but I’m not that man anymore.” He pulled the little black ring box from his pocket, running his thumb along its felt top.
“I think he’s serious,” Angelina said, gesturing to Dante. “The man has la mirada de amor.”
“We’ll see,” Sasha muttered. There was no way she could eat now, after Dante murdered her appetite. If he was for real, the man had far more willpower than she could ever hope to possess. If it was lies, she was slipping. Either way, her affection for Dante was starting to outweigh the hatred she harbored toward him, and it fucking sucked. Hating was easier than forgiving, than love.
“So.” Angelina rang a crystal bell, which triggered a rush of men in butler suits to file into the room. Plates were cleared, and ashtrays full of cigarettes and joints were set in the center of the table. “What shall we do while we wait for dawn? I just opened a donkey show in town, brings in lots of turistas.”