Speakeasy Sweetheart

by Clare Murray

  “Did you two come to Coney Island often?”

  “We made it here every month in the high season. We saved up any extra money we got from shining shoes. Didn’t buy us very much, but we could generally afford a hot dog and sometimes one cheap ride.”

  How different their childhoods had been, Sasha mused. Maybe it was true what they said about opposites attracting. She finished her last bite of hot dog and took a sip of root beer. “What’s it like here at night?”

  “We’re going to be leaving way before sunset, baby,” Blaze said quickly.

  She looked sidelong at his profile. He was still worried about Cornell, wasn’t he? “I really don’t think—” she began.

  “I’m not risking your safety.” His tone brooked no argument.

  “Surely Cornell won’t be here,” Sasha said. She was beginning to regret the change of topic.

  “The man has killed three singers and I’ll not have you be the fourth.” Blaze turned to regard her, some of his sternness evaporating in a brief smile. “Even if you do have mustard on your nose.”

  Mortified, Sasha clapped a napkin to her face. She was relieved when Blaze leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “Don’t worry, you’re still gorgeous.”

  “Do you think so?” Damn, she was totally losing her sarcastic edge, leaving herself open for pain.

  “Yes, sweetheart. You’re just my type.”

  She released the breath she barely knew she was holding. Carefully, she scrubbed her nose clean and wadded up the napkin. “Before we leave, I’ll just visit the, um—” What did they call bathrooms in the twenties? “The facilities across the road.”

  “I’ll walk you over.”

  Sasha supposed she was lucky he didn’t insist upon coming inside with her. She hurried into the bathroom. As she was washing her hands, she spotted someone behind her.

  “Louella?”

  The blonde waved. “You’re the singer from Friday night!”

  “That’s me.” In the mirror, Sasha studied Louella’s face. Her hair was lank and her face drawn. She didn’t look as if she was here to enjoy herself. There was a slight familiarity about her, something about the shape of her face, that reminded her of…who?

  “What are you doing on Coney Island?” Sasha asked, aware that she was staring a bit too hard.

  Louella grimaced. “I’m sorry. It was either follow you or stand out in the cold looking for johns.”

  Two men emerged from behind the door, moving silently and quickly. Before she could attempt to flee, one of them pressed a cloth to her nose and mouth.

  Sasha inadvertently took a deep breath, almost choking as she kicked wildly. The room spun, everything blending together. She tried to cry out but the sound was quickly muffled.

  Everything turned black.

  Chapter Six

  Blaze hadn’t expected to so thoroughly enjoy himself on Coney Island. He’d anticipated painful memories of Sean to haunt him around every corner. But with Sasha at his side, joy was beginning to return to his life. The fact that he could afford unlimited rides, games and hot dogs was the icing on the cake.

  He should buy something for his nephew. The delight on the little boy’s face would outweigh the annoyance of Dougal’s inevitable gloating. His older brother seemed to have made it a mission in life to get Blaze to do frivolous things again. Dougal heartily disapproved of Blaze’s contacts in the underworld, his relentless stalking of Cornell.

  His parents did as well. They wanted him to let things be. They didn’t understand that he just couldn’t do that. Of course he understood that giving justice to Cornell wouldn’t bring his brother back. But it would sure put his mind at ease.

  Especially now that Sasha was a target.

  He frowned. She was taking a long time in there. He glanced at the clock. He’d give her the better part of a minute, and then he would go inside, social mores be damned.

  Counting under his breath, he opened the door to the female side of the restrooms. A woman standing at the sinks gaped at him.

  “Did you see a young lady in here?” he demanded. “Dark-red hair, medium height.”

  “Th-the men were taking someone like that out the back door. She was hurt, they said.”

  A litany of curses flooded his mind. Not one left his lips. He was too busy conserving breath to pursue his woman.

  Blaze sprinted down the hallway, bursting out into a side street. His heart hammered in terror—had he lost her? He knew Cornell would have no qualms about killing her.

  When he had first begun pursuing Cornell after Sean’s death, Blaze had thought to turn the man in to the police. People called him crazy for going after the untouchable Cornell, the man rich enough to pay off the cops and smart enough not to provoke them very far.

  He berated himself for not being ruthless enough. He should have gunned Cornell down in cold blood instead of wasting time gathering evidence. Blaze made an inarticulate sound of fury, looking up and down the alley. Where was she?

  A flash of movement caught his attention, and he was off again, running flat out in the direction of Surf Avenue. This was no time to doubt himself, no time for second guesses.

  There! He caught a glimpse of Sasha’s auburn hair as her head lolled worryingly in the back of a dark green coupe. The engine roared into life as the driver scrambled into the front seat.

  What had they done to her? Where were they taking her?

  Blaze yanked open the door of a nearby cab. “Follow that Pierce-Arrow,” he snarled. “The green one.”

  The driver nodded, taking in Blaze’s general appearance with a judicious eye. Evidently deciding his passenger could afford the fare, he merged into traffic.

  “Do it discreetly if possible,” Blaze ordered.

  Gripping the seat, he stared out the window from underneath the brim of his fedora, keeping the hat tilted at a slight angle. If her captors looked back, he didn’t want them to recognize him. In front, the driver wisely remained silent, concentrating on navigating his way through traffic.

  I can’t lose her.

  The words became a mantra in time to the chug of the cab’s engine. His gaze fixed hungrily on the top of Sasha’s head. Propped in the backseat between two people he didn’t recognize, she remained unmoving.

  Would her captors notice the cab on their tail? By the time they reached the Brooklyn Bridge, the cab driver had dropped back several cars. They continued on into Manhattan, in the direction of Hell’s Kitchen, and Blaze began to think he might know where they were going.

  Just in time too.

  “Lost him,” the driver said crisply. “Sorry about that.”

  “Turn left.” Blaze’s voice came out cooler than he thought it might. He wanted to tear everything apart with his bare hands until he got his Sasha back.

  “Now hang a right,” he snapped.

  “It’s a dead end—”

  But Blaze was already thrusting a handful of cash at the driver. Flinging the cab door open, he charged down the side road, praying his instincts had led him to the right spot.

  Sasha was vaguely cognizant that she was in a moving car. Going somewhere, but where? Where was Blaze?

  “She’s coming to.” The male voice was too harsh to belong to Blaze.

  Sasha kept herself limp, forcing herself to stay as still as possible, even when the car lurched around a corner.

  “No she’s not.” Louella’s voice.

  She shouldn’t feel so betrayed by Louella, Sasha told herself. The blonde only knew her as a random singer. They’d met for five minutes backstage. Besides, if she hadn’t taken Sasha’s arm and led her toward the stage, she would probably have walked back through the door.

  Away from Blaze.

  Away from this splendid, crazy, unforgettable adventure.

  And back to—what? Her alcoholic father and a menial job? Months spent pining for her ex?

  Sasha truly wanted to stay here. Well, she amended, not here, here. In the Jazz Age with Blaze. She just needed to
find some way to escape this car first.

  “Hurry up. I don’t want this dame coming ’round on the streets. Pull down the next street and we’ll go through the back.” The man spoke again.

  “The things we do for Cornell.” A second male voice. The driver? Sasha didn’t dare open her eyes.

  “We have to. We’re in debt to him and he’s in debt to—”

  “Shut your hole, Louella.” The voice from the front seat spoke again. “Get the spy out of the car and inside. I want my goddamn money.”

  The spy? Fuck, they meant her. Sasha tried not to flinch as she was unceremoniously manhandled out of the car. Slitting her eyes open, all she saw was bare pavement and…oh God, was that Cornell’s speakeasy she was being carried into?

  “Cops did a number on this place,” Louella said in disgust.

  “I heard a rumor they were supposed to rumble O’Rourke. That Cornell paid them for the raid.”

  “Yeah, well, you know where he’s gettin’ the money from?” Louella dropped her voice. “I heard he borrowed heavily from Lucky Luciano.”

  “No kidding? He’s dead meat if he can’t pay it back.”

  “I know, but he’s gone really strange lately—”

  “Shh,” hissed the man.

  Sasha risked opening one eye. Somewhere, a door opened, then closed. Should she make a break for it?

  “Set her down and tie her wrists together,” said a new voice. Cornell?

  “She’s unconscious,” said the man holding her.

  “No she’s not. The chloroform will have worn off ages ago.”

  Busted. Sasha drove her fist into her captor’s gut, twisting away as she fell. She was in the main part of the speakeasy, right about where Blaze had been sitting the first time she’d seen him. Taking advantage of her captor’s momentary surprise, she leaped onto the stage, clawing at the curtain frantically.

  If she could get backstage, back to the dressing room, she could escape through the door.

  But what if I can’t come back again?

  Cold dread pierced her heart. She couldn’t go through with it. Not if it meant never seeing Blaze again.

  Sasha whirled to face her pursuers. Louella looked stricken, but the male grabbed her roughly, looping a length of rope around her wrists. “How tight do you want it, boss?”

  “Tight as you like. She’s not long for the world.” The man who had to be Cornell himself strolled into view, eyeing Sasha appraisingly. He was slimmer and shorter than she expected, his tan fedora set atop a receding hairline.

  Louella made a small noise of protest. “You really going to kill her, boss? I thought you only wanted to question her.”

  “Shut up.” Cornell flicked his fingers at her. “Go find a street corner to stand on.”

  “But you said my debt was cleared—”

  “Get lost.” Cornell whirled, his coat flipping up to reveal a short-nose revolver tucked into his waistband. With casual brutality, he struck Louella across the face. “Don’t come into my club if you’re going to give me lip.”

  “You owe me money,” Louella muttered, but she was already heading to the door, followed by the other man.

  “Where are you taking me?” Sasha asked. She met Cornell’s gaze, trying not to show fear.

  “I thought we might go admire the view from the roof. It’s five stories up.” Cornell’s hand caressed the hilt of his gun meaningfully.

  Sasha started walking, staying just ahead of him as they ascended a narrow staircase. Every nerve was jangling, demanding she run. But there was nowhere to go but up—unless she wanted to die with a bullet in her chest.

  “What’s on the second floor?” she asked. Maybe it was best to keep the man talking, try to stall things a bit.

  “You know very well what’s on the second floor, bitch. You’re a spy, remember?”

  Okay, keeping him talking was clearly a mistake. Sasha shut her mouth, keeping her eyes peeled for escape opportunities.

  “The third floor is where my whores live. Diversity is good for business. Did you tell O’Rourke how well I’m doing?”

  “I don’t work for Blaze.”

  Cornell’s chuckle was nasty. “I don’t care who you work for. Police, O’Rourke, some dimwit capo, Lucky Luciano, or hell, Capone himself. You bleed red like the rest of them.”

  “Like the rest of who? The other singers you murdered?”

  “Yes.” Cornell sounded pleased with her, as if she were a student and he the teacher. “Do you know how I killed them?”

  “No, but I’m sure you’ll enlighten me.”

  “Two died in bed with me. I shot the other one when she tried to run.” Cornell sighed. “What a wasted death. She would have screamed so lusciously. I hope to redeem myself with you.”

  The stairs came to an abrupt halt. Sasha stood uncertainly as Cornell reached past her to unlock the door barring their way. Sunlight flooded in, temporarily blinding her.

  If I’m blinded, so is he.

  Sasha lashed out with her foot, catching Cornell just above the knee. It was a move her self-defense instructor would have wildly applauded had Sasha ever managed to pull it off in class. Maybe she’d just needed a little extra encouragement. Such as literal blind panic.

  Cornell was down, but not out. He grabbed her as she leaped back into the dark stairwell, throwing her bodily onto the flat roof. With her hands tied together, Sasha fell heavily, rolling in an attempt to recover a standing position.

  She never made it. Cornell moved too quickly, his foot descending upon her chest to hold her painfully immobile.

  “Nice try, bitch.” His eyes, adjusted to the sunlight now, roved across her body. “You’ve got a nice pair of tits as well. Has Blaze fucked them?”

  The difference between the two men couldn’t have been more marked. Even though he’d kidnapped her, Sasha had known instinctively that Blaze wouldn’t hurt her. Cornell, on the other hand, gave off an immediate, sinister vibe that chilled her all the way to the bone.

  “Get up.” He kicked her, laughing as she doubled over in pain. She scrambled backward, away from his foot.

  “Help!” The scream left her throat raw. It wasn’t likely anyone would hear her all the way up here, but she had to try.

  Cornell lunged again. “Shut up before I shoot you in the head.”

  “Is that the way you plan to kill me?” She couldn’t help but ask the question. There had to be some way to escape, some way out of this situation.

  “If I shoot, the sound might bring the cops running. You’re going off the roof.” Cornell smiled and she knew he was beyond redemption. The guy was stone crazy. Sasha’s fear knifed deeper into her gut. Cornell was more than capable of shoving her to her death.

  She risked a glance over her shoulder. The edge was too near for comfort. And it was a long way down.

  “I always wanted to see a beautiful woman fall,” Cornell went on conversationally. He stepped toward her, arm outstretched. “Come along now. I’m due for a business talk with a capo this evening and I don’t want to be late.”

  Sasha screamed again as Cornell reached out, yanking the rope that bound her wrists. Stumbling to her feet, she tried another kick to the knee but Cornell easily sidestepped the attempt. One side of his mouth lifted in a sneer.

  “Let go of her.”

  Abject surprise wiped away Cornell’s sneer. He glared toward the door. “O’Rourke.”

  “Blaze, he has a gun.” Sasha’s voice trembled and cracked. Great, now that Blaze was here she went all damsel in distress. Yet she couldn’t take her eyes off him. She was half afraid he was an illusion, something her terrified brain had dreamed up to make this crazy situation a little more tolerable.

  “So shoot me, Cornell.” Blaze stepped forward, his fury almost palpable. “Shoot me like you shot Sean, in cold blood.”

  He was rapidly closing the distance between them. Cornell hesitated and Sasha immediately saw why—if he drew his revolver he would have to let go of her. When the smirk
returned to Cornell’s face, she knew she was in trouble.

  “Catch!”

  Cornell shoved her with both hands. All she could see was the sky as she stumbled backward, unable to stop herself, incapable of the slightest noise. Her foot stepped into nothingness and for a sickening instant she was free-falling.

  Blaze caught her by the wrists, nearly jerking her arms from her sockets. He crouched over the roof’s edge, panting hard, eyes wide with horror.

  “Easy, baby. Gonna try to pull you up.”

  Despite her legs shaking, Sasha was able to brace herself against the wall as Blaze hoisted her back to the rooftop. The rope chafed her bound wrists painfully but she gritted her teeth and bore it, determined to return to safety.

  Where was Cornell? She expected to see him smirking triumphantly as he pointed his gun at them. But the roof was empty.

  “He’s gone.” Blaze scanned the area briefly, then seized her in a fierce embrace.

  “I—cost you your revenge.” Sasha could barely speak.

  “Fuck my revenge.” His arms tightened around her. “Thought I’d lost you. If I hadn’t caught you by the… Goddamn, let me see your hands.”

  Sasha raised her arms obediently. “I t-thought you liked me all tied up.”

  Blaze snorted as he sliced through the rope with his belt knife. “Don’t tempt me. At this point, I’d gladly tether you to my side permanently.”

  “I wouldn’t be averse to that,” Sasha said faintly. “Can we get out of here?”

  “We need to be careful.” Blaze lowered his voice. “Cornell might still be on the property.”

  “Do you have a gun?”

  “I have a revolver at home. Carrying it out and about would make me into something I don’t want to be.” Blaze hesitated. “I’ve often told myself I should just do it—shoot Cornell in his own club and reap the fallout.”

  “But that would make you no better than him,” Sasha said softly.

  A curt nod. “You understand. I’ve given reports to the police, of course, and they’ve followed up on a few things. They’ve never had enough evidence to pin him—until now.”

  “He said he was going to dinner with a capo.” Sasha allowed herself to be led toward the door. “What’s that?”