by Callie Hart
“If you’d like a little wager, of course that could always be arranged.”
A roaring silence sweeps through me. Jericho and his wagers. He always honors his bets, but it’s never a fair call. “What are you suggesting?”
“Well…let’s see. You shot me in the chest. I could shoot your girlfriend in the chest, too. See if she lives.”
“Or?”
“Or I could shoot her in the chest and push her off the Brooklyn Bridge into the East River and forget about seeing if she lives. I did some research on your pretty museum curator a few weeks back, Cuervo. Did you know she’s already taken one nosedive off this bridge? A miracle, they called it. No one survives the fall. She was in her car, though. Must have cushioned the blow a little. What do you think will happen to her without it?”
God. He’s got her on the bridge. I’m not that far away, but how long will it take him to follow through with his threats? He can’t push her. Damn it, he can’t. She’s not meant to die that way. She went through the trauma of it once already, only to make it through alive. Jericho is right; it was a miracle she survived. She won’t be that lucky again.
“So. Your call, Crow. You decide which one it’s going to be. Heads, I just shoot her and leave her on the walkway. Tails, I shoot her and into the water she goes. It’s really up to you. I’m hoping you choose heads, though. Who knows? Maybe you’ll make it here in time to save her life. Maybe someone will find her and call an ambulance.”
“I’m not choosing, motherfucker.”
Jericho makes a disappointed sound. “Ahh, that’s a pity. You know how I like a good bet. Never mind, though. It’s getting late, and I’m strangely feeling a little lightheaded.”
I hear the gun go off. I hear the scream.
The line goes dead.
******
I’m running. My feet can’t keep up with my desperate need to go faster. I slip and slide in the snow. Car horns scream at me as I blindly careen across streets lit up with headlights. I have to get to her. I have to get to the bridge.
The bridge…
The bridge…
The bridge…
My heart is fit to explode by the time I reach my destination. Which side are they on? Which side? How far across are they? Jericho wouldn’t have ditched her body into the water. No, he knows I’m coming for her. He’s certifiably insane, but he’s also a pragmatist. If he can dispose of both Sasha and me at the same time, he’ll wait. It’s cleaner. Neater. Less mess to take care of.
The snow is falling so fast that, instead of melting instantly as it normally would on the bridge, it’s still thick on the ground. A high snow bank has even mounted up alongside the walkway. Nighttime has closed in, and a ribbon of yellow light heads in one direction across the bridge, while a banner of red flows in the other.
“SASHA!” I can’t see her. I can’t fucking see her anywhere. She has to be here. There are too many people around. Jericho would never shoot someone in public, then dump them over the railings. Too risky. Too dangerous. Too—
“Rooke!”
There they are. Just Alfonse and Jericho. In between them, leaning against the barrier, Sasha is pinned, wrestling like a wild animal, trying to get free. “Rooke, don’t! Don’t do it!”
She has to recognize the wild, frayed look in my eyes. I feel reckless, like I can’t trust myself not to make the wrong call right now. My fists have never let me down before, but this situation is different; I can’t go in there, throwing punches. Carefully. That’s how I need to approach this. Even though every fiber of my being is filled with rage, I have to proceed carefully.
“Record time, Rooke. You’re a little out of breath, no?”
“And you’re looking a little pale, boss. You need to take a knee?” I shouldn’t antagonize him. Alfonse sneers. When I look closer, I see he’s holding a knife casually against Sasha’s side, out of sight from the passing cars. Sasha’s eyes are wide. She looks so scared, but she doesn’t appear to be hurt. The gunshot I heard on the phone must have been theatrics on Jericho’s part. Her hair floats up on the wind, whipping around her face. Her jacket is dusted with snow, thick on her shoulders. They’ve been standing out here for some time.
“I’m not an unreasonable man,” Jericho says thoughtfully. “I’m a good Catholic. I believe in forgiveness, when it is sought out in earnest. What do you think, Rooke? Do you think you can convince me that you are sorry for how things played out earlier? That you truly feel bad for what happened to Michael and Mateo?”
“I doubt it.” I’m not playing games with him. He has no interest in making me beg for Sasha’s life. If I know him at all, he wants me to make him an offer—to trade my own life for hers. If that is what he wants, then he can have it. What is my life worth without her? Absolutely nothing. I’ll gladly hand myself over so long as he lets her go. He can shoot me in the gut and let me tumble into the icy water below if that’s how it has to be. I don’t trust him to let her live, though. I need to see her walk away from this.
And that means I’m probably going to have to fight.
Jericho points at all the traffic whipping by in a blur and pouts. “What do you think, hijo? Do you think any of them will stop to help you? Do you think they can even see us standing here on the bridge with all this snow in the way? It’s dark. It’s cold. Everyone wants to get home to their families, to their dinners and their warm beds.”
“Don’t you think this has gotten a little out of hand?” I sigh, shaking my head. “Let Sasha go. She hasn’t done anything. Let’s just hit the re-set button. I’ll go back to boosting cars for you. You’ll stop trying to murder the people I care about. Sound fair?”
Jericho just laughs. “No such thing as a re-set button in our world, Rooke. We all have excellent memories and suspicious minds. Every time I look at you, I’m going to be wondering if you’re betraying me. I’ll feel the burn in my chest from where you shot me. And every time I look at you, I’ll see this beautiful little treat here and I’ll be sad that I didn’t kill her. Or at least fuck her.”
“Still time, boss,” Alfonse says, sneering. “Rape the bitch. Make him watch. It’ll serve him right for killing our boys.” He’s trying to make me react, and I want to. Really fucking badly. Losing my head right now would be disastrous, though. Instead, I slowly turn my head to look at him, sending him a look laden with promises.
I am going to hurt you.
I am going to rip out your tongue.
I am going to make you bleed.
I am going to make you wish you were never born.
I am going to fucking end you.
Alfonse obviously isn’t taking me seriously. He laughs, pressing the knife closer to Sasha’s side, and she freezes, going absolutely still. My beautiful, precious, broken Sasha. She looks like she’s prepared for what comes next. She’s afraid, but there’s also a weary, resigned look in her eye as she stares at me. It’s as if she’s telling me it’s all right, that she’s okay with whatever comes next. It’s not all right, though. I am not okay with whatever comes next.
I don’t make plans. Ever since my eighteenth birthday, I have refused to look beyond the next few days of my life. The unknown has always held an appeal to me, and besides…what’s the point in looking to the future when your freedom could be snatched away at any moment? Things have been different with Sasha, though. I’ve allowed myself to peek beyond next week. Next month. Next year, even. I’ve allowed myself to imagine a life with her, and it’s a good life. I won’t give it up. I fucking refuse. I’ll give up working for New York’s underground elite. I’ll give up the money. I’ll give up the thrill and the adrenaline. I’ll give it all up before I sacrifice the chance to make her happy.
Sasha locks her eyes onto me and doesn’t look away. A plan forms in my head during the brief moments we’re staring at each other. It’s a horrible plan, but it’s going to have to do. I left my gun in the Skyline. I do still have the throwing knives I took from my go-bag earlier back at the house, thou
gh. I’m just going to have to hope that my aim is good.
“Rape isn’t always the answer,” Jericho says chidingly. “And god knows where her cunt has been, anyway. This one looks a little…used.” He traces a hand down Sasha’s cheek, and she flinches, disgust written all over her face. I have napalm for blood, and it’s burning me up. I’ve never known such rage. He shouldn’t be touching her. He shouldn’t be talking about her. Still, I don’t give the bastards what they want. I breathe through the insanity my anger brings, and I form the shape with my hand. A shape I know Sasha will see, that will mean something to her.
She showed me this shape in my bed last night. She had her arms wrapped around her knees, her hair a dark, curling waterfall of chocolate and cinnamon and honey around her face, framing her sadness. Dinosaur. Elephant. Monkey. Bird. But not just bird. Duck.
I hold my index and middle fingers together, then tap them against the pad of my thumb. I don’t hold my hand up to my face. That would be too obvious. Sasha sees, though. The years of raising a son and speaking sign language with him has made her perceptive to even the slightest hand movement. She looks at me, shocked; she understands what I want her to do, but she doesn’t look happy about it. She slowly shakes her head, tears welling in her eyes. I stand firm. She’s scared, I know, but she’s braver than she realizes. She can do this.
Jericho leers at Sasha, grinning sadistically. “I could carve up her face. Maybe that would soften the blow for you, Cuervo. If she’s disfigured, maybe you won’t give a shit about her anymore.”
“I’m going to use that blade on you,” I say darkly. “I’m going to cut your fucking dick off and toss that in the river. Then I’m going to let Sasha drive that knife up in between your ribs, and I’m going to fucking smile as she gets to watch you die. How does that sound?”
“Sounds like you’re dreaming to me, my friend.”
“I guess we’ll see, won’t we?” I move quickly. Neither Jericho nor Alfonse are ready for the knife that I send hurtling through the air. The flash of silver turns end over end through the falling snow, and then it’s sticking blade first out of the side of Alfonse’s neck. Sasha does as I motioned to her and ducks; she doesn’t need me to yell out the command. Jericho releases a howl of rage and grabs at her, but he’s a forty-five year old loser who drinks and smokes too much, and I spend three hours a day boxing and sprinting up stairways. My body slams into his before he can even reach her. He impacts against the high metal railing behind him, and then I’m pounding my clenched fists into his face, over and over again, not stopping when I break his nose, or even when I feel his eye socket shatter. I don’t stop until small fragments of bone are actually flying into the air, and Jericho is making a sickening gurgling sound at the back of his throat.
“Rooke? Rooke, stop, please.” Sasha’s hands are on me. She’s gripping at my shoulders, trying to pull me away from the body on the ground. She screams. When I turn around, Alfonse has her by the throat and he’s hoisting her up so that her feet are kicking in thin air.
Not. Fucking. Happening.
I charge at him, but I don’t crash into him the same way I just did with Jericho. That could end up with Sasha getting hurt. I take hold of the knife that’s still embedded in the side of his neck, and I yank it free from his body.
“Fuck! You fucking—” Alfonse’s words are cut short by the blood that’s filling his throat. He’s a huge fucker, though. He’s not releasing Sasha, and he’s not going down. I take hold of him by the neck, and then I’m driving the blade back into his body. His ear this time, though. I slam the point directly into his ear. It’s like turning off a light switch. One second his face is a rictus of rage, the next it is blank and he is slumping to his knees.
“Oh my god. Holy shit. Oh my god.” Sasha covers her mouth with her hands. She’s in shock. Her skin is white as chalk, and her fingers are trembling. She looks up and down the bridge, tears streaking down her cheeks. “What…what do we do…” she stammers. “I don’t know what we’re supposed to do…”
I make her sit down, and I go about fixing the situation. The lighting here is so dim. The snow bank forming a barricade between the bridge walkway and the road below is really high. I don’t think for a second anyone just witnessed what went down, but I’m careful as I pick Alfonse up by his arms and I push him over the railings. Sasha screws her eyes shut as I dispose of Jericho in the same way.
“This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening.” She chants this over and over again as I sit down onto the snow beside her. There’s blood everywhere. I put my arm around her and draw her to me, clenching my jaw.
“It’s okay. It’s okay, baby, it’s over now. I promise. It’s all over now. We can’t stay here, though. We have to move. Can you walk?” If she can’t, I’ll carry her. I just need to get her off this godforsaken bridge. She nods, though. Gets to her feet.
It takes a long time to get back to my place. When we arrive, it’s to find that the road is choked with fire engines…
…and my entire house is engulfed in flames.
TWENTY-NINE
FELT AND SEEN
SASHA
“Are you sure you’re ready to be back at work, dear girl?” Oscar Blackheath is looking particularly handsome in a blue pinstripe shirt and bowtie today. I can’t stop staring at him. He is Rooke’s grandfather. It just makes no sense. I turn the words over and over in my head, trying to understand how this sweet old man is in any way related to the man who I left sleeping in my bed this morning.
“I’m sure. I think it’s important I get back to it. I’m bored at home anyway. And I can’t go around jumping at shadows forever.” This last statement is really true. Rooke’s been working every day at the antiques store, trying to maintain a sense of normalcy in the face of all the attention he’s been receiving from the cops and the fire department.
Honestly, he should be receiving more attention than he is. He told me what happened there with the man who kidnapped me and dragged me kicking and screaming to the bridge. He told me about the two dead bodies that should have been discovered inside the building, but weren’t. He has no idea what happened to them. No idea whatsoever. It’s a mystery that haunts every waking moment of my day. I know it’s bothering Rooke, too. He’s as stern and stoic as ever, but I can see the firm set of his jaw every time his cell rings. He’s just waiting. Waiting for something to happen that spells disaster for him and for me.
“Good. Well I can’t say I’m sorry you’re back. This place has been terribly dull without you, my girl.” Oscar scratches at the back of his head, making a non-committal grumbling sound. “I would invite you to have lunch with me, but I’m afraid I have a prior engagement. Honestly, I’d like to cancel but—”
“Daddy, there you are.”
Oscar looks like he’s been shot through with a thousand volts. He leans back and steps out of my office into the hallway, turning to face a tall, severe looking woman with a very frosty expression on her face. Her dark brown, almost black hair is pulled back into an immaculate bun. Her eyebrows are perfect. Her dress is Gucci. Her bag is Prada. Her shoes are Manolo Blahniks. She struts down the hallway towards us with a swanlike grace that makes me think she must have been a runway model at some point in her life. “I’ve been looking all over for you,” she says, giving Oscar an air kiss in the general vicinity of his weathered cheek. “The porter on the second floor said you were in your office, but when I got there the place was deserted.”
“Yes. Well. I have to stretch my legs every once in a while. Don’t want to fossilize and join the rest of the dinosaurs just yet.” Oscar looks perturbed for a second, then smiles grimly. “Simone, this is a very dear friend of mine, Sasha.”
The woman turns her frigid gaze to me, and I want to hide under my desk all over again. As soon as I see the color of her eyes, it hits home. Simone. Oh god. She arranges her mouth into what might generally be described as a smile. “Ah, yes. Sasha.” She offers me her
hand to shake. Her fingers are freezing. “I believe you know my son.”
A lot is being said in those few short words: she knows I am fucking her son. My cheeks flush, wildfire spreading across my face. It’s my first day back, and I am sure as hell not prepared for this. Meeting Rooke’s mother isn’t something I’d planned on any time soon. Meeting his mother without him is just plain terrifying.
“I do,” I agree, trying to keep my chin held high.
Simone hovers a hand just above Oscar’s shoulder, her smile broadening slightly. “Daddy, could you do me a favor and give me a moment alone with Sasha? I would just like a brief word with her before we head out to lunch.”
He looks guilty as hell as he shuffles off down the hallway. “Be nice to her, dear. I rather like her. If you eviscerate her with that sharp tongue of yours, I shall be most displeased.”
The sound of Simone’s laughter is like the ringing of a tiny silver bell. Once he’s gone, she enters my office and the space suddenly feels claustrophobic. She points at the overstuffed armchair in the corner of the room, eyebrows halfway up her forehead. “Can I sit?”
“Of course. Please.”
She folds herself neatly into the chair, purse rested carefully on her lap. She rifles around inside the black leather bag, a gentle crease marking her brow, until she finds what she’s looking for. She then holds a single silver key out to me, perfectly manicured nails flashing under the overhead lights. Even fluorescents can’t make this woman look bad.
“My son rarely answers his phone when I call him, Sasha. I was wondering if you might give this to him. Not that it’s much good to him anymore. I believe his house is missing a front door these days?”
“And windows. And stairs. And a few walls, actually.”
She shrugs her shoulders in a prim fashion. “Once the insurance adjustors have closed their case on the house fire, I’m sure they’ll renovate very quickly. These things can take time, though.”