by Jamie Zakian
“I’ll keep her safe,” Cash said, sitting up in his chair.
“I don’t need anybody keeping me safe.” The giant smile melted from Cash’s face, and Sasha held back a snicker. “Thanks anyway.”
Vinny shifted in his seat, stealing glances at Sasha. In the old days, he would have told them all to suck it and that he was going with her. That wouldn’t be happening this time. The old days were gone. She slept right through them.
“Maybe me and Cash should take the fight club,” Dez said, leaning on the table to give Otis the death-lock stare down. “We’re the biggest.”
“No,” Enzo practically shouted, his face scrunched in confusion. “This isn’t up for discussion. The Don gives orders, you all follow them.”
Sasha turned away from Dez, who miraculously kept his fists to himself, and hurled Enzo a harsh glare.
“Except for you, Ms. Lazzari,” Enzo sputtered, sinking down in his seat.
Damn straight except for her. She’d like to meet the man who had enough balls to bark orders in her face so she could slit his throat.
Otis sat back in his oversized chair, managing to look uncomfortable and tailor-made for the seat at the same time.
“Vinny and Enzo torch the warehouse,” Otis said, staring directly at Dez, “Sasha and Cash will burn down the massage parlor.” He reached under the table, pulling out a long green case. Plates rattled as the case clunked atop the table.
Otis opened the lid, and dim lights gleamed off a rocket launcher. “You’re coming with me,” he said, looking from the large weapon to Dez’s now stunned face. “‘Cause I don’t know how to use this fucking thing.”
A hint of a smile crossed Dez’s lips as he stared into the case.
“It’ll be quick, easy,” Otis said, closing the lid and snapping the latches shut. “One hour and we’ll all be back here, smoking mad pot and fucking hot waitresses.” He wagged his finger between Sasha and Dez as he sunk back into his chair. “Except you two, you’re married.”
Sasha shrugged. If they both fucked the hot waitress together, it shouldn’t count as cheating. That would be something she’d have to ease Dez into. The fancy brandy behind the bar should help. She glanced at Dez. He had a leer in his eyes to match her dirty thoughts. It was shaping up to be one hell of a night: vengeance, a tiny massacre, the arms of the strongest man she’d ever met holding her tight.
A jitter took Sasha’s foot into a steady tap. This show needed to get on the road so her amazing night of fantasy could begin. She glanced out the window, but the glow of city lights made it impossible to tell night from day.
“Is it time?” she asked.
“Yeah.” Otis stood, grabbing the case off the table. “We all strike at ten on the dot, not a minute before.”
Sasha climbed to her feet but didn’t get very far. Dez stood so close, their chests brushed when she rose from her chair. There was no need for words. The look in his eyes spoke louder, meant more than any jumble of syllables his brain could produce.
Dez glided his hands around Sasha’s waist and down her back. “Careful,” he whispered, grabbing her ass.
His breath rushed over her lips, spreading tingles. All she had to do was lift her chin and his kiss would quiet the frenzy beneath her skin, but she enjoyed this sensation too much.
“Never,” she said. It was meant to be a joke, but the notion of caution rarely crossed her mind. She slid away, running her hand across Dez’s chest. He’d have to wait for his kiss, which should give him incentive to come back alive.
***
A pink glow flooded the alleyway, the sizzle of neon lights bouncing off damp walls. Sasha tightened her hold on the plastic gas can in her grasp, staring down at Cash, who was on his knees. Cash’s hands shook as he picked a lock on a steel door. The buzz of a flickering sign echoed in the cramped space, yet the clink erupting from Cash’s hands seemed to boom over it.
“What the fuck, dude?” Sasha whispered, pulling a watch from her pocket. “It’s 10:01.”
“I got it.” The door creaked open and Cash rose to his feet. “Sorry,” he muttered, picking up his gas can.
“You take the top floor,” Sasha said in a hush, inching inside the massage parlor. “I’ll get the bottom.”
Cash grabbed Sasha’s arm, letting go before she could hurl a glare. “We should stay together.”
“Don’t be a fucking pussy.” Sasha pulled her gun, keeping it close to her chest. “I wanna get this over with, quick.” Into the dark she went, lugging a five-gallon jug of gas in one hand and a Colt .45 in the other. A dim light shined at the end of the hall, two women in kimono’s strolling by. Sasha kept to the shadows, the only sound a slosh from the container in her grasp.
This building was full of women, slaves, like the ones she brought here so long ago. The deaths of those poor creatures weren’t necessary. Sasha just needed the building in flames. A message to Dante, let him know she was coming.
Voices flowed as she neared the end of the hall. She placed the gas can down, looking back at Cash. The dude was steady, confidant. It was a goddamn surprise. She thought she was getting a dud.
“Clear out the women,” Sasha whispered, leaning close to Cash, “cap the fucking men.”
Cash nodded and Sasha cut around the corner, storming down an even tighter hall. She dodged paper lamps, swatting red tassels while creeping past closed doors. Just beyond the stairs, light shined from a curtain of beads. She peeked through, glimpsing an old oriental woman behind a tall wooden desk. The place could’ve been a Chinese restaurant with all the crap on the walls except for the young girls in lingerie who lounged around the room.
Sasha gestured for Cash to head upstairs then burst through the beads with her gun high. The old woman hobbled out from behind her desk, hands up. Gasps rang out as the girls huddled together, swallowed up by the old woman’s weird sounding babbles.
“Out,” Sasha barked, cocking back the hammer on her gun.
The old woman waved her hands about, shooing the girls toward the front door. Foreign words continued to spew, mixing with the occasion “Fuck!” and “Shit!” until the thin glass door closed them out.
Sasha locked the deadbolt, doubling back for her gas can. She kicked open doors, splashing rooms while moving down the hall. Cash’s heavy steps thumped from above, sending wisps of dust to float down.
“This fucking guy.” Sasha tucked her gun into her waistband, brushing flakes of plaster off her head and shoulders. “Asshole,” she muttered, kicking open the door in front of her. A fist greeted her in the doorway, slamming right into her nose. The hit flashed the world to red. Then came the sting, strong enough to blot out all sound.
Sasha staggered back, throwing a stream of gas out in front of her. A man shouted as she blinked a tear-filled haze from her eyes. The plastic handle slipped from her wet hand, and gas splashed her feet as the can tumbled to the floor. Sasha reached for her gun. Before her fingers could wrap around the butt, a wide hand latched onto her throat.
“You made a mess, little niece,” some ugly bastard sneered in her face. He ripped the gun from her grasp, throwing it down the hall.
Her hands, feet, clothes were covered in gas, but she wasn’t the only one. The asshole who was throttling her neck was even more drenched than she was. Just as her fingertips grazed the case of her zippo, the guy drove his knuckles into her stomach.
“Sasha, I lit the—” Cash stopped halfway down the stairs, staring over the rail at Sasha squirming under the Mancini fucker’s clutch. “Oh shit!” He jumped over the railing, his boots crashing to the hardwood floor.
The crushing grip left Sasha’s throat as the man charged Cash, tackling him to the ground. She dropped to her knees. Despite her deep breaths, air never came. The stench of gasoline devoured any trace of oxygen, coating her lungs in a prickly thickness.
Grunts and the slaps of fists pounding skin echoed down the hall, but Sasha’s stare had become stuck to the ceiling beside the stairs. Beneath clouds of
gray smoke, sharp flames peeked through. She tore her gaze from the inferno that raged above her, looking down the hall. The Mancini fucker snatched a gun from Cash’s hand, then cracked it against Cash’s cheek.
Cash dropped like a sack of bricks, and Sasha jumped to her feet. A gun was aimed at her chest, and an asshole grinned at her through rolls of smoke. He took a step, and Sasha flipped open the top of her zippo. Now it was her turn to smile. The guy ran forward and she lit the lighter, tossing it at his feet. Flames shot across the floor, climbing up his body and wrapping him in a shroud of blazing light.
Heat scorched Sasha’s wrist, the smell of burnt hair wafting into her lungs. She looked at her arm as a wave of fire crawled up her shoulder.
“Fuck!” Sasha cried out, her shout falling under the howls of the man who was thrashing his fire-encased body against the walls. She ripped off her flannel, using it to beat the flames off her arm, leg, entire right side.
Cash ran through the blaze that roared within the cramped hallway, dodging the man’s charred flailing arm.
“Shit,” Cash yelled, practically dragging Sasha from the firestorm that encircled them, back down the dark hall they came from. With his big hand, he whacked her chest, arm, leg. He was probably trying to put out the fire riding along her body, but it felt more like a beating.
“I’m out,” Sasha yelled, coughing on the thick smoke that still clogged her airways. Her arm ached, like needles dragging across sunburnt skin, but she ran toward the pink glow of the alleyway. The singed ends of her pants scraped like broken glass with every step. It was nothing, minor pain compared to what awaited her if she didn’t escape the fire spreading along the walls beside her.
She burst out the back door, slamming against the alley’s brick wall. A smile spread across her lips as she breathed in cool air that wasn’t laced in thick smoke nor carrying the sting of gasoline.
“Are you okay?” Cash reached out, drew back, then took Sasha’s lightly baked hand.
“I’m good,” she said, slapping Cash on the shoulder. “Thanks, man. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
They jogged from the alley, cutting onto the sidewalk.
“Freeze!” a deep voice yelled from behind them.
Sasha stopped short, her hand drifting to her side. There was no gun to grip in her waistband, but one cocked right behind her. The Mancinis got the jump on her. She’d be shot dead on this sidewalk, in front of gasping strangers, never to glimpse her son’s goofy smile again.
Slowly, Sasha turned and a “Huh!” of true shock flew from her lips. Beyond the barrel pointed at her face, the fed who’d tossed her in a cell with a raging bulldyke hurled an evil leer.
“Pigman,” Sasha said, holding her hands out at her sides. “You’re a little far from your pen, aren’t ya?” She eyed his back, sides. Swarms of federal agents weren’t closing in. His heartless bitch partner didn’t stomp forward with cuffs. The sidewalk remained clear, except for the crowd of dumbass people who gathered around to watch a slightly drunken man with a gun. This fed had gone AWOL, which made him fair game.
Although Sasha had no weapon and his was fully loaded, her legs pushed toward him.
“You’re under arrest, for arson,” he shouted in a weak, shaky tone. “Get the fuck on the ground.”
Cash took a step toward the fed, and the blast of a gun cut through the night. The rumble bounced off buildings beside Sasha and sent a torrent of shivers down her spine. Cash fell to his knees. A flood of red drops seeped between his fingers, which clutched his chest.
“No!” Sasha yelled over the screams erupting from the ever-growing crowd. She dropped beside Cash, who fell to his back on the dirty sidewalk. A spray of blood burst from his mouth when he tried to speak, pelting Sasha’s face.
“Cash!” She held her hands over his. “We’ll get you patched up, brother.” Her voice quaked harder than her shaky fingers. “Just hold on.” Warm blood flowed along her palms, which slid as they pressed, until Cash’s hands didn’t tremble any longer. Garbles stopped scraping past his throat, ending with a long groan. He was gone. Sasha had to turn away, couldn’t see more dead eyes of people she loved. Cash’s stiff shoulders sagged, his arms flopping to his sides, and still Sasha couldn’t look.
“Get down on the ground!” the man yelled over the screams of women.
“You killed him.” Sasha veered her glare to the soon-to-be dead pig. Not even tears, which flowed from her eyes, could quench the rage that rose within her chest. “You’re done, motherfucker.”
“Help!” a woman yelled from somewhere in the distance. “This man has a gun!”
“He was coming at me,” the fed shouted over his shoulder, keeping his gun on Sasha.
“He was unarmed,” Sasha yelled, finally lifting her hands from Cash’s sticky chest. The way the fed’s eyes wavered, the quake of the gun against his palm, he was asking to get knocked the fuck out. Sasha was just about to jump up, hurl her knuckles at his face, when sirens screamed above the growing crowd’s cries. Amazing, a fucking cop when you actually needed one.
It was crass, with her dead friend’s blood soaking into her pants, but Sasha laughed. “I hope you enjoy getting raped in prison, Pigman motherfucker.”
“Drop the gun,” the policemen yelled as they ran up to surround the fed with guns drawn.
People scurried back, away from the crazed man who screamed out a badge number while getting tackled to the ground, but Sasha just sat there. In a pool of blood, on the filthy city sidewalk, beside a burning building, she sat. Escape was totally possible. She could get up, slip into the crowd, and walk away. Cash would want her to go, but so would the asshole fed. Her fleeing would prove him innocent. Then he could say she had a bomb and they’d believe him. Now, she was the proof. There was also the added bonus of watching Pigman’s face scrape against concrete as the police held him down, beside a used rubber.
A policeman knelt beside Sasha, taking her hand. “Don’t worry, Ms. Lazzari. We were on break across the street, saw the whole thing. It went down just like you say it did.”
Sasha looked up, beyond the officer holding her hand to another policeman who nodded. She recognized that man from the payoff route. These were two of the many pocket-police kept by her family.
“Thank you.” Sasha allowed the man to help her off the ground, staying close to his side. The fed continued to shout, struggle, take hits with nightsticks as she was ushered from the scene. The two policemen snuck Sasha into the back of a cop car, jumped into the front, and drove away. She turned to stare out the back window. Bright orange flames consumed the building, bursting from every broken window and reaching for the dark sky. Their flicker cast a shadow over Cash’s body, alone and so still on the sidewalk. She should’ve looked at his face before she left. It was probably peaceful, better than the visual of fright she saw right before he died. She’d never forgive herself for not looking.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Trees whirled by outside the window. It took Sasha quite a while to remember that there weren’t any trees in the city.
“Where are you taking me?”
The men didn’t answer or even bother to glance her way. Fucking rude. Two more jokers for her shit list, which might as well be a novel at this point.
“Hey!” Sasha banged her fist on the cage that separated her from the cops, but the pigs didn’t so much as flinch.
“Relax. We’re here,” the guy, whose name she couldn’t remember but face she’d never forget, said as he climbed from the car.
Sasha fumbled for the switchblade in her boot, but those cops were quick. They had her door open before she could hike up her burnt pant leg. She shoved, hurled elbows, but the police, whom she paid, pulled her into the humid night.
“Don’t struggle, little girl.”
That smooth voice snapped Sasha’s spine straight, locking her arms stiff. “Dante,” she said, her tone bordering on a snarl.
“I’m good,” Sasha said, slowly lifting her hands. The pol
ice backed off, and she nodded. “I’ll be sure to take care of you two later.” She turned to face Dante, fighting back the urge to charge forward and gouge the man’s eyes out. The dude actually looked happy to see her. He had to know she was there to kill him; he had to.
“Listen.” Dante took a step, and Sasha inched away. “Come here,” he growled in a low tone, dipping his head.
Sasha peeked over Dante’s shoulder, counting at least six rifles aimed at her. The guns, and the pieces of inbred looking shits holding them, didn’t scare her. It was the fear in Dante’s eyes that sent chills. She stepped forward and Dante seized her by the arm, yanking her to his side.
“This shit ain’t good, little girl,” he whispered, taking small steps toward the pack of gun-wielding men in the small wooded clearing. “Sick shit happens in there.”
First, Sasha eyed the men who moved in from all sides. Then her stare drifted to a large farmhouse peeking out from behind bushy pine trees. The place fit the bill for a typical horror flick house. She had no doubt sick shit went down in there. It was the home that reared her mother.
“They’ve had me here for two months,” Dante said in a near whisper, keeping his tight hold on Sasha’s arm. “I came back to regain my turf, but Tony wouldn’t have me. He had you.”
“So you ran to the Mancinis?”
“Yeah, but the old bat already knew about Ellen. I’ve been a prisoner here this whole time.”
“You didn’t look like a prisoner at the warehouse,” Sasha sneered, pulling her arm from Dante’s grasp. “When you killed your brother.”
“Fuck, Sasha. Didn’t you see the stares I was giving you. I damn near screamed for help with my eyes.”
“I didn’t see no stares.”
Dante stopped short, holding out his arm. Moonlight gleamed on the track marks that ran along his forearm, which led to puffy welts around his wrist.