Doll Face

by Sadie Grubor

  "Hai." The woman drops her sword.

  "Who's sending you for our men?" I ask, not expecting a response.

  "Sending me?" I don't miss the humorless laugh behind the words. "Theresa Ann Costa sends me," she growls.

  Every muscle tenses at the mention of my mother. Clenching my jaw, I ground out, "Then she sends you for me."

  Her eyes grow round, flaring with anger.

  Moving into my personal space, she leans in close.

  "I am here for all of you," she says, her words a threat.

  Lifting my arms out at my sides, I lift one brow.

  "Here I am," I bait her, wanting her emotions to get the better of her. "Shall I tell you exactly how I killed her?"

  Anger fills the space between us, thick and hostile. Reaching behind herself, she pulls a gun from a holster.

  At the same time, Max goes for his gun, and the woman behind him swings her sword, landing a blow to the side of his neck.

  Collapsing to the floor, he slaps a hand over the gaping wound, the blood pouring through his fingers.

  The Geisha doesn't waver or get distracted.

  I wait for the press of the barrel and burn of the bullet tearing into my flesh.

  "No!" Mei shouts, slipping around my body, placing herself between us.

  "Mei," I growl, gripping her biceps.

  My knife brushes along my chest as she slides it out of my jacket. Spinning, Mei wields the blade, catching The Geisha's forearm with the sharp edge.

  The Geisha steps back, gripping her arm. Eyes fixed on Mei, she gets a personal introduction to my deadly little doll.

  Even unable to see it, I can picture the determined and fierce look on Mei's face. What I don't miss is the flash of approval in The Geisha's eyes as she slowly moves, giving a wide berth and coming to stand on our left. Regardless of any respect she may have felt, The Geisha brings her gun back up. This time, it's pointed at Mei.

  "It is a shame to have to kill you," she tells Mei. "But…I have a debt to repay."

  "I don't give a fuck about your debt," Mei spits at her.

  Sliding my arm around her waist, I'm prepared to throw Mei out of the way and take the bullet.

  "See," Sketch says, appearing at The Geisha's back, his own gun pressed against her neck. "If anyone gets to kill Doll, it's going to be me."

  Instead of dropping her weapon or surrendering, The Geisha leans back into Sketch. His eyes flare in surprise, but he holds his position. Her hips swirl back, pressing her ass against his groin. Then, she leans her neck against the gun.

  "The fuck?" Sketch grounds out.

  I can see the cocky smile shining in her eyes right before she yells, "Minagoroshi ni suru!"

  I don't know a lot of Japanese, but I know kill them. Gunfire and mayhem ensue.

  Tossing Mei to the floor, a bullet tears through my suit, grazing my shoulder. Grabbing the back of her dress, I drag her across the floor behind a table. Sketch appears at my side, handing me a gun.

  "That bitch is crazy!" he shouts, flipping the table onto its side.

  "She got away?" I exclaim, leaning around the wood and shooting.

  "Don't fucking start," he shouts back.

  A woman's cry pulls my attention away from the battle to the scene behind us.

  "Christ," Sketch exclaims, taking in the sight.

  Mei stands over a dead waitress, chest heaving, blood splattering her dress and dripping from my knife, a menacing curl to her lip. Eyes meeting mine from under her lashes, the deviant glimmer I've come to know and worship shines. My dick, uncaring of the chaos around us, twitches. And the creature claws at my gut, torn between spilling more blood and fucking Mei in the red pool at her feet.

  A bullet piercing the table near my head gets my urges under control.

  "Get her out of here," I order Sketch before turning to Mei. "Go with him!"

  Keeping her promise to listen, she nods, taking the hand he offers. The moment their fingers twist together, I want to break his arm, but the need for her to be safe overrides the impulse.

  My attention split between the ongoing battle and getting Mei out, I step from behind the table and cover their escape through an emergency exit. The moment they clear the doorway, I focus on the task at hand.

  Popping off rounds, I scan the room until I find my target.

  Figures in black move around the room with a speed and agility that would be impressive if they weren't attacking us. One appears out of the gun smoke, sword drawn and lifted. Before she can swing down, I raise my gun and shoot. The bullet enters the base of her throat, stilling her. Dropping the sword, her hands come to her neck. Wide eyes on me, her mouth opens like she's about to speak, but only blood gushes out over her chin.

  When she drops to the floor, I lift my eyes and lock them with The Geisha.

  Standing about twelve feet in front of me, next to the main dining room entrance, she raises her arm. Holding a gun out in my direction, she shoots. Orange and red flares fly from the wide barrel, lighting the room. They arc in separate directions, landing on opposite sides of me. As more smoke fills the room, I watch her disappear through the main door. A loud whistling sound fills the room, and I cover my ears while watching her women quickly fall back and vanish.

  Coughing, I bend low to avoid the flare smoke and work my way through toppled furniture and bodies. When I reach the main doors to the private dining area, the sprinklers burst to life. Smoke starts to clear, the fire dies, and the room is reduced to the sounds of aftermath. In place of gunfire and shouting, there's water, cries of pain, sobbing women, furniture scraping the floor, and glass crunching.

  I feel Vincent at my side before he asks, "Where did they go?"

  Unable to take my eyes from the empty corridor beyond the open door, I growl, "Got away."

  "That was her," one of Angelo's lieutenants says, adding, "She needs to be dealt with!"

  No shit, asshole.

  "Saint," Russ shouts.

  Dragging my eyes away from The Geisha's non-existent trail, I find him on his knees. Fingers pressed to the side of Felix's neck, Russ says, "He's still alive."

  "Vince!" My call brings him back to my side, awaiting my orders. "Call the cleaners, then gather men to clear away the dead bodies."

  Giving a quick nod, he moves into action.

  Lifting my gaze, I survey the destruction. Bodies, blood, and glass litter the floor. My eyes catch on one of our men cradling a woman's lifeless body. His large hand palms the side of her dark brown head, pressing her into his chest. He buries his face in the top of her hair.

  I'm unexpectedly struck with a need to make sure Mei is safe, that Sketch got her back to the penthouse. My hand moves on a subconscious mission to retrieve my cell from my pocket, but the man's cry stops me.

  "No," the sob rips from his throat.

  Feeling the weight of their eyes, I look up and find the remains of our crew staring. With Angelo and his second, Max, dead, the line of succession falls to the underbosses. With half of them lost in the battle, the men in this room await someone to take the reins. And apparently, that someone is me. It's a move I'm hesitant to make, because the moment I start giving direction and take charge is when I seize the role as head of the family.

  "Baby, stay with me." The man's cries snap me into action.

  Moving in a practiced motion of a man who's taken part in too many gun fights and territory battles, I scan the room.

  "Where's Doc?" I call out. "Is he still—?"

  "Right here," he answers from the back of the room.

  Walking in the direction of his voice, I find him pressing balled up napkins into a bullet wound in one of our lieutenant's chest.

  "Who else can we call?" I ask.

  He nods to the cell phone on the floor. "I already made a call."

  "How far out?"

  He shrugs. "Maybe ten."

  Giving a quick nod, I turn to Russ.

  "Get Jacob here and tell him he's going to need extra hands."

&n
bsp; He pulls his cell from his jacket and touches the screen.

  Slipping off my coat, I roll up my sleeves and return to Doc.

  "What do you need us to do?"

  Doc starts giving orders, and I ensure they're carried out.

  With the injured handled, I sit at the bar, a glass of vodka in my blood-stained hand while the cleaners separate and remove dead bodies. Unfortunately, the dark brown-haired woman being one of them.

  Jacob slides into the barstool next to me and says, "You know what you've done."

  He already knows the answer.

  "It's a heavy burden to carry," he continues. "While we are all aware Angelo was a sick motherfucker to begin with, the weight of his responsibilities couldn't be denied."

  "I'm aware," I grumble, draining the last of the liquor from the glass.

  "Most of the underbosses were here tonight so he could obviously do a show of strength with Felix. Half of them are dead now."

  "Want to tell me something I don't already know?" I slam the glass onto the bar.

  "You're going to be fine," he says.

  The words send a jolt of surprise up my spine. Twisting on the stool, I stare at his profile.

  "I know you didn't ask," Jacob continues. "And that you would never." His eyes come to mine. "But just in case, I thought you should know."

  An uncomfortable warmth tries to form in my chest, but my darkness snuffs it out before I can identify the cause.

  "Besides," he adds, "The Saint knows no fear, right?" He grins.

  Shaking my head, I pull my cell phone from the inside pocket of my jacket. Bringing up Mei's name, I touch the screen. It goes straight to voicemail and I try Sketch.

  "All I ask," Jacob says, nodding to my phone, "is that you don't give that little bastard any more power than he has."

  The right side of my mouth begins to curl, until Sketch doesn't answer either. Another unfamiliar feeling prickles across my skin.

  Jacob's smile drops, noticing the shift in my mood, and he asks, "What's wrong?"

  Retrying the call, I slip from the barstool. Voicemail. Again. The feeling grows, and I finally recognize it.

  "You're wrong," I say. "I feel fear."

  Spinning away from him, I look around the room.

  "Vincent," I shout, causing him to jump to his feet. "I need the car. Now!"

  With a single nod, he rushes from the room.

  Stalking to the door, I exit with Russ and Jacob close on my heels. Keeping the phone to my ear, I relentlessly dial Sketch and Mei.

  For the briefest moment, jealousy rises from the pit of my stomach, thinking they're together.

  Frank stands by the car, waiting with the door open. Before I slip inside, I turn to the men at my back.

  "We'll take the main road to the penthouse and I need you two to take alternate routes. Find Sketch and Mei," I order.

  Their eyes widen, finally realizing the issue.

  Once inside the car, Frank hurries to the driver's side, climbs in, and peels away from the curb.

  Mei

  Sketch uses the butt of his gun to crack the windshield of a dark blue car parked behind the restaurant, then knocks the glass out and unlocks the door. Shoving me into the driver's seat, he pushes in right behind me.

  "Scooch, doll Face," he orders.

  I hop to the passenger side as he sinks down into the seat. Cracking part of the lower dash, he yanks wires down and starts tearing, biting, and twisting them. The engine roars to life, he sits up, and slams the door shut. We shoot out of the back alley and around the building, almost sideswiping two parked cars.

  "Seat belt," Sketch instructs, turning onto another street, and my body sways at the speed he's going.

  "What about you?" I ask, securing the belt into place over my lap.

  "Awww, you worried about me?" He glances at me, wearing a big smile.

  "You—" I begin to set him straight, but my words are cut short.

  The crunch of metal fills my ears and the car lurches to the right. A large truck with dark tinted windows is pressed to the front driver side fender and they aren't stopping.

  "The fuck," Sketch exclaims, white knuckling the steering wheel and slamming on the brakes.

  Our car spins in the middle of the road and Sketch jerks the steering wheel to the right, stomping the gas pedal. My body is jolted to the left as he speeds away from the truck.

  "What the fuck?" he shouts, bringing his seatbelt across his chest. "A little help here," he yells, shaking the metal piece near his leg.

  Grabbing it, I fumble with the latch, trying to lock it into place.

  Once successful, I turn in my seat and ask, "Who is it?"

  The minute the question leaves my mouth, the truck hits us from behind, sending my body toward the windshield before slamming back into the seat.

  "Hold on," Sketch orders, taking a left at the next cross street.

  The turn is too sharp.

  "Fuck!" Sketch shouts just as I yell his name.

  The squeal of the tires fills my ears. When the car tilts, it feels as if everything goes into slow motion. A feeling of weightlessness takes over my body, only to be impeded by the safety strap across my lap and chest.

  Metal crunching and scraping, a shower of sparks, and the smell of burning rubber fill my senses. My window finally surrenders under the pressure of the car sliding on its side. Crossing my arms over my face, I clench my eyes shut and shield myself from the shards of glass.

  There's another hard crash and we bounce off something. My hands fly to the ceiling, bracing as we flip completely over. Now upside down, the seatbelt digs into my lap, a sharp pain shooting across my thighs. Sliding over the blacktop, the roof begins to heat from the friction. Opening my eyes, I watch through the cracking front windshield as the concrete barrier grows closer, bigger.

  Knowing our fate, I scream.

  "Hold on," Sketch shouts over all the noise.

  We collide with the immovable object, causing the necklace Saint gave me to fly in my mouth. A sharp pain shoots down my arm, my head snaps back against the headrest, and the taste of copper hits my taste buds. Spitting the necklace from between my lips, I cry out. The impact was enough to make my head instantly ache and blur my vision. At the snap of his seatbelt, I watch as Sketch falls from his seat. Legs trapped beneath the steering column, his body drapes over the wheel.

  He's not moving.

  In an attempt to clear my vision, I give my head a shake. It's a mistake. The small throb at the back of my head splits, pulsating between each temple. Being upside down, all the blood rushes to my head, causing the pulse to intensify and gather behind my eyes. Crying out from the pain, I squeeze my eyes shut and bring both hands to hold each side of my head.

  Releasing one side, I search blindly for the latch of my belt. Hoping getting right side up will alleviate the pressure in my skull, I prod at the release for what feels like hours.

  Distracted by the escalating pain, I don't brace before finally freeing myself. My body drops from the seat, head first, and everything goes black.

  Saint

  My hands tighten around my cell, reading the text one more time.

  Instead of a phone call, Russ sent their location and a short message.

  You need to get here.

  As Frank maneuvers through back streets, I can't take my eyes from the screen. Those five words have done something I never thought possible. My ever present creature is silent. In place of the rage and bloodthirst is a stabbing between my ribs, almost enough to take the air from my lungs. It's like nothing I've ever known.

  "We're here, sir," Frank announces, slowing the car.

  Before it's in park, I'm out of the passenger door.

  "Saint…" Vincent begins, stepping in front of me.

  Shoving him out of the way, my eyes widen at the overturned car.

  "Where the fuck is she?" I roar, charging the vehicle.

  Russ's head pops up from the other side.

  "She's not here,
" he states, his brow creased in concern.

  "What do you mean she's not here?" I ground out, rounding the car.

  My eyes drop to Sketch's prone body before snapping back up to Russ.

  "He's alive." Russ is quick to assure. "Just unconscious. We need a doc—"

  "You need," I move into his personal space, "to tell me where Mei is."

  "She was gone when we got here," Vincent says from close behind me.

  "Find her," I clip out.

  "Saint," Vincent starts again.

  At his hesitation, I turn and lift one brow.

  "Someone caused their accident," he finally divulges, motioning to the smashed rear fender.

  "How do you know?" I ask.

  "There's black paint marks and scraping on the front driver side and bumper," he explains.

  I open my mouth to argue that it could've happened during the crash, but Russ's next comment stops me.

  "And that same someone used a crowbar to open the passenger door."

  My eyes move to the car door. Sure enough, there are two obvious places where the door was pried open.

  "I couldn't get the driver's door to budge," Russ continues. "We had to pull him out through the passenger's side."

  Glancing back down to Sketch, I watch his chest rise and fall.

  Another car arrives with Jacob climbing from the driver's seat. His eyes scan the area, searching for the person I was sure I'd find dead at the scene.

  The pain from earlier dissipates. The creature no longer silent, he burrows under my flesh, letting my demons run loose through my veins.

  "She's not here," I snap, angry someone took her from me. I'm also not pleased by the fact that Jacob cares so much.

  "Where—?"

  "Get Sketch in the car," I order, cutting Jacob off.

  Vincent and Russ jump into action. Lifting him off the ground, his head lolls back. They carry Sketch's motionless body to Jacob. He opens the rear door and they put Sketch's lanky ass inside.

  "Clean the car and meet us at the penthouse," I instruct, rounding Jacob's car and climbing into the passenger seat.

  The moment I slam the door shut, sirens blare in a distance and passersby start gathering.

  Jacob slides back into his seat, starts the car, and pulls away from the wreckage.