Russo Saga Collection

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Russo Saga Collection Page 59

by Nicolina Martin


  When I get back home, I stand in the shower for a long time, my heart still pounding like a jackhammer. The detective was very interested. I gave him everything except my own identity. They’ve got names of my partners, the address where we’ll strike, the time, as many names of the competition as I know. And that’s it. That’s all I can do.

  At quarter to eleven, I get a text. A car is waiting outside. I check my gun for the hundredth time, and make sure I have extra clips, grab my leather jacket and jog down the stairs. Hopping into the large black SUV, the windows tinted, I cram myself into the backset, next to Ivan. The car is full of men, some serious, some joking around. By our feet lie a couple of bags filled to the brim with semi-automatics, AR-15s.

  The engine roars to life. It’s a fuel consuming, very fast Mercedes. A V8. I tense and my heart starts pounding as we move. What I’m about to do will put me on top of Salvatore’s hit list. I’ve been promised protection, and honestly, whatever happens, so be it. I just want him to know it was me, that the little driver they overlooked, made fun of, and teased, is the one who made them fall.

  They’ll be stripped of everything. Their fancy flats, money, power, and will spend the rest of their lives in orange jumpsuits in state prison. I don’t even hide the smirk as I look around and take in their faces.

  Nudging Ivan, I lean in. “This’ll be fun as fuck.”

  He regards me, his face, as always, might as well be cut in stone. “You find slaughtering people fun, you little sicko,” he says in his grave voice.

  I’m at a loss for words. I always figured him the same sadistic ass as the rest of them, intimidating as hell with his near-constant scowl. He’s impossible to read, that man, and he just surprised me greatly. Well, he works for the monster, so there’s enough wickedness in him. He belongs behind bars. They all do.

  The engine dies and the car rolls a few more feet before it stops. Behind us are two more cars filled with our people. We’re at the street crossing the alley behind the house, a three-story building with a storage and a bar on the bottom floor. Apartments on the next two. Everyone has turned silent as the semis are being distributed.

  An almost erotic tension rises in me. I’m not aroused by killing, but my body can’t quite tell the difference when everything clenches up in a ball of excitement in the pit of my belly.

  We have guys at the front. We’re entering from the back. The back door should be locked, but a key has somehow been obtained. This raid has been meticulously planned. The plug in my ear itches and I push at it, making sure it sits snugly. Everybody is quiet and efficient as we move toward the back door, two guys positioning themselves at the far ends of the alley, their weapons hanging in a strap over their shoulder, coolly waiting in the shadows for anything and everything.

  There’s a crackle in my ear and a low voice. “Go.”

  The guy with the key slides it into the lock. Glancing at us, he then nods, twists it and pulls the door open, jumping back and out of the way. With our guns ready, we move into a dark corridor, key-guy staying at the door. From afar come voices and music, people having fun, relaxing on a Friday night. Suddenly there’s a shot, and then the repeated loud smatter of semi-automatics fills the air. People scream, a guy comes rushing around the corner, blood on his face, his eyes huge and frightened. I have time to notice that they’re the same hue of blue as mine, then a round of shots end the light in them forever. We advance and slam open door after door, killing everything with a pulse, making sure every square foot is clear. No one is getting out of here alive. I’m on high alert, wondering when the cops will arrive, because this will be over way too soon.

  That’s when I hear it. Over the screaming and the shooting - sirens wailing louder and louder. I glance around me, at the faces of my partners as they become aware of the noise. From behind us come voices, orders are being barked out. My heart is nearly beating its way out of my chest. I wonder if I look as guilty as I feel.

  Something slams heavily against my back and I fall, hitting my chin on the hard floor, slamming my teeth together. Dazed, I look at feet running past me. There are grunts, loud voices. I try to get up when I’m slammed back to the floor.

  “Don’t move you fucker, or I’ll shoot. Arms and legs, spread ’em!”

  I jerk as my legs are kicked apart, then I lose my breath as a knee is shoved between my shoulder blades.

  “The fuck,” I gasp as I’m being cuffed. “I was the one who called you.”

  The cop on my back removes the pressure on my spine, rips me to my feet and pulls me to him. Holding me by the collar, his breath hot on my ear, he snarls, “No one likes a snitch, you little snake.”

  My mouth goes dry. Everything inside me turns cold, a frozen hell of pure, raw fear. I don’t have to ask. He owns the fucking cops too. I’m dead.

  “Chief, everybody else got away. Do we go after them?”

  The guy holding me glances at me and a little smirk spreads on his lips.

  “Yeah, go. Gotta follow protocol.”

  “On it.” The cop motions for his colleagues to follow, and they disappear out through the front. I’m left with two cops who push me through the narrow passage, out to a couple of waiting cop cruisers.

  My heart drops to my feet. I take in the surrealness of the picture. Three cops stand passive, just observing me, the red and blue lights flashing across the facades, giving the world a fitting, ghost-like expression. Further away stands a group of civilians, held back by yellow barricade tape, their pale faces judgmental, curious, ravenous.

  As I’m pushed inside the car, a hand on my head, my wrists aching, I say goodbye to life. I’m so sorry I never got to see Carmen again. I hope she’s home in Colombia, herding sheep, or something, reading, enjoying the mountains and the fresh air. I hope she’ll never ever learn what happened to me. She doesn’t deserve the grief.

  Chapter 21

  Carmen

  Time moves slowly here.

  Everything is filth, dust, unwashed bodies, stenches of garbage, and of sex. You can never get rid of the smell of sex when ten or fifteen men unload their cum every day, every night.

  The groans from the johns, the pretend lust filled moans from my roommates, the squeaks from old bedsprings, keep me awake at ungodly hours. I get more than one proposition to fuck, good money, guys hot for my growing belly. I tell them to fuck off, in somewhat civilized words. I don’t want to ruin the business for my friends.

  The world is sick. People are sick.

  But I’m free.

  I try to make a life in this non-life. I take care of Alex and Jane. They’re so skinny, jacked up on heroin most of the time. Alex keeps getting pneumonia, Jane is depressed and longs for the two children she lost custody of a few years back. Funny enough, I’m much better off than any of them, despite the evil growing in me. When it kicks, I relive the beatings, the rapes. When I cry, the girls hold me. When they shake and sweat, coming down from a high, I keep them dry and warm, make sure they drink and eat.

  Life is bad, but it could have been worse. It has been worse. My only real regret, that I keep to myself, is leaving Lucas. But I know Salvatore would have killed him if I had kept seeing him, and I take comfort in the fact that this is my only gift to him. The only legacy I can leave him with. His life.

  “What are ya doin’?” Alex dabs her long, wet hair, water dripping on her shoulder, trickling along her naked chest.

  She doesn’t bother being modest. We all know each other’s bodies by heart. If a man wanted to pay for us three in bed with him, we gladly took the money and played pretend. Oh yes, we know each other well.

  I wave with the book. “Reading.”

  “Yeah? Whatcha reading?”

  “Tolkien. It’s fantasy, ehm… elves, trolls, stuff like that.”

  She sits on the edge of my bed as she wraps the towel around her long, blonde hair. “Wanna read to me?”

  My heart skips a beat, the reminder too powerful. Lucas. I haven’t seen him in four months. I will
never see him again in my life. To be sure, I should probably leave the city, go somewhere else. If I see him, I wouldn’t be able to stay away, and it would kill him. I just need to get rid of the abomination in my swollen belly first, then I’ll be free.

  “Sure.”

  Alex lays down next to me, fluffing up the pillow under her head, and pulls my comforter over her.

  “You smell nice, Carmen.” She sniffs my hair.

  I smile and stroke her cheek. “Right now, you do too.”

  She beams at me and then nods at the book. I take a deep breath, turn the page and begin to read. I took up where Lucas left off, and I’m nearing the end of the third book. Alex keeps interrupting me, asking a thousand questions. She’s a sweet and simple woman. Her brain isn’t quite right after years of drug abuse, and she’s having a hard time focusing on things, but it’s all right. I have all the time in the world.

  One ordinary Tuesday morning in late January, right after I have waddled between my bed, the bathroom and the kitchen, I get a sudden heavy pull in my lower stomach. I wiggle my hips, thinking I need to pee, and then it passes.

  I’m making tea, got a slice of bread in the toaster and am boiling an egg. Right as I put the tea bag in the cup, I feel it again, a vague contraction, lasting a little longer than the first. I freeze.

  Oh God. Oh no.

  Jane and Alex are sound asleep. From what I heard, the last customer left at five. I stand unmoving, tea bag still in hand, the bright morning sun hitting the gray linoleum floor where I stand, warming my sock clad feet. No thoughts pass my mind. For a few moments I’m absolutely numb.

  Then I continue with the tea, my hands shaking, stopping for every contraction, checking the time between them. I’ve seen plenty of women give birth back home in the village. I know the ropes. My water hasn’t broken yet. The contractions are still vague, and far apart. I have time. What I need now is to eat, drink and rest the best I can. I’ll go fetch the plastic sheets I bought for this occasion, not to soil the mattress, the pair of scissors, the rubber bands, the bowl for water and the pile of clean towels. I have everything prepared. I may not want this baby, but I’m a practical girl and I gotta do what is right.

  Of course the thought has struck me from time to time that I might bleed, or that the baby will get stuck. I don’t want to die, but I can’t go to the hospital. It’s out of the question. If I go there, I might as well call Salvatore and tell him where to find me.

  As the hours pass and the contractions get stronger, the pauses between them shorter, I pace the apartment, gritting my teeth to not moan. I rock my hips back and forth, trying to ride the waves of pain. Yet again he’s hurting me. Even from afar.

  I have moments of absolute despair, when I can’t hold back the tears, afraid of today, afraid of what will come out of me, afraid to hold it.

  I’m on my third hot shower, holding my hands against the tiles, almost doubled over as I wiggle my hips through a contraction so rough it makes me unable to breathe, when I feel something slick on the insides of my thighs.

  Fuck.

  I squat and push two fingers up my pussy and then recoil, almost falling on my butt. That was the baby’s head. Not through yet, but I’m wide open. A whimper escapes me as I grab the towel and stumble through the rooms, banging my fist on first Alex’s door, and then Jane’s.

  “It’s time,” I wail. “Help!”

  The sudden need to push makes me squeal as I fight to hold it together.

  “Help!”

  Both doors fly open almost simultaneously and two half-dressed girls come rushing. Jane grabs my arm as Alex runs to the kitchen.

  “Come, Carmen. I’ve got you, honey. Why didn’t you wake us earlier?”

  She holds me until I’ve sat down on the bed.

  “I didn’t want to bother you,” I grit between clenched teeth, throwing my arms around my chest. The next contraction is so powerful that I scream, clutching her arm. I dart up and turn toward the bed, gripping the bed frame, rocking my hips to relieve the pressure.

  “Honey, you need to lie down.”

  “I can’t!”

  I scream again as I feel like I’m being ripped in two.

  “It’s too big! I can’t!” I gasp.

  “Yes, you can, honey. Everyone feels that way. It’ll pass.”

  “Got the water!” A breathless Alex, her face terrified, comes darting into the room.

  Jane dips a finger in it. I lose myself in another wave of agony.

  “Sweetie. You need to mix some cold water in that. It’s gotta be warm, not scalding.”

  “Jane!” I wail, “I think it’s coming. I’m so insanely happy Jane is a mother and has gone through this.

  Alex disappears in a flash and is back within a minute.

  I pant erratically, waiting for the next time to push.

  As if from afar, I hear Jane’s soothing voice, telling me to keep breathing, to listen to my body.

  “Fuck my body!” I cry.

  “Yeah, hon, that’s why you’re here now. That’s how babies are made.”

  “Fuck you,” I scream and she laughs. She fucking has the nerve to laugh.

  I put a hand between my thighs and there it is, the head, it’s stretching me wide open. I want to puke.

  “I don’t want it! I can’t! Take it away!” I wail.

  Jane puts a hand over mine, feeling what I’m feeling, the slick hard thing that is too big to exit there.

  “Okay, that’s it. On the bed. Now. We don’t want to drop it on its head.” She grabs my arm in a steel grip, as Alex grabs my hips. I end up on all four on the mattress, squealing and crying.

  “I hate men and their fucking dicks!”

  “Don’t we all,” mutters Alex.

  “This is how God created us. We’re supposed to do this.” Jane strokes my cheek.

  “I hate God!” I scream.

  An urge to push, a primal reflex ancient as time itself, makes me arch as I lose all control.

  “You’re doing great. It’s coming. You were made for this. Don’t stop, don’t stop pushing. All the way now and this is over. Do it. Push!”

  My roar is a long guttural, inhuman sound as my body turns itself inside out. Suddenly the pain subsides as something thick and slippery slithers out between my legs. I gasp for air at the same time as the tiniest of wails comes from whatever has come out of me.

  I push my sweaty face into the pillow and, as the adrenaline leaves me, the complete lack of energy makes me sag.

  There’s movement between my legs. A baby cries. I cry.

  “It’s a boy, Carmen. A beautiful baby boy. Here. Look.”

  “No,” I wail. “Take it away.”

  “No, you turn over and take your baby. You’re being irrational. He needs his mom.” Her voice holds a sharpness I’ve never heard before and something in it makes me turn my head, and then shuffle over so I’m lying on my side.

  Jane stands next to me, cradling a little thing wrapped in a towel. Alex holds up a pair of scissors and a couple of rubber bands, looking questioningly at Jane who nods for her to go on and cut the cord. The tiniest of hands is the only thing I see, little fingers clutching air, helpless, confused.

  Oh my fucking God. I don’t even know what I’m feeling. There’s too much going on. I’m bone weary, there’s something thick in my chest, twisting my heart. My pussy aches and my boobs tense up at the little grunts from the baby.

  “Give him to me.” I open my arms to make room.

  “Atta girl.” She puts the little bundle next to my chest and pushes down the edge of my robe, freeing a breast. “Put his cheek to the nipple. He’ll know what to do.”

  I take a moment to study the little thing, touching his hand with the tips of my fingers. He tries to grip me, and I find it amazing he can even do that. His eyes are so tired, and so dark. Dark like mine, dark like… his father’s. His skin, under streaks of blood, and patches of a white fatty substance, is a beautiful caramel hue, and his nose straight.
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  Alex and Jane are silent, all of us awed by the miracle that is a new life being born. It doesn’t matter that I don’t want him, won’t keep him. In this moment, an angel touches us all, and we’re engulfed in what women have felt since the dawn of time, the act connecting us all, every generation back to Eve.

  The little one makes funny little grunting noises, like a hedgehog’s, as he searches for my nipple. When he finally latches on, it’s as if a tingling electric impulse runs from my nipple straight to my pussy setting off a new sucking sensation.

  “Jane,” I grunt. “After-fucking-birth.”

  “Just focus on yours. We’ll be here.”

  My throat thickens and I can’t hold back the tears. The little one falls asleep, greedily sucking on my nipple. My breasts look like a cow’s udder, and I know it’ll only get worse as the milk starts coming for real in a couple of days.

  “I am never having kids,” mutters Alex as she regards the little duo that is me and the baby.

  Jane laughs. “You never know.”

  Alex scoffs, and as I smile a little at their exchange, a deeper, more hollow contraction builds.

  “I’m going to push a little on your belly. Can you lie over on your back for me?”

  I grab the baby, careful not to disturb the suckling as I shift, but he’s deep asleep and falls away from the nipple.

  “You know a lot about childbirth,” I say as Jane starts massaging my belly in a downward movement.

  “I studied to become a nurse,” she says quietly and looks away.

  I’m baffled. I didn’t know. “What happened?”

  “I got caught stealing morphine from the med locker. I… got addicted after breaking my leg in my teens.”

  I grunt and clench my teeth as I fight to help my body get rid of the remains. “I’m so sorry,” I say between labored breaths.

  Something warm and wet flows out between my legs and finally a complete feeling of peace settles in me.

 

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