Target on Our Backs

by J. M. Darhower

  Company.

  More men.

  More guys like him.

  "Why are you doing this?" I ask, my voice shaking. "What do you want?"

  He glances at me. "What do I want?"

  I nod.

  "I want your husband dead."

  I inhale sharply.

  The answer doesn't shock me, but it hurts. It fucking hurts.

  "But it doesn't really matter what I want," he continues. "What matters is what the boss wants."

  The boss.

  Of course he's working for somebody else.

  They always are, aren't they?

  "So what does your boss want, then, if he doesn't want him dead?"

  "Oh, I never said he didn't want him dead, but the boss? He's taking a play out of your husband's handbook. See, me? I'd make it quick and easy. Shoot up your house, kill him without ever getting out of the car. I like a good drive-by. It's timeless. But I guess somewhere along the way, this turned personal, and the boss wants Vitale to get a dose of his own medicine. Steal his pride, his hope, his dignity. Then after he's got nothing left, we take his life. Because without the rest of those things, it's not really worth living, is it?"

  He turns to walk away, limping a few steps.

  "So that's what Lorenzo wants, huh? To toy with him?"

  He pauses, glancing at me, genuine surprise flashing across his expression. "Lorenzo?"

  "That's your boss, isn't it? Lorenzo Gambini."

  I've caught him off guard. I can see it in his eyes. He stares at me like he isn't sure how to respond. The man obviously likes to talk a lot, but I've rendered him speechless.

  "Lorenzo Gambini," he echoes before shrugging and turning to leave again. "Doesn't ring a bell."

  I scowl at the door when he opens it and shuffles outside, leaving it open a crack so he can peer back in and keep an eye on me. It's the only way in and out that I can see. To escape, I'd have to go right through them.

  I don't know how many of them there are.

  I hear a few voices, fragments of a conversation. I can only make out part of what they're talking about, but very little of it makes any sense to me. They talk about trees and Park Enforcement, like any of that is relevant, before someone mentions a crime scene and something sparks inside of me. I look around the room I'm in, feeling like I'm going to be sick.

  The park near the East River.

  Could it be?

  They keep on babbling as my captor periodically glances back in at me, like he thinks he's going to catch me in the act of doing something. I'm not sure what the hell I could do in this situation. It's so damn dark and my head is still pounding and I'm so woozy it's taking everything in me just to sit up straight. I hear more words, something about cigars and borrowing a lighter, before someone yells to douse a fire before they blow us all to smithereens. I don't know… it's all beyond me… until I hear them say his name.

  "Anything from Vitale?"

  I don't know the voice that asks that… have never heard it before that I can recall. But it's the hulking man who responds.

  "I called him on the girl's phone," he says. "Shouldn't take him long."

  My phone. Of course. It won't take Naz long to track me using it, and it seems they're banking on that fact. I don't know what to do with that information, though, if I'm supposed to be hopeful, or if I should be terrified this is all a trap. I try to remind myself that Naz is smart, too smart to let them have the upper hand, but he's just a man… a flawed man… a man that probably doesn't even have a plan.

  How the hell are we getting out of this one?

  They talk some more. I don't know about what. Endless babbling that goes in one ear and out the other, as my eyes scan the small space around me. I see headlights again eventually as the car leaves, the door opening, my captor waltzing back in.

  Ten.

  Nine.

  Eight.

  I count in my head as I close my eyes, trying like hell to stay calm, to keep my heart from racing. It feels like it's going to give out on me any second. Each inhale brings about a swell of nausea as bile burns my throat. There's something wrong. I can feel it deep in my bones. I feel intoxicated, yet suffering from the worst hangover… dizzy and desperate, my head damn near explosive.

  I don't know what the hell the man did to me to get me here, but it can't be good.

  It can't be good for the baby.

  I wrap my arms around my stomach, holding myself together one lungful at a time. Inhale. Exhale. Just keep breathing.

  I remember those words.

  Remember Naz repeating them.

  You'll be okay… just keep breathing.

  The man paces the room in the darkness, his hands shoved in his pockets, his knee buckling every few steps. He's in some pain, I can tell it, and he's getting nervous.

  He should be nervous.

  He's right, maybe… and maybe Giuseppe was right, too. A leopard doesn't change its spots. That's what he told me. That's what they all say. For everything that is undoubtedly different about Naz these days, a few things will never change.

  Naz won't give up.

  He won't give in.

  He's not going to let anyone bully him.

  He's not going to let somebody else win.

  The old Naz will come for me.

  I have no idea what the hell he's going to do to get us out of this, but I don't doubt for a second that somehow, he will.

  He has to.

  Inhale.

  Exhale.

  Just fucking breathe.

  My eyelids are heavy from exhaustion. My body is screaming for me to lie down, for me to go to sleep. The offensive smell keeps haunting me, surrounding me, like it's seeping from my pores the same way it clung to him.

  Him.

  He continues to pace, muttering to himself. I don't know the man's name. Not that it matters, really. I probably wouldn't recognize it, just like I don't know the face. He's a stranger to me. He's in over his head, and I think he knows it, with the way his eyes keep darting toward the windows, with the way he seems to be jumping out of his own skin. I wonder if he's second-guessing this plan of his, if he's realizing just how stupid going after Naz is. I wonder if it's not too late to try to convince him that letting me go is still an option.

  I wonder.

  I wonder.

  I fucking wonder.

  But there's nothing I can do about it.

  Because my mouth is dry, my throat is burning, and if I try to speak, I know I'm going to lose it. I'm going to lose the last shred of my composure, and he's going to know he's got me. He's going to know he broke me. He'd love nothing more than to hear me beg again, and I just can't give him that.

  Don't let him win.

  I don't know how much time passes. I blink and blink. Inhale. Exhale. Breathe. I think I pass out, because a second later I'm lying down, startled by a loud bang… loud enough to vibrate the concrete floor beneath me. There's a commotion outside. Someone shouts. There's rustling around the building, frantic enough that the chaos creeps through the cracks in the concrete, and I know it then.

  I know it.

  Naz is here.

  My breath catches. I've got to keep breathing, but at the moment, I can't. Terror freezes the blood in my veins, everything blurry when I sit back up and stare at the door. The man does the same, stopping a few feet to the right of me, so still in the darkness it's like he's ceased to exist from the weight of this whole thing. I count in my head; I don't know what number I get to… I keep fucking it up as I stare and stare and stare.

  The door swings open, and I nearly black out from the shock of adrenaline surging through me. My eyes meet Naz through the darkness as he calmly, casually, steps inside.

  The fucker just walks right in.

  A few seconds pass. I expect the chaos to follow him, but it doesn't.

  Nothing follows him.

  No one.

  I don't know what that means; I don't know what the hell happened outside or what's ab
out to happen in here. All I know is Naz is in front of me.

  Naz.

  My Naz.

  Oh God.

  He's holding a knife, fisting the handle of it, the tip pointing to the floor. I catch a gleam of the metal. I exhale sharply, a worried cry, as I stare at him. The noise catches Naz's attention, his eyes seeking me out. It sets my captor into motion as he darts my direction, yanking me off the ground.

  I almost do it again. I almost black out. It's only a few seconds, as I slump in the man's arms, damn near hitting the floor. He grips me tightly, though, and grunts as he forces me onto my feet, shaking me like that'll keep me conscious, but it only aggravates my queasiness.

  A massive arm is snaked around me, forcing me on my tiptoes. Naz doesn't look at the man right away, his eyes on me, studying me, making sure I'm okay.

  Am I okay?

  I see it as Naz's nose twitches, his posture stiffening, his grip on his knife tightening. Maybe I'm not. After a moment, he glances past me, above me, looking at the man for the first time.

  Something suddenly sets Naz off, almost like he's in a panic. He takes a few steps toward us, his expression darkening, when the man reaches into his pocket, pulling something out. At first I think it's a knife as I catch a gleam of metal, but as I cut my eyes that direction, I see it's a lighter.

  A silver Zippo.

  The man flips it open and holds it up in front of me, his thumb on the wheel. Naz pauses suddenly. It's like he hit a brick wall. Something flashes in his eyes, something I'm not used to seeing on him.

  Fear.

  The darkness seems to melt away as his eyes seek me out again. This isn't the cold, calculating monster the man wanted to draw here. In front of me stands a terrified man. I can tell it from the look on his face.

  I see him breaking right in front of me.

  Naz's voice is low, threatening, as he says, "You wouldn't dare."

  The man responds right away. "Try me."

  I expect Naz to do just that, but he doesn't move an inch. He does nothing. Nothing. He stands there, clutching the knife, staring at me, desperation shining through. Holy fuck, he's seriously scared. What the hell is happening?

  "Let her go," Naz says.

  "Drop the knife and I'll think about it."

  I almost fucking laugh. Yeah, right. Like Naz is going to do that. But all at once, without a second of hesitation, he opens his hand and the knife clatters to the concrete.

  He listens.

  He drops the goddamn knife.

  Whatever is making me foggy must be seriously fucking with me, because none of this is adding up.

  Why would he do that?

  "Kick it over here," the man orders, and again, Naz listens. He kicks the knife right at us. It comes to a stop by my feet.

  "Let her go," Naz repeats, his voice borderline pleading. "You want me, you got me. Just leave her out of this."

  "Naz," I whisper. "What's happening?"

  Naz looks at me but he doesn't answer my question.

  My captor, on the other hand, is eager to chime in. He pulls me tighter to him, waving the lighter in front of my face. "Do you smell it? I know Vitale does. It's on me, and on you, and since he walked in, it's probably on him now, too. It's all over the room, it's in the air, and it's clinging to our clothes, but especially yours. You're coated in it, little girl. I made sure of that. And all it needs is one little spark, one flick of my thumb, and you'll go right up. Whoosh."

  Do I smell it?

  I do.

  I've smelled it since the second I saw him.

  "What is it?" I ask, the words coming out as a strangled cry. Holy shit, he's going to burn me. He's going to burn me alive.

  "Ether."

  It's Naz that answers that time.

  Ether.

  I've taken enough chemistry in school to recognize that word. I couldn't tell you what it's used for, but I know without a shadow of a doubt, ether is highly flammable.

  "No… I just... No! You can't!" I start to struggle as tears start streaming from my eyes. "It's on you, too. You can't do it. You'll go up in flames."

  The man leans down, closer to my ear, as he whispers, "So?"

  Jesus Christ, he doesn't care.

  No wonder he was so anxious.

  It's a suicide mission.

  "Let her go," Naz says for the third time, his voice louder, more threatening.

  "Why should I?" the man asks.

  "Because she's pregnant."

  The man laughs at that. He laughs, like it's amusing. Like me being pregnant makes this all the more entertaining. And I know it then. I know he's not going to let me go. He's not going to just let me walk out of here. Maybe there was some second-guessing, but it was never about me. It was just self-preservation. But it's too late for that now. He wants to kill Naz but more importantly, he's here to torture him.

  He's going to torture him by torturing me.

  No. He can't do it. I can't let him.

  This can't be happening.

  Something snaps inside of me then. I can feel it. It's like the walls holding me together start crumbling, the panic pushing its way through like an overflowing river. Headlights flash in the windows yet again, drawing the man's attention, distracting him long enough for me to do something. Terrified, I lash out, struggling in his arms, my arm thrusting back, my elbow going straight into his gut. Hard. His grip on me slips and he loses hold of the lighter. The man goes to retrieve it, and I react in the moment.

  I have to.

  Reaching down, I grab the knife, the one Naz brought with him.

  I recognize it.

  It came straight out of our kitchen.

  One second it's firmly in my hand; the next second I'm swinging the damn thing. I don't stop to think about what the hell I'm doing, because if I do, I might hesitate.

  There's no time for hesitation, not when our lives are at stake.

  I hit him, I think, somewhere in the leg. I'm surprised by how easy the knife goes in. I always thought it took brute force, but the blade slides right through the skin. He grunts, fucking growling as I twist out of his arms and pull the knife back out, blood spurting from the gash.

  I drop the knife as I run.

  I run straight to Naz. He's already advancing toward me. I throw myself into his arms, trying to hold myself together, but I'm crying. Naz's hands frantically explore me, like he's trying to make sure I'm okay, and his lips find my forehead a moment later. It's a soft kiss, a quick kiss, before he pulls away.

  He looks me right in the eyes.

  I watch as his terror fades away.

  Something else takes over.

  An anger.

  A hunger.

  The monster.

  "Run," he says quietly.

  I cling to him, eyes widening. "What?"

  "Get out of here," he says, pulling me off of him, as he pushes me toward the door. There are car doors slamming outside. People are approaching. Oh God. No. No. No. "Run and don't look back."

  I want to argue.

  I want to tell him he's a fucking fool.

  There's no way I'm leaving here without him.

  Till death do us part.

  I want to stay here, stay with him, but I know, deep down inside, there's no way he'll let me.

  Because it's not just me now.

  It's me and a baby.

  His baby.

  Our baby.

  He gives me another look, and I know I can't hesitate. Closing my eyes, I look away from him, running for the exit just like he told me.

  Yanking the door open, I burst outside, my head still pounding. I feel sick. My chest burns, as I break into a sprint, unable to help myself as I do it... I look back.

  It's only a second, as I stare at the closing door.

  A second of hesitation.

  Oh God. Naz.

  I keep running, though, nearly fucking tripping, stumbling over my feet before crashing right into something.

  BAM

  Hands grab
my arms, keeping me from falling on my ass. My head whips back around, and there I see him.

  I see that face.

  Lorenzo.

  The sight of him is like being punched in the gut.

  It's crippling.

  I'm crumbling.

  Falling to pieces.

  "Sunshine," he says casually. "Figured we'd find you here."

  "Of course you did," I whisper through my tears, trying to yank away from him, but he just grips my arms tighter. Men surround us, maybe half a dozen. I don't count them. I don't give a shit about them. They all look the same.

  Dressed in black with ski masks on.

  They blend in with the darkness.

  "Where's your husband?" he asks, but he doesn't wait for me to answer. Swinging me around, he shoves me back into one of his men, looking at the guy pointedly as he says, "Take her. Make sure she doesn't get hurt. You know the drill."

  The man starts to drag me away as Lorenzo pulls out a gun, holding it firmly in his hand. He heads toward the concrete building, and a scream bursts out of me. A scream of sheer terror, of utter desperation.

  Oh God, he's going to die.

  He's going to kill him.

  "No!" I shriek, fighting the man who's holding me, kicking and punching, trying to break free. "Naz! Please! Naz!"

  I scream his name, praying he hears me, praying he's ready, praying he walks away from this okay. I can't do it without him. I need him.

  I need him.

  It takes three of them to subdue me, to shove me in the back of a car that's only a few feet away. Two climb in the back with me, while the guy he passed me off to gets behind the wheel. I fight with all my might, grabbing masks and pulling on them, scratching faces, trying to take out their fucking eyes.

  Anything to escape.

  I scream and scream and scream, his name the only word I can now conjure. Naz. Naz. Naz.

  I don't know if he can hear me.

  I don't know if it's too late.

  I punch a guy straight in the nose before trying to break out a window, beating on it with my fists, but it's not buckling. I use my foot when they try to pull me away from it, hauling my leg up and kicking the glass, angry that it just won't fucking break.

  Why won't it break?

  It takes damn near a dozen times before the glass fractures, splintering and cracking, falling to pieces. My foot goes right through it then, and I hiss as the jagged glass slices the skin near my ankle.