Ashby Holler

by Jamie Zakian

  Vinny sat beside Dez, taking the bottle. “So where’s the green truck go?”

  “You got pretty close with Sasha, huh?”

  “No,” Vinny blurted, looking away then back. “I’m just trying to learn.” He poked the patch on his jacket. “Runner.”

  “You’re so different. Everything’s different.” Dez took the bottle, downing another gulp. “You and Sasha used to sneak into the clubhouse, steal joints, then go beat up the local kids. Now you guys are at the table and I’m…”

  “You’re our sergeant.”

  “Yeah. Go figure.” After another swig, Dez handed over the bottle to keep from finishing the damn thing. “You’ve been passing on some prime tail all night. I hear that Debbie chick can suck the chrome off a bumper.”

  Vinny snorted mid-gulp, coughing a bit while banging on his chest. “It’s true. Mouth like a vacuum, but I ain’t really feelin’ it tonight.”

  “Sasha?”

  “What?”

  “You two,” Dez leaned back, lighting a cigarette, “fight like an old married couple.”

  “It’s starting to feel like that,” Vinny muttered.

  “So you guys are fucking?”

  “No!” Vinny shook his head, waving his hand. “No, no. I’m stuck in the friend zone. Why are you asking about Sasha?”

  Dez stared across the parking lot. Moonlight shimmered off the line of gleaming rigs. The sparkle of light shining off chrome left a warmth in his chest, better than liquor, like home. “I know the whole crew, and you’re my brother. But Sasha…I can’t puzzle her out. She’s either really smart or really stupid. Or maybe even both at the same time, if that’s possible.”

  Vinny smirked, nodding.

  The bench shifted as Dez turned, eyeing the bottle. “I worry she’ll hurt the club.”

  “No way. The club is her life. It’s all she ever talks about, thinks about. You caught her on a bad week, with that bar shit and other stuff. That’s all. She’s calmed down a lot these last few years. Just give her a chance.”

  Dez rose from the bench, took the bottle from Vinny’s hand, and flicked his cigarette over the railing. “Green truck goes to Little Rock,” he said before walking back inside.

  ***

  Sasha

  Sasha grinned at the cute gasps that filled her cab. She kissed Carmen’s thigh, earning a moan. She nibbled on the woman’s flat stomach, scoring her a giggle, and the tip of her tongue, running between soft breasts up to a silky neck, brought shivers to both their bodies.

  “Ay dios mío, mamacita,” Carmen cried out. “Es una lengua mágica.”

  “Gracias, muñeca.”

  “You speak Spanish?” Carmen sat up in the cramped sleeper cabin, gazing into Sasha’s eyes.

  “Si. Un poco. I spent some time in Guadalajara last year.”

  “Really! You are an interesting girl, Sasha Ashby. Come here, let me do you now.”

  Sasha grabbed ahold of Carmen’s wandering hands. “Aren’t you worried? Fernando’s gonna tell your father we were in here alone for so long.”

  “I hide nothing, am ashamed of nothing. My father respects me for it.” Carmen lifted the end of Sasha’s tank top. “Is that what this bruise is about? Intolerant redneck fucks? Things are a lot different here in the city, mama.”

  Sasha stopped Carmen from fumbling with her belt. Thoughts of a brutal stomp-down and a visit to the cellar kind of killed the mood. “I should hit the road. Besides, I came like five times just watching your body quake.”

  “Ooh.” Carmen fell against Sasha’s chest, licking her lips. “There’s that magic tongue again.”

  A heart beat against Sasha’s chest, and it wasn’t her own. It was faster, harder. The thump turned to a pound as she slid her hands down Carmen’s back, clutching onto her ass. Their lips met, gliding, caressing, skating atop one another. It took every ounce of strength and the last bit of her willpower, but Sasha pulled herself from the sensuous woman’s embrace.

  She hopped into the front, lighting a cigarette while Carmen slinked back into her dress. Carmen’s fingers slid along the back of her hand before she stole the cigarette from Sasha’s grasp.

  “All right, mama. Let’s get you on your way,” Carmen said through a billow of smoke.

  Sasha opened her door, climbing out. She helped Carmen ease off the steel grate step, those high heels wedging in the rough slits.

  Once on solid ground, Carmen smoothed back her already perfect hair then smirked. “You know, if we pooled our resources and cut out the overhead, we could run the largest syndicate in the midwest.”

  The words sent razor-winged butterflies whirling in Sasha’s stomach. Her mouth opened, but her thought process hadn’t caught up yet, so nothing came out. Finally, she said, “I’m not lookin’ to run anything.”

  Carmen laughed, more of a wicked taunt, and crept closer. “You will. And when you do, I’ll be waiting.”

  After a long, ravenous gaze, Carmen strolled away. “Next time, mama.”

  “Absolutely,” Sasha said in more of a whisper. By the time she climbed back into her rig, Carmen was gone and the warehouse bay open. She backed her big rig out of the warehouse, weaved past abandoned buildings, and barreled down toward the freeway.

  “Shit, seven-thirty. I’m so late.” The engine whistled as Sasha ran through gears, pushing for the south. She clicked on the radio, turning up the volume. Not even the wail of Def Leppard could drown out Carmen’s words. They could monopolize all criminal activity in a five-hundred-mile radius, easy. It would mean…sacrificing everything.

  A shiver ran down Sasha’s spine. She shook it off, shifted into tenth, and settled back for a long ride.

  ***

  Vinny

  Pebbles skipped under Vinny’s anxious pace. He looked at his watch, stopping to gawk. “Twelve-fifteen,” he groaned. “Where the fuck are you?”

  Voices drew his gaze back to the clubhouse. From across the lot, he watched Dez escort Debbie to his truck then drive off. Alone again, with only the chirp of crickets, Vinny resumed his circular gait. The rumble of a diesel engine echoed from the hills below, cementing his feet in place. He listened, head cocked toward the night sky. When the whoosh of airbrakes silenced the mockingbirds’ call, he dashed up the porch steps.

  First, Vinny slouched on the bench with his arm propped along the back. Then he sat forward and rested his elbows on his knees. Finally, after a mental reminder about the hazards of dorkiness, he lit a joint and drooped against the armrest.

  A truck’s door slammed shut, and his heart skipped. Beads of sweat pooled on his palm at the sight of Sasha. Her long brown hair tapped her leather jacket as she floated across the compound, baggy cargo pants dragging in the dirt.

  Vinny hit the joint when Sasha’s boot landed on the porch, casting a red glow around his face and luring her stare.

  “Hey,” he said, a stream of smoke following his voice.

  “Yes! Weed me.” Sasha plopped beside him, plucking the joint from his fingers.

  Vinny watched her eyes drift shut, lips scrunching to kiss the end of the sticky paper. To be that joint right now, trapped in her soft grasp, lingering on her skin, creeping inside her…

  “Is my mom still up?”

  “No.” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. “She went up to the big house about an hour ago.”

  “Otis?” After another puff, Sasha handed Vinny the joint.

  “Yeah. He’s in there.”

  She flashed a smile, hopping to her feet. “Keys go straight to the prez or road captain the moment you get back. Got it?”

  Vinny nodded, and Sasha turned toward the clubhouse door.

  “Hey, Sasha.”

  When she looked back, his body grew stiff. He wanted to say so many things. Tell her how beautiful she looked, ask to spend the night, confess his chest-shattering love, but simply said, “See you tomorrow.”

  “Goodnight.”

  Sasha’s voice trailed off as she strolled through the thres
hold, but her smile hung in Vinny’s mind. He dropped his head into his hands, rubbing his forehead. Any hint, the tiniest signal that she wanted him, and he’d jump, but Sasha was the queen of mixed messages. Lustful leers laced in angst. That’s all he got from her.

  Vinny rose from the bench, his fists tight at his sides. Wood planks creaked as he thumped down the small steps. While breathing in crisp mountain air, he walked to his truck.

  Chapter Ten

  Sasha

  A motorcycle revved, pulling Sasha from the cusp of sleep. She sat up in bed, looking around her room. A crackle of fire echoed outside her window, and an orange glow lit her walls. She fought to untangle from blankets, rolling out of bed. Her hip bumped the nightstand, glass bottles clinking as she peered out the window. Sharp flames licked the sky, spreading down the line of tractor-trailers parked across from the clubhouse. Her jaw inched open, only the smallest of gasps seeping out.

  Most of the fleet had disappeared behind a wall of fire. Most, not all. Sasha turned from the window, running out of her room. Splintered wood dug into her bare feet as she dashed down rickety stairs. Her long t-shirt rode up her thighs, frosty air chilling her skin. She glanced at her mother’s house atop the hill, catching a silhouette in the window.

  “Thank God,” she muttered. If Satan’s Crew had tried to burn her mother alive, she’d have to kill them slowly. It would’ve taken months to torture them all. At least now she could slaughter them quick.

  Sasha turned back to face the roar of flames, running toward it. Fire streamed from the long gas tank of the green Peterbilt before it exploded, blowing the truck off the ground and Sasha’s hair back. She skidded to a stop outside the clubhouse, dodging bits of fiery gas tank. Swirls of groaning flames, which had lifted the once-majestic Peterbilt into the air, spread out as the semi slammed back to the ground. A firestorm devoured the fleet. The green truck, now a mangled pile of blazing metal, infected the trucks beside it with its raging inferno.

  A window shattered in her father’s black International, the rig that inspired the club, and Sasha ran forward only to have a strong hand grasp her arm.

  “No key,” Kev yelled, holding her back while cupping a deep gash on his forehead.

  “What are you doing here?” Sasha yanked herself free, shielding her face from swells of blistering heat.

  “I passed out on the pool table and—Fuck! The trucks.”

  “Sasha!”

  Sasha spun toward the sound of her mother’s voice and the jingle of keys.

  “Black truck,” Sasha yelled. She caught the key that sailed toward her chest then sprinted to the rig. “Call the guys,” she hollered to Kev. “They might be targets.”

  Another explosion rocked the ground as Sasha reached for the driver’s door, flinging her to the gravel. Flames poured from beneath the truck, climbing atop one another in a rush to gobble her up. “Shit,” she yelled, springing to her feet.

  Heated metal singed her exposed legs as she climbed into the cab. Her fingers shook, missing the ignition before cranking the engine to life. Sweat poured from her chin, the fire’s roar vibrating her eardrums. The shifter scorched her palm when she gripped onto its steel ball. Even though it stung like road-rash, she grinded the truck into gear then drove from flashes of fire bursts.

  Sasha jumped from the truck, wincing as jagged rocks scraped the bottoms of her raw feet. The sight of her mother frozen in front of the clubhouse, gawking, was more unsettling than the blaze. She’d never seen that woman hesitate before.

  “I heard motorcycles,” Sasha said, limping to her mother’s side.

  “The fleet,” Ellen said, her eyes reflecting the fury of the flames.

  “Get inside.” Sasha took her mother’s arm, hurrying into the clubhouse.

  Kev rushed forward, and the phone’s cord yanked him back to the wall. “Chewy and Vinny didn’t answer.”

  Panic struck Sasha’s chest harder than a fist. “Fuck. Otis?”

  “I’m trying him now.”

  Sasha left her mother beside the pool table, snatching the phone from Kev’s hand. “Go get me some clothes and bring my pickup around.”

  Kev ran toward the door, disappearing into curls of smoke. Otis’s groggy voice sang in Sasha’s ear.

  “We’ve been hit,” she said, ignoring the tremble that disrupted her words.

  “What? Are you—I hear motorcycles,” Otis said in a hushed voice.

  “Grab a gun and get low,” Sasha said, clutching the phone’s cord.

  Pops burst through the receiver, followed by a grunt and the shatter of broken glass. Sasha flinched, and her mother hustled to her side.

  “I need shotguns and ammo,” Sasha said while listening to the stream of gunfire that blasted from the phone.

  Ellen dashed into the backroom, and the line grew quiet, leaving Sasha with the crackle of fire. “Otis! Fuck, man. Otis!”

  “I’m okay,” Otis said. “My house just got lit up. Did you warn anyone else?”

  “Kev’s here, but Chewy and Vinny didn’t answer.”

  “Ellen?”

  “She’s fine.” Sasha glanced at her mother, who’d laid weapons on the pool table. “They firebombed the fleet.”

  Kev ran into the clubhouse, tossing clothes at Sasha’s chest, and she propped the phone against her shoulder while dressing.

  “I’ll head to Chewy’s,” Otis said. “You and Kev get to Vinny’s house.”

  “Be careful.” Sasha hung up the phone and jammed her sore feet into tight boots.

  “This is your fault,” Ellen said, glaring at Sasha. “Our fleet, the crew, fucked. All because of that stunt you pulled with Satan’s Crew last month.”

  Sasha grabbed two shotguns, shoving a tin of shells at Kev’s chest. “Get in the truck.” Kev scurried from sight, and Sasha backed out the door. “Lock up and grab a gun,” she said to her mother before sprinting to her running pickup.

  “Otis?” Kev asked as she drove through the now-busted front gate.

  “They shot up his house, but he’s okay.” Sasha cut the corner, flooring the gas. “Goddamn motherfucker!” She pounded her fist against the steering wheel, but it didn’t stop a flood of rage from creeping into her mind. Her crew could be lying in puddles of their own blood right now, which reminded her.

  “You okay?” Sasha asked, looking at Kev. “Your head?”

  Kev wiped the streaks of blood from his forehead. “Fuckers hit me with something while I was passed out.”

  “This is my fault. I firebombed their warehouse. I started a war.”

  “They took out our men first.” Kev sat up when they turned onto Vinny’s street. “Oh shit.”

  Police cars lined the road, red and blue lights flashing off the tightly packed houses.

  “Stash the guns,” Sasha said, shoving her shotgun under the seat. She slowed the truck to a crawl, bobbing to see beyond the uniformed men who eyed her as she drove by. “Someone’s on a stretcher.” Her hand tapped Kev’s chest. “Who is it?”

  Kev sat up, looking over Sasha’s head. “It’s Vinny. He’s moving, talking.”

  “Thank God,” she said. “Dez?”

  “His truck’s not here. He left with Debbie tonight.”

  Sasha busted a right, flooring it toward Main Street. “This is so not good, man. Now the fuzz is involved.”

  “Good thing you got those pictures of the sheriff.”

  “Yeah.” Sasha stopped in front of the diner, shutting the engine. When Kev reached for the door, she seized his arm. “Wait.”

  After a second of looking and listening to nothing, she released her clutch. “Okay. Let’s go.”

  They both grabbed a shotgun and inched to the stairs that led above the diner. On a small landing, Sasha lowered her gun and Kev covered her back. She knocked hard, then returned her hold to the barrel.

  The steel slab cracked open, and Dez peeked out. “Sasha!” He ripped the door open, shrinking back when glimpsing the gun in her hands.

  Sasha pushed
by Dez, barging inside. “There’s been a…thing.”

  “Don’t freak out.” Kev shut the door, resting his gun on his shoulder. “Vinny’s okay. We think.”

  “What the fuck happened? It’s four in the morning!” Dez shouted.

  “Is everything all right?” Debbie asked, clutching Dez’s jacket to her naked body.

  Sasha’s head twisted toward the squeaky voice, and Dez took hold of Debbie, ushering her backward from the room. “Hey, babe. Why don’t you go gather up my clothes? I gotta talk with my crew for a minute.”

  “Yeah, sure,” Debbie said softly.

  “Actually.” Sasha looked beyond Dez, grinning at Debbie. “The club could really use your help, Deb. Do you mind?”

  A wide smile spanned Debbie’s lips. She bumped Dez aside, prancing forward while nodding.

  ***

  Ellen

  A big block engine purred, holding steady at one hundred miles an hour, and Ellen pushed the gas harder when she crossed the state line. Her Chevelle SS stood out like a sore thumb, sure to get her pulled over, which was exactly what she needed. Every cop in eastern Tennessee worked for Satan’s Crew. Now to hook one.

  After twenty minutes of speeding down Route 81, lights flashed in the rearview mirror. Ellen pulled to the shoulder, tucked a knife down her boot, and killed the engine. When the officer neared, she climbed from the car, slow, hands at her sides. “I need to see Dante.”

  “Ellen!” The cop inched closer, his hand on the butt of his holstered gun. “You’re a little far from Kentucky, aren’t ya?”

  “Cut the shit,” Ellen strolled past the man, stopping to pluck his nametag, “Miller.” While waiting by the passenger door, she hardened her glare, which she directed at the gawking man.

  “Let’s go,” she barked, and he jumped, hurrying to open her door.

  ***

  Sasha

  Sasha stood in the hospital’s parking lot, watching Dez verge the threshold of a full-on freak-out. His body coiled tighter with every detail he learned of the night’s events. He must’ve reached the end of his tension rope because now he was unwinding at a frantic pace. It was a miracle he hadn’t punched anything yet.