by Jamie Zakian
Her stomach retched, and she flicked the cigarette over the rail. No drugs, whiskey, cigarettes. For what? She wasn’t going to keep the creature that grew inside her, the tiny piece of life that thrived with her heartbeat. A baby, her baby.
Sasha pulled a pack of Lucky Strikes from her pocket, staring down at the cigarettes that poked out from atop the soft pack.
“Fuck!” Sasha shoved the cigarettes back into her pocket, climbing to her feet. Tomorrow would be a better day to think about this baby problem, or maybe the day after. She opened her door, greeted by a loud snore, and walked inside her room.
***
Dez
Dez heard fragments of the conversation around him. Something about Whitesnake or maybe a Corvette. He didn’t know, didn’t care. His mind had wandered to Sasha’s friend, and that’s where it stayed.
“Hey, Dez.” Otis snapped his fingers, pulling Dez from his own jagged thoughts and dropping him in a crowded clubhouse. “What do ya say, man?”
“Ah…” Dez looked at Otis, who waited for an answer to his unheard question. “I don’t know. Whitesnake is kinda faggy.”
“No,” Otis chuckled. “I asked if you wanted to go for a walk, burn one.”
“Oh, shit. Hell yeah!”
The crowd parted when Otis strolled through, nearly crashing around Dez as he followed. It had always been that way for Otis, even back in the day. The man held a certain glare in his eyes, brutal, vicious, but to Dez it was the look of an old friend.
“It’s been a day, huh?” Otis said, leading Dez from the porch to a patch of trees. “The vote, this party,” he lit his zippo, puffing on a joint, “Sasha running around with that blonde.”
Dez froze solid, only his head tilting toward Otis. “Who is she?”
“Who? The blonde?” Otis passed Dez the joint, shrugging. “Never seen her before. Don’t look like Vinny knows her either. Strange, the timing, with everything going down lately.”
For years Dez had known Otis, yet he still couldn’t crack the man’s cryptic tones. This could be a warning. Sasha could be in line for another beat down or worse, the cellar. He’d drag his blade across Ellen’s neck before he’d let that happen. Otis’s too if it came down to it. If he played this just right, he might get something useful from this conversation.
“Did Ellen recognize her?” Dez asked, straining to sound nonchalant.
Otis grinned, exhaling a stream of white smoke. “I haven’t talked to Ellen about this. She forgets what it’s like to be young and stupid. Hell, she might’ve been birthed full grown and evil.”
A snicker floated on the cusp of escape, but Dez didn’t let it out. A light grin would suffice; keep the poker face.
“But Sasha…” Otis looked at the leave-strewn ground, and a hint of sorrow peeked from behind his mask of confidence. “Sasha never had a childhood, wasn’t allowed to make mistakes. Now that she’s strong enough to stand up for herself, she’s making up for lost time. It’s a shitty reason to put a bullet in someone or give up on them.”
Dez hit the joint, using its smoke to hide his smile. “I hear that, and I’m glad you said it.”
“Yeah. Well, I’m glad I’m not the sergeant at arms,” Otis said, snatching the bone from Dez’s fingers and taking a big hit. “To have to stay up all night, watching and waiting in case the stranger on our compound tries anything. That would suck.” He handed Dez the joint, backing away. “I would help out if I knew anything about any of this, which I don’t.”
“Hey,” Dez called out.
Otis stopped and Dez nodded. “Thanks, man.”
“Don’t mention it,” Otis said with a wink. “Seriously.”
***
Ellen
Ellen stood in the doorway of the clubhouse, watching the last car drive off the lot. The quiet seemed to rumble, louder than the music it replaced. These seconds, when a stillness gripped the valley, were a special treat in her wild life. There was no one around to look at her for answers. In the silence, she could pretend people weren’t depending on her decisions for their survival. It was a rare opportunity to be herself, the woman who gazed up at moonlit clouds and smiled, the person stopping to smell the light hint of mist flowers in the air. That’s who she was.
Empty bottles scattered across the floor as Ellen moseyed back inside, the tip of her boot grazing a different brand of drained beer with every step. The Tasmanian devil could’ve tore through this clubhouse and she’d never know the difference. Perfect time to break in a new prospect. Good thing Kev had an unending hoard of cousins, all dying for a spot at her table.
Ellen clicked off the light in the backroom just as the phone on the wall rang. Her hand hovered over the receiver. The phone’s loud ringing filled the room, lifting the hairs on her arms. Another ring vibrated her palm, and she lifted the phone to her ear.
“Finally alone, baby girl.”
“Dante? What the—”
“You think I can’t see you,” Dante’s voice boomed through the phone, “standing there in that little red skirt, white boots to your knees. You know I love that tube top on you.”
“Where the fuck are you?” Ellen asked, clutching the receiver.
“In your living room. From here, I can see into your clubhouse window, your daughter’s crap-shack, and some guy is fucking a screamer down the hall. Did you know one of your men just parked his pickup behind the clubhouse and is watching Sasha’s door?”
Ellen slammed the phone back on its hook, storming into the night. Her heart pounded. Gravel crunched under her boots as she tore across the lot, past the garage, and up the hill. On its own, the front door of her house cracked open as her foot swept the porch step. Anger spread heat through her body and carried her feet faster. It wasn’t until after she crossed the threshold that fear slowed her steps.
Floorboards creaked as Ellen crept inside. Not one light shined on the bottom floor. The only sound was a soft flow of music from Vinny’s room. Ellen inched down the hall, and a hand cupped her mouth. An arm slid around her waist, pulling her into a firm body and squeezing tight.
“Umm. You smell dirty, baby girl.”
Ellen fought the quiver in her bones, biting into the skin that covered her lips.
“Ah. Bitch!” Dante yelled, pushing her away.
Before Dante could grin, Ellen grabbed him by the shirt and shoved him against the wall. “What did you do?”
Dante clutched onto Ellen’s hips, pulling her close. “Nothing. Yet.”
A smirk lit Dante’s dark eyes, which made Ellen’s heart pound. She fell against Dante’s solid body, wrapping her arms around his waist. “You cut it close at the bar. If I had shown up five minutes sooner, you’d be roasting in hell right now.”
“I bet you would’ve liked that,” Dante whispered, skating his tongue along her neck.
“Come to my room.” Ellen pushed off Dante’s chest, took him by the hand, and headed toward the stairs. He caressed the arch of her back as they walked. His touch, spreading icy tingles along every inch of skin it grazed, lulled the revulsion of what had to come next. She had to kill him. The things you love destroy you unless you wipe them out first. A few more nights lost in his strong arms, then she’d kill him.
Ellen flipped on her bedroom light, dropping onto her bed. Dante gripped his belt, shutting the door, and her teeth dug into her bottom lip. Such large hands. They should be clutching her body.
“Come here, honey,” Ellen said, patting the mattress beside her.
“Why? So you can stick a blade in my back.” Dante smirked, leaning against a tall dresser. “I should come over there and fuck you, since I took the knife from under your pillow.”
Ellen slid her legs over the side of the bed, looking at the nightstand.
“I got the handgun from your nightstand too,” Dante said, holding a smug leer. “And the shotgun in the closet and the machete under your mattress. Is all that for me, or do you make friends everywhere you go?”
“I don’t need all th
ose weapons for you. You’re not that scary.”
“You haven’t seen my best side yet.”
“Oh, I think I have.” Ellen climbed off the bed, flashing a grin.
“That shit with Ashby wasn’t nothing. If you fuck me over—”
“Dante.” She reached out, but he pulled away. “Okay, I’ll admit it. I did consider slitting your throat tonight, but every time I look into your eyes, I…I already let you take out half my crew. When are you gonna trust me?”
“When the rest of your crew is dead, like mine. Tell you what.” Dante pulled her handgun from his pocket, loading a round into the chamber. “I’ll get the ball rollin’. Take care of the guy downstairs.”
“Wait!” Ellen latched onto Dante’s wrist, hurrying in front of him to block the door.
“I knew it.” He tossed the gun to the floor, ripping his arm from her grasp. “We had a plan. I gave you my resources. Let’s finish off your crew and we can start building a new, stronger club. It’s what you wanted.”
“It’s what I still want.” Ellen backed Dante toward the bed, pushing him onto the mattress. His dark eyes locked onto her face as she crept between his legs. “I took out all the weak links. The ones left are the strongest—”
“No,” Dante yelled, shoving her away and jumping to his feet. “Only Sasha and my cousin. The rest eat a bullet. That was the deal.”
“Keep your voice down.”
“Your men will never follow me,” Dante said, grabbing onto the sides of Ellen’s arms. “They’ll turn on you. They have to go for this to work.”
A tiny piece of Ellen wanted to say yes, let someone else run the show, except the only show she cared about was the one starring her crew. “Give me a few days. I can bring them around.”
“Fuck that and fuck you.” Dante gave Ellen a firm shove, knocking her into the wall. He opened the door, stopping to hurl a glare. “I told you I’d burn your world down if you screwed me over one more time. Remember that when you’re rolling in flames.”
Dante walked into the shadows of the hall, and Ellen rocked in place. Her gaze fell to the gun on the floor, but she ran past it, rushing to catch Dante. The front door thumped against the wall as she hurried onto the landing, peeking over the banister. Through the open doorway, beams of porch light spilled into the house. Soft, yellow light cast an eerie circle in her foyer, the wind carrying dry leaves through the threshold.
Silence crept through the air, settling over Ellen like a frosty layer of ice. “Vinny,” she whispered. A chill hit her spine, and she ran down the stairs. At the end of the hall, Vinny’s door sat cracked open. Ellen’s heart jumped into her throat. The bare wood floor stretched out before her, growing longer with every step. If she opened Vinny’s door and saw red, if that boy’s blood painted her walls, the world would burn.
Ellen reached for Vinny’s door, and her lungs sealed shut. No air would pass. Her body wouldn’t allow for a breath, not until she looked beyond that door. Her fingers wrapped around the brass knob and she pushed. Candles flickered, throwing slivers of light around the room.
On the bed, tangled beneath two naked women, lay Vinny. His chest rose up and down, a tiny grin stuck to his sleeping face. Relief washed over Ellen, and her breath flowed out as a loud chuckle. The brunette snuggled against Vinny’s side, and Ellen backed out of the room, closing the door.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Sasha
Sasha lifted Misty’s arm, squirming out of bed. The clock on her wall read 4:20. It always read 4:20, since the batteries had died over two years ago. She didn’t need that gadget to know the time. Every new morning carried with it an electric vibe, one that shocked her core and wiped clear her muddy slate.
In the beams of sunshine that radiated beneath the front door, Sasha searched for her pants. Much to her surprise, the usual whirl of her stomach steadied to a low rumble. Not that anything could come out. She’d have to put something in for it to upchuck.
After sliding on her jacket, she glanced at the bed. Misty’s leg was curled around her blanket, her golden hair spraying the pillows. She reached for the door, pausing. Her instincts said to dive back in bed and replace that blanket in Misty’s grasp, but her gut screamed for food. In an hour, when Misty crawled from her drunken slumber, only a grease-soaked breakfast sandwich would combat the hangover in store.
Sasha opened her door, recoiling from the sting of the bright sky. She stopped grumbling when the thick plastic frame of her shades hit the bridge of her nose. She hurried outside, locking the door behind her. While trotting down the stairs, she searched the lot for Dez’s pickup but found only gravel. It was stupid to think he’d be camped out on her bottom step, just as stupid as wanting such a bother. After her rejection, and with nowhere to go, he probably found his way to another woman’s bed. She shouldn’t care. They had no ties, and Dez was a total dick. His safe arms could clutch someone else. Some other bitch could feel his soft lips skate along their flesh.
Sasha’s jaw clenched, and her hand balled to a fist. Rage boiled into a blinding fury. It had to be released before it burned away the last tatters of her sanity, but there was no one to hit. She hurled her arm outward, punching thin air. A wave of stupidity rushed in, chilling the heat that prickled every inch of her skin, and she shook her fingers free. After a quick glance around, Sasha hopped in her pickup and drove toward the front gate.
***
Dez
Dez inched back behind the clubhouse as Sasha opened the front gate. He leaned against his truck, stashed in the trees, listening to her big block engine purr as she floored the throttle. A smile lifted his cheeks. That little display, her hissy fit…she was looking for him. Up until now, he couldn’t tell what Sasha’s game was. Her lustful leers held an edge of scorn and every word she spoke stung, but this was proof. Somewhere beneath that hard shell, a heart did beat his name.
His grin dropped when Sasha’s door squeaked open. Blonde hair glistened through thick leaves, and Dez crept forward, glimpsing Sasha’s friend prance down the stairs. He crouched low, backing against the clubhouse wall. His glare locked onto her body. The way she moved, stiff, eyes on every corner, it clashed with her dime store hippy getup. This girl was a pro.
Dry flakes of wood crumbled as Dez slid under the strategically cracked-open window. Her sandals clacked every time they hit the ground, making it easy to follow the woman’s steps. She scurried through the clubhouse, right into the backroom. The slam of desk drawers rattled the front windows as Dez snaked toward the porch.
In near silence, he hopped over the railing and snuck beside the front door. A click echoed from inside, and papers shuffled. He pulled his zippo from his pocket, using its shiny surface to spy through the door. Shapes and colors blurred in the metal, and he groaned. That dumb spy shit always worked for James Bond. It didn’t matter who that woman was or what she was planning to do. He had to stop her right now.
Dez peeked into the clubhouse, staring at her back. She clung to the phone on the wall, whispering in the receiver, and he edged inside. His steps fell lighter than he thought possible. He held his breath, and her voice streamed over the pound of his temples.
“This is Rebecca Prescott, agent 5327. Connect me to the director.”
The words stopped Dez short. This bitch wasn’t a spy for some other crew; she was a goddamn fed. He crept up behind her, catching a whiff of Sasha’s shampoo on the woman’s hair. He lifted his arm, and for a split second, their eyes connected. The fear he glimpsed struck him, paralyzing his muscles. Papers fell to the floor, and a man’s voice streamed from the phone in the woman’s trembling hand. Dez pressed down the lever on the base, ending the call. She staggered back, and he seized her by the throat, bashing her head against the wall.
Her body fell into a heap, and Dez took a step back. The hate he felt for this woman left the taste of bile in his mouth. She’d already carved a wedge between him and Sasha. What he had to do next might finish them. Anger spiked in waves, shrouding his visi
on in red. Dez grabbed the woman by the arm and dragged her into the backroom, closing the door.
***
Ellen
A thump jolted Ellen from the pillows. Her bedroom door pounded under a barrage of knocks, and she flung the blanket aside.
“Yeah,” Ellen yelled, pulling on a pair of jeans.
“We gotta get down to the clubhouse, now,” Vinny shouted through the closed door, “Dez called and—”
Ellen pulled open her door, and Vinny stumbled back, then ran down the stairs.
“What happened?” Ellen hurried down the staircase, fumbling with her boots, but Vinny was already out the front door.
Sunlight shocked her brain once she stepped off the porch. She shielded her eyes from the day’s harsh glare, rushing to catch Vinny. Before climbing up the clubhouse steps, Ellen looked at the garage. Panic swirled in the pit of her stomach. Sasha’s door sat wide open, her truck gone.
“Ah fuck, Dez!” Vinny’s raised voice pulled Ellen’s stare into the clubhouse. Vinny gawked at Ellen from the backroom, a white shade overtaking his face.
Ellen marched across the room, pushing past Vinny only to have her legs lock up once she stepped into the backroom.
In the corner, Dez hovered over a young woman duct-taped to a chair. Blood speckled the floor below her, dripping from the bruised cuts under her eye and flowing from her split lip.
“What the fuck is going on?” Ellen steered her glare to Dez just as he pulled a knife from his belt.
