Ashby Holler

by Jamie Zakian

  “Dude, you’re about to get really punched if you don’t start making sense.”

  Vinny snickered, his fingers shaking against the back of Sasha’s hand. A glaze coated his eyes. It was the way he looked before he kissed her or cried.

  “You were asleep for a long time, Sasha, but the baby kept growing inside you.”

  “What?” Sasha pulled up her gown, gasping at the sight of a wide scar running across her stomach. It was grotesque and fitting. Her outsides finally reflected the ugliness within.

  “A few months after they cut him out, the doctors took you off life support, but you kept fighting.”

  Sasha ran her finger along the puffy line that mutilated her smooth skin. It couldn’t be real. She would be able to feel something if a baby had grown inside her, some kind of connection. This had to be a nightmare. Sasha covered her eyes, but the beep of a heart monitor, the scratchy sheets beneath her didn’t go away. A flood of tears snuck loose, pooling in her palm, and she dropped her arms to her sides.

  “How long has it been?” Sasha asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

  Vinny’s hands left Sasha’s skin for the first time since she woke up.

  “Four years,” he said in a near whisper that hurled shivers beneath Sasha’s flesh. “I’ve been here every day. Dez comes by when he can, but it’s hard with running the club and chasing Tyler.”

  “Tyler?”

  “Your son! I have a picture in my wallet.”

  Vinny reached for his pocket, and Sasha shook her head. She didn’t want to see that picture, the creature they cooked inside her then carved out. The pinnacle of this hellish reality. Sasha squirmed back as Vinny shoved a photo in her face. It was just a baby. Curly brown hair, a dark stare, and a goofy smile. Another cute kid. Not hers, though. The baby she knew died in the cellar, along with Sasha Ashby.

  “Here,” Vinny said, waving the picture in front of Sasha’s eyes. “You can have it. I got lots more.”

  “I don’t—”

  Before Sasha could utter another word, Vinny shoved the picture in her hand. A strong pull drew her gaze to the photo and that kid’s smile. She turned the picture over, looking away. That damn kid haunted her with his deep eyes, Dante’s eyes.

  “He’s got your eyes,” Vinny said through a grin.

  “No, he doesn’t,” Sasha snapped, flinching at her own nasty tone.

  “It’s a really old picture. Wait ‘til you see him now. He’s so big.” Vinny jumped to his feet, nearly choking on his wide smile. “I gotta call the guys, get a doctor in here.” He leaned over, kissing Sasha on the forehead. “Try to relax. I’ll be right back.”

  The notion of relaxation was too funny to laugh at. She couldn’t slow the pound of her heart. Nothing could be done about the room that spun around her, growing smaller with each whirl. Her mother died, taking the only world Sasha knew with her, and she was supposed to relax?

  Somewhere outside this hospital room, a new life had her name on it, a bizarre life where Dez ran the club and a strange child waited. That life didn’t belong to her. It belonged to her ghost.

  Sasha had to get away before this new life came to claim her, run as fast as her weak legs would carry her, except her stupid legs wouldn’t move. No matter how hard she strained, only twitches stirred her feet.

  “Fuck!” Sasha cried out, crashing her fist against the bed’s hard rail.

  “What on earth?” A nurse strolled inside the room, stopping short. “Oh my! You’re awake. I’ll get the doctor.”

  “Wait!” Sasha reached out, wobbling on the edge of the bed.

  The nurse ran to Sasha’s side, pushing her back onto the pillows. “Try to be still, sweetie. Your limbs have been out of commission for some time. You don’t want to pull one of those tender muscles.”

  Soft fingertips glided to Sasha’s wrist then to her neck. She peered at the nurse beside her, gazing into playful brown eyes. Her stare drifted down a silky neck, to the overflowing cleavage beside a nametag. It took a few seconds, but Sasha glanced over to scan the name.

  “Nurse Baker,” Sasha said, grabbing onto the woman’s hand.

  “Ginger,” the nurse said, adjusting Sasha’s IV. “I can’t believe you pulled out of it. Must be all those fine-looking men. Give you something to wake up for, huh?”

  “Listen.” Sasha opened the flap of her hospital gown, pulling wires off her chest. “I’ll give you five thousand dollars if you get me out of here right now.”

  “Out of here!” The nurse clicked off the heart monitor, silencing its screech, then tried to stop Sasha from ripping out the IV. “Sweetie, you’re going to need months of physical therapy before your arms and legs cooperate properly.”

  “Okay. I’ll give you another five g’s if you get my shit working again.” Sasha grabbed the woman by the arm, holding as tight as she could. “That’s ten grand, cash.” It was so close. The woman’s eyes lit up then dropped. “Please, Miss.”

  “Ten grand, really?”

  The woman’s question made Sasha’s pulse race. She’d pay anything, kill whoever, to get out of this mess. “I swear to fucking God.”

  After a grin then a frown, the nurse said, “I’ll do it. Let me go get a wheelchair.”

  The nurse walked away, her heels clacking, and Sasha ripped the needle from her arm, wiping a stream of blood on her blanket. The picture flipped over, its glossy surface drawing her stare. She lifted the tiny portrait, holding her breath. Those chubby cheeks, strong jaw. It reminded her of Dez and fractured her will.

  Sasha slapped the picture on the nightstand, pushing it away. One more glimpse would crumble her resolve, drive her back into Dez’s web of lies and lust.

  “All right.” The nurse breezed back into the room, pushing a wheelchair. “Your cute friend was coming back, so I sent him on a goose chase for the doctor. You sure you want to do this?”

  Five times Sasha asked herself this very question, and five times she came back with the same answer.

  “Hell yeah.” Sasha shoved her dead legs over the side of the bed, waving the nurse closer. Her body slumped into the wheelchair, and she pulled the blanket over her, tucking it around her bare feet. A jitter spawned in her chest, creeping up to chatter her teeth. The wheelchair squeaked as the nurse pushed Sasha across the room, toward a brightly lit hall.

  “You need anything before we go?” the nurse asked, slowing in the doorway. “There’s a leather jacket hanging in the closet.”

  “No. I’m good.” Sasha didn’t look back. There was nothing behind her except agony, misery, and shame. Her eyes stayed ahead, eager to glimpse the next chapter of her new life as Sasha Lazzari.

  The End

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  Acknowledgements

  This book wouldn’t have been possible if not for the help and support of so many others. Much thanks and big hugs to:

  My husband, Shaun, who handles my editing rants with such tact and patience.

  My son, Sabastian, as his very existence pushes me to strive for greatness in all aspects of my life.

  My brother, Brett, whose positive outlook is a constant source of inspiration.

  My sister, Nikki, who happens to be the strongest woman I know.

  My best friend, Chris, who’ll jump to get my back even when he thinks I’m wrong.

  My dear friend, Brandie, whose constant encouragement, from the first of many query letters I sent to her, means more to me
than she can ever know.

  My amazing friend, Ruth, and her lovely mother in Puerto Rico who helped with the Spanish sections.

  My critique partner and fellow author, Jadah McCoy, who is always around to deal with my freak-outs.

  My extremely talented writer friend, Ty Martin, who is still the first person I run to when something writerly happens.

  Everyone at Limitless Publishing for making Ashby Holler a reality, especially my amazing editor, Tiffany Cole, who helped me add depth to my writing.

  All my #amwriting friends from Twitter, who know the real pains of publishing and are 100 percent supportive.

  Last but certainly not least, all the amazing people who volunteer their time and energy to host/mentor writing contests on Twitter. Michelle Hauck, Brenda Drake, S.C., Elizabeth Briggs, Michael Anthony, Jessa Russo, Tamara Mataya, Amy Trueblood, Laura Heffernan, and so many others have helped me and countless writers achieve their dreams, and I couldn’t be more grateful.

  About the Author

  Jamie Zakian lives in South Jersey with a rowdy bunch of dudes, also known as family. A YA/NA writer, her head is often in the clouds while her ears are covered in headphones. On the rare occasions when not writing, she enjoys blazing new trails on her 4wd quad or honing her archery skills. She’s a card carrying member of the Word Nerd Association, which means she’s probably stalking every Twitter writing competition and offering query critiques so keep an eye out.

  Twitter:

  https://twitter.com/demoness333

  Website:

  http://www.jamiezakian.com/