by Jamie Zakian
“Wake up, you dumb bitch.” A hard slap rocked Sasha’s head to the side, and the muffled sounds of laughter filtered in.
The ache of stiff shoulders, the burn of wrists, the sting of icy metal ignited a firestorm of rage inside Sasha’s chest. A growl scraped past her lips, but she didn’t try to move. She had been tied to a chair. It was a shitty feeling, yet one she’d become quite familiar with over the years.
“Motherfucker,” she slurred, battling to open her eyes.
“You would,” a deep voice said right above Sasha. “Fuck my mother. I heard about you.”
Sasha sat back against the metal chair she was tied to. Her vision cleared to a wide-open room. She was in a basement, one that had a pool table, couches, and arcade games. It looked like the rec room at the community center. Except this room didn’t have children scattered around it. This room had a large group of black men, and they all stood around her to cast icy leers. The man that centered the pack held the hardest glare. It clashed with his little red hat, sitting sideways atop a neat afro, but matched perfectly with the decal of a bloodthirsty dragon on his shirt.
“What’s up?” Sasha asked, knowing full-well what the fuck was up. There was blood crusted on her fingertips, the blood of a Black Guerrilla Family member whom she’d murdered for a measly twenty-spot of heroin.
“What’s up, she says,” the guy in the middle of the pack said through a chuckle. His smile faded quick, and the fiery death-stare returned. “You done fucked yourself, right up your lily-white ass. That’s what’s up.”
Sasha didn’t know the man in front of her, never seen his face before, but every shady fucker on the streets knew the logo of the BGF. At least, every shady fucker who visited Harlem.
“Tyrone, right?” she said, staring the tall man in front of her right in his dark eyes.
“I see my reputation precedes me,” he said with a little grin. “As does yours, Sasha Lazzari.”
“Well then, I guess you know I shouldn’t be tied to this chair.”
Tyrone knelt down, gaining eye level with Sasha. “Not even a crime boss can get away with slicing up another crew’s lieutenant.” His hard glare moved from Sasha’s face to the fresh needle mark on her arm.
A roiling burn fired up in Sasha’s stomach, her foot tapping without consent. This situation was fucked. She’d be able to deal, know exactly what to say, if her head wasn’t all twisted. One hit. All she needed was one little hit, half a boot, and the fuzz would clear from her throbbing mind.
“We can work this out,” Sasha said, jittering in her seat. The ropes around her wrists pinched her skin, but she couldn’t stop squirming. Angry eyes glowered on all sides of her, pierced her nerve, and large hands gripped the handles of Uzis. She was going to fucking die, and the only thing that bothered her about the fact was she couldn’t do it wasted.
“I got shit,” Sasha said, wriggling as red-hot pinpricks traveled throughout her body. “You want money, guns?”
“You ain’t got no shit,” Tyrone said, rising to his feet. “Or you wouldn’t have been sucking dick in an alley for a hit.”
“Fucker.” Sasha lunged forward, but the ropes around her wrist kept her bound to the chair. “I didn’t suck no dick.”
A wicked grin spread across Tyrone’s face, and he pulled Roxy’s leather pouch from his pocket. “So you don’t care about this then, huh?”
“Give it!” A red haze blinded Sasha’s vision as she thrashed from side to side. She’d break her fucking arms, rip her hands to shreds to get that pouch. It was all she had left. “I’ll tear your fucking throat out.”
Laughter echoed around the room, and Tyrone unzipped the pouch. “Look,” he said, holding up the needle. “I already reloaded for you.”
The brown liquid filling the syringe’s tube stopped Sasha’s struggle. Her wide-eyes reflected in the needle’s shiny metal. Even though the image was slightly distorted, she could see the desperation in her stare. It sickened her, but she couldn’t force it away. She couldn’t resist the call of that needle’s sharp tip.
“You want this?” Tyrone asked, waving the needle in front of Sasha’s face. She didn’t answer, couldn’t with the giant lump rising in her throat.
“I’ll untie you,” he said, gliding his hand down Sasha’s back. “Give you a little taste. Then, maybe we can have a conversation.”
“Yeah,” Sasha muttered, her gaze stuck on the shimmering tip of the needle.
A man stepped behind Sasha, tugged at the ropes that squeezed her wrists as Tyrone backed away.
“You gonna be a good girl?” Tyrone asked. He pressed the plunger, squirted a healthy dose onto the floor, and Sasha gasped.
“Yes,” she practically screamed. She tried to keep still while untied, told her body not to rush Tyrone once freed, but it was useless. The second her sore arms flopped to her sides, she jumped to her feet. Everything spun, faces melded, yet her hand knew exactly where to reach.
Tyrone pulled a gun from his waistband, cocked the hammer, and pointed the barrel in Sasha’s face. “Sit the fuck down.”
More bullets loaded into chambers. Each click flinched Sasha’s already quaking shoulders. She could snatch the gun clunking against her forehead, take out three maybe four of these assholes, but she still wouldn’t get that hit. Her legs carried her back to the chair all by themselves, and she dropped onto the hard metal seat.
Tyrone handed his gun to the man beside him and walked in front of Sasha. He stood over her, needle in hand, staring down. “White women are the worst kind of junkies. Y’all are so fucking entitled, you just think everything belongs to you.” His smile lingered, but his glare grew fierce. “Ready to behave?”
“Just gimme the needle.”
“No.” Tyrone unlatched his belt, pulled it from its loops in one swift move. “I’m hooking you up.” He bit down on the syringe’s glass tube, held it between his teeth, and grabbed Sasha’s arm. The thick belt hugged her skin, until Tyrone yanked the strap tight. Then it burned, throbbed, lifted her scorching veins.
A callous grin played on Tyrone’s lips as he brought the needle to Sasha’s arm, slid its tip into her skin. A drop of her blood swirled inside the tube, then shot back into her veins as Tyrone pressed the plunger. He pulled back too soon. The tube was still half full, and she could barely feel the warmth her body was craving.
Tyrone unraveled his belt from Sasha’s arm, and she shook her head. “That’s not enough,” she said in a rush. “Finish the tube.”
“You’ll get more when I say.” Tyrone pulled a chair in front of Sasha and took a seat. “How long you been doing this shit?”
“I don’t know,” Sasha said through a snicker. “What month is this?”
Tyrone took Sasha by the hand, looked at the few puncture marks hidden around her scarred flesh. “You only have a few tracks. You been tappin’ your toes?”
Sasha lowered her gaze. She shouldn’t be ashamed. This was her choice. She wanted that drug. It didn’t control her.
“Yeah, you have,” Tyrone said, his large hand rubbing his smooth chin. He leaned forward and looped the belt back around Sasha’s arm. “Does the Don know about your little habit?” He pulled the strap tight, and a shiver ran through Sasha’s body. “Tell the truth, and I’ll empty this needle into your arm.”
The twitch in Sasha’s neck went into double-time. It was so close. That glimmering needle was so close to her pulsating vein. “No. Nobody knows.” The needle’s sharp tip glided into Sasha’s arm, and this time a rush flooded her body. She slumped in her chair, which now felt like a fluffy cloud instead of a cold metal slab.
“What are you gonna do with me?” she slurred.
Tyrone refastened his belt, nodded to the man beside him.
“Let’s bounce,” the guy said, waving his arm. The wide-open basement cleared out, only Sasha and Tyrone remaining.
He reached for Sasha and she leaned away, wobbling on the edge of her seat.
“Relax,” he said, taking a fri
m hold on Sasha’s shoulder. “If I wanted you dead, you’d be in Hell right now.”
Sasha tried to shrug away from Tyrone’s grasp, but her muscles weren’t cooperating. His strong arm circled her waist. Before she could tell him to fuck off, he lifted her to her feet. The fog in her brain made her head so heavy, too heavy to hold, so she rested it against the hard chest beside her.
“For the entire four hours you slept in that chair, I made some calls,” Tyrone said, ushering Sasha to the small couch in the far corner of the basement. “A lot of people would like to get their hands on you, and they’re all tossing out big numbers.” He set Sasha down on the soft couch, his gaze locked on her as he stepped back. “I put you on auction. That was the last big hit you’re gonna get. I need you presentable when the buyer comes in.”
The bit of information about her ass being sold like chattel should’ve boiled Sasha’s blood. Except she was used to people using her in stupid games. It was the fact she’d be denied her right to get high that set off a raging fury inside her chest.
“Now listen here, motherfucker—”
“Don’t worry, girl.” Tyrone walked to the wide steel door of the windowless basement, banging twice. “I’ll take care of you like the mafia princess you’re supposed to be.”
Metal hinges squealed as the door swung open. A woman walked into the room, ran her hand down Tyrone’s chest. Her tiny white bra and strip of fabric meant to be underwear gleamed against her sexy dark skin. Her long braids tapped the sides of her arms as she turned to smile at Sasha.
“Keisha here will take good care of you.” Tyrone slapped the woman on her firm ass and she yelped, then giggled while trotting toward Sasha. “She’s got just enough smack for a quarter-dose, and more than enough titties to keep you busy for the next hour.”
“Wait,” Sasha called out, but Tyrone didn’t look back. The man strolled through the only exit in the concrete room, slammed the door shut behind him.
“What, don’t like dark meat?” Keisha asked, propping her hand on her curvy, nearly bare hip. “Didn’t think so. You look like a corn-fed farm girl.”
Sasha rose from the couch, teetering. The tease of a high she’d been given was starting to wear off. And the woman, no matter how sexy, was bringing her down even quicker with that ‘tude. “I’ve fucked plenty of black women.”
“Then what?” A cute little pout struck Keisha’s lips as she turned from Sasha. She crossed her arms, which pushed her luscious breasts even higher. “You think I’m ugly or something?”
“Oh, my God.” Sasha stood tall in front of the obviously dense woman. “Bitch, I’ve been abducted. That was right after I woke up to find my girl dead with a needle in her arm.” She lifted her finger, wagged it in Keisha’s face. “And now, I’m gonna be sold on the Black Market. So, excuse the fuck out of me for being rude.”
Keisha shifted in place, hugged herself tighter. “Don’t you mean the Black Guerrilla Market?”
A snicker flowed from Keisha’s full lips, and the slightest smile cracked Sasha’s glower. It was hard not to stare at the long stretch of smooth bare skin, even harder for Sasha not to touch it. She plopped back onto the couch. Her hands couldn’t be trusted right now. Hell, her entire decision making process should be brought into question. Shit was going to change if she got out of this unscathed. For starters, she would be taking over the heroin trade in this city and its boroughs. Every shitheel gang slinging smack could squirm under her big ole mafia boot from now on.
“I hope you have more than a quarter-shot on you,” Sasha said, glancing at Keisha.
“Sorry.” Keisha sat beside Sasha, leaned back against the couch cushions. “Daddy only gave me a tiny ball.”
“Tyrone’s your father?”
“No,” Keisha said, with a bit of a huff. “He’s my daddy.”
“Right.” Sasha held out her hand while scanning the room for Roxy’s pouch. “Gimme the ball.”
“It’s on my body somewhere. You have to find it.”
Sasha turned to stare at Keisha. The woman wore the cutest smirk, its wicked sparkle lighting her deep brown eyes. That shine drew Sasha in, let her forget about the light quiver of her fingertips, almost quelled the burn in her stomach. She slouched beside Keisha, sinking into the cushions. “Just give it to me.”
“Come get it. It’s not deep.” Keisha nodded. She glided her hand down her own stomach, pointed between her legs. “But you can’t use your fingers.”
The woman was cute as shit, with her button nose and naughty grins. It was a small price to pay in Sasha’s eyes. She’d ravage a young, curvy, sex-kitten for much less than a quarter-shot. It was far better than sucking dick.
Sasha dropped to her knees, slid between Keisha’s legs. “You ever been fucked stupid by a white woman?” She clutched onto Keisha’s hips. A strong yank pulled a gasp from the woman’s mouth and brought the silky skin of an inner thigh closer to Sasha’s tongue.
“Yeah. I didn’t think so,” she said, hooking her finger around Keisha’s thong and pushing it aside.
***
Vinny
When Vinny opened the door to Fat Tonys, his stomach dropped. The usual flocks of overdressed people didn’t swarm the lobby. Voices weren’t spilling over from the dining area, and cackles didn’t cringe his spine. At midnight on a Friday, that meant trouble. Big fucking trouble.
The hostess podium stood bare, and the two new guys stationed in the corners of the lobby looked clueless, so Vinny headed for the bar. A waitress didn’t hurry forward to grope his chest. That was unheard of. Big titty waitresses always served drinks, even in the midst of mob wars.
Vinny rushed past the bar, shivered at the sight of a dark dining area, and dashed up the small steps. Wiseguys didn’t fill the table. Just Otis, Kev, and Enzo sat in the dimly lit restaurant, which unsettled Vinny more than if the entire crew had been assembled.
“What happened?” Vinny asked, taking his seat beside Otis.
“I got a call,” Enzo said, drawing Vinny’s attention across the table. “The Black Guerrilla Family has Sasha.”
“What?” Vinny rubbed his head as a stabbing pain infiltrated his temples.
Enzo glanced at Otis, then leaned on the table. “They want a seat at our table in exchange for her.”
“They came in our territory, took one of our guys, and expect to live past the night,” Vinny said, unable to stop an evil chuckle from slipping out his mouth. “You should call the boys. We’ll go into Harlem packing.”
“He’s right,” Enzo said, and Kev squirmed in his chair. “Those fuckers run Harlem because we let them. Now they want more. Fuck that.”
Kev huffed, groaned, tapped his foot, but Vinny didn’t take his stare off Otis.
“Well,” Vinny said, slanting closer to Otis. “You gonna let this shit stand?”
Otis sat back in his chair, narrowed his glare on Vinny. “There’s no way she’d be hanging in Harlem, right?”
“No fucking way,” Vinny said.
“All right.” Otis rose from his chair. A vicious gaze filled the man’s eyes as he looked around the table. “Let’s go kill those motherfuckers.”
“Wait,” Kev yelled, running his fingers through his messy hair. “I did some shit.”
Vinny turned to face Kev, resisting the urge to hurl his fist at the first glimpse of Kev’s dumb-ass stare. “What the fuck did you do?”
“A few days ago, Sasha wanted me to bring her five-grand. To Harlem,” Kev said into his lap. “And earlier, some cops stopped by. Sasha’s girly friend Od’d, and Sasha made the pigs take her to Harlem.”
“What the…” Vinny slammed his fist against the table, rattling the glasses scattered atop its glossy surface. It was either that, or pound Kev’s stupid face. “Why’d you hide this shit from us, asshole?”
“Sasha wanted me to.” Kev rocked in his chair, his jaw clenching. “She had that look, like my cousin Jackie.”
“Your cousin Jackie is a heroin addict,” Vinny shouted,
and Kev shrank down. “Fuck!” Vinny could slug Kev, except he wanted to hit himself. He saw the emptiness in Sasha’s stare, the jitter of her bones, but he ignored it. He wanted to be close to her, so he ignored her subtle cry for help. Jesus Christ, she’d screamed for help. Sasha and her broken friend were screaming to be saved, and all he did was fuck them.
“I can fix this,” Vinny said, looking at Otis.
“No.” Otis returned to his seat. His eyes glossed over, but only for a moment before a hard stare gripped his face. “I’m not starting a war, risking this entire organization because Sasha can’t hold her own shit.”
“Fuck that,” Vinny said, straining to keep his voice steady. “Sasha handed you this operation. You fucking owe her.”
Otis jumped up, sent his chair toppling to the floor. “I’ll take the meeting. But if she’s all strung-out, bitch can go to the next bidder in this bullshit auction. I won’t have a weak junkie in my family, any part of my family.”
The floor rumbled as Otis stomped away. Vinny hopped up from his chair, but Enzo grabbed his arm before he could chase after Otis.
“That won’t solve your problem,” Enzo whispered, guiding Vinny back to the table. “Sit down, kid. Let’s discuss options.”
Chapter Eight
Sasha
Women were women. No matter the shade of skin or shape of body, with only two fingers, Sasha could make them shudder. Keisha was no different. The woman squirmed, moaned, gasped for breath beneath Sasha, and all the while Sasha’s stare strayed to the small bag of dope beside them.
Sasha ran her tongue up a heaving chest. One hand gripped onto a soft breast, fingers pinching a hard nipple, while the other worked the sweet spot between Keisha’s legs. A loud cry of ecstasy filled Sasha’s ears, and she glanced at that tiny ball of tar. Five minutes. It would only take her five minutes, tops, to set-up a fix. Then, she could get back to finding out how many times this freaky woman could cum in an hour’s time.
