Missing Pieces (Ashby Holler #3)

by Jamie Zakian

  “Just go,” Keisha said when Sasha moved in for a kiss.

  “This’ll only take a second.” Sasha grabbed the baggie and jumped to her feet. She snatched Roxy’s pouch off the pool table and sat at the foot of the couch to fix up a shot.

  “You sure you don’t have any more?” Sasha asked, filling her spoon with the water from some random cup nearby.

  “Why can’t you spoiled bitches ever be happy with what you got?” Keisha asked with more curiosity than spite. It annoyed the shit out of Sasha. The bitch next to her just wasn’t getting it. Sasha had been spoiled all right, by death, blood, and disappointment. Drugs were her only solace, only chance to feel something other than coldness.

  “You don’t understand. I need—”

  Sasha choked on her words when spotting the amusement spread across Keisha’s face.

  “You need more?” Keisha smirked, tossing her long braids over her shoulder. “You’re so caught-up on finding the next hit, you can’t see what’s right in front of you.”

  Despite the tremble of her hands, Sasha slid the needle into her vein with ease. She pressed the plunger, but only the slightest warmth rushed through her system. It was but a flicker compared to the blaze she had come to love, which made her instantly crave more. She packed Roxy’s kit, carefully, then shoved the pouch into her waistband.

  “A few hours ago, my cold stiff girlfriend was right in front of me.” Sasha picked the longest cigarette butt out of an overflowing ashtray, leaned back against the couch cushions, and lit it up. “Before that, the walls of a tiny torture cell were in front of me.”

  “What about in between that shit?” Keisha sat up straight, turned to face Sasha. “When you had a table full of strong white men ready to kill for you? Or when you were sitting in a restaurant of rich motherfuckers just throwing money in your face to be in the same room as you? Could you see any of that?”

  Sasha glared at Keisha. The scrape of broken glass beneath her skin wouldn’t allow her to move, so she didn’t backhand the woman. “You don’t know a goddamn thing about my life.”

  “Please.” Keisha waved Sasha off. “We all got a sob story. My mama sold me to Tyrone when I was nine for a fifty-spot. You don’t see me fiendin’ for a hit, do you?”

  There was nothing Sasha could say. She’d been given opportunity after opportunity, only to puff them away on clouds of smoke. Keisha had all her opportunities taken from her, maybe at birth. That woman had been abandoned by society, family, justice. Keisha had a real reason to hate, yet she was strong enough to love her own self. Sasha was actually jealous, the same twisted way Keisha must be jealous of her.

  The solid metal door creaked open, and a group of all-muscles and no-smiles black men walked into the basement. Sasha wobbled off the couch as Tyrone pushed through the crowd that had begun to surround her.

  “It’s time,” Tyrone said, picking Sasha’s flannel off the floor. “Put this on.” He tossed the shirt at her chest, then glanced over his shoulder. “The coffee.”

  A paper cup was thrust into Sasha’s hand, a drop of hot coffee splashing over the brim that stung her skin.

  “Drink it,” Tyrone said with a bit of a growl. “Keep your marks covered, and try not to act like a crack whore.” His glare narrowed, scouring Sasha from head to toe. “I know that’s gonna be hard for you to do.”

  ***

  Sasha allowed Tyrone to push her up a narrow set of stairs, tolerated the gun he kept jabbing between her shoulder blades, but the quarter-shot business still pissed her the fuck off. It felt like tiny bugs were wriggling beneath her scalp, and it was Tyrone’s fault. She scratched her head, neck, arms. It didn’t help. The drag of her nails only spread the invisible feelers that wormed under her flesh.

  “Who’d you sell me to?” Sasha asked in a bark. If there was a God, it would be Otis who bought her stupid ass. Then, or rather fifteen minutes from this hellish second, Sasha could tear the penthouse apart to find that bag she’d hid somewhere.

  “If you say one more word, I’ll put a bullet in your junkie brain,” Tyrone said, moving the gun’s barrel to the back of Sasha’s head.

  In no attempt to be gentle, Tyrone grabbed Sasha by the arm and pushed her through a doorway at the end of the hall. Her heart leapt into her throat at the sight of Vinny standing in a corner. Then she caught Otis’s stare, laced in disgust and aimed at her.

  “Deal’s off,” Otis said, hopping up from the small table that centered the room.

  “What?” Tyrone gripped Sasha’s arm tighter, pushed her in front of him. “This ain’t her?”

  Otis cringed, as if a foul odor had just infiltrated his nostrils. “That’s the shell of her. I ain’t giving you a seat at my table for a half-dead junkie.”

  “Otis,” Sasha called out, but he turned his back. Not even Vinny would look at her, which drove the sharpest of spikes straight into her chest. “These fuckers are gonna kill me.”

  That stopped Otis in the doorway. He looked over his shoulder, glared at Sasha. His upper lip raised into a snarl, jaw clenching. “You’re lucky I don’t come over there and put a bullet in your head myself, girl. There’s nothing worse than a weak soul.”

  A roiling blaze scorched the air from Sasha’s lungs. She couldn’t breathe, speak. Otis, Vinny, and Enzo walked away, out of her life forever, and she couldn’t say shit to defend herself. They were right to leave her. She deserved a bullet to the head and was ready to take it.

  Tyrone shoved Sasha into the hands of the man next to him. He stomped across the smoky room and slammed the front door shut, closing off the hint of city lights. “Tie her up. She’s going to the next bidder.”

  ***

  It had to have been an hour, at least. Sasha couldn’t see the clock. Hell, this run-down, trash-strewn, graffiti-covered loft probably didn’t have a clock. Her hands were tied tight behind her back, but not to the chair she was sitting in. She could easily glance around. Except she didn’t need some stupid gadget to tell her what she already knew. It was time.

  “I need another shot,” she said, unable to control the loud rumble of her voice.

  Tyrone rolled a pile of green buds into a blunt wrapper, lit it up, and blew a big puff of smoke in Sasha’s face. “Too fucking bad.”

  “This isn’t gonna work.” Sasha rocked in her chair, but it didn’t slow the whirl in her stomach. “I can’t stop shaking.”

  “These guys don’t care about that.” Tyrone peeked out the window, grinning. “They just wanna slice you up. I don’t think they’ll mind if heroin comes out instead of blood.”

  A loud knock shook the front door, and every one of Sasha’s quaking muscles locked stiff. Now that the moment was here, she didn’t want to die. Tyler’s sad eyes filled her head, clouded her vision of the spray-painted dragon on the wall in front of her. She could’ve walked willingly to her death, if Tyrone would’ve just given her a fucking shot.

  “Put the hood on her,” Tyrone said, looking through the peephole of the front door.

  “So much for treating me like a mafia princess,” Sasha muttered as a black hood dropped over her head, tossing her into darkness.

  “You ain’t no mafia princess anymore,” Tyrone said, his harsh voice muffled by the hood’s thick cloth. “Just another used up meal ticket.”

  A door’s hinges squealed, footsteps rattled the floor, and Sasha curled her bound hands into fists. There had to be something she could do, a way to save her sorry ass, but all her brain could spit out was a demand to get high.

  “This better be her,” a man said with a heavy Spanish accent.

  “It’s her,” Tyrone said, and strong hands lifted Sasha from the chair. Her feet barely touched the ground. The tips of her boots dragged as she was carried at a quick pace. Crisp night air cut through her clothes, but she couldn’t smell the city’s bitter scent beyond her hood.

  “Vámanos. Get her in the van.”

  Sasha was tossed against hard metal. The grind of a van’s door filled the air befor
e a light sway rocked her body. She rolled to her knees, and the hood was yanked off her head. Her hazy vision cleared, and she glimpsed a warm smirk in the flash of passing streetlights. It was a grin she knew, loved, had been praying to see. It was Vinny’s grin.

  “Holy shit, dude,” she said through a chuckle, falling against his chest. The ropes were cut from her wrists, and she wrapped her arms around Vinny. “I knew you’d come through.” He didn’t hug back. Not one word flowed from Vinny’s mouth, and she pulled away.

  The man sitting beside Vinny clutched his Uzi tighter. In the faint light of the cargo van’s rear, the ink on the man’s brown skin gleamed. “The money,” he said, keeping his gun aimed at Sasha. Vinny handed over a briefcase, and the guy set his gun down and opened its lid.

  “¿Nuestra familia?” Sasha said, eyeing the tattoo of a machete laying across a sombrero on the man’s neck.

  A low growl rumbled from the man’s mouth, and he turned to face the front of the van.

  “What’s going on?” Sasha asked, scooting along the van’s floor to get closer to Vinny.

  “Otis wouldn’t let me bid on you,” Vinny said, his eyes low. “So I had to go through a third-party.”

  The short tone in Vinny’s voice and clenched fists should’ve warded Sasha away. Vinny was pissed. A whole mess of crazy bullshit must have been whispered in his ear, but she could set him straight. Then maybe, just maybe, she could get a motherfucking hit. “Listen. I don’t know what stupid shit you’ve heard—”

  Vinny grabbed Sasha by the wrist, pushed her sleeve up. She tried to pull back, and his tight grip turned crushing. “You got track marks on your arm.”

  “They did that to me.” Sasha yanked her hand away, pulled her shirt sleeve down. “I don’t fuck around with that shit. You know me.” The shakes had come on so strong she could barely contain them. It wasn’t the lies, or Vinny’s disgusted glare, that rattled her bones. It was the pouch shoved inside her waistband. The smooth leather pressed against her skin dug into her spine. She could even feel the outline of the needle and spoon through the thick fabric.

  Brakes squealed as the van rocked to a stop. Sasha looked out the windshield, grinning at the sparkle of her high-rise building. Somewhere inside her penthouse, which dominated the entire west wing of the top floor, sat a bag of dope. She was sure of it.

  Sasha reached for the van’s sliding door, and Vinny gripped onto her arm. “Before this starts, I want you to know something.” He stared into her eyes with only affection behind his gaze. “I’m doing this because I love you.”

  Vinny pulled Sasha close, then jabbed a needle into the side of her neck. She hurled her fist, but it missed its mark. A dark haze had taken her down, surrounded her in an endless abyss of black.

  ***

  Vinny

  Kev rambled, but the words didn’t penetrate the fog that clouded Vinny’s mind. He leaned against the doorway of Sasha’s bedroom, staring inside. The room had been emptied. Even the toothbrushes in the private bathroom were gone. All cleared out, except for the king-sized bed with Sasha’s tranquilized body on it and the mafia doctor who hovered over her. Sasha looked normal while crashed out atop satin blankets. As long as her bloodshot eyes stayed closed, and the twitch of her limbs remained sedated, he could pretend everything was all right.

  “You got that, man?” Kev asked. He patted Vinny on the arm, breaking his daydream of a warm beach and a naked, non-strung out Sasha. “That’s the most important thing.”

  Vinny steered his gaze to Kev. He’d never seen such a serious expression on that guy’s face before. Whatever shit Kev just ranted on about must’ve been pretty fucking major.

  “You weren’t listening, were you?” Kev asked, his brow crinkling.

  “Fuck, man. I’m sorry.” Vinny glanced back into the bedroom just as the doctor drew a vial of blood from Sasha’s limp arm. “Just tell me that last thing, the important one.”

  A huff flew from Kev’s mouth, and his gaze rolled to the ceiling. “All that shit was important. You seen how my cousin turned out.”

  “Sasha ain’t gonna be giving five-dollar hand jobs in the back of a bar,” Vinny damn near yelled in Kev’s face before turning toward the bedroom.

  Kev latched onto Vinny’s arm, held tight. “Just…try to remember, the shit she says, how she acts. It’s not her. It’s the drugs.”

  “Yeah.” There wasn’t a doubt in Vinny’s mind he could handle this detox shit, until he stepped inside the empty bedroom. The doctor snapped his black bag shut, walked toward Vinny, and Vinny almost hightailed it out the penthouse.

  “She’s starting to come around,” the doc said. His head shook, gaze falling to the floor. “I’m sorry to see her end up this way. I helped get Sasha back on her feet after the coma. She has the strongest will I’ve ever seen. If anybody can kick the needle, she can. Just not alone. Nobody can do it alone.”

  The doc patted Vinny on the arm as he headed for the door.

  “Wait,” Vinny called out, following the doctor to the bedroom door. “She’s all good, right? Her health and shit?”

  “My biggest concern is the possible exposure to certain diseases due to intravenous drug use. AIDS has ravaged the drug community. I’ll phone you here, at the penthouse, when the blood results come in.”

  The doctor shook his head and headed down the stairs. Kev blocked the doorway, flashed a pitiful attempt at a confident smile, and then shut the door. Vinny stared at the solid wooden slab, which now had no handle. To be locked in a room with only Sasha and a bed had been a fantasy of his for a long time. Now it was a nightmare.

  “Vinny,” Sasha slurred, the sheets of the bed rustling. “What the fuck? Did you drug me?”

  Vinny forced his sorrow into a hard stare and turned it toward Sasha. “I thought you liked needles.”

  Sasha rolled off the bed, swaying on her bare, scabbed feet. Her stare shot straight to the spot where the nightstand had been before Kev and Enzo emptied the room out.

  “Where is everything?” She opened the closet door, stopped short. Not even one hanger hung on the ghostly rail, every shelf picked clean.

  “I had shit in here,” she shouted, rushing to the bedroom door. Her palm slid along the metal plate that used to hold a door handle, her fingertips squealing on its glossy surface. “What is this shit?”

  “We’re gonna hang out for a few days, seven to ten,” Vinny said, crossing his arms.

  “No, we’re not.” Sasha banged on the door, shouted at the wood to open up.

  “There’s nobody out there,” Vinny yelled over Sasha’s loud mouth. “Kev won’t be back ‘til tomorrow.” She stopped pounding on the door, but her fists remained clenched as she turned to face Vinny.

  “You can’t do this to me.” She charged Vinny, but he stood tall even when her fists struck his chest. “You know what happened to me. You can’t lock me up.”

  “Sasha!” Vinny clutched onto the sides of her arms, holding tight. “You’re not in a dark cell. You’re with me, in a safe place. I’m gonna ride this out with you, until the last of that dirty shit leaves your veins.”

  Sasha shoved Vinny, but ended up staggering herself. “I fucking hate you. You know that, right? I only started hanging out with you because I pitied you. The scrawny punk, alone beneath the monkey bars.” She sneered, held a glare of pure hatred. “I should’ve minded my own business, left you to wallow with your stupid books.”

  It was probably true. Deep down, Vinny had always suspected it was pity that bound Sasha to him. He never could be man enough to exist in her eyes, not like his brother. It didn’t change the fact that he loved her, that he’d sacrifice everything for her.

  “You’re not getting out of this room.”

  A roar burst from Sasha’s mouth. She glanced around the room, her shaky fingers out at her sides like claws, then stormed into the bathroom.

  “You’re not gonna find anything in there to throw at me either.” Vinny watched Sasha pace around the bathroom, her feet
slapping tile. “I cleaned all that—”

  Sasha drove her fist into the mirror. Glass shards rained to the floor, and blood squirted from her knuckles. Vinny ran forward as Sasha scooped a large, jagged piece of glass from the floor.

  “Let me out, Vinny,” she yelled, pointing the shard of glass at his face. Blood ran down her arm, dripped from her palm, yet she squeezed the glass harder. “I’ll carve you the fuck up.” Her hand trembled, her entire body trembled, but her voice flowed strong.

  Vinny stepped closer to Sasha, until the tip of the glass pressed against his neck. “You won’t be sticking needles in your arm. Not while I’m alive.” He inched even closer. The glass pierced his skin, sent a burn through his body that settled into his pounding heart. “If the drugs are what you really want, you better get to carving.”

  Sasha’s bottom lip quivered, and her eyes filled with tears. She lowered her hand. The piece of glass shattered on the floor, and she fell against his chest.

  Chapter Nine

  For the first two hours of Vinny’s makeshift detox, Sasha flipped out like a rabid dog on cocaine. She tossed hate-filled slurs the way one would throw candy at a parade, mocked the size of his dick, even hurled her tiny fists at his face.

  The next two hours were spent watching her writher on the bathroom floor. She clawed at the tile, cried out in pain between dry heaving. Vinny would be in there, holding her quaking body, but she shoved him away every time he tried to touch her. Apparently, his hands felt like acid on her skin. This entire scenario was not playing out as he’d imagined. They were supposed to spend the week in bed, curled in each other’s arms, talking about the past and making plans for the future. He was a fucking idiot. Only in his ridiculous fantasy-land could a heroin detox equal a movie-of-the-week romance.