Missing Pieces (Ashby Holler #3)

by Jamie Zakian

  “Jesus.” Vinny settled back, finally relaxed enough to smoke his joint. “You scared me, man. Looked like you had bad news.”

  “There is something else.” Marco shifted in his seat. Guilt rushed in to paint his face in a pinkish tinge. “After I got the letter, another postcard came into Tonys. Special delivery.”

  Vinny narrowed his stare. “And you read it?”

  “It’s a postcard. How am I not supposed to read it?”

  The hand gestures of the overdramatic Italian next to Vinny started, and he grumbled. “Fork it over.”

  Marco placed a postcard on the cushion beside Vinny, a picture of swamplands gleaming on its glossy surface.

  “Mississippi?” Vinny said. He grabbed the postcard, flipped it over.

  I’m a few miles from our old dock. I don’t know what’s gonna happen over there. Mexico’s a fucked up place, and I left a lot of loose ends when I went into that stupid coma. If you don’t get any more postcards, if you never hear from me again, I need you to know I didn’t run. I’m done running, except back to you. I love you, Vinny. I’ve always loved you and always will.

  “That—”

  A lump formed in Vinny’s throat, choking out his words. He coughed, took a few hits of his dwindling joint, but it wasn’t budging.

  “That sounded like a…”

  Marco nodded. Leather crinkled as the man sunk down in his seat. “It sounds like one of those letters a soldier sends before going into battle.”

  “Fuck!” Vinny jumped to his feet, headed for the stairs.

  “What?” Marco rose from his seat as Vinny stormed up the staircase. “Where you going?”

  “Hop a flight to Mexico.” Vinny pushed open his bedroom door, only to have it fly back in his face. Every piece of furniture from Sasha’s bedroom was stuffed in there alongside his own shit. Did he even need spare clothes to rescue his woman? He had credit cards and a driver’s license. That should be all he needed to book a flight to Mexico.

  Vinny turned away from his bedroom door and ran back down the stairs. Fuck his clothes. There was no time for stupid shit. Sasha was in trouble. He could practically hear her calling out for him at this very moment.

  “Don’t you want to wait?” Marco hurried across the room, blocked the front door. “See if another postcard comes?”

  “There ain’t gonna be any more postcards.” Vinny grabbed onto Marco’s arm but he didn’t push, not yet. He’d give the man one chance to move, before the guy got shoved.

  “You can’t take guns on an airplane,” Marco said, standing tall in front of Vinny. “When you land, you’ll have no weapon, no connections. Do you even speak the language, know anybody in that wretched country?”

  “I know an important name, Felix Vega. And I have coordinates.” Vinny snatched the postcard from Marco’s hand, then pushed the guy from his way.

  “Don’t tell Otis,” Vinny said on his way out the front door. “He’ll just come after me, then everything’ll get fucked up.” He slammed the door to his penthouse shut, leaving Marco inside, and hurried down the hallway.

  The elevator neared, and he picked up his pace. No time to push buttons and wait. He’d take the stairs. Marco could burst out of his penthouse at any moment, try to stop him. He couldn’t afford bullshit delays, not when his girl needed him.

  ***

  Sasha

  A light slap tapped Sasha on the cheek, pulled her from a spiral of colors and shapes. She tried to lift her arm, but her entire body felt so heavy. The tap on her cheek grew stronger, each hit spreading sharp pangs throughout her already throbbing brain. She wished her hand worked properly right now so she could punch whoever was fucking with her face.

  “Sasha.”

  Dante’s muffled voice trickled into Sasha’s ears, and she forced her eyes to open. The blur that clutched her vision cleared, letting Dante’s panicked stare filter in.

  “Jesus Christ,” Dante said, pushing some scrap of wet fabric against her head. “I thought they cracked your cantaloupe.”

  “I’m good,” Sasha said, in a bit of a slur. Her hand finally decided to work, flying to the pulsating ache on her forehead. A long gash ripped beneath her fingertips, filling her palm with blood. A burn radiated from the cut on her head and she groaned, her arm flopping back to her side. “Head wounds bleed a lot.”

  Dante took Sasha’s hand. He leaned close to her face, cradled her arm to his chest. “Don’t freak out now.”

  “What?” Sasha pushed against Dante, tried to pull her hand from his grasp, but his wide body kept her pinned to the cold floor beneath her back.

  “We’re in a cell.”

  “What?” Sasha yanked her arm free from Dante’s grasp and sat up, wobbling. Her side slammed against a stone wall, jagged rock digging into her skin. She’d scream but feared only vomit would spew out if she opened her mouth.

  “It’s all right, little girl.”

  “No!” Sasha pulled at her shirt, at her skin. It was too tight, everything was closing in on her. She couldn’t look up from the sand covered floor, see the sparky walls, glimpse the words painted in blood.

  I am Ellen.

  “No, I’m not,” she muttered between hectic gasps for air, which never came. This cell—her cell—had no air. It never had any fresh air.

  “Listen to me.” Dante clutched onto the sides of Sasha’s arms. He knelt down, until her eyes connected with his gaze. “You’re not alone in that cell. We’re not in a basement. There’s a window.” He pointed, but Sasha didn’t dare look. She couldn’t see where she was, what Hell she’d been dumped into.

  “You’re not alone,” Dante said, staring into Sasha’s eyes. “I’m here. I’ll die before I let anybody hurt my little girl.”

  Dante glided his thumb along Sasha’s cheek. His gentle touch soothed her raw soul but couldn’t stop the tremble of her body. He pulled her close, wrapped his strong arms around her, and she buried her face in his chest.

  Now, she got it. She finally understood why her mother had chased this man for so long. While tucked within Dante’s arms, Sasha felt untouchable. Nothing the world dished out could harm her, not while this barrier of strength shielded her.

  “I’m sorry,” Dante said, resting his cheek atop Sasha’s head. “All my choices fucked your life. It kills me I’ve hurt you. I’ve never loved anybody as much as I love you, my little girl.”

  “Don’t say that.” Sasha pushed off Dante’s chest, glaring at him. “People only say that kind of mushy shit when they think they’re gonna die.”

  “I’ve been waiting a long time to say that kind of mushy shit to you.” Dante drew Sasha back into his embrace, dropped a light kiss on the top of her head. “And I’m gonna tell you I love you more often. Every fucking day.”

  A snicker flowed from Sasha’s mouth, slowing the quake of her limbs. “That’s gonna get old.”

  Dante held tighter, and the spikes of terror that pierced Sasha’s mind faded to dull blades of anxiety. She peeked over his arm, taking in the cramped space around her. It was definitely an upgrade from her last cell. Same ridged stone walls, filthy concrete floor, except the cot shoved against this cell’s corner had a shit-stained mattress. And the window! Stars gleamed against a black sky outside the thin opening in the wall high above. She couldn’t fit through that window yet, but after ripping out the center bars she’d squeeze her ass out even if it ripped her skin.

  “All right.” Sasha pulled away from Dante’s clutch and patted down her pockets. She had no cigarettes or weed. The fuckers even took her zippo, and she’d had that one forever.

  “Motherfuckers took all my shit.” She jumped to her feet. Oh, how she loved anger. It had the ability to sweep in, overshadow any trace of fear invading her mind, and send a surge of fire through her blood. She glanced down at Dante, looking quite snug on the dirty floor. “Did they leave you any weed? I need to think.”

  “You don’t need weed to think.”

  Sasha glared, a low growl rumbling her
throat. Don’t need weed to think? This guy was living in an ass-backward crazyland. “Maybe you don’t need weed, but—”

  “Will you just stop focusing on weed and think up a way to get us out of here.”

  “Me?” Sasha paced within her limited space, kicking up a cloud of dirt. “Why does it always gotta be me?”

  Dante coughed, swatting at the puffs of sand wafting up from beneath Sasha’s shuffling boots. “You know people here, speak the language. Just start dropping some names.”

  Sasha stopped circling her cell like a caged animal. That was actually a great idea. She did know people, really important people, who didn’t take kindly to second-rate wannabe gangsters.

  “Fuck yeah,” Sasha said, eyeing the solid wooden door that kept her confined in this small stone cell. “We’ll be out of here before…” She turned toward the window, rose to the tips of her toes. The thin opening was far too high to glimpse anything other than dark sky. It was night, which meant an entire day had passed since she stepped foot into the villa that was supposed to harbor her mother. The woman was gone. She’d probably left before Sasha even arrived in Mexico. Her mother was gone.

  A clink rang out from the cell door. Dante jumped to his feet, stepped beside Sasha as the door flew open. Four men rushed inside the cell, hovering beside the door with their rifles at the ready, as a white man in a lab coat stepped inside.

  “Take the girl first,” said the doctor-looking guy, pointing at Sasha.

  Two men inched toward Sasha. In the low light, she glimpsed the fringe of a tattoo on one of the guy’s neck. The symbols were ones she recognized, ones that brought hope. “I’m a friend of the Llamada de la Muerte.”

  The men stopped short, glanced at the white guy that crowded the doorway.

  A cruel grin swept the man’s face as he leered at Sasha. “Tito was already here, gave the okay.”

  “The okay for what?” Sasha yelled, backing away from the two men who crept toward her.

  Dante decked the guy in front of him, then charged the men who reached for Sasha. A gunshot thundered the air before its white flash could stun Sasha’s eyes. Dante flew backward, trailing a stream of blood from the bullet hole in his stomach. His side hit the stone wall, and a spray of red burst from his mouth.

  “No,” Sasha cried out as Dante dropped to his knees, holding his gut. Dark red streaks of blood flowed between Dante’s fingers, his eyes wide. Just as Sasha ran for Dante, a strong hand gripped onto her arm. She was yanked back, and a needle was jammed into her neck.

  “Great, you damn near gutted him,” said the doctor guy, staring down at Dante groaning on the floor. “I guess he’s first.”

  Sasha slumped to the ground. She couldn’t move. Her arms, legs, every muscle was locked stiff. Not even one toe would wiggle on her foot. She tried to call out to Dante, but her jaw wouldn’t even open.

  “Little girl,” Dante shouted above the sounds of a struggle. “Sasha!”

  The slap of fists and shuffle of boots ended with a grunt. Dante fell to his side on the ground in front of Sasha, his body just as stiff and frozen as her own.

  “Can’t…move,” she muttered, in somewhat of a slur since her jaw refused to unclench.

  Dante’s frantic gaze was dragged from sight, leaving Sasha to stare at the sparkle of stone walls.

  “Hit her with a light sedative, and put her on a slab. I gotta get to the other guy before he bleeds out.”

  The ends of a white lab coat fluttered above Sasha, cloaked her in shadows, then glided away. A man placed his rifle on the ground, only inches from her face. In her mind, she grabbed that gun and blasted everybody’s ass to shreds. Reality was a cold, hard bitch. In the real world, she lay paralyzed, helpless, transferred from a cell of dirt and stone to one within her mind.

  A needle slid into Sasha’s arm, but she didn’t feel shit. It was like her entire body had floated away, leaving only her useless thoughts. The back of her shirt was hiked up, and the ground started to move beneath her. She was being dragged out of her cell and into a narrow hallway. Tinges of red stained the sand, and streaks of blood painted the brick walls, blurring as they passed by her still legs. A thick haze clouded her vision in gray, and that familiar metallic taste hit the back of her throat. There was no fighting it. She was going under, fast, and at this point her best hope would be to never wake back up again.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Vinny

  Vinny stepped out of the airport, onto the sidewalk of Merida, Yucatan and took a deep breath. Thick air filled his mouth, crammed into his throat. He coughed, covered his nose in a hopeless attempt to block the rancid stench from his nostrils. Mexico held the distinct odor of sweaty balls. He thought New York City was bad. At least he couldn’t taste the air there.

  Men and women hustled along the sidewalk, lugging suitcases around Vinny. He strolled past a line of taxis, avoiding eye contact with the men rushing forward to spout out some shit in Spanish. A ride wasn’t what he needed. He needed a fucking clue. The entire plane ride to Mexico, he’d tried to form a plan. It wasn’t until his ass was fifty-thousand feet off the ground that he realized how stupid he was. There was no plan to form. Mexico wasn’t a town; it was a goddamn country, full of strange people speaking weird gibberish.

  He couldn’t just go to the nearest bar and flash Sasha’s picture, mostly because he didn’t see any bars. The scenery wasn’t at all what he’d expected. Beyond a dark patch of sand dunes and palm trees, he glimpsed the glimmer of a distant city’s light cutting into the night sky. That was it. Old women in shawls weren’t trying to sell him a bunch of crap they’d made. Cowboys didn’t ride horses along dirt roads. Everything he’d ever seen in every movie was complete bullshit.

  A tall man with dark skin, covered in tattoos, grabbed onto Vinny’s arm. “Come with us,” he said as another, even bigger guy seized Vinny’s other arm.

  “What the fuck?” Vinny hurled his elbows, and the men tightened their grip. Not one person broke their stride on the sidewalk. Heads didn’t even turn when Vinny slammed his forehead against the asshole’s nose on his right. Blood flowed down the man’s chin, splashed the sidewalk, and not one woman shrieked.

  The men pushed Vinny toward a black van, and he struggled harder against their grip. This was un-fucking-believable. Not five minutes in Mexico, and he was being taken off the street like a little bitch. The van’s side door slid open, and the butt of a gun filled Vinny’s view. He tried to duck, but solid metal smashed against his face and knocked the world from sight.

  ***

  Sasha

  A fuzzy blur was all Sasha could see, but her ears worked just fine. Low gargles echoed over loud rips and sharp clinks. The mumbles, which resembled her name spoken with a mouthful of water, guided her back from a gray fog. She forced her hazy eyes to focus, and Dante’s pale face blurred into view. Terror clouded the man’s stare, his mouth caught open in a silent scream.

  Her hand flinched, slapping icy metal. She was on a steel table. They were both lying on steel tables, except Dante’s body rocked in violent tugging motions.

  Sasha strained to lift her head, and a wave of terror nearly pushed her back down. Dante’s chest had been cut down the center, his skin peeled back to show bloodstained ribs. The man in the doctor’s coat stood over Dante, blood up to his elbows, surrounded by bowls of fleshy gore on ice.

  “What…what are…?” Sasha muttered, falling back against the table.

  “Shit,” said the guy carving up Dante. “The chick’s coming ‘round. Hit her with more paralytics.”

  “Stop,” Sasha slurred. Another garble erupted from Dante’s mouth, his arm flailing Sasha’s way. She tried to jump up, run to him, but her body was too heavy to budge. “Stop!”

  “Sorry,” the man said, pulling a large piece out of Dante’s chest and placing it in a bowl. “You two are young, strong, and American.” The guy pointed his scalpel at Sasha, a thick bead of blood dripping off its tip. “I’ll clear a mil with you guys’
organs, finally get out of this filthy country.”

  The man went back to work at ripping and pulling Dante’s insides, and Sasha thrashed her weak arms. She’d kill this motherfucker. One hand, that’s all she needed to pull her limp ass across the floor and stick a scalpel in that douchebag’s eye. Except not even one finger would obey her mind’s commands.

  “Sasha,” Dante said in a low sputter.

  All on its own, her arm reached for Dante. Their fingertips grazed and Dante gripped onto her hand. She could feel his fear, his agony in the tight clutch. Then, his hand slipped away.

  “Love…” he choked out, “love…you.”

  “Daddy,” Sasha cried out. That man was her father, her daddy, and he was dying right in front of her. She screamed at her own body, demanded it to rise off the table. Her head lifted half an inch, and Dante’s stiff shoulders fell limp. His bluish lips no longer trembled, but his eyes, now blank and empty, stayed wide open.

  It couldn’t be real. This had to be a fucked-up nightmare. The strongest, most fearsome man she’d ever met couldn’t have been stripped to pieces before her eyes. Her father couldn’t really be a bunch of weird-shaped parts in bowls of ice.

  A young man stepped beside Sasha’s table. The kid couldn’t have been more than fourteen, yet his eyes held the stare of an old man who’d seen horrible things. He shoved Sasha back onto the table, jabbed a needle into her neck.

  “That’s the heart,” said the bloody doctor, in a chirpy tone. He strolled around the puddles of red, leaving Dante’s torn open body to stand over Sasha. “You’re next.”

  Sasha rolled her head to the side, which was the only movement her body would allow. Dante stared at her with dead eyes. He looked so scared, so alone on that shiny table with his chest split open. That would be her fate soon. A light tug rocked Sasha to the side, and the sound of a rip filled her ears. That would be her fate now.