by Zoey Parker
Zane slammed on the brakes. The seatbelt cut a hard line into my neck and chest and I cried out in pain. “There’s a fucking car right behind us,” Zane hissed.
Finally, I saw a late-model sports car. It was so close it was practically right on our tail. When Zane jerked to a stop, so did the other car. In a matter of seconds, someone leapt out and pulled out a gun.
“Don’t fuckin’ shoot!” Zane yelled. “There’s a fuckin’ pregnant woman in here, you asshole!”
I barely had time to look at the gunman before he held up the gun and fired through the window directly at Zane. I screamed loudly as the glass shattered. He ducked with his face pressed into his lap. Somehow, miraculously, there was no blood, and I realized he hadn’t been shot. Glass shattered into the car and I screamed again as the gunman reached through the broken window and tried to grab him. Zane struggled with all of his might — he was leaning back, holding himself at a distance — but even I could tell he was likely going to be overpowered. The gunman wasn’t even looking at me. My heart was pounding in my chest and every second that passed felt like a year.
“Get the fuck away from me!” Zane was yelling and trying to throw the gunman to the side when I twisted in my seat.
Part of me wondered if I should just shove Zane out the open door and drive away. Maybe it would be better to leave this part of my life behind me. It would be so easy, just sell the Porsche, fix up my apartment, get my life back on track. Stop thinking like that, I ordered myself. Zane saved your life. You can’t leave him behind. I shuddered as I realized that if I left, I’d be responsible for his death. While there were definitely a few instances over the past few weeks that I’d wished him harm or discomfort, I couldn’t live with myself if he actually died. I couldn’t do that to him. It would make me no better than the asshole who was shooting at us.
A flash of something metallic caught my eye and I realized there was a crowbar on the floorboards of the backseat. Without even realizing what I was doing, I reached down and grabbed it, wrapping my fingers around the metal and holding it close. Zane and the gunman were struggling. Their bodies were so close together that their grasp could have almost been mistaken for an affectionate hug. Rage and anger filled me and I raised the crowbar over my head, closing my eyes and slamming it down on the head of the gunman. He bleated once and paused, blinking before he continued to fight Zane. The gunman’s eyes looked crazed. A glint of something gold flashed around my face as he whipped his arms over his head and reached for Zane’s neck.
“Asshole!” I hissed under my breath as I swung the bar back and cracked it down on his head again. A loud, sickening thump reverberated throughout the car and finally the gunman flopped down with his head hanging inside of the car and his body hanging limp.
Zane turned to me in amazement. “Where the hell did you learn to do that?”
I dropped the crowbar like it was burning me. “I don’t know,” I mumbled. “What the fuck was that?”
I started shivering and shaking and Zane reached across the seat and stroked my cheek. “Thanks,” he muttered without meeting my eyes.
A small glow of pride ignited within me. I couldn’t believe I’d done something right for once. I’d saved Zane. I’d saved him. Me. Just me, all by myself. I shook my head. “I can’t believe I did that,” I muttered. “Who was that guy? Why would he attack us like that?”
Zane looked at me blankly. “After all the shit that’s happened over the past day, that’s what you’re asking me?”
I blushed a deep bright red. “Sorry. This is just really hard for me to take in. I don’t know what to do.”
Zane shook his head. “Don’t worry about that.” He sighed deeply. “I need to do something about him,” he said, gesturing to the body. “You definitely knocked him out, but I don’t know for how long.”
I took a deep breath. “Do you….do you think someone else would try to hurt us like that?”
Chapter 18
Zane
“What?” I blinked at Isabella. “What did you just ask me?”
She cowered, letting her blonde hair fan over her lovely face. “I asked if someone else would try to hurt us like that,” she said softly. “I mean, do you think someone could be coming? Like right now?”
I glanced behind me. The purple sports car behind us was still running. There was no one else inside. “We’ll talk about that later,” I said darkly. “You know we have shit to take care of right now.”
Isabella blinked. “What are you talking about?” She pulled out her phone and started dialing. “Zane, I’m calling the police!”
“No!” The force of my reply surprised even me. “Isabella, put the fuckin’ phone down.” She shook her head, looking guarded. When she didn’t move to comply, I grabbed it out of her hands and threatened to toss it out of the broken window.
“Zane, don’t!” Isabella screamed. “What if you need to get in touch with me!”
I shook my head. “Don’t fuckin’ call the cops,” I ordered. “That’s a fucking command, you got that?”
Isabella’s wide blue eyes blinked. “Zane,” she said in a shaky voice. “I’m really scared.”
I reached over and stroked her hair. “I know. But look, we’re running out of time. I gotta see who this asshole is.” Using all my might, I shoved the door open. The body slithered to the asphalt like some kind of prop doll. I glanced down at him. He was a nondescript, Italian-looking guy with tan skin and dark hair hidden under a ski mask that had been pushed up his face. Quickly, I got to my hands and knees and started checking his hands, face, and neck for tattoos. There was nothing. “Shit,” I mumbled. “Why couldn’t this guy have any fuckin’ ink?” In frustration, I ripped his shirt down the front. His chest was rising and falling in slow, even movements. I dug in his pockets, hoping for a wallet with a license inside. But there was nothing. I cursed loudly, forming my hand into a fist and punching the prone man’s stomach. He jerked slightly but didn’t stir on the pavement.
“Come on, come on,” I mumbled under my breath, searching his chest pockets and flipping him over. Just as I did, one of his sleeves raised up and I saw a flash of gold. He was wearing a gold watch.
I flashed back to that night at Maison Bridges, talking to the pimply busboy. He’d said one of the men was wearing a gold watch. I knew gold watches were commonplace as anything, but if this asshole was stupid enough to keep wearing it, I had to believe he was likely the same guy who had tried to kidnap Isabella.
“I think I know who this is,” I said grimly. “This is one of the guys who showed up in the alley of Maison Bridges, one of the guys who tried to grab you.”
Isabella slowly eased herself out of the car. “Oh, my god,” she said softly when I’d tugged the ski mask over his face. “I think I recognize that guy.” She screwed her eyes shut. “I mean, I know it’s him,” she said with a solemn finality. “I recognize him.” She took a deep breath. “What are we going to do?”
I unclasped the watch and slipped it in my pocket. My fingers grazed over something inscribed on the back of the face but I didn’t take the time to look at it. Later, I thought. Time for all of that shit later.
“Isabella, get back in the car,” I told her sternly. “And don’t get out, you hear me? Stay there until I come back.”
Isabella’s eyes opened wide with fear. “Zane! Zane, where the hell are you going?” She looked at me with a terrified expression on her pale face. “What the hell are you going to do?”
I didn’t answer her. Getting to my feet and squatting, I picked up the gunman’s body and slung it over my shoulder. He was heavier than he looked, and I felt my back strain instantly. It had been years since I’d done this kind of grunt work and I wasn’t used to what it entailed. I hadn’t carried a prone body in a long time. There were some patchy woods over about fifty feet from the road. Gritting my teeth, I turned back towards the car.
“Isabella, you better fucking listen to me, and you better fucking listen good,” I hisse
d. “You are not to leave the car. You are not to get out of the car. You are not to set foot on the road, you got that? You better fucking listen to me or there’s gonna be hell to pay.” I glared at her. “This is serious business. More serious than anything that’s happened between us. This is a matter of life and death, okay?”
Isabella didn’t argue. She opened her mouth as if to speak and then closed her lips. “Okay,” she said softly. “I understand. I won’t leave the car.”
“Good girl. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Turning towards the woods, I hefted the body even higher and started walking. Back on the road, I could hear the occasional car passing but each time I turned around, thankfully no one had stopped.
“Shit,” I muttered. “I have to get rid of that car.”
I dropped the man down on the ground and started jogging back towards the road.
When Isabella saw me, a look of clear alarm registered on her face. “What are you doing?” she hissed when I was close enough. “Did you just drop that guy in the grass?”
“I have to move his car,” I said under my breath. I climbed behind the wheel of the sports car. I gunned it into drive, slamming my foot on the gas and driving through the metal guardrail. When I turned around, Isabella’s eyes were locked on me in a mix of admiration and horror.
Back in the field, I hopped out of the car and tossed the body into the backseat. The guy was still breathing and there was a terrifying moment when I thought he was going to wake up. I’d tossed his gun into my Porsche but I didn’t know if he had any other weapons on him or, worse, someone waiting nearby in case things hadn’t worked out. His head lolled in the backseat and I slammed my foot on the gas, driving across the field until the car was partially obscured by the woods.
“Off-roading!” I screamed loudly. “I fuckin’ love it!”
The feel of the car pushing over grass and roots was exhilarating. It was like driving an ATV through a rocky, mountain road. I grinned to myself, knowing I was ruining the tires and whatever cheap transmission was under the car. This piece of shit sports car didn’t hold a candle to my Porsche. Fuckin henchmen can’t even get a nice car. That solidified my suspicion that the guy was from another family business in the area. Anyone connected to the Riccis at least had a nice ride.
I parked the car and climbed out of the front seat. Swinging the guy’s body over my shoulder, I winced under his weight and tried to straighten my spine. It reminded me of the first time I ever had to take someone out.
“Zane! Get down here!”
I jumped to my feet, eager to be included, and ran down to the basement. Pops and some of the other men, including Gianni, had been hard at work for hours. They’d come home around midnight, carrying a guy who was bound at the wrists.
“Don’t make any sounds,” Pops told him as they dragged him into our kitchen. “My girl’s upstairs, and she’s a light sleeper.”
“Dad, who is this guy?” I eyed him up and down. “What did he do?”
“It doesn’t matter, Zane,” Lionel had said. “Stay upstairs and keep an eye out.”
For more than two hours, I’d obeyed. I’d heard occasional sounds that unsettled me — grunts, yelps, cries. But nothing prolonged, nothing like a scream. Still, I shivered every time there was a thump from below.
And now, Lionel had asked me to come down into the basement. Admittedly, I was scared. I was eighteen years old, and this was the first time I’d ever been included in any kind of family activity. For the longest time, I had no idea how my family even made money, but Lionel had told me on my sixteenth birthday, when he’d taken me out to dinner and ordered me a beer. I’d been shocked, but then proud. It had been a relief to finally learn what my father did. And knowing made me feel included, like I was part of the pack. For months, I begged to meet his friends, to sit in on a meeting. Lionel had always refused, until today.
When I opened the door to the basement, I saw the floodlights were turned on. My eyes watered at the intense bright stimulation. When I started down the steps, I saw a sight that made me gasp. I quickly covered my mouth so the men wouldn’t hear me. The hostage was tied to a chair. His mouth was gagged with duct tape and his hands were bound behind his back, but his eyes were showing bright white and wide open. I felt a trickle of panic run down my spine as I walked down the stairs, but I was determined to not let Lionel know how scared I was. I’d never been around my dad when he’d hurt someone else, and part of the fear that struck me was the idea of seeing my father as a killer.
“Son, glad you’re here,” Lionel said. He pushed me to the front of the room. “This is the night my son joins the family,” he said solemnly. The man in the chair let out a yelp and one of Lionel’s men smacked him in the face. “We’re all real happy you’re here, son.”
I felt a burst of familial pride. I was happy, too, but I didn’t want to say so. Instead, I put a tough smirk on my face and looked up at Lionel. “How can I help, Pops?”
Gianni stepped forward. He was a tall man, tanned with pale blonde hair and ice-blue eyes. There had always been something about him that made me shiver, but I’d been unable to put my finger on it before now. Now, I realized what it was: he was ruthless, a natural killer. He wasn’t the kind of man I’d ever want to turn my back on.
Gianni pressed a pair of shears into my palm. “This man,” he said, gesturing to the man tied up in the chair, “thought he could pull a fast one on us, son. He told your father he didn’t know what happened to the investment. Turns out he was hiding everything for himself! He wanted to run away with our fuckin’ money!”
The man in the chair paled even more. Suddenly, I recognized him. His name was Pauly; he was a man who had worked with my father on a few jobs.
“I know you,” I said, the anger rising in my body. I couldn’t believe someone my father had trusted, someone who had pledged his loyalty to my family, would want to go and betray us like that. I wanted to kill him, I wanted to turn him into a pulpy smear that didn’t even resemble a man. I wanted him dead.
“And that’s not all,” Gianni said in a low voice. He walked around the bound man in circles, glaring at him. The man shuddered and shivered and I could tell he was frightened. Gianni leaned down in his face. “This man made an inappropriate pass at my wife,” he said. “He threatened her. He made her feel unsafe, in her own goddamn home. For that, I oughta cut your fuckin’ balls off,” he said, leaning down in Pauly’s face. “You fuckin’ hear me, Pauly?”
Lionel nodded. “This man’s a fuckin’ dead man,” he said with a grin. “Son, you do the honors.” He gestured for me to walk behind the man and use the shears.
I couldn’t begin to explain it, but somehow, I felt nervous. Somehow, I felt like I shouldn’t be doing this. A feeling like panic and dread swirled inside my belly. When I grabbed one of the man’s bound hands, he started whimpering and screaming before the blades of the shears even touched his skin.
“Take off a finger,” Lionel said. He grinned and waved his hand in the air. Suddenly, my father looked like a stranger. I’d always seen him as a remote, distant figure, a figure to be worshipped. But now he looked like a madman. He looked more alive than I’d ever seen him: a bright glow in his eyes and his usually pale skin red around the face and cheeks. “Make him hurt, boy. Make him hurt the same way he hurt our family. Maybe if you take enough fingers, he’ll tell you where the fuckin’ money is!”
“Yeah, Zane, find our missing cash,” Gianni said. He winked at me and one of his gold teeth glinted. “Fuckin’ help us, boy.”
With trembling fingers, I grabbed one of Pauly’s thumbs and clamped the shears down around the base. Blood spurted out and sprayed all over the front of my shirt. Pauly let out a low, liquid scream and then fainted.
Gianni stepped forward with a bucket of water and dumped it over his head. “Gotta keep him awake, son,” Gianni said, as if advising me on a trade secret. “You wanna make sure he feels every little bit of this fun.”
My stomach rolled and turned and, for a moment, I thought I was going to be sick. I was still holding Pauly’s thumb in my hand and I dropped it, horrified. It didn’t feel like part of a living man, it felt cold, like clay.
Lionel laughed. “You losin’ heart, boy?”
I was, but I didn’t want to admit it. As soon as Pauly came back around, I clamped the shears over another finger and pressed down until I felt the joint sever. More blood spurted out and Pauly moaned softly but he didn’t pass out this time. “This is what you get for trying to fuck my family,” I whispered into his ear. “You ain’t gonna be alive for much longer, but every second is going to feel like this, only worse.”
I blinked, coming out of my reverie. The man at my feet was starting to stir. Without a hint of remorse, I pulled his gun out of the car and aimed at it his head.
Well, at least there was one man who wouldn’t be hurting Isabella again.
