Missing Pieces (Ashby Holler Book 3)

by Jamie Zakian

  A smile lit Vinny’s icy blue eyes, which jacked up the pound of Sasha’s heart.

  “What about Dez?” he asked, inching a bit closer to Sasha.

  “I was hoping me and you could…I don’t know…” The idiot vibe struck Sasha like a backhand. She had no idea what to say, how to approach a potential dating situation. “…hang out for a while.”

  “You want to hang out with me?” Vinny glided his hand along Sasha’s neck, ran his fingers into her hair. He pulled her close, their chests pressing together. “I’ll hang with ya, girl.”

  Vinny’s lips brushed her mouth, and fire spread from her chest to her fingertips. Now, she was ready to tear his clothes off and jump in his lap.

  A knock on the window stopped Sasha’s hand on her belt. “Come on now,” Otis said, his sharp tone muffled by the truck’s heavy metal door.

  “Fuck.” Sasha slouched down on the sleeper cab’s thin mattress, hiding from the glower outside the window. “It’s been an hour already?”

  “Damn, girl.” Vinny clutched onto Sasha’s hips, maneuvered between her legs. “Be fucking careful out there.”

  For some dumbass reason, tears welled inside Sasha’s eyes. She took a deep breath, forcing them back, and leaned closer to Vinny. “My finger’s on the trigger.”

  His kiss came quick, bringing a shudder to both their bodies. She clung to Vinny’s neck, and he nibbled her bottom lip. This moment when the two of them became lost in each other’s arms, hidden from the dark world, would carry her through whatever shit she was about to face.

  “Come back alive this time,” Vinny whispered, his breath running over Sasha’s lips.

  She snickered, tearing herself from Vinny’s grasp. “No promises.”

  ***

  The semi’s engine whistled to life, and a whirlwind of flaming butterflies spun inside Sasha’s stomach. She gripped onto the steel shifter beside her. Its vibration tickled her palm and brought a smile to her lips. That giddy feeling which floated around in her head popped when she looked at the passenger seat and saw Dante’s face. Instinct took her hand to the butt of her holstered gun, then her brain kicked on. She couldn’t shoot Dante, not until the man gave her directions.

  “Sasha, wait,” Kev yelled as he ran across the loading bay, toward the idling semi. He climbed up the running board, peeked into her window. “I got something for ya.” He shoved a leather jacket through Sasha’s open window, dropping it in her lap.

  Crinkled leather and the raised decal of a Mack truck bursting through flames stole Sasha’s gaze. The weight of her old jacket filled the hole in her chest, which she had feared would only grow wider until now.

  She squeezed between the armrest and steering wheel, wiggling into her coat. The jacket’s cool collar pressed against the back of her neck, and the scent of weed and whiskey filled her lungs. It ignited a giddy sensation, which triggered a smile.

  “Later.” Kev jumped from the steel step. His boots squeaked as he jogged to the bay door. A clink of metal erupted and the wide door slid up, exposing the glow of city lights.

  Sasha backed the rig out of the garage, slow, so she could keep one eye on Vinny. He stood beside Otis, rocking in place. She could see his frown clearly, even though the overhead lights cast a glare on her windshield.

  A lot of things seemed to suck at the moment. Leaving New York and Vinny’s side when she felt so weak sucked. But most of all, Dante fucking sucked. The man’s wicked smirks, his dark eyes snuffed out the excitement of wielding a big rig once again.

  “Been tappin’ the vein, huh?” Dante said, as if that were a normal way to start a conversation.

  “Don’t even talk to me about that shit.”

  “The needle was forced on me. I didn’t touch the stuff after we left that house.”

  Sasha glanced at the passenger seat. Aside from a scatter of colorful bruises, Dante looked healthy, strong. His bronzed cheeks were no longer sunken, the muscles along his arms had returned to bulging status. Not her. She hunched over the giant wheel of a semi like the ghost of Sasha.

  “I’m sorry,” Dante said, in an almost genuine tone. “I should’ve left you my contact info.”

  “I wouldn’t have used it.” Even though Dante was the only person who could have understood why she ran to the needle, she probably wouldn’t have called him.

  Air burst from the brakes as the semi crept to a stop at a red light, and Sasha glanced at Dante. “So, where are we going?”

  “West.” Dante squirmed in his seat, setting off a squeak of old springs. “South-west.”

  A mix of a huff and a groan pushed past Sasha’s lips. She turned right, merged onto the interstate. “I saved your ass. We’re here, in this truck—alone—like you wanted. Why can’t you just tell me where the fuck my mother is?”

  Dante turned toward his window. The dumb bastard was trying to hide his guilty expression, but his face reflected in the glass clearly thanks to the sparkle of city lights.

  “You have no clue where she is, do you?” Sasha asked through gritted teeth, and Dante sank lower in his seat. “Motherfucker!”

  She veered across two lanes. Horns honked, cars skidded as Sasha steered to the side of I-95. She parked on the shoulder of the highway, seized Dante by the shirt, and pulled him close.

  “You lied to me.” Before her brain could protest, she pulled the gun from her holster. Dante flinched as she pressed the barrel under his chin, cringed when she pulled back the hammer. “My mother’s been dead this whole time.”

  “No.” Dante lifted his hands, slow. “I swear, Sasha. Ellen’s out there, I just don’t know where. But you do.”

  Sasha lowered the gun, released Dante with a shove. The glossy-eyed, far-off stare that accompanied lies was something she learned to spot at age ten. Dante didn’t hold that stare. He looked anxious, like a man fiending for his next fix. Except Dante’s drug of choice was her mother.

  “I have no idea where she is,” Sasha said, holstering her gun. “If I did, you wouldn’t be in the cab of my truck.”

  “Ellen always said if you ever woke up, you’d know right where to look for her.”

  Dante’s words knocked a gasp from Sasha’s mouth. She slumped behind the wheel of her idling semi. At this moment, she could only imagine her face warped into the signature glossy-eyed, far-off liar’s stare.

  “Holy fuck,” Dante said, in more of a long breath. “You do know where she is.”

  It wasn’t exactly true. She just knew where her mother’s secrets were. “Does she know I’m awake, my mother?”

  “You were still in a coma when she left me holding my dick in a two-person town in the middle of nowhere Texas. I didn’t even know you woke up, until Tony told me.” For a second, it looked like Dante might reach for her. Thankfully, for the sake of his own fingers, his hands stayed in his lap. “Your trucker brothers had a lot of specialists brought in. They all said you’d never wake up, ever. Your mother thought she lost you. It hit her hard. She stopped loving life, stopped loving…me.”

  What felt like a world’s worth of tears piled into Sasha’s eyes. She rolled her stare up, taking a deep breath. There was no way she’d weep in front of Dante, let that man’s safe-looking arms wrap around her, allow him to believe he could comfort her.

  Sasha slapped her shaky hand atop the shifter and pushed it into first. “I hope you’re good at rolling joints, ‘cause we got a ten-hour ride ahead of us.”

  Dante pulled a pack of Zig-Zags from his pocket and flashed a grin. “Where we headed?”

  The diesel engine whistled as Sasha pressed down on the gas pedal, running through gears. “Kentucky.” She pulled a sandwich bag of green buds from her jacket pocket then tossed it in Dante’s lap. “To my holler.”

  ***

  Sasha stood at the counter of a cramped gift store. The pen in her hand tapped a rack of buttons as she wrote on a postcard. She had to stop every other second to stare out the store’s front window. Across the rest stop’s near empty parking lot,
her rig sat in the spot she had left it with Dante just chilling in the passenger seat. She would’ve made him join her in this very important pit stop, except she kind of wanted the guy to split on her. It would prove her right about that asshole, and she’d have the extra bonus of Dante being gone. He didn’t steal her rig though, despite having plenty of time. At this rate, she’d never be able to shake the guy.

  “You can really get this there by tomorrow afternoon?” Sasha asked, handing the postcard and a fifty-dollar bill to the pimply young man behind the counter.

  “Yes, ma’am,” the kid said, staring at the cash as if it were a brick of weed. “It’ll arrive first thing. I’ll mail it out express. Promise.”

  “Thanks.” Sasha hurried out of the rest stop, climbed into her truck. Dante looked over at her and smiled like they were best buds, and she snarled. “I’m surprised you didn’t take off.”

  “Nah. I’m looking forward to this.”

  “Yeah, right,” Sasha muttered. “I bet you just can’t wait to see my mother again.”

  “Not that.” Dante sat up tall, damn near bouncing in his seat. “This. Getting to know you.”

  The gleam in Dante’s eyes almost looked real, sincere, which pulled a snicker from Sasha’s mouth. As if she’d fall for that shit. She could see his angle from a mile off. The guy just wanted to show up with the long lost coma girl and win his woman back. “Bullshit. The only thing you’re gonna know about me after this ride is how I like my joints.” She pointed at the bag of weed in the center console, then to Dante. “And it’s fatter than the ones you’ve been rolling.”

  “You don’t need to say much for me to see you, little girl.” Dante grabbed the bag of weed, started breaking out a joint. “For instance, I now know you hide behind pot when things get uncomfortable, instead of facing your issues head-on.”

  “Ah, no.” Sasha snatched the freshly rolled joint, which still verged on the skinny side. “I’m trying to smoke myself stupid so I can forget you’re my father.”

  A chuckle flowed from Dante’s lips. He held out his zippo, lighting it for Sasha, and she pushed his arm away.

  “I’m good,” she grumbled, whipping out her own lighter.

  “You’re so much like your mother.”

  The thought turned Sasha’s stomach. She had never met another person as amazing as her mother, but she never wanted to be like that heartless bitch. “I’m the complete opposite of my mother.”

  “Still hopping between your trucker brothers, huh?” Dante asked, though it was more of a statement than a question.

  “No.” Sasha hurled Dante a sharp glare.

  “You’re married to one, and you just fucked the other in the back of this truck.”

  “You don’t even know what you’re talking about. You sound like a fucking idiot.”

  Dante turned in his seat to stare at Sasha. “Your mother bounced between two men, for a long time. Even after one of those men died, she still couldn’t choose.”

  “The man you killed, Charles Ashby—my real father—was the only man my mother ever truly loved. He was the only man she ever trusted. That’s why she didn’t run off into the sunset with you.” Sasha veered her cold stare to Dante. “She might lust after you, but you murdered her one true love. You took away her ability to love.”

  Sorrow claimed Dante’s face, twisted it from one of a demon to the fragile old man he actually was. It felt worse than Sasha expected to break him down. She didn’t really know Dante, whether he deserved her venomous words. It did seem like he cared for her, those few times he blew through her life and ripped them to shreds.

  “You gonna smoke that to your head?” Dante asked, pointing at the joint between Sasha’s fingers, which no longer trailed a stream of smoke.

  She should make Dante watch her enjoy this doobie solo. If she were a rude motherfucker she could, but she wasn’t, so she passed the joint to Dante.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “I’m hungry,” Dante said, shifting loudly in his seat.

  Sasha glanced across the semi’s wide cab at the man-child practically stomping his feet on the floor mats. This was exactly what she needed, because the morning’s vicious rays just weren’t enough to fully grate her nerves.

  “There’s a rest stop a few miles up,” Sasha said, trying to rub the exhaustion from her eyes. Either she was getting too old for a ten-hour run, or the massive amounts of drugs she’d pumped into her body the last few months had done some real damage. “You can run in and get a breakfast sandwich.” And maybe she’d sneak in a quick power nap.

  “No,” Dante said in a sarcastic chuckle. “I’m a big man, I need a big breakfast. Take the next exit. There’s a diner right off the ramp.”

  “I’m not pulling off the highway. We’re only two hours away.”

  “Did Dez open a full-service restaurant on your mountain?” Dante glared at Sasha with his stupid man-child expression, and a slew of jumbled obscenities erupted from her mouth.

  “I didn’t think so,” Dante said, pointing at the exit ramp. “Pull off here.”

  Sasha couldn’t put up with this shit for the next two hours, let alone two more minutes. She steered the rig off the highway, fishing out her wallet at the toll booth. “I’m guessing I’ll be springing for this entire trip.”

  A light shrug lifted Dante’s wide shoulders, and a grin spread across his lips. “The Mexicans took my wallet.”

  ***

  Dez

  Just like every morning, Tyler had to run like a chicken with its head cut off to catch the school bus in time. Once the wide yellow backdoor drove from sight, Dez headed back toward the big house. His boy was smart as a whip, yet couldn’t figure out time management for shit. Just like Vinny.

  A chill nipped at Dez’s spine. He shook it off, walking past the ghostly clubhouse and up the hill. The bigger Tyler got, the more he acted like his real father. Soon, his boy would be old enough to realize he wasn’t really his boy. Tyler belonged to Sasha and Vinny. Dez was just clinging to the two people he loved most through that child, trying to get back what he’d pushed away.

  Just as Dez climbed up the porch steps of the big house, the front door flew open. Jeri hurried out of the house, tucking her rumpled top into her crooked skirt.

  “I gotta scoot, babe.” She dropped her heels onto the wooden planks, slipped her feet inside.

  Dez stepped behind Jeri. He pulled her shirt free to slide his hands underneath it. “You still got time.”

  “I have to run home and change before work.” Jeri glanced over her shoulder, which separated Dez’s lips from her skin. “I wore this yesterday.”

  “Call out sick.” Dez pinched Jeri’s nipple, and her knees quaked. He slipped his hand under the front of her skirt, snuck his fingers between her legs, and a moan flowed from her lips. “You feel hot. There’s no way you can work in these conditions.” He glided his finger deeper inside the woman who wriggled in his clutch, bringing a quiver to her entire body. Jeri wouldn’t be leaving now, not until she came at least five more times.

  “Yeah,” Jeri said with a bit of a pant. “I got a few sick days.”

  Dez snickered. He sure did love getting his way. Jeri spun to face him, locked onto his lips. He gripped onto her ass, backed her into the house, and kicked the front door shut.

  ***

  Sasha

  Not five feet from Sasha, a waitress dropped her tray. The woman’s skirt rode up her thigh, higher as she reached for the scatter of silverware. It was damn near painful, but Sasha forced her stare dead ahead. Across her sticky table, beyond her untouched stack of hotcakes, Dante stuffed his face. It was totally worth the stop. She’d found Dante’s off switch. With a mouthful of omelet, the man couldn’t talk to her.

  “Not hungry?” Dante said between chops, proving Sasha wrong once again.

  Hungry was a thing Sasha doubted she’d ever be again. Her stomach hadn’t stopped burning, ripping, churning since…she didn’t remember when.

  “How l
ong you been clean?” Dante asked in a tone that a gullible asshole would mistake as concern.

  Sasha glared over the steaming cup of coffee in her hand, wishing her thoughts were strong enough to maim. “Why?”

  “You’re pretty pale.” Dante pointed the fork in his hand Sasha’s way. “And your fingers haven’t stopped shaking since we left Fat Tonys.”

  Not one word passed Sasha’s lips. She assumed her death-stares would be enough to say how she felt about this topic.

  “I would guess,” Dante said, nibbling on toast, “two, three days.”

  “What the fuck do you care?” Sasha banged her mug of coffee on the table. “Mind your own business.”

  Dante pushed his plate aside. He leaned back in the booth, lit a cigarette. “Why’d you do it, turn to the needle?”

  “Are you serious? You saw where I was, what they did to me.”

  “I’m sorry your face got marked up,” Dante said, a slight tremble cracking his voice. “But my entire body looks like that. The old bat cut me everywhere.” His fingers balled into a fist, which shook under its own tight grip. “Everywhere. To me, the poison she put into my veins was worse than all the other shit she shoved inside my body. I enjoy thinking, feeling, even if it’s pain.”

  Sasha wrapped her arms around herself, but she couldn’t stop the twitch of her shoulders. She wasn’t scared, nervous, ashamed. It was the taste. The sticky, sweet, metallic flavor that hit the back of her throat when she booted up rushed in for the briefest of seconds. What a tease, to have it roll on her tongue only to vanish without a trace. She wanted more. How she hated herself for wanting it more.

  “It was the eyes,” Sasha said, pulling her leather jacket closed tight. “I couldn’t get the old woman’s eyes out of my head. She was always staring at me, in my sleep, around every corner on every street. Heroin made it go away. People could touch me, and I wouldn’t flinch. I could smile.”

  Dante slid around the booth, closer to Sasha. The moment his hand landed on her leg, a yelp flew from her mouth. She shoved Dante away and jumped up from the table.