Blood and Tears (Holler Ashby #2)

by Jamie Zakian

  “They keep me chained to a wall, shoot me up with smack…do fucked up shit.”

  One of the Mancini fuckers, who kindly escorted them to what looked like the Devil’s vacation house, shoved Sasha then crashed the butt of his rifle against Dante’s back.

  “Walk,” the man grumbled.

  Dante took Sasha’s hand, and she jerked it back.

  “So what,” she said as softly as one could while snapping, “you want me to feel sorry for you?”

  “No. I want you to save me.”

  Sasha slowed her steps, but it did nothing to ease the whirl of her mind. It was the quiver in Dante’s voice, the way he kept pawing at her in search of comfort. Her hate for the man warped into pity, and it drove her heart to pound.

  “Fine!” Sasha stomped across the lawn, heading for the porch.

  “Wait.” Dante pulled Sasha to a stop just before the first step. “What are you gonna do?”

  “Whatever that bitch wants me to. Then, once I get us out of here, I can kill you myself for what you did to my mother.”

  “About that—”

  The butt of a gun struck the base of Dante’s neck, dropping him face down on the ground.

  “That’s enough talking,” a man grumbled, jabbing Sasha with the barrel of his rifle. “Go.”

  Two men grabbed Dante, dragging him across the grass. For some insane reason, Sasha actually wanted to help him. His limp feet bounced as he was hauled behind the house, and she felt the urge to give chase.

  “Was my pet naughty?” a woman’s voice called out.

  Sasha looked up the steps, into harsh eyes that could’ve been her mother’s leer. Her arms almost opened for a hug. It had been so long since she glimpsed her mother’s face, but this woman wasn’t the legendary Ellen. Close, and yet so far.

  “Come on inside, darlin’. There are many things we need to discuss.”

  ***

  Dez

  Dez paced around the lobby of Fat Tonys, stormed out the door to stare down the sidewalk, then went back inside to pace some more. Sasha should’ve been back by now. Fuck, she should’ve been back thirty minutes ago. If he had any clue where 57th street was, he’d be there screaming out Sasha’s name by now.

  “It’s cool, man,” Vinny said, holding out a joint. “She probably stopped to…I don’t know, do some shit.”

  “Yeah, right.” Dez turned his back on the scent of kind bud, ignoring the solace its aroma promised to bring. He couldn’t have dull senses. Not now, when there was possibly an entire city he had to slaughter.

  “Otis and Enzo should be back soon,” Vinny said, though the words brought no comfort.

  “We should’ve went to look for her,” Dez yelled, louder than he wanted to.

  “We don’t know this city.” Vinny took another hit, squirming on a wide red sofa. “We would’ve gotten lost.”

  Tires screeched, car doors slammed, and Dez hurried to the front doors. One glimpse of Otis’s stare, and Dez nearly crumbled.

  “Where is she?” he shouted, clutching onto Otis’s shirt the second the guy cleared the threshold.

  “Come on,” Otis said, his voice cracking. “Let’s go sit down.”

  “Fuck that!” Dez pushed Otis against the wall, though not by choice. His body was no longer under his mind’s control. “Where…is…Sasha?”

  ***

  Sasha

  Sasha sat at a small round table, staring at the woman across from her. Although her brain begged to look away, she managed to direct a hard glare at the old broad. It wasn’t easy. The same steely leer that had plagued her childhood, the one she thought had been wiped out from this world, scoured her. A little more blonde instead of gray hair, less wrinkles, a trim of thirty pounds, and this old bat would be a living ghost of a long missed nightmare.

  “You did a lot of damage tonight, darlin’,” the woman said, sounding rather amused.

  “I was just trying to get your attention.” Sasha peeked around the room, counting guns. Ten, which was two more than the amount of men surrounding her. An extra shotgun sat mounted to the wall. It could be empty, broken, or just waiting for her to grab and unload. The other spare rifle rested at the old bat’s side, propped against her chair. Sasha had maybe a one-percent chance of reaching either weapon before a bullet pierced her skull. Not the best of odds.

  “My attention, or Dante’s?”

  Sasha steered her gaze back to the woman, who slid a shot of clear liquid in front of her.

  “Your beef is with Dante,” the woman said, downing her own shot. “I don’t know why we’re fighting.”

  “You hit me with a dump truck.” Sasha leaned on the table, sliding her hand closer to the rifle. “My kid almost died.”

  “That was a mistake. Miscommunications are a bitch. My boys are strong,” she waved her arm around the room, the bulky men standing nearby bubbling over with pride, “but they’re not the sharpest tools.”

  The smiles faded from the men’s faces. Their shoulders slumped, and Sasha snickered. A few fake promises of loyalty, offers of stake in Lazzari enterprises, and she might walk her ass out of here. Hell, she might even get to carve up Dante to prove her allegiance. Then she could come back with that rocket launcher and fry all these twisted fuckers.

  “My daughter held my hopes for the future of the Mancini family. That’s why I allowed her to wander from my grasp. She got things done. Dante took Ellen from me, and he’ll suffer for it. As long as I’m alive, he’ll suffer.”

  Sasha shifted in her seat. She had said almost the same exact thing about Dante, many times, but it seemed so final when it flowed from this woman’s mouth.

  “Don’t you miss family, darlin’? I know I miss having a girl around here to chat with.”

  “Family,” Sasha sneered, slamming her shot. “I don’t even know your name, lady.”

  “You can call me Mama.”

  The woman’s glare turned cold, wicked, and the men standing around Sasha closed in. Shit was definitely getting weird. To put a cherry on top, whatever the fuck she just drank caused the room to spin and blur. This bitch didn’t know who she was fucking with. Drugs were candy to Sasha, and it would take a hell of a lot more than one shot of any narcotic to lay her out.

  “Stupid bitch,” Sasha slurred, swaying in her chair. “My people will come for me.”

  “No, darlin’. Your people won’t be coming for Sasha Lazzari. Sasha Lazzari died. Poor girl got herself shot in the face with a twelve-gauge. Those lovely policemen dropped her body in the alley, right before they snagged you up. The clothes, hair, right down to that trashy tattoo on your wrist all match. There wasn’t much else left to identify her with, messy gunshot wound. All they’ll have is…”

  The man behind Sasha gripped onto her shoulders, pinned her down into the chair. One man yanked her head back, and another pried her mouth open. She thrashed her arms, kicked her feet. It was useless. A warm fuzz crept in to claim her body, turning her limbs to jelly. The woman hovered over Sasha, light glinting off a pair of pliers in her hand.

  The dirt-covered fingers in Sasha’s mouth forced her jaw open wider, and metal clinked against her teeth. With a tug and a ripping tear, blood replaced the taste of dirt and metal in Sasha’s mouth.

  “…this one tooth,” the woman said, lifting the pliers to flash a flesh-coated molar.

  Sasha gagged as a pool of coppery fluid amassed in her throat. The hands holding her down left her body and she leaned forward, hacking a wad of blood to the floor.

  “What the fuck!” Sasha yelled. She cupped her cheek, but the throb of her mouth only grew. Her knees quaked as she tried to stand, and she fell back into the chair. “This psycho shit…” The barrel of a rifle blurred in and out of view. She reached out, swatting only air even though the gun looked so close. “Fucking…” Everything whirled, her mind, the room, every goddamn thought in her head.

  “You’ll fit in just fine here, Ellen,” the woman said, smiling down at Sasha.

  “My name i
s Sasha.”

  “Your mother was tough to break. I think it’ll be harder for you, on account of your age. We’ll see.”

  The old woman’s words echoed in Sasha’s ears, light fading to a dim glow. By some miracle, she was able to lift her hand and clasp the bitch’s throat, but she didn’t have the strength to squeeze.

  “I’m gonna put you in your mother’s old room, and you’ll stay there until you’re ready to be Ellen.”

  “Crazy bitch!” Sasha was yanked from the chair. In her mind, she had strangled that woman dead. Inside this haze, Dez carried her from the nightmarish house of psychos, except Dez wouldn’t dig his nails into her arm, drag her feet along dirt-covered floors.

  “What are you doing?” she sputtered, grasping at stone walls as her boots thumped down stairs.

  “Be a good little sis, and Mama’ll let you out,” a man said, his voice so loud yet far at the same time. “It only took your mama eight years.”

  “Eight years?”

  A squeak cut off Sasha’s words. She swung her fists. At least in her mind she did. The tight grip on her arms turned crushing. The man lifted her feet off the floor, hurling her through the air. She slammed against hard ground. A puff of dirt shot up around her face, and sharp prickles spread throughout her body.

  The crash of a metal door banging to a close jolted Sasha’s shoulders. She peered up as a stream of blood trickled from her mouth. A thin beam of light shined beneath a solid steel door, hitting her right in the eyes. She pulled herself across the floor, closer to the sliver of light, cracking her head against jagged rock. The more her eyes adjusted, the faster her heart pounded. Stone walls surrounded her. She was trapped in a tiny cell with only darkness made blacker by the thinnest hint of light.

  A cry escaped Sasha’s lungs, and she scurried back. Her elbow whacked solid metal, its ding bouncing off the cramped walls. She looked behind her, at a thin metal cot. No mattress, no blanket, just rows of rusty springs. Her fight against whatever drugs she’d been fed had ended. Her limbs were now too numb to move. The fog that blurred her eyes had grown so thick she could no longer see beyond it. She laid her head in the dirt, letting a heavy weight take her eyelids down.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  A steady pound ripped Sasha from a dreamless sleep. It took a few moments for her to realize the thunderous hammer was coming from inside her head. Grains of dirt dug beneath her nails as she pushed herself up. Her arms shook, threatening to give way, so she pushed them harder. Cool stone dug into her back as she sat against the wall. While lost to a drug-induced haze, someone had put a tray of food beside the locked door and a bucket in the corner.

  “Fucking great,” Sasha muttered, crawling across the floor.

  The food tasted like shit and actually looked like shit, but the glass of water soothed her swollen mouth. She downed the entire cup. Hunks of flesh washed from the gaping hole in her jaw, following the water down her throat, but she couldn’t stop drinking. She was so thirsty.

  A thin flap slid open halfway down the steel door, flooding the tiny cell in white light.

  “Morning, Ellen,” that crazy cunt of a woman said, all cheery and shit.

  “Sasha! You stupid bitch.” Her words came out in a jumble. A rainbow of colors, which weren’t dancing in front of her eyes a minute ago, swirled on the walls.

  “All right, darlin’. I’ll check on you tomorrow then.”

  The flap slammed shut, its bang somehow growing louder as it echoed. Although the light was gone, the colors remained. A rolling shimmer traveled along the stone, from the floor that wobbled to the ceiling that swayed. No drug on this planet lasted this long. Flashes of memories pushed through the fog in Sasha’s mind. She glimpsed Dez’s smile, saw the old woman hiding behind her mother’s stare, watched Dante flash the puss-filled sores on his arm.

  Sasha dropped to her stomach, using the slice of light to inspect her arms. Smooth skin gleamed, brighter than it should. There weren’t any marks, aside from a scatter of bruises and some charred flesh. They had done something to her. Something scrambled her brain, blurred the world, lulled her eyes to a close.

  A rush of heat zoomed in, hitting like a fist. Sasha rolled onto her back, but the prickles of fire beneath her skin didn’t fade. Little dots swirled above her. Red, blue, green, yellow, all the colors melded together, pulsing. It was strange, how the pulse of the dots synced with the throb inside her head.

  Too fast, it all spun too fast. She retched, heaving, but she couldn’t move. The only way to stop the whirl was to close her eyes. Even though she knew darkness would claim her, trap her in its icy clutches, she allowed her eyes to flutter to a close.

  ***

  Trays of food came and went. There was no way to judge time without sunlight, no way to count days. Sasha tried to keep track of how many times the woman peered into the flap. That could signify days, each visit a new morning or night.

  “Sand!” Sasha reached down, brushing dirt from between her toes. Wait. Someone took her boots. She moved her feet into the light, squinting to see through a blur. Little chunks of skin were torn from the tips of her toes, dried blood streaking her feet.

  “Little fucker ate me.” She groped the floor, kicking up dirt as she crawled around. Something crept in here while she slept and nibbled on her. She couldn’t find the critter, but it must be trapped alongside her. Sleeping on the floor wouldn’t be possible any longer unless she wanted to be eaten alive. Did she want that? It could be better. What was she doing here, in this tiny room of stone, metal, and dirt? Where was she?

  The flap in the door slid open and those eyes peeked through. She knew those eyes. They were with her all her life, protecting, terrorizing.

  “Good morning, Ellen,” a soft voice said.

  “Ellen? You’re Ellen.”

  “No, darlin’. You’re Ellen.”

  “I’m…” The name, her name, lingered on the edge of memory. It had been so long since she’d spoken it, heard it called out. “Sasha!” That was right, that was who she was. “Sasha.”

  “Almost, darlin’. I’m happy with your progress. It reminds me of the time…”

  The woman babbled on. Sasha couldn’t follow the speed of those words, but she liked to hear them. The gentle tone filled the cold space around her with warmth. It was her only comfort. Comfort? No, this was a punishment.

  “You’re shooting me up,” Sasha slurred, cutting off the woman’s chatter.

  “Heroin is a disgusting drug. I’d never pump that into my sweet girl’s veins.”

  It was her, her mother, come to save her. “Mama!” Sasha gripped onto the thin flap, her fingers curling around the metal as she leaned in.

  “That’s right, Ellen. It’s your mama.”

  “No.” Sasha pulled her hands away. She wasn’t Ellen. The eyes that glared at her through a slit in the door were Ellen. “No!” Sasha crashed her fists against the door, again and again until the flap slammed shut.

  “No!” she screamed, kicking the door. “Let me out!” She pounded her hands, feet. Even though her skin was raw and sore, she pounded on the solid metal imprisoning her.

  ***

  Vinny

  Vinny adjusted the knot of his tie for the fifth time, but it still looked wrong. Today wasn’t the day to look like a slob. Hundreds of people would see him today, shake his hand, say shit that didn’t make the world any less crazy.

  That wasn’t Sasha’s body. All week the image of Sasha’s blue tinged corpse lying on a metal slab in the city morgue haunted his mind. He knew every inch of that girl, every curve, every dimple, yet they all said it was Sasha. Doctors, the New York City Police Department, even the F.B.I. dipped their hands into this. They all said it was Sasha.

  Vinny ripped the tie off his neck, throwing it to the floor.

  “Uncle Vinny.”

  Tyler’s meek voice pulled Vinny’s stare from the mirror. He knelt down, and Tyler crept into his room. “What’s up, little man?”

  “Ms. Lydi
a’s here to take me to the park. I wanted to say goodbye to Daddy, but he won’t open the door.”

  A huff took Vinny back to his feet. Dez was really starting to piss him off. The man had hardly known Sasha. Dez wasn’t the one who lost his best friend, his entire world. Vinny couldn’t even grieve, hadn’t been afforded the luxury to cry. How could he? His time had been spent helping Tyler get accustomed to this sterile penthouse, high above a dirty city. Thank God for Enzo’s wife. If it weren’t for Lydia distracting Tyler with her many children, the kid would’ve found out his mother was dead. That was something nobody could deal with yet.

  “Just stay here, buddy. I’ll go fetch your pa.”

  Vinny stomped out his room. His livid stare reflected off the silver banister as he stormed down the hall. Dez’s closed door neared, but Vinny didn’t slow his rushed steps. Instead, he lifted his foot and kicked the door open.

  Dez jumped up from the bed. The bottle of whiskey in his right hand sloshed, and the picture in his left hand fell to the floor.

  “What the fuck!” Dez yelled, staggering to the center of the room.

  “You’re fucking drunk.” Vinny curled his fingers into fists, fighting to keep them at his sides. “It’s eight o’fucking clock in the morning.”

  “Yeah. I’m fucking drunk,” Dez slurred, rocking in place. “How am I supposed to get through today, huh? Put her in the ground?”

  “Daddy?”

  Vinny followed the shaky voice to Tyler. The kid looked so small standing in the kicked-open doorway, so scared. It made Vinny want to hug the little guy and never let go.

  Dez stumbled forward, grunting a bit, and Tyler gasped then ran away.

  “Fuck!” Dez roared, throwing the near empty bottle in his hand against the wall. Glass shattered, raining down, and Dez dropped to the floor. “How am I gonna do this?” he sputtered, tears rolling down his cheeks. “It’s only been a week.”

  “It’ll get easier,” Vinny said, kneeling beside Dez. “After today, we can go home.”