by Zoey Parker
“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 hissed. “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 pul
py 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.
Chapter 19
Isabella
I cringed as I heard the gunshot coming from the woods. I didn’t want to believe Zane had shot him, but I didn’t know what else to think.
When he came out of the woods, relief washed over me like a cold wave. I shivered and wrapped my arms around myself, desperately wanting everything to be over. It seemed like every day brought new, unfathomable horrors. I couldn’t believe I’d been upset about Zane not calling me just a few days ago. Now, part of me wished I’d never heard from him again. This was all too much, and it was happening much too quickly.
I watched Zane’s form come out of the woods. He shook his hands off, then started the long walk back to the road. The patch of road was practically deserted. Even though we were in New Jersey, it looked like a swamp. I couldn’t believe I’d never paid attention to how ominous the surroundings were before; the sky was a mottled dark grey and the trees were smudges of dark brown and dark green. Zane was a black figure straggling towards me. I shivered again.
“Zane!” I called loudly. “Zane! Are you all right?”
When Zane got back to the car, he glared at me. “What did I tell you about not making noise?”
I pouted. “You didn’t tell me anything about that,” I said softly. “You just said not to get out of the car.”
Zane looked weary. “Don’t argue with me right now, Isabella.”
I saw a smudge of something dark on his pants. When I reached over to wipe it, he smacked my hand away.
“Don’t touch that,” he said sharply. “You don’t know where it came from.”
I laughed. “Like, you think that guy had AIDS?”
“You don’t know anything,” Zane said sharply. “You don’t know where he came from, and you don’t know what he was up to before he died. Rule of thumb, you don’t go around putting your fingers in strangers’ blood.”
A chill passed through my body. “Jesus,” I mumbled. “Sorry.”
Zane pointed the car towards his home and pressed it into gear. As much as I didn’t want to think about what he and I had done, I found it didn’t really upset me. It felt like a completely different part of my life, a part of my life that didn’t fit in with the rest of the world. It occurred to me that we’d both committed a crime just now. I was shocked to find I didn’t feel any different.
“Does it always feel like this?”
Zane turned to me. “What are you talking about?”
“I mean, I barely feel anything,” I said, staring down at my hands. I couldn’t believe they were responsible for knocking out a grown man twice my size. The crowbar was at my feet, and I picked it up, halfway expecting to see gore and hair clinging to the end. There was nothing, not a hint that it had ever been used to hurt a man. I shuddered. Already, I was starting to forget the powerful feeling that had surged through my body when I’d brought the crowbar down on the man’s head.
Zane sighed. He looked at me. “Isabella, it’s okay to admit how you feel. I know you can’t suppress this shit. You’re not used to it.”
I twisted in the seat so I wouldn’t have to look at him, and looked out the window instead. “Whatever,” I mumbled. “I just want this to be over.”
We were both silent for the rest of the ride. When we pulled up in front of Zane’s house, I yawned. “I’m tired,” I said. “I want to take a nap.”
I could tell Zane wanted to argue with me, but he didn’t say anything. “I’ll be downstairs,” he said lightly. “You go sleep.”
Climbing the stairs, I had to stop and rest against the bannister when I got to the top. For some reason, I felt absolutely exhausted. I felt like I hadn’t ever been this tired in my whole life, like I could sleep for days and it still wouldn’t be enough to help me feel better.
Zane’s bed was cool and inviting. I slipped out of my clothes and crawled under the sheets, clad only in panties. I didn’t even care if Zane saw me like this; I was beyond feeling self-conscious. The silk sheets wrapped my tired limbs in a way that made me feel safe and secure for the first time in hours. Maybe this is the secret, I thought to myself. Maybe I just have to spend the whole day in bed, ignoring the real world.
Soon, I fell into a light, troubled sleep. I kept having dreams about other people, people I hadn’t seen in years. There was some kind of deal, and I was expected to drive across the state and make it. When someone asked about my husband, I looked down at my left hand and saw a giant ring. I realized they were talking about Zane.
I woke up with a start. It was still light outside, but barely. Weak evening rays were streaming through Zane’s bedroom windows. My mouth was dry and my stomach felt like an empty roll of toothpaste that had been squeezed out. So far, I wasn’t enjoying being pregnant. I was both starving and exhausted all of the time, and it made no sense. I felt like I could never get enough food or sleep.
Getting dressed, I padded downstairs. Zane was sitting at the kitchen table. He didn’t even look up when I strode into the room and slid down into a chair across from him. Yawning loudly, I covered my mouth with my hand. “
I can’t believe I slept for so long,” I mumbled in a tired voice. “I’m starving. What time is it?”
Zane looked up at me from a pile of paperwork. “It’s the evening,” he said. “You want me to order some food?”
My stomach rumbled and I burst out laughing. Zane glared at me. “Relax,” I said defensively. “I’m sorry. It was just…funny timing, that’s all.”
“That’s a fuckin’ word for it,” Zane snapped. He opened a small computer and slid it across the table to me. I saw that he’d pulled up the site of an Italian family restaurant. “This place is pretty good; we should just order from them.”
I picked out a salad, a dinner serving of lasagna and some cannoli before passing the computer back to Zane. He made his picks quickly, then reached into his back pocket and dumped a wad of cash on the table.
“If I’m not around when the food comes, give the kid a big tip,” Zane said. He stood up from the table and stretched.
