by Zoey Parker
I heard a voice outside yell “Back here!” a split-second before a machine gun opened fire, peppering Growler's torso with bullets.
“Growler!” I yelled, starting forward reflexively to catch him before he fell.
Growler roared from the back of his throat, gesturing for me to stay back. He staggered back, then regained his balance, slamming the door and locking it. He shoved the stack of tables and chairs, spilling them in front of the back door to barricade it.
The voices outside were getting louder. “Fish, you dumb fuck! He said we needed her alive!”
“Yeah, well, he didn't say nothin' about them other greasers or that Frankenstein-lookin' fucker peekin' out the door,” another voice said. Fists started banging and hammering at both doors.
My stomach felt like it was being squeezed by a fist of ice as I pressed myself against the wall. My fingernails dug into the cheap paneling. I gritted my teeth against the panic, wishing I had kept the pistol instead of giving it to Rafe while also knowing with a gnawing certainty that it wouldn't have done me any good.
There was no way out of here except with these men who were coming for me. My only comfort was that they wanted me alive, but without knowing what for, that wasn't much comfort at all. A horrible voice inside of me wondered whether something similar to this had happened to Growler once, when he still had two eyes and two arms and two legs.
The sound of Growler's heavy breathing filled the room as he pointed his gun, rapidly shifting his aim from one door to the other. He was doubled over, but I could still see the deep holes in his torso pumping out dark red blood. One of the wounds was in the right side of his chest, and every time he inhaled, it whistled wetly.
His eye flickered back and forth, back and forth. His eyepatch was soaked with the heavy sweat that rolled down his face. His teeth were clenched, bubbles of spit forming at the corners of his mouth.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
Suddenly, the door to the bar smashed open, shoving the cot aside. Men in ski masks pushed through, some carrying shotguns while other brandished mini-Uzis. Growler squeezed the trigger as the men opened fire on him. His first two shots hit a man standing toward the front, but the rest went wild as his body jitterbugged under automatic fire from six different gunmen.
After a few seconds that seemed like an eternity, the guns fell silent and Growler reeled backward, dead before he hit the floor.
The men swarmed into the room, approaching with their guns trained on me. When they got close enough, the two in front reached out quickly, snatching my wrists and duct-taping them together behind me. My lips parted and I let out a scream before another strip of tape was slapped over my mouth.
“We don't need to hear it, honey,” one of the larger men said, heaving me over his shoulder and turning around. I lashed out with my foot and felt it connect with the side of someone's ribs, eliciting a pained groan. A few of the other men laughed.
“Hey, we got one hell of a kicker over here!” one of them said.
“Bears oughtta draft this bitch,” wheezed the man who'd been kicked. “Couple field goals from her an' they might make it to the Super Bowl.”
There was more laughter as a long strip of duct tape was wrapped around my ankles. Someone punched me in the left kidney, and the pain that radiated from it felt like rusty nails.
“Have fun pissin' blood, you rotten slit,” said the man I'd kicked.
“Yo, we oughtta get a fuckin' move on,” said a younger, more nervous voice. “If the cops show up...”
“Relax, Tommy,” someone else said. “The cops've been paid off top to bottom to steer clear of this block until we're finished. Now come on, help me lift this filthy mignotta into the trunk. I got a bad back already.”
I was carried out the back door to the alley behind the Devil's Nest where two cars were parked. Most of them got into the first car and drove off, while the remaining two dragged me to the second car and popped the trunk.
As they crammed my aching body into the trunk and slammed it shut, I thought about how funny it was to find out that the cops really had been bought off by Jester after all. I thought about poor Growler lying on the floor in a pool of blood. I thought about where they might be taking me.
Mostly, though, I thought about what they might cut off of me when we got there.
Chapter 36
Rafe
Bard ended up telling Antonio that we'd been looking for a different Angelo, and that the “business” we wanted to discuss involved restoring a vintage motorcycle for him. But Antonio had still looked a little distrustful of this explanation. As we walked away, I could tell Bard was wondering whether someone like Antonio might call the cops and report us as suspicious characters. We hadn't exactly committed a crime, but we couldn't exactly go snooping for the Thorns' yacht with the police breathing down our necks either. Plus I'd been out of prison for all of four days, so carrying an unlicensed firearm would probably be enough to put me back behind bars for a long fucking time.
We tried to blend in and look casual as we walked up and down the docks, looking for any clues pointing to the Thorns' boat. Just as we were about to give up, Sperm pointed to one of the smaller yachts near the end of the last dock and said, “Hey, you don't suppose...?”
Bard and I turned to look. The boat was sleek as an arrowhead and painted dark crimson. The name on the hull was “Every Rose,” and the letters were decorated with elaborate vines of thorns.
“'Every Rose Has Its Thorn?'” I said in disbelief. “Huh. I wouldn't have pegged Jester and his guys as Poison fans.”
“Hiding in plain sight after all,” Bard said. “Come on. Let's see if anyone's aboard.”
We walked up to the gangway, peering up at the deck. It didn't look like anyone was there. Bard motioned for us to follow him and crept up the gangway slowly, his hand hovering over the handle of the pistol at the back of his jeans. Sperm and I followed.
“This doesn't feel right,” Sperm muttered. “What if they're watching us, waiting for us to get on board so they can blow the boat up or something?”
“If Jester really thinks killing me is worth blowing up a yacht, I'm flattered,” I answered.
“Quiet, both of you,” Bard hissed. He stepped aboard and walked over to the cabin's entrance. He pressed his body against the wall next to the open doorway, snuck a quick peek inside, then relaxed and stepped forward.
“It doesn't look like there's anyone here,” Bard said. “Still, keep your wits about you, both of you. Let's search the place and see what we can find.”
We spent the next thirty minutes examining every inch of the boat's deck and cabin, looking for any clue that it belonged to the Family of Thorns. We couldn't find anything. It was almost as if no one had ever even stepped onto the yacht before. There were no personal items, no clothes, not even a bottle of liquor or a glass to pour it into. Even the windows and walls seemed as though they'd never been touched, since they didn't have a single fingerprint or smudge on them.
“I don't like this at all,” Sperm said. “This yacht looks completely new and untraceable, which kinda seems to support my whole blowing-it-up-with-us-on-it theory. I think we need to get out of here as fast as possible.”
“I agree,” I said. “This smells like a trap. We need to go. Now.”
We all turned and headed for the gangway as fast as our legs could carry us.
Chapter 37
Jewel
By opening and shutting my jaw, I was able to loosen the duct tape on my mouth just enough for one end to come loose. I scraped my face against the floor of the trunk over and over again until I was able to get the tape to peel away. I knew struggling against the tape on my wrists and ankles was probably useless, but at least I'd be able to scream for help when they opened the trunk.
It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing.
I felt the car slow to a stop and heard the doors open and shut. I could hear what sounded like crowds of people n
earby, with children screeching and playing. I sighed, relieved. That would make it much easier for me to draw attention.
A few moments later, I heard a high, reedy voice just outside the trunk.
“Is this the girl?” the reedy voice asked.
“Yeah, it's her,” said the man I'd kicked. “We had to kill our way through half the Reapers to get her.”
“No cures for cancer lost there, I'm sure,” the reedy voice sneered. “All right, open it up and get ready to move fast. If she's made it this far, she shouldn't be underestimated.”
I took a deep breath, preparing to scream. But when the trunk popped open, a hand filled my field of vision, quickly stuffing a rag into my mouth to stifle me. The hand belonged to a thin, pale man in his thirties, with moist blue eyes and curly hair dyed bright red. He wore a white suit with a purple turtleneck underneath.
“See what I mean?” the red-haired man said, pointing to the loose strip of tape dangling from my face. He reached into the front pocket of his jacket and produced a covered syringe, looking around to make sure no one was watching.
“Don't worry,” the red-haired man said. He leaned into the trunk, uncapping the syringe and inserting the needle into my arm. I screamed deep in my throat, but the rag swallowed the sound completely. “This is just a little something I put together to keep you nice and drowsy. You probably shouldn't try to talk or walk on your own while it's working its way through your system. Or operate any heavy machinery, for that matter,” he added, giggling.
My world started to shimmer around the edges, and I could feel the thoughts in my head starting to screech to a halt and slam into each other. My body felt like a fist that had been clenched for too long, and it took me several painfully-slow seconds to remember that I'd been hit in the kidney before my brain washed the thought away again briskly along with the question that preceded it, like laundry being tossed and churned in a washing machine. Who was this man? Was I supposed to recognize him? Why was he doing this to me?
“There we go,” the red-haired man said. “Nice and docile. Let's get the tape off her and stand her up.” He pulled the rag out of my mouth, tossing it aside.
So that's why my jaw was aching so much, I thought sleepily as the other men untaped my limbs and dragged me out. That was nice of him, to take that out for me. I wish he hadn't told them to stand me up, though, because...
...Did he tell them to stand me up?...
...because I'm actually very tired right now, and I feel like I should just rest here before I go play with those children I hear. Just a little nap, that's all. Maybe if I tell him I'm too tired, he'll change his mind and have them put me back down.
I opened my mouth to speak, and nothing but slurred, drawn-out vowel sounds came out. My chin and chest felt surprisingly wet, and I realized I had drooled all over myself.
“Okay, let's get her over to the boat,” the red-haired man said.
I felt myself moving forward, and briefly congratulated myself on being able to walk until I remembered I was being carried. Families and their children floated by me, laughing and bickering and carrying flags and lit sparklers.
I wished my parents could be there with me so we could celebrate with the rest of these happy-looking people. I couldn't quite remember who the men on either side of me were, but they didn't seem like friends or family, and all at once, their hands on me started to feel very heavy.
A sharp pang of fear suddenly darted through my mind, the emotion flickering like lightning followed by the rumbling thoughts that conjured it.
Growler was dead. I'd watched him die, and these men had taken me.
Whatever had been pumped into my veins, I knew I needed to shake it off and try to break free or call for help. As a young, fresh-faced couple passed by, I tried to call out to them and instead let out a long, gurgling croak. More saliva dripped from my lips, spattering on the sidewalk in front of me.
“Hey, is she okay?” the woman asked, frowning at me.
No, I'm not okay, I thought. Nothing's okay. Growler's dead and Rafe might be dead and I think these men want to make me dead too. Please help me. Please see that there's something wrong and get me away from them before they murder me.
“Yeah, it's just our sister,” the red-haired man said. “No matter what the holiday is, she's always drunk by 10 AM so we gotta carry her everywhere. Family, am I right?”
“Heh, yeah, tell me about it,” the woman answered. “My aunt's the same way. Well, happy Fourth of July!”
“Happy Fourth! Enjoy the fireworks,” the red-haired man replied. The young couple walked away and I felt myself moving forward again.
The sun was starting to go down, and I could see its rays glittering on the surface of water like a handful of scattered gold coins. I realized I was at the harbor, and I tilted my head to one side, watching the docks pass by in a blur.
“Steady, girl,” the red-haired man whispered in my ear. “Almost there.”
The men turned and marched me down the last dock in the harbor. My head lolled forward and I saw that we were approaching a red yacht at the end of the dock. I could feel the gangway under my shoes and the world tilted backward slightly as we ascended to the boat.
I heard a familiar voice say, “This smells like a trap. We need to go. Now.” There was a thunder of footsteps heading toward us, and I saw Rafe's surprised face appear at the top of the gangway a few feet away from us, along with Sperm's and Bard's.
Rafe's alive! I thought giddily. We're all alive, thank God! I just hope we all get to stay that way.
But even in my drugged haze, I knew the chances of that were slim.
Chapter 38
Rafe
“Nice to see you again, Rafe,” Jester smirked. He'd dyed his hair red since the last time I'd seen him and his taste in suits had improved, but there was no mistaking that dead-eyed smile—like a sick hyena crunching on the bones of its kills. He had Angelo with him, and the bald flunky from the alley next to Maggia's was behind them.
He also had Jewel, and even though I didn't see any marks on her, it looked like they'd messed her up badly. She could barely stand or hold her head up, and her eyes were glassy.
Every nerve in my body suddenly felt like a wire that had been stripped down to the copper. I tasted hot metal at the back of my throat as a berserk fury possessed me. All I wanted in the world at that moment was to sink my fingertips into Jester's throat and rip out his windpipe.
“How was Potawatomi?” Jester continued casually. “Did you get lots of exercise? I know I sent you a personal trainer or two while you were up there, but I don't seem to recall getting a thank-you card from you.”
“What have you done to her?” I snarled.
“Just a temporary chemical paralysis,” Jester replied. “Now, the question you really should be asking is, now that I have her limp and helpless, what am I going to do to her? I must admit, Rafe, this is quite the little jaw-dropper and pants-popper you've got here. Nice firm tits, round pillowy ass...I might have to take a bite of it myself.”
I knew this was Jester's style, running off at the mouth and digging into people where it hurt to get them to lose control. I desperately wished it wasn't working on me, but it was. My veins felt like they were boiling with acid.
“Still,” Jester continued, “looking at her, I can't help but feel like you downgraded, man. I mean, curves aside, you really think this frumpy, boring-looking bitch is better than my niece? You must think that, 'cause I don't see no bruises on her like you put on my niece, so I figure you must like her more. What's she got that Abby didn't have? 'Cause Rafe, I swear to God, if you'd just stayed with Abby from the start an' treated her right, you could've spent the past seven years sniffing the free air and none of us would have to be here right now. And then you had to go and pull some Rambo shit on the highway and steal what belonged to me.”
“We're not here to rehash old grudges,” Bard said. “We're here to negotiate. We know what's on the memory stick, and we kno
w just how damaging it would be for you if it got sent to the wrong people. You want the stick, we want the girl, and both you and Rafe want a chance to settle things once and for all. So it seems to me like we can all get what we want this evening without things having to get too dramatic.”
Jester paused for a moment, then threw his head back and cackled. “Wow! I have got to hand it to you, Big Bard. After all these years, you still make the best speeches. Inspiring, truly. Four thumbs, two stars up, fine holiday fun. But I think you're forgetting something.”
He hooked his thumb and forefinger into the side of Jewel's leggings, pulling out the memory stick. “I've got the stick already, you pedantic fucking know-it-all! You hold no cards. You have nothing! I could have Angelo and Richie here pump you full of lead right now.”
