Fuck, I start bleeding everywhere.
"Jesus Christ," the driver yells. "Get her under control!"
I hit, and I hurt, but it gets me nowhere. The two guys pin me down in the backseat of the car as they start driving away. We don't make it very far, just through the park, before a bang rocks the area, loud enough that it vibrates the windows in the car.
A flash of light illuminates the sky.
I don't have to see it to know what happened; I don't have to look to know how bad it is. The man driving raises his mask, resting it on his head, as he glances in the rearview mirror, looking back.
Don't look back.
He lets out a low whistle.
I'm sobbing, hyperventilating, trying to breathe, but I don't think I can survive this kind of pain.
As the building explodes, my world implodes.
Everything around me goes up in flames.
I've always been fascinated by how the body works.
How a fist-sized muscle deep in your chest is responsible for keeping you alive every day. It steadily beats, every second of every hour, pushing blood through your arteries then back to it through your veins. And you do nothing to make it happen. It just does it, all on its own. Doesn't matter how you're feeling, what you're thinking, if your fucking heart is breaking... it keeps on beating, a hundred thousand times a day.
But someday, it'll stop. Someday, it'll beat for the last time, and then there will be nothing.
Nothing except for death.
I don't know if there's an afterlife, but if there is, what awaits me won't be pleasant. Because I've stood there and watched as well over a dozen hearts stopped beating, and rarely have I ever felt anything more than fascination about it.
Maybe, in some other life, I could've been a doctor. A cardiologist. Instead of stopping hearts, I could've got them started again. But in this life? I'm nothing more than a man with a fascination, watching as yet another heart makes its last beat.
The door behind me opens.
I don't turn around.
I don't really have to.
Call it intuition, but I know already who it is.
I knew he wouldn't be far behind.
Lorenzo strolls over to stand beside me in the middle of the room, his gun in his hand. He's not going to need it, and he realizes that right away. He lets out an exaggerated sigh. "Well, that's anti-climatic."
I glance at him. "You sound disappointed."
"I am," he says, slipping his gun into his waistband. "I was kind of looking forward to shooting someone today."
I shouldn't laugh, but I do.
The son of a bitch probably means it.
"You can still shoot him," I say, motioning toward where Fat Joe lays on the concrete floor in a pool of blood, his heart no longer beating.
"No point," he says. "You already killed him."
"No, I didn't." Reaching down, I pick up the knife. "Karissa did."
She doesn't know, though.
She has no idea what kind of wound she inflicted.
She stabbed blindly, aiming to incapacitate, to get away, but she hit him at the perfect angle. I couldn't have done it better myself. The blade went into his inner thigh, slicing right through the femoral artery, and then she twisted it.
She twisted.
As soon as she yanked it back out, I knew he was a goner. He was on the ground, gushing blood, his heart making its last beat in under a minute.
"Huh." Lorenzo steps closer, surveying the guy. "He smells like we need HazMat for clean up."
"Probably do," I say. "It's ether."
He looks at me with surprise before turning back to the guy, hesitating when his eyes find the silver Zippo. He picks it up, shaking his head. "What an idiot."
That's one way to put it.
"We should get out of here before the police show up," I say, turning to head for the door, carrying the knife with me. It's got her fingerprints on it. "I give them twenty minutes, tops."
Lorenzo follows me. I hear him clicking the lighter open and closed as he walks. The fresh air is welcoming when I step outside, after breathing in those ether fumes the past few minutes.
It's got me feeling queasy.
I can't even imagine how Karissa must be feeling.
I don't have time to dwell on that, though.
I turn toward Lorenzo and start to speak when I see him flick the wheel of the lighter with his thumb, igniting it. Son of a bitch.
He tosses it behind him, back into the building, before running.
BOOM
I barely have a chance to duck before the windows blow out, glass shards flying, as the inside of the building goes up in flames. My ears ring from the explosion, the concrete walls keeping most of it contained. Fire burns, though, hot and heavy, catching the fumes and following them straight to the body, the highest concentration of it. Lorenzo rubs his ears with the palms of his hands as he grimaces. "Better make that ten."
The heat radiating from the building is intense.
I can still feel it as I approach my car, concealed over among some trees. I'm about to get in and leave when Lorenzo follows me, slipping into the passenger seat.
"Where are your men?" I ask, annoyed.
"Already left."
"Too bad," I tell him. "Find your own way home. I've got to find Karissa."
He ignores me, settling into the seat. "My place."
"I told you, Lorenzo. I've—"
"Got to find Karissa," he says, cutting me off. "Heard you loud and clear. And if you want to go out there and tear the city apart looking for her, be my guest, but it'll be much easier just to, you know, go to my place."
Reaching over, I grab ahold of his shirt, yanking him toward me. "What the hell did you do?"
"Relax," he says, holding his hands up defensively. "Just had my men take her there for safekeeping."
Safekeeping.
There's no such thing as far as Lorenzo is concerned.
I barely make it out of the park before I hear the sirens, red and blue lights flashing in the distance, heading straight for the fire. My heart pounds ferociously at the barrage of police cars passing us. I wait for one of them to stop. Wait for one of them to recognize my car.
But we get through without incident, and once we do, I start to speed. I weave through traffic, heading out of Manhattan, right to Bensonhurst. Lorenzo says nothing the whole way there, staring out the window, his posture casual.
None of this bothers him.
I park right near the abandoned pink house and follow Lorenzo across the street, to the townhouse. As soon as we step inside, I hear the chaos. His men are everywhere, scrambling and shouting.
It stirs up a bad feeling in my gut.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Lorenzo says, strolling down the hallway. "What's going on in here?"
A guy turns to him, pinching a bloody rag to his nose. "The bitch punched me!"
Lorenzo's eyes widen as I freeze, staring at him. Did he really just say what I think he did? "And which bitch would that be?"
The guy looks at me, just now noticing I'm here, too caught up in his own circumstances to realize what's going on around him. The color immediately drains from his face, turning him a shade of white I'm not sure I've ever seen before on someone still living. "I, uh… I mean… nobody. I didn't mean…"
He's stammering, starting to sweat, as he blinks rapidly, like he's about to pass out and lose consciousness. Huh. Figured a man who worked for Lorenzo would have more balls than that.
"Yeah, so she broke your nose," Lorenzo chimes in, reaching over and grabbing the guy by the nose, roughly squeezing it. The guy screams as blood starts soaking through the rag. "Suck it up, buttercup. If you'd rather, I'm sure Ignazio would be happy to put you out of your misery."
I nod. "More than happy."
Lorenzo shoves the guy away and he drops. He hits the floor right away, the carpet doing nothing to soften the fall. He fainted.
Unbelievable.
"Incompeten
ce," Lorenzo grumbles, shaking his head, as the others scramble to pull the coward to his feet. "I'm beginning to understand why you prefer to work alone, Ignazio."
"You can't count on anyone," I say, turning around, glancing through the house. There's no sign of Karissa anywhere that I can see.
"Right," Lorenzo says, stepping toward me, hitting my chest with the back of his hand as he strolls past. "Except for me, of course."
"Not even you."
He ignores my remark as he strolls back the way we came, instead focusing his attention on his men. "Take me to her, Number One."
Number One.
You've got to be kidding me.
I watch as a guy clambers after Lorenzo.
He gave them numbers.
The guy rushes straight toward a door in the hallway, hesitating with his hand on the knob. He looks at Lorenzo, then me, then back at Lorenzo, like he's afraid to open that damn door for some reason.
Like he's afraid of what we're going to see.
Anger and impatience stirs inside of me as I push past them, knocking the guy out of the way to open the door myself. A basement.
It's dark, pitch black. I can barely make out the pair of wooden stairs leading down into it. It's mostly silent, until I strain my ears, hearing only the faintest cry.
It's a sound that's familiar to me.
A gasp for air, a devastated whimper, the sound of Karissa trying her hardest to be strong, but it's not working. I don't hesitate. I head right down those flimsy stairs, down into the darkness, frantic to get to her… to find her… to see her. To let her know it's okay, that she's okay, that we're going to be okay.
I swear it, we will, we'll make it, even if it's the last thing I do.
I'll give her the happiness she deserves.
No more of this grief.
No more of these goddamn tears.
She's huddled in a corner, her knees pulled up, her head down, shielding her face. Hands fist her chaotic hair, clinging to it like her life depends on it, like holding on is what's holding her together. She's rocking and shaking, oblivious to my presence, so lost in her head, so overwhelmed by her heartache, that she didn't even hear me.
I stare at her, for just a second, taking her in as she collapses into herself in the darkness, feeling a deep ache in my chest. Feeling the pain I know she's been feeling. Her heart is broken, but the fucking thing is still beating. Second after second, it continues to keep her alive.
I take a step toward her, then another, before she breaks out of her trance, realizing she's not alone. Her whimpers cease as she inhales sharply, steeling herself like only she can. Her head darts up, piercing, angry eyes cutting through the darkness, seeking out whatever she heard. Her gaze meets mine, and I watch as the rage fades away, melting straight to that goddamn heartbreak.
I hate it.
I hate seeing it.
But fuck, she's beautiful.
Happy. Sad. Angry. Terrified.
She's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
She's beautiful because she's strong.
Beautiful because she's fierce.
Beautiful because, even when I hesitated, she didn't.
She fought.
She fought hard.
And goddamn if that's not beautiful to me…
Her mouth moves, but no words greet me.
She's shell-shocked.
She stares at me, silent tears falling down her cheeks.
She's not moving, not even blinking, like maybe I'm just a figment of her imagination and she's afraid the darkness is going to erase me if she surrenders to it.
"I told you," I say quietly. "I'll always come for you."
That does it. That's all she needs.
A cry echoes through the basement as she forces herself to her feet, shoving off of the floor, barely able to stand, let alone walk, but she's strong enough to throw herself at me, knowing good and well I'll never let her fall. I wrap my arms around her, pulling her to me, holding her tightly, relishing in her warmth. She's on her tiptoes, clinging to me.
"I thought you were dead," she whispers, her voice cracking around the words.
"Come on," I say, stroking her tangled hair. "You really think I'm that easy to kill?"
She laughs, but it's not a happy sound.
There's nothing funny about any of this.
Footsteps register behind me then, just a moment passing before a harsh overhead light flicks on across the basement. Squinting from the light, I set Karissa on her feet and loosen my hold, but she winces, clutching ahold of me. My instinct is to look at her, my eyes scanning her, alarmed when I see the blood coating her dirty, bare foot. "What happened?"
My question is lost on her as she starts to panic. Her breath quickens, body shaking, as she frantically clings to me, her attention across the room. Shit.
I turn my head, looking right at Lorenzo, his apparent number one little soldier standing guard by his side. The guy looks nervous.
"What happened to her foot?" I ask, motioning toward it, a touch of anger in my voice.
He starts to stammer.
What is it with these guys?
"She, uh... well... she did it to herself."
I look at him incredulously. "She did it to herself."
"Uh, yeah," he says. "She kicked out the car window."
"She kicked out the car window."
"And the glass, it shattered. Cut her, I guess. She was fighting us, you know? Wasn't anything I could do about it. Like I said... she did it to her—"
Before the guy can finish saying 'herself', Lorenzo reacts, reaching into his waistband and pulling out his gun.
BANG
A single shot, right to the temple, lights up the basement. It blows his fucking head apart. The guy drops instantly. Karissa lets out a scream, startled, and I pull her to me tightly, holding her as I glare at Lorenzo. "Was that necessary?"
"Of course," he says, slipping the gun back away. "All I heard was blah blah blah I didn't follow instructions so just kill me already. Why? What did you hear?"
"That you're a lunatic."
Karissa tenses. She's terrified.
But Lorenzo? He laughs.
Unlike everyone else, he finds this all funny. Life, to him, is nothing more than a game. Product of his upbringing, maybe, but it wouldn't surprise me if it were merely coded in his DNA. He never knew his real father, but the Gambini name is one of the worst. Cold, calculated mass murderers. He was raised an Accardi, though, which arguable isn't much better. His stepfather was an abusive alcoholic with a hot temper and an itchy trigger finger, the kind of man who would beat a child unconscious and not bother to call an ambulance until after he fixed himself a drink.
Another of those reasons I had to kill the man.
"Naz," Karissa whispers. "We've got to get out of here. I can't... I can't do this. He's going to kill us."
"Relax. He's not going to kill us. He's—"
"A friend," Lorenzo chimes in, looking almost smug about it as he does.
Karissa's face contorts at the word. Friend.
"He's not a threat," I tell her. "Not to me."
Not right now, anyway.
Tomorrow is another day.
"How can you think that? He... he was there! With the cab driver, and the man, and oh God, just right now! He did it... he's one of them. And you expect me to trust him?"
"No," I say, turning toward her, my hands cradling her face as I look at her pointedly. "Never trust a word he says. He'll lie right to your face."
"I'm right here, you know," Lorenzo says.
I ignore that.
"But trust me, Karissa. Can you do that?"
She nods, although she looks at me like I might be losing my mind. But I don't have it in me to try to explain it right now. I'm utterly exhausted, and she needs to see a doctor as soon as possible.
"Can you walk?" I ask her.
"Uh, yeah… of course."
I take her hand, turning to Lorenzo. Don't make a
liar out of me. "We're leaving."
He steps aside to give us a path to the wooden stairs, but he says nothing. I lead Karissa over toward them, letting her go up first, and cast another look at Lorenzo.
He's watching me curiously. "You still want that meeting?"
"You know I do."
He nods, looking away. "I'll be in touch."
We find no resistance leaving. The men are still scrambling around, too preoccupied to even notice us. They heard the gunshot. We slip out the front door, and I help Karissa straight to my car, waiting until she's settled before getting in beside her.
She's still trembling.
"Hey," I say, reaching over, stroking her cheek. "It's going to be okay, baby."
"You promise?"
I stare at her, wiping away a stray tear as it falls. "I swear it, Karissa. We're going to be fine."
She smiles, a sad kind of smile, as she reaches up and places her hand over my hand. She lets go after a moment, turning her head to gaze out the side window at the quiet neighborhood.
I start to drive away, and she stays quiet for a while, before she lets out a deep sigh. "Did you kill him?"
"Who?"
"The man in the building. The one… tonight."
I pull up to a red light, sitting there for a moment, before quietly answering, "Yeah, I did."
She closes her eyes.
She expected that answer.
She still doesn't like it, though. This world isn't for her. The violence, the bloodshed, the murder... it's just not her. She struggles accepting that I end lives.
She'd never forgive herself if she knew she killed that guy.
I hate lying to her. I hate it. But I lie to her this time.
I lie to her to spare her.
Because no matter what he did, or what he would've done had he not been stopped, he was still a human being to Karissa.
He had a beating heart.
"We should get you to a doctor," I say, changing the subject. "Head to the closest hospital."
"No." Her voice is sharp, almost panicked, as she reaches over, placing her hand on my arm. "No hospitals. Hospitals mean police which mean questions. Questions about where I was, questions about what happened, questions about you, and me, and I'm just tired of answering questions. I just... I want to go home."
Target on Our Backs Page 27
