Sweet Vengeance (5 page)

She
was not
. 
She should turn around and set them all straight.  Then again, maybe it was
safer to let them think what they wanted.  They wouldn't dare touch her then. 
Maybe that's why Max had said it in the first place.

She
exhaled.  She was over-thinking things.  That always happened when she was
nervous.  She'd come for food and that's what she'd focus on.

She
made her way across the hardwood floor toward the fridge, stopping to throw her
old clothes in the trash can.  Tossing her blood-stained tank top and skirt
made her feel a little better.  She would never be able to wear them again even
if all the blood could be washed out.

For
a house that no one seemed to live in, Jase's place had nice furnishings.  Much
nicer than Aunt Rita had.  Nicer than anyone in her neighborhood.

She
opened the fridge and found it bare except for a pint of milk, a brown paper
sack, and a twelve-pack of Bud.  Her growling stomach got the best of her, and
she pulled the bag out of the fridge.  Inside, she found a wrapped turkey
sandwich and a bag of chips.  Her mouth started to water.  Pregnancy made her
nauseous one minute and ravenous the next.

Allie
took the sandwich and milk to the table, intending to stay in the kitchen until
the men left.  All day, if that's what it took.  She would not parade in front
of them again.  She took a big bite of her lunch and appreciated the fact that
it tasted good and was therefore likely to stay in her stomach.

With
half a sandwich in hand, she started nosing quietly through the cupboards. 
This was the strangest house she'd ever been in.  There was no stuff.  No
personal things.  No leftover dishes from breakfast.  It had to be a safe house
of some sort.  Maybe it was where they hid out when other drug dealers were
looking for them.

After
a few minutes, she gave up and went back to the table, having found nothing
more interesting than dishes and an unopened box of raspberry pop-tarts.

The
thugs' voices stayed muted for a while, and she couldn't catch more than a few
words of their conversation.  It wasn't until she'd finished her sandwich that
things heated up, their voices becoming clear.

"Fuck
that.  They took out Timmy and Junior last night.  We need to retaliate or
we'll look weak.  I say we draw 'em out.  Dangle something sweet in front of
their lair."

Allie
wondered which one of the men was speaking.  She plopped a chip in her mouth,
trying to chew it quietly so she could hear.

"No. 
Jase wants us to wait until the time is right."

That
had to be Max.  At least she thought it sounded like him.

"We've
been waiting on Jase for a long damn time, man."  This voice was deeper
than the first two.

"Yeah,"
chimed the first guy.  "I say we dangle her in front of their haunts, and
they'll be after her like she's a bitch in heat.  We can pick them off like sparrows."

Allie
choked on a chip.  God, were they talking about her?  They wanted to use her
for bait?  She froze in place, staring at the floor, listening for their next
words.

"That
would be Jase's call.  Not yours, Frank."  Max's voice was harsh, commanding,
and Allie was sure there was an implied threat in there somewhere.  Thank God,
Max wouldn't let them use her.

"How
you doing?" 

An
older man with a heavy Jersey accent stood in the doorway.  Allie had been so
intent on listening to the conversation, that she hadn't noticed him peek in. 
She swallowed a bite of potato chip along with a nice lump of fear.  "I’m
fine."

The
heavy-set Italian man with thick salt and pepper hair gave her a crafty smile
that made her shrink back in her chair.  "So, what you doing here?  You
working for Jase?"  He went to the fridge, removed a beer, and then
pierced her with a stare that told her his thoughts were not as casual as his
actions.  He lifted a furry eyebrow shot with gray, waiting for a response. 

"No,
I don’t work for Jase." 

"You
have something to do with what went down last night, huh?"

She
had no idea what the man knew and what he didn't, but experience had taught her
it was better to keep her mouth shut.  "What do you mean?"

"You
know, the hit last night.  Some of the guys are thinking maybe you can help us
with a little problem."  He twisted the cap off his beer.  "If you
really are Pagano's girlfriend, you might be wanting some revenge yourself. 
And it's always better if you volunteer."

What
did
that
mean?  A shiver raced down her body.  If she didn't agree to
help, would they make her?  She was a pregnant woman, for hell's sake.  No, she
didn't want revenge.  What she wanted was her quiet life back.  No more
violence.  No more scary men.  She opened her mouth, but was saved from
answering when Max entered the kitchen.

"What
are you doing, Gene?"

The
older man shrugged.  "Just, you know, assessing the situation."  He
flicked a quick glance at Allie.

"That's
not your job, man.  We do what Jase says."

"Well,
Jase, he's a good man, but he don't always know everything, huh?"  Gene
gave him a sly grin.

Max
lifted his chin, a silent warning to the other man.  "He knows.  If you
don't like it, you're free to leave." 

Testosterone
thickened the air.  The only sounds in the kitchen were the voices echoing from
the other room.  Allie glanced between the two men who towered over her, trying
to guess their next moves.  The blond vigilante looked ready to fight to prove
his point.  The other guy—she wasn't so sure.  She held her breath, preparing
to make a run for it if she needed to.

Then
Gene relaxed his stance, backing down.  "Nah, Max.  I'm not going
anywhere.  Jase is the boss and a good man, like I said."  He took a swig
of beer and some of the tension inside Allie eased.

"Good. 
Then how about you get back in there with the other guys and leave her
alone."

Gene
knew enough to look guilty.  "Sure.  Sure."  He didn't spare Allie a
second glance before he left.

But
Max did.  He fixed her with a hard stare and held it.  The weight of his gaze
frightened her.  "If you're smart, you'll stay away from them." 

These
were not nice people that Jase hung out with, and regardless of what she might
find out on the streets, the greater danger seemed to be occupying the same
house she was.

"Okay,"
she whispered to his retreating form.  She had every intention of doing just
that.  Like her mother had told her when she was little, there was no time like
the present. 

She
left her sandwich wrapper on the table and quietly stuffed her chip bag in the
brown sack.  Her heart pounded in her chest as she prepared her get-away.  It
took her only seconds to snatch the pop-tarts and a healthy looking steak
knife, and stick them in the bag, too.  She didn't know how long it would be
before she had a decent meal, and it never hurt to have an easy-access weapon. 

There
was also the possibility Max couldn't hold off those men, and she had no idea
where Jase was.  What if the guys grouped together and decided to overpower
Max?  Allie tried to swallow her fear but it lodged in her throat, making it
hard to breathe.  There was no way she could fight off that group of thugs.  It
was time to hit the road.

She
crept toward the back door as her gunshot wound started to throb.  This was too
crazy.  She wanted to go home.  Now. 

Allie
twisted the knob and the door opened soundlessly.  Instead of daylight, she was
surprised to find herself staring into a musty-smelling cement tunnel barely
taller than she was and not much wider than a hallway.  A few dim lights along
the ceiling trailed off into the distance. 

It
had to be a way out. 

If
you want to live, don't leave
.  Jase's warning came back to her.  She
barely paused.  If she stayed, she would surely die.  She wanted out.  She'd
find a way back to her aunt's house.  If that wasn't safe, then there were
shelters for teenage mothers.  Perla from the neighborhood had gone to one. 
Allie would find something.  She'd get a new job and a safe place for her and
her baby.  She refused to listen to the little voice that questioned what kind
of life her baby would have with a mom who would have to work two jobs to put
food on the table.

Peering
around in the dim light, she started hurrying toward the other end.  Who knew
what could be in there with her?  Mice?  Spiders?  She focused on her goal and
walked faster.  After what had happened the previous night and the men who
currently included her in their plots, what threat were spiders and mice?  She
ignored the pain in her arm that burned like a four-alarm fire.  Freedom was
her number one goal now.

She
hadn't hoofed it very far when she heard a clanging noise and then a small
headlight appeared in the distance.  There was nothing between her and the
oncoming light except for the solid cement walls that seemed to close in on
her.  There was nowhere to hide.  Running back to the house wasn't an option. 

She
hardened her resolve.  Maybe it was that the unknown was easier to face than
what was behind her, or the fact that she desperately wanted her life back, but
she marched forward.  She'd find a way to get past the barrier heading her
way.  And if whatever was coming toward her intended to kill her, then it
wouldn't matter if it was in the tunnel or in the kitchen.  Running back to the
house would only prolong the inevitable.  It was a dead end. 

Allie
slipped the knife out of the sack, holding it along her wrist so the oncoming
driver couldn't see it.  She steeled her nerves and kept walking.  The
headlight loomed closer and closer, but she refused to give in to her fears. 

It
wasn't until she recognized Jase behind the wheel of a golf cart that she felt
relief rush through her like warm water.  He'd be mad, but she could handle
him. 

Her
relief, however, was short-lived when he came close enough for her to see his face. 

"What
the hell do you think you're doing?"  He jumped out of the cart and strode
over to her.  A tight T-shirt outlined his muscles, and the black jacket he
wore over it mirrored his disposition.  "I told you to stay inside."

Allie
kept walking, keeping the knife hidden.  "I'm going home."

"You
want to die?"  He grabbed her good arm, forcing her to stop.  The action
caused her to drop the pitiful knife.  It clamored as it hit the ground, the
sound echoing off the cement walls.  He glanced at it and then at her. 
"Tell me you didn't really think that would protect you against your
friends from last night."

She
looked up into his angry face as she pulled away, her emotions reflecting his. 
He seemed so much bigger when she stood next to him.  He was all
muscle...and...and man.

She
forced herself to focus on freedom.  "They're not going to kill me because
they're not going to find me."

"Are
you sure about that?"  His voice switched to a silky, smooth tone that was
in total opposition to the look on his face.  "You can't go home.  That's
the first place they'd look."

"Well,
I can't stay here."

"Why
not?"

She
swallowed her retort.  Telling him that his men had questioned his orders was
dangerous territory.  "I just can't."

"Out
on the streets is a perilous place for you to be right now.  Going home would
be worse."  His words deflated her, because that's exactly where she would
have gone.  Of course, she would have watched the place first to see if anyone
was around.  But still, she needed the comfort of somewhere familiar.

"Look,
Jase.  I might appear to be a helpless girl to you, but I grew up on these
streets.  I know a little bit about avoiding trouble."

"Really? 
Like you did last night?"

She
shifted her stance.  "I'm not going to stay locked up in that prison.  I'm
leaving."  She turned and took two steps before he grabbed her again. 

"Listen." 

She
tried to pull away, but this time he wouldn't let go of her.

"Listen
to me."  He eased his grip, but not enough for her to escape.  If he
didn't have so many muscles, she might have pressed her luck and tried harder. 
"They're looking for you.  And I don't mean a
we'll-get-her-when-we-see-her kind of search.  They want you, and they want you
now
.  And"—he paused for effect—"they don't leave potential
witnesses alive." 

That
stopped her.  "How do you know?" 

"It's
my business to know."

"You
keep saying that."  Her brave façade crumbled.  Who were these people
who'd decided she no longer deserved to live?  She hadn't done anything to
them.  "Why do you care what happens to me?" she asked.  "You
put your life on the line for me.  I want to know why."

She
was about to accuse him of using her like his men had wanted to do, but his
face softened, and she found herself caught by the vulnerable look that showed
through the crack of his hard exterior.  "I don't know."  He shook
his head.  "People die in the streets.  It happens.  But it's not going to
happen to you."