Hell's Kitchen (7 page)

I raise my eyebrows at him. “Get in,” I demand, pushing him toward the trunk and smacking the back of his head with the side of the Glock. He yelps, covering his head with his hands. “Okay, okay.”

He clambers in awkwardly, until finally he’s on his side in the trunk.

“If you have a heart attack in there, I’ll kill you,” I say, slamming the trunk forcefully.

I make my way to the driver’s door, pausing to shut the door I just used to exit the backseat. Scarlett’s still sleeping like a baby, her chest rising and falling in slow, even breaths. I didn’t kill her with my little artery trick. Thank Christ. She’s of no use to me dead.

I get in the driver’s seat and push the chair back, catching a glance of myself in the rearview mirror. I’m still wearing my driver’s cap.

How fitting.

I tip my cap to myself in the mirror, take the emergency brake off, and ease the car back into the busy morning traffic; my soundtrack the oscillating ringtone of my brother’s desperation.

FIVE

SCARLETT

When I come to, my neck feels tender, bruised almost. I look around, wondering where the fuck I’ve ended up today. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve passed out and forgotten where I am.

A steady diet of booze and pills will do that to a person.

I scrub my hand across my face, the gesture meant to make my vision clearer somehow, but it doesn’t work. My eyes feel crusty, my mouth is dry as fuck, and I can hear someone singing along to a song about city boys born and raised in south Detroit.

And then I remember.

I sit bolt upright, taking a huge gasp of air in as I do so. Salvatore is driving, still wearing that ridiculous-looking cap as he sings off-key. I take in the buildings outside as they pass by, quickly recognizing the Meatpacking District. My guess is proven correct when I catch sight of a sign for Bleecker Street. We haven’t gone far, which makes me hopeful that I can still somehow get out of this pinch. But first … Something’s missing. Something isn’t right.

“Where’s the driver?” I ask dumbly, scanning the backseat. No answer. I realize he can’t hear me through the Plexiglas that separates us, especially with the music turned up so loud. I pound my fist into the clear divider to get his attention. “Hey, motherfucker!” I yell.

He turns and flashes me a grin. “Good morning, Scarlett
Winchester
.” His voice is muffled somewhat by the divider, but I can still hear well enough as he drawls my name. He lets the syllables roll slowly off his tongue like he’s my best friend, or my lover, and that’s annoying. Especially since it’s not even my real name. Scarlett Smith was far too boring for Hollywood casting agents, and my daddy liked to collect rare guns. I was almost Scarlett Colt, until I did some googling and found out Scarlett Colt was a porn star whose signature move was shooting bullets out of her … well, you know.

Scarlett Winchester seemed the better choice.

“Where are you taking me?” I yell. “Where’s the driver?”

I try my door handle. Locked. And there’s no mechanism to unlock it, since we’re in the back of a city cab. Fuck.

He shrugs, almost amused as he holds up one finger. “Wait, this is the best part,” he says, turning the music up so loud, it’s gonna make my ears bleed. He starts singing/screaming about strangers and boulevards and street lights. He’s a terrible singer, but he’s got me so distracted, I don’t even notice him pulling the cab into a basement parking lot, my eyes wide with horror as I watch a heavy garage door closing us in.

Fuck. How much of an idiot am I? I’ve just let this guy take me from work. I can’t afford the day off. I need those fucking tips to pay for my little pill habit.

Okay, my large, ugly pill habit. Whatever.

I swallow thickly as Sal shuts the car off, his expression serious as he gets out of the car and slams his door. I’m crawling back on my hands as he opens my door, his smile so congenial it’s almost reassuring.

“Get out,” he says, offering a hand to me. I kick his hand with my foot, but he’s too fast, catching my ankle as something dark flashes in his eyes. His other hand comes into the car, and it’s pointing a gun at me.

“Please,” he adds, his smile completely gone.

“I can’t move,” I sulk. “You’ve got my foot.”

He smiles dangerously, loosening his grip on my ankle. He slides his hand from my skin ever so slowly, offering it again. “Come on,” he says. “I’ve got plenty of alcohol for you, if that’s what it’ll take to get you to talk.”

My mouth practically waters at the suggestion.

He laughs. “Come on, Scarlett Petunia. I’ve got a busy fucking day ahead.”

I frown, pushing his hand away as I clamber out of the car.

It’s a short elevator ride to his apartment, my legs feeling like lead as I’m marched in front of the gun-wielding Salvatore. It’s just starting to hit me, how fucked up this whole situation is. I’m in deep shit, and it’s only getting worse. As the elevator opens and Sal presses me with the tip of his gun to get out, I freeze.

He’s gonna kill me. He’s gonna get the address out of me, and then he’s gonna shoot me in the head.

Worryingly, the thought doesn’t scare me as much as it should. It does scare me, but I feel oddly detached from my body, almost like I’m in shock.

Sal responds by taking a handful of my hair and pulling me along beside him. I struggle at first, my hands going up into my hair and trying to pry his fingers free, but it’s a losing battle. I have two choices: let him lead me into this place, or let him tear my entire scalp off my skull.

I choose the first one.

The elevator closes behind us, and the loud noise of people fucking fills my ears. I listen for a moment, feeling oddly invasive, almost as if I’m eavesdropping on people while they go at it like rabbits. The chick isn’t just moaning—she’s screaming.

Wait, no, that’s not right. There are two female voices. One is moaning along with the guy, but the second female voice is screaming a name.

“Sal. Sal! I know you’re here! Get your fucking ass up here and untie me!”

I move my gaze slowly to Sal, feeling as if I’m in some screwed-up dream. The color drains from his face as he hears his name being called.

“Oh, motherfucker,” he swears, looking upstairs.

“What is that?” I whisper. I feel like whispering is the most appropriate thing to do in this situation.

“Nothing,” Sal says, waving his hand dismissively.

“Salvatore Barbieri!” the female voice yells.

“I’m coming!” Salvatore screams back up the stairs.

I can’t help it. I start to laugh, and maybe I’m still just super nervous and fearing for my life, but the moaning, coupled with Sal screaming that he’s coming, just about has
me
coming undone at the sides with giggles.

“What’s so funny?” Sal asks me, clearly having missed the joke.

“Sal!” the woman’s voice screams again.

“I said
I’m coming!”
Sal barks, catching on as he looks at me again. I see the edge of his mouth twitch as he hears what he’s saying.

“Are we in a brothel?” I whisper. “Where’s the cab driver?”

Sal shakes his head in disbelief. “Do you know him or something?” he asks. I shake my head back, dragging my feet as he takes hold of my arm and starts hauling me up a sweeping mahogany staircase, toward the source of the screaming and moaning.

“Then why do you care?” he asks. “He’s fine. He’s in the trunk of the cab. Once this is all over, I’ll send him home with his car and he’ll. Be. Fine.”

“Huh,” I huff, secretly glad I’m not in the trunk of a cab.

The moaning reaches fever pitch as the voice screams out, “Sal! Get this thing out of my pussy!”

I almost choke when I hear what she’s said. I look at Sal, whose cheeks are so, so red they might as well have been lit on fire. He clears his throat, looking nervous as we reach the top of the stairs.

I have a feeling that things are about to get even more fucked up.

And, sure enough, I’m right.

We enter a large bedroom at the top of the stairs, and I finally see the source of all the noise. It’s a nice bedroom as far as rooms go, but it smells … it smells like piss. There’s a large bed against one wall, an impressive four-poster affair. Oh, yeah, and there’s a chick lying—tied—to each bedpost, stark naked, a giant black vibrator stuck up her … well, you know.

“You motherfucking motherfucker!” the chick screams at Sal, her eyes wild, her face smeared with old makeup. I look at Sal, who appears hopelessly lost.

“Katya,” he says awkwardly. “You’re still here?”

The chick looks like she’s about to pop a blood vessel. The moaning and breathing is so loud, and it’s not coming from her. I scan the room, my eyes landing upon a large flat-screen television hanging on the wall, with porn playing loudly.

“You fucking tied me up!” she screams, rattling the ropes on her wrists to make her point.

“I did sailors’ knots,” he says. “I thought you knew how to undo them.”

She just glares at him.

I’m still transfixed by the bizarre situation when Sal takes my elbow and leads me past the bed, shoving me down into a chair. I don’t struggle until I see a length of rope appear in his hands—the same rope securing Miss Porn Star to the bed.

“Oh, no fucking way, buddy!” I protest, pulling my hands away. “I’m not letting you do that to me!”

Sal responds by covering my mouth and nose with his large palm, pinching my nose shut and sealing off my mouth so I can’t breathe.

Really, again?
That’s what I want to say, but obviously I can’t since I’m silenced by his hand, not to mention on the verge of passing the fuck out again. I kick his shins with my cheap work shoes, pummel his face with my fists, but it’s no use. He had the jump on me, and I’m clearly not at my best, the first pains of needing one of those magic white pills starting to eat into my bones. My eyes start to flutter closed and all the fight goes out of me as I slump forward against Sal’s hard chest. I’m still hovering on the edge of consciousness, but it’s like I’m drunk, my limbs heavy and clumsy as I attempt to push him away. It’s useless, though. By the time he takes his hand away and I can suck in a great lungful of air, I’m tied to this stupid chair.

“Sal!” the chick on the bed screams. I catch another acidic whiff as I’m desperately filling my lungs, and, yeah, I’m pretty fucking sure she pissed the bed.

SIX

THEO

Blonde. Curves. Legs up to her goddamn armpits. Tits blatantly on show for me. The woman standing on the other side of the door is sex personified. Normally I get hard just looking at her, but not now. Not when there’s a belligerent Gracie O’Connor standing behind me, just waiting for an opportunity to kick my ass, and I can’t fucking find my tearaway brother.

Shandi pouts, shoving out her chest. “Luca said you came up here,” she informs me in that husky voice of hers. “You said you’d come find me when you got back, baby. What are you doing up here all alone?”

So Luca told her I was up here but he failed to mention I wasn’t alone. I could kiss the man. Shandi and I aren’t together but I don’t think she’d mind it if we were. I would, though. Bitch is crazy. “I just needed to make a phone call. It’s private up here, is all,” I say.

Shandi runs her hand up my chest, making a sound at the back of her throat that comes close to a purr. “Don’t I know it, baby. Come on. Let’s have some fun, huh?” She tries to push me back into the room so she can come inside but I anchor on, bracing one hand against the doorframe. “Now’s not really a good time, Shan. I have to find Sal.” To my credit, this is true.

Shandi doesn’t seem to care for my honesty, though. “You’ve bent me over and fucked me in there at least five times when
I’ve
had to go, Theo. I took a reaming from your dad last week when I was late, just so you could get your dick wet. It’s time to return the favor, okay?” She poses the last bit as a question, but aside from her voice going up at the end, it’s very clear she’s not really asking. She wants to get fucked right here and right now, and she’s determined to get her way.

She pushes harder against my chest, but I ain’t budging. When she realizes this she moves quickly, ducking under my arm and slipping into the storeroom beyond. I reach for her, grabbing for her arm, but it’s too late. She’s already inside.

“Shan, don’t—” I’m about to tell her not to make a scene, not to start screaming at me, asking who the random woman is sitting on the drum of olive oil, but I don’t need to. Because Gracie is gone.

What. The. Actual. Fuck?

There are no windows in here. No trapdoors or secret exits. No way for Gracie to have physically made it out of the room. That means she must still be—

I see the white flash of her eyes in the darkness; she’s hiding between the wall and the five-tier shelving unit, cluttered with jars and pots of dried ingredients, clutching at her shoulder, like it’s hurting her or something. I can barely make out the dark line of her body. Smart woman. She knows she’s not getting out of here without getting shot, so no point trying to make a break for it. But she also knows that if she does manage to escape the storeroom, she’ll then find herself in the household of her enemy, and they won’t be as interested in keeping her alive as I am. I think I see her roll her eyes.

Shandi, god bless her blonde, unobservant heart, hasn’t noticed the figure lurking in the corner. Her back is to Gracie so that she’s facing me. And she’s unbuttoning her waitress’s shirt.

“Shan, I told you I don’t have time. Later, after shift.”

She pouts again, shaking her head. “But I want you now, baby. Why are you being so mean?” Her shirt’s unbuttoned all the way now. Stronger men than me have crumpled to her feet at the sight of that cleavage. I know as soon as she unfastens that bra and loses it altogether I’m in serious shit. I can’t let it happen. I pull the door to the storeroom closed and then take hold of her by the wrists. I can feel Gracie’s eyes burning into the side of my head, daring me to even touch this woman while she’s forced to watch.

The thought of that … the thought of her having to watch me fuck this insanely attractive yet very annoying woman? I’m not gonna lie. It appeals to me in ways I can’t even begin to describe. Gracie’s been nothing but a pain since the moment she sat that perfect little ass of hers down in the back of the Lincoln. Fucking Shan in front of her when she can do absolutely nothing about it would definitely be one way to teach her to fucking behave herself. I can’t justify wasting the time, though. Salvatore isn’t exactly known for making good choices. He could be neck deep in shit right now and me fucking with either one of these girls isn’t going to help matters.