First time his, p.22
First Time His, page 22
“Uncle?” I said a moment later.
His footsteps were scurrying. Shit! I ran back toward Em, waving my hand frantically at her. But when I was halfway there Lorenzo leapt around the corner and hefted his rifle right at her. Her scream tore at the air, tore at my soul. It was a primal scream, the type that makes a man want to kill. It was the sort of scream that told me, once and for all, that Em was mine and I was hers.
“Fucking bitch!”
“No!”
Em fled toward the other end of the quarter-pipe. I threw myself forward, hand outstretched.
Bang!
I gripped the barrel of his rifle just in time to push it away. The bullet ripped through my palm and bounced off the supporting underside of the quarter pipe. He attempted to fire again. I wrenched the gun with as much power as I could muster, but even if the bastard was old, he was damn strong. He wrenched it back; I fell on top of him and he collapsed to the ground.
“Piece of shit!” he roared, lashing out with his hand.
It crushed against the side of my head and almost sent me toppling to the ground next to him. I righted myself and headbutted him as hard as I could. His nose exploded in a gushing torrent of blood, but when I went to pick up my pistol—it must’ve fallen in the fray—he dug a vicious thumb into my gaping leg wound and twisted. Swirling torture went right up my thigh into my hip joint.
I lashed at his face with my free hand. In the whirring madness of the fight I caught a flash of Em crawling toward my pistol, inch by dogged inch.
“Em, no!” I roared as Lorenzo pulled one of his pistols from his hip and aimed it at her. He moved quick, like a sharpshooter in a western.
I grabbed his wrist with the only hand that was working and pushed the gun up just in time for the bullet to bounce off more metal. Clanging all around us, he fired twice more. I pressed down on him with everything I had, trying to push the gun barrel toward his face. But everything I had was pouring out of my leg and my hand. My grip was weaker than it should’ve been and blackness tinged the edges of my vision.
Lorenzo kicked me. I flipped over, throwing my hands out, grabbing for something, anything.
When I hauled myself up, Em had the gun in her hand, aimed at Lorenzo, and Lorenzo had his gun at his side. He was taking small steps backwards, eyes flitting all over the place like he was expecting some escape hatch to materialize from nowhere.
Em’s face was trembling; all of it, her perfect eyes and her perfect lips and her perfect cheeks. Her hand made the pistol tremble, but her finger was steady on the trigger.
“You won’t do it,” Lorenzo baited, inching further and further away.
Em looked at me, and then back to Lorenzo.
“No,” he said. “I didn’t think so.”
He turned and sprinted, heading toward the half-built housing project on the other side of the park, a place where kids sometimes went to smoke and vandalize and be kids.
“I’m sorry,” Em whispered. “I—I just couldn’t.”
“Don’t be sorry.” I snatched the gun from her with my good hand and ran after Lorenzo. “I’ll finish this. I’ll finish this fucking thing right now.”
“But you’re bleeding, Dom! You’re bleeding the fuck out!”
I was already running. I leapt the skate-park fence and sprinted after him, toward the past.
Thirty-Seven
Dom
I crept between the half-made houses—some of them fully built but without windows, their insides empty—with my head tilted. I listened for any minor sound, a footstep, a breath. My pistol was raised, and I tried to ignore the pounding in my ears. All of it was spinning out of control way too damn fast. But this was it. It had to be.
Brick dust lay all over the housing project, layers of it between the houses. Lorenzo had left his footprints in the dust, big chunky boots with swirling patterns on the bottoms. I followed the steps, checking the corners. Walking through the ghost-quiet houses was like being overseas again. But when I was overseas, I didn’t have Em to worry about. I hoped she was getting to someplace safe.
The footsteps led to a room at the back of a house with bright red bricks and a rectangular hole where the front door would one day be. I glanced side to side—nothing, just more empty houses—and then walked through the doorframe.
The place that would one day be a living room was empty. Everything smelled of dust, sliding up my nose like powder. The urge to cough tickled the back of my throat and my eyelids were getting heavier by the second. How long until too much blood gushed from my leg, my hand? Holding the gun with my left hand felt unnatural; every rote-learned movement was reversed.
I stopped at the top of the basement stairs, right where Lorenzo’s footsteps cut suddenly short. It was bright in here; the sunlight slid through windows and a giant gap in the wall where they had yet to complete construction. But down there it was full of shadow.
I took a step back. If I just ran down there hoping to get a shot on him, he’d light me up. He had the advantage, a choke point. I would be running to my slaughter, leaving Em and our child behind. I would’ve died to kill him before she came back into my life. But now, after everything that had happened, I couldn’t do that. I needed to make it out of this shitshow alive.
I grabbed a handful of brick dust from the corner of the room and tossed it down the basement steps. Tsk-tsk-tsk as it collapsed to the floor. There was no response, until—
I spun at the noise, realizing it too late. He got me; that motherfucker tricked me.
He was on one knee, rifle aimed, but I was faster. I fired a shot that caught him in the hand. He dropped his gun, letting out a snarling growl, and I lifted my gun to fire another shot. I’d end this right here, take his head off and fucking carry it to Anthony’s grave, show him that I made it right. After all these years, I made it right. But he charged at me. My bullet caught him in the shoulder. He grunted but kept on coming, rushing like a bull, he barreled right into me.
“Fuck!” I shouted as the momentum threw us both backwards.
The world spun—a glimpse of a dusty roof, a snatch of a hollowed-out basement—and then I landed with a heavy thud on the floor. Lorenzo landed on top of me, his bulk crushing me into the concrete. Something in my shoulder snapped, but it wasn’t a break. Even through the searing agony that infused me, I knew that much.
I grabbed his throat with my good hand. When I squeezed, there wasn’t half the grip there should’ve been. The fall had smashed it out of me; the bullet wounds; the pulsating blood that even now poured like a fucking fountain. But I squeezed his throat with all my forearm would give me.
Lorenzo grabbed my throat with both hands. I tried to lift my other, but his arms were blocking me. He dug his thumbs into my neck as I did the same to him with one hand. It was like a race toward death as he squeezed tighter and I squeezed tighter, but his two hands were winning.
Finally, I got some leverage and lifted my knee into this gut. He grunted, and just for a moment his hands slipped. I grabbed at his wrist and wrenched. The pain could blare at me all it wanted. This was for Anthony, the little kid who’d made Em laugh more times than I could count, the best brother a man could’ve asked for. I wrenched again, harder. In the shadows he was like a gargoyle, lips splitting into a howl as I rolled us over, landing on top of him.
I drove my knee into his chest and grabbed for the guns at his hip. He darted his hand out, tightened it around my wrist. I spit in his face. “Motherfucker!” I roared, pushing toward a pistol. But he was a strong old bastard and he kept pushing me back. “Motherfucking kid-killing piece of shit!”
“You think killing me will make it any easier for you?” he wheezed. “You think it’ll bring him back?”
I threw my head at his nose again, this time collapsing my whole upper body into the movement. With a sick crunch his body went slack in my grip. Finally, I grabbed the pistol from his hip and brought the barrel to the fleshy part of his chin. I’d seen what happened to men when they took a bullet here, and it wasn’t pretty.
“So this is it,” he whispered, gurgling blood at the back of his throat.
“This is it.” I brought my face close to his, grinning like a madman. But it didn’t matter now. “Any last words?”
“Last words, no. I’ve never much seen the use in them. No, boy, just do it. I’ve had enough anyway. Go on. I don’t give a fuck anymore.”
I’d killed men before, in combat. But that was always a rush-of-the-moment kind of thing, where a man had to act or be killed himself. I’d never executed a man like this. I swallowed as more blood pissed out of me. Everything was hazy and the strength in my trigger-finger faded more and more with each passing moment.
“You fucking killed him!” I barked, willing myself to pull the Goddamn trigger.
“I did.” Lorenzo smiled his gargoyle smile.
“And you’d do it again.”
“I would. He shouldn’t’ve got involved, Dom. You know that. But the kid had to just keep on pushing, didn’t he? He should’ve known what happens when you push a man too far.” He made choking noises as I dug the gun barrel deeper into his fat neck.
“You’re fucking done,” I whispered, yet still I could not pull the trigger.
But then something in me snapped. I closed my eyes for a brief moment—less than a second, scarcely more than a blink—and there was Anthony. He had his arms folded and a frown on his too-old face. He’d never been a boy, not really. Dad and this bastard had robbed him of that chance. He nodded slowly and I knew that I had to do it. Even if I’d never killed like this before, I had to.
“Goodbye, uncle,” I muttered.
“Wait!” Silvio snapped. “Wait, boss. Just wait.”
“Silvio?” I growled, pressing the barrel even harder into Lorenzo’s throat. I would choke him with cold metal. He made huffing panting noises. “The fuck are you doing here?”
“Looking for you.” The stairs creaked as he walked into the basement. “Don’t do this, boss. I know why you’d want to, but this is murder.” His words came weakly, probably because of my bullet clipping him earlier. How long ago was that? Minutes, hours? Time was warping, shifting like a snake under a silk sheet. “I get it. He deserves it. But you don’t wanna go down this road, boss. I know you don’t.”
“He’s right, Dom.” Em’s voice was like a siren’s song, as though I was lost at sea and she was calling me back.
“He has to die,” I snarled. “You know that, Em.”
“But it’s over,” she whispered. The stairs creaked lighter than they had for Silvio. Soon she was at the bottom, mere feet from me. This dingy room suddenly smelled a lot fresher, like spring had come in the dead of winter. Em was my spring, and Lorenzo was my fucking winter. They had no business being together. “Look at him. He’s done. We can call the cops.”
“You agreed to the plan!” I barked.
“That was before,” she hissed, closer now. So close I could reach across and touch her.
“Before what?”
“Before I saw you like this. If you killed him before, how we planned, that would be one thing. He still had Eric. He still had Silvio. But he’s beaten, Dom. He’s done. What would Anthony say?”
My jaws ached from clenching. I tried to see that Anthony again, the one who nodded, who gave me permission. But when I turned inward all I saw was a goofy kid sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the TV.
“Kill me,” Lorenzo whispered, just about managing the words past the choking gun-metal. “Kill me, kill me. I killed Anthony. I enjoyed it. I’d do it again. Go on, nephew. Go on.”
Em’s hand rested on my shoulder. A shiver moved through me like warm fog. I swallowed as energy drained from me, seeped out of my leg and my hand.
“It’s okay, Dom,” she whispered. “It’s okay.”
“He deserves to die,” I muttered, eyes hanging as heavy as lead. “You know he does.”
“He does,” she agreed. “But you don’t deserve to be haunted for the rest of your life. If you wanted to kill him like this, you would’ve done it already. I know you, Dom. You might’ve gone overseas and killed men there, in war. You might’ve gotten into fights with Special Ops. But have you ever killed a man like this?”
I swallowed. It was the truth, dammit. Em did know me, even though I’d tried to stop it. I’d failed, and I was glad I’d failed. But I’d been working toward this for so long.
I tried one final time to pull the trigger. Em would forgive me. I wouldn’t be haunted, not if the bastard deserved it—hell—had asked for it.
But I lifted the gun and smashed it into his face. His eyes fluttered and his head fell against the concrete. I fell sideways as the last of my strength trickled onto the dusty floor.
“Dom!” Em cried. “Silvio, make sure Lorenzo doesn’t go anywhere! Eric, call an ambulance!”
“Okay!” Silvio cried.
“You got it, Em. Don’t worry.” Eric’s voice, distant, at the top of the stairs.
I was on my back looking up at the love of my life. Her face was framed in the darkness, her lips moving but no sound coming out, her emerald-green eyes bright even down here. She was the most beautiful thing in the world. Right then, it was all clear.
“I love you,” I whispered, but I wasn’t sure if anybody heard me.
Thirty-Eight
Emma
“So you’re never going back to Maine?” Kelly asked.
I walked along the Upper East Side, navigating the stampeding pedestrians on my way to Dom’s penthouse. The pedestrians never seemed to get any better no matter how many times I came this way. It felt a little like how I imagined being in a cattle chute would feel. Still, I persevered. The doctors were always talking about staying active during these early pregnancy months; this was good maneuverability practice.
“Never say never,” I muttered coyly. “But not for the time being.”
“I can’t believe this!” Kelly huffed. “All these years you’ve been away, and now when you finally decide to stay you go and get pregnant. I mean, surely the reason you came back is so we could drink cocktails all day, every day?”
“I’m pretty sure they have alcoholics in Maine, Kelly. I could’ve stayed there for that.”
“Hey!” she cried. “There’s a big difference between an alcoholic and an enthusiastic supporter of the cocktail industry.”
“Oh, yes. How naïve of me.” I giggled. “So how is your enthusiastic supporting going?”
I could hear her set a glass down. “Well, it’s four o’clock and I have sampled a lovely Sex on the Beach and an even lovelier—oh, wait, no, they were both Sex on the Beach.”
“Double sampling? I take it that has a purpose?”
“Of course!” she snapped. “How am I supposed to formulate a sophisticated opinion from a single tasting?”
We laughed some more as I came to a stop outside Dom’s apartment building. “Okay, I’ve got to get going.”
“How are you going to break the news?” Kelly asked.
I rolled my eyes as I walked through the rotating door. The security guard waved and smiled at me, gesturing toward the penthouse elevator. I had carte blanche access to it now, as though Dom was a king and I was his queen.
“I’m just going to break it, that’s how.”
“What if he freaks?”
“Why would he freak? It’s good news!”
“Not to all men,” Kelly murmured. “If I was you, I’d have an escape strategy. Have you ever tried base jumping?”
“I’m hanging up now. Please don’t be offended.”
“Love you lots.”
I hung up my cell and dropped it into my handbag. Kelly’s comments got my feet tapping like I was rehearsing for Singin’ in the Rain. But life was good. Lorenzo was locked away for life—courtesy of the evidence provided by Special Ops Securities—and Dom was healing more every day. Mom was still sober, and Sebastian was, well, Sebastian. Yet it was true; not all men liked news like I had.
I rode the elevator up with butterflies doing arcane dances in my belly. I had gotten used to all the different kinds of butterflies that gallivanted in a woman’s belly over the past few months. There were the hipster butterflies, the sort that sat back coolly and only fluttered their wings every now and then. Then there were the soccer mom butterflies. They were all hectic, running from place to place. Today it was the giggling butterflies, half happy and half something else. It was good news, I reminded myself.
The door opened onto Dom’s apartment, all sleek marble with giant glass windows looking down upon Central Park. The late summer sunshine slanted in yellow. The place was like Heaven lit up.
I walked through the apartment, running my hand along the kitchen counter. Everything in there was top-of-the-line, as expensive as it came.
Dom was outside next to the swimming pool, doing the stretches the doctor had suggested. I leaned against the wall and waited. His back was to me and he was bending to the side, causing his back muscles to tighten, then bulging, then tightening again. Damn, my man was hot as fuck.
“You really think you can sneak up on me?” he asked, finishing up the stretch.
I sighed. Once a SEAL, always a SEAL. “One of these days I might get away with it.”
“If I’m asleep—and wearing earplugs—then, yeah, you might.”
He turned to me, his eyes sky-blue with his smile. There was none of that old Dom in them anymore, no hesitation. Just love.
“Mind if I just finish up?” he asked.
I waved a hand. I could watch him pull his muscled body this way and that all day. “Go ahead.”
I sat on the pool chair and let my head fall back. Dom squatted and leaned forward, touching his fingertips to the floor. Every muscle in his body pressed tautly against his suntanned skin. The tendons in his shoulder muscles pulled on his arms, and the tendons in his neck pulled on his shoulder muscles. There was so much power in him, enough to protect a child or two.
