I hop in a cab and tell the driver there’s an extra few bucks if he gets me to my place quick. We shoot down Lake Shore and pull up to my building in ten minutes flat. I keep my promise and give the guy a twenty on a seven-dollar fare.
When I get inside, Omar isn’t manning the entrance. He must be on break. I use my electronic Marlock key to get through the security door in the lobby. I use my key for the elevator, too, and wait for it to come down from 13. It takes forever. No one gets off.
I’m anxious to get situated before Mason arrives. I don’t exactly have a plan, but I have the advantage: I know the truth. I just have to get it out of him. If one of us doesn’t kill the other first.
I open the door to my condo and start for my bedroom without turning on the lights. I stop in my tracks when I see a figure near the kitchen window.
“Mason?”
“You wish.”
I back up and flip on the light. Marko’s brother and the skinny Serbian kid with the medallion are sitting at my kitchen table.
“My name is Smitty. You remember my brother, you bitch?”
“I remember you,” I say. Marko, plus thirty pounds, attitude apparently included.
Someone behind me locks the front door. It’s the big, long-haired kid who scratched my car. And he has a gun. I don’t make a move.
“You’re the reason Marko is dead,” Smitty says. “Fado,” he directs the kid behind me.
The kid grabs my hair and puts his gun to my head, dropping me to my knees. I stare up at Smitty, trying to get a grip on the situation. I have Paul’s .44 in my boot, but one of them will see me if I go for it. I wait for a chance.
“We know you’re working with Mason,” Smitty says. “You stepped in so you could blame my brother for killing that cop and take his share of the money. And all the while my brother was setting up shop for you in Miami. You used him and you got him killed.”
“I wasn’t involved. Mason set me up—” The words fight my gag reflex. My eyes begin to tear. Fado pulls my hair tight. I can feel the stitches tearing my scalp.
“You blamed my brother for your trouble. I want justice for what’s been done. I want you and Mason to pay,” Smitty says, his temper rising with him from his chair.
“I didn’t know; I was stupid,” I manage.
“It’s not enough to take his life, but now you ruin the Trovic name?” the skinny kid with the medallion says, fueling Smitty’s rage.
“Shut up, Josich,” Smitty says, coming toward me.
Fado takes the gun away from my head and yanks my head back. I choke from the strain on my neck as Smitty gets in my face. “My brother has a little girl,” he says. “That little girl loves him so much. I don’t have the heart to tell her he’s not coming back.” His breath is hot and stale. “You and Mason killed my brother. Now we are going to kill you.”
Fado lets go of my hair and comes around in front of me, putting his gun to the left side of my forehead. I can feel the metal of Paul’s gun on my shin; I just have to get to it. I scan the area around me, searching for a distraction.
And there it is, right in front of me: Fado has an erection.
Smitty said himself that we don’t speak the same language. But there’s one thing that men around the world comprehend, and it’s my only chance.
“Please, I’ll do anything, anything,” I tell Fado. “I’m begging you,” I say, my eyes fixed on the bulge in his pants. “Anything,” I say again. I hope he understands.
“Let’s go, Fado,” Smitty says from behind him. “Kill her.”
“Hold on,” Fado says. He looks down at me. “Anything?”
“Yes, please,” I beg.
He starts to laugh.
Then he moves the tip of the gun he’s got to my head slowly to my mouth.
“Suck it,” he says.
I hear the kid with the medallion giggle.
“Suck it,” Fado says again.
“No teeth,” he advises, showing me his.
I take the end of the barrel into my mouth. I open wide and try not to scrape the metal. I taste the gun oil and the powder residue and I feel the tip hit my uvula. I have never been so scared in my life. I can’t breathe. I’m scared to breathe. I am two inches from the trigger. All I can see through the tears in my eyes is Fado’s gold ring, tight around his bulging pinky.
I am afraid to move, but I am powerless unless I get this gun out of my mouth.
I bring my hands up, slowly, alongside Fado’s hand and the gun. I move carefully, as though I am between his legs, back and forth, my eyes releasing tears. With my hand on his, I ease the gun out of my mouth. I put my lips around the tip, keeping it there, and I look up at him to show him I am brave and I am willing to do more.
“Fado,” Smitty protests in the background. “Let’s go.”
“Relax, Smitty. You can be next. After me.” Fado looks back at the third kid, exchanging a silent affirmation. Then he takes the gun from my mouth.
“Josich, take this. Hold it on her. Bitch can do something good before she dies.”
Josich approaches on Fado’s left and reluctantly takes the gun. He aims at me, but keeps his distance. Fado does not.
“You’re good at that, aren’t you?” Fado asks, touching my shoulder with a hand like a bear’s paw. He undoes his belt. “You want to suck this?”
“Anything” is all I manage to say.
I unzip his pants, keeping my eyes on him. I try not to think of his dirty hair, the odor of his worn leather coat . . .
“I knew she was a little slut. Little cop whore. Fucking to get Mason’s money,” Josich says from somewhere behind him.
“Let’s just do this,” Smitty says.
“Shut up,” Fado stops him. I can tell he wants this more than the others.
“It won’t take him long,” Josich jokes awkwardly to Smitty.
“I said shut up,” Fado barks. He puts both hands on my face and pulls me toward him. “This gun will go off, baby.”
I look him right in the eyes, and I hold my breath as I reach into his jeans. Fado tilts his head back, in ecstasy at my first touch.
“Suck it,” he says, as more of a suggestion. He likes my hand.
I stroke him, and let him revel in the feeling, reaching farther into his pants each time. I wait just long enough to make sure he’s totally off guard when I reach in as far as I can and grab his balls and squeeze them with all my might.
Fado screams as I let go and pull Paul’s gun from my ankle holster.
Josich asks, “What the fuck?” as Fado dry-heaves in pain.
“Shoot her, Josich!” Smitty orders.
I spin Fado around for a shield, so by the time Josich gets his nerve and shoots, he hits Fado in the chest.
“Fuck!” Josich curses as I fall backward from the force of the bullet that struck Fado. On the way down I fire twice and hit Josich once. Josich goes down at the same time I hit the floor with Fado on top of me. Paul’s gun slips out of my hands and across the hardwood. I pull Fado’s long hair back and try to get him off me, but he’s at least two-fifty, and he’s not budging.
I’m pinned, and Fado’s hair streams across my face. I know Smitty is still alive. I hear him approach, and then I see him pick up my gun. He stands over me.
“Fucking whore,” he says.
Then he aims the gun at me.
“This is for my brother.”
I shut my eyes and I hear a shot, but I don’t feel anything. I wonder if dying is like my dream. I’m afraid to open my eyes.
Then I hear—
“Sam.”
And suddenly Fado is lifted off me.
I suck in a critical breath and I open my eyes to see Mason.
He sits me up and takes me in his arms and I don’t fight him. He just saved my life.