Slave to the Rhythm (40 page)

I saw the dark, bulky shape two rows in front of me, and my stomach lurched. He had Laney.

And a gun to her head.

Laney

I saw Ash fall from the stage and I cried out. A desperate, intense fear filled me. Ash! My love, my husband, my life. My world had ended just as it was beginning. Hope and joy and every pure, human pleasure had been killed.

My knees gave way and the creep struggled to hold me up. The powerful smell of his aftershave combined with body odor made me want to puke.

I guessed who he was as soon as he’d slid into the empty seat next to me just as Ash’s tango started. And I also guessed that the cold metal pressing into my stomach was the barrel of a gun.

“I’ve been watching you,” he whispered, his rancid breath making me gag. “Mrs. Novak. Ha! The boy is cleverer than I thought, marrying a scared little mouse for a green card. Well, he owes me, and I
always
collect.”

Then he lowered the tinted glasses that he was wearing and peered at me with one empty eye socket.

“An eye for an eye, that’s fair, isn’t it? A wolf took mine, so I think I’ll take
his
. It’s almost a shame—he has pretty eyes, doesn’t he? Such a lovely color—almost amber when he’s pissing himself with fear.”

“My father is a police officer,” I gasped out.

“I know,” he whispered, stroking my cheek with a leather glove.

Then he slapped it across my face. It stung, but that was all.

“You’re Sergei.”

He smiled, his empty eye winking at me.

“Oh, so he has talked about me?”

“Yeah, he said you’re a sick fuck!”

Incredibly, the man’s ego inflated, obviously pleased.

“Hmm, that about sums it up,” he laughed. “Although I seem to remember that he rather liked my sick fucking. Oh yes, my dear, I’ve had those sweet lips around my dick. He was very good at sucking me off. I enjoyed it very much.”

His good eye glinted maliciously.

“You’re lying!”

He actually laughed at me, then called out loudly in a sing-song voice.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are, Aljaž! I’ve got your little wifey! Daddy’s waiting, and you’ve been a bad, bad boy!”

Then he turned back to me and spoke conversationally.

“Why would I lie? I’m going to kill you anyway, so what does it matter? I want you to die knowing that . . . but I think I’ve changed my mind. Maybe I’ll let you watch while I fuck him up his pretty little ass—and then I’ll kill you.”

I couldn’t help it. I puked on his shoe.

Revulsion rolled across his face and he raised the gun and crashed the barrel down. I threw my hands up over my face protectively and heard my wrist snap as pain sliced through me. I cried out and fell to the floor, slipping in my own vomit.

I rolled under the row of chairs and started crawling in the darkness, listening to his infuriated screams when he realized that he’d lost me.

I flinched as two gun shots whined overhead. I hoped Ash had enough sense to stay hidden, away from the bright lights of the stage where he’d be an easy target. If we could just hold on, the police would be here. I was certain that every single person who’d been in the audience would have dialed 911. We just had to hold on . . .

And then the house lights came up.

Sergei twisted around, searching for me, grinning from ear to ear as the gun barrel followed my crawling body. I would have screamed with frustration if there’d been any breath in my lungs.

I saw Ash lunge up, sprinting forward and throwing himself at Sergei. There was another gunshot and Sergei staggered into my row, but didn’t fall. He watched my shock as Ash collapsed to his knees, holding a bleeding hand over his chest, and slowly sinking to the ground. Sergei grinned, aiming his gun at my head.

Ash! Oh God, no!

My world ended.

Ash

They say time slows down as you face your own death.

Sergei smiled when he pulled the trigger.

My body felt frozen as I stared down, the gun pointing at my heart. But Laney’s shocked and terrified face jolted me into action, a primal urge to protect her, to hurt the thing that threatened her, and I started to move.

Even as my muscles tensed, ready to drive me forward, I felt the impact of the bullet, the air punched from my lungs. I saw muzzle flash and heard a popping sound. It was all in the wrong order, and that bothered me.

I tumbled over the edge of the stage, falling into the orchestra pit, a discordant jangle of noise as I crashed against the drum kit.

I lay winded on the floor, stunned, motionless, my lungs empty. I stared up at the ceiling, the spotlights from the stage painting a silhouette of evil as Sergei leered in triumph. But when he turned and pointed the gun at Laney, time stopped. It was seeing every future falling into black nothingness, and I didn’t want to live like that anymore.

Breath surged back into my body and the torn edges of my vision crystalized.

But I was too slow. Even as I pushed myself upright, even as the air rushed past my face, even as I flew forward, I was too slow. Sergei fired the gun and this time it was Laney who fell to the floor.

My body smashed into his and we were wedged between two rows of theater seats, the flip-up section pressing into my screaming ribs.

“You really won’t die, will you? Never mind, I’ve always wanted you on top of me, Aljaž,” Sergei mumbled as I rained down punches.

My knuckles split and I could feel a finger sliced open against his teeth.

He spat out a gob of blood and started to speak. I didn’t care what he was going to say. Every dark thought that evil bastard had ever had, every breath he’d ever taken had the stench of depravity. Laney was my sunshine, and now she was gone.

In the distance, I heard police sirens, then yells.

Sergei sighed theatrically then grinned at me through bloody teeth.

“I’ll be out of jail before breakfast. Then I’ll be coming for you.”

I shook my head. “Not this time.”

The Devil had come for his own.

I pulled the gun from his limp hand and kneeled up. In the distance I heard someone shouting at me to drop the gun. But I had something to do first. I pointed the gun at Sergei’s face, ignoring his streaming nose and torn mouth. I pushed the barrel of the gun into his empty eye socket. He laughed.

And this time I pulled the trigger.

His body jerked once and I could smell the sharp stench of cordite.

Hands grabbed me from behind, twisting my arms, forcing me to drop the gun.

I stared down at the gory splatters on my chest: mine, his, I couldn’t tell.

I stared in fascination as blood pooled around his head, and a thicker ooze of brain and splinters of bone.

I stared and felt nothing more than a butcher would feel looking at a side of beef. No emotion.

Satisfaction, yes. Relief, yes. Conscience, no. My conscience was quiet.

The pain in my chest shrieked through me as my hands were forced behind my back with a quiet
click
—the cold steel of handcuffs.

And then I saw Laney, still and silent, the side of her head sheeted in blood. Every emotion slammed back, a door opening with a flood of grief and terror and shock.

“Laney!”

I called out her name, trying to reach her, but I was held tightly.

“Laney!” I screamed.

I tried again to get to her, but my cuffed hands were yanked backwards and the pain in my chest was so intense, the light dimmed and I thought I was going to pass out.

“He’s her husband! Let him go!”

And then Billy was there, yelling some more.

“Take the cuffs off
now!
Shit, he’s been shot, you morons. Where are the paramedics? Ah, fuck, Laney!”

Laney

I was dreaming, floating in that happy place between two worlds.

We were lying in bed together. It was very soft, like resting on clouds, or the ocean on a summer’s day. Yes, we were lying on a beach together, the water lapping at our feet.

“Do you dream, Laney? You must do. What do you dream about?”

Ash was bare chested, his skin a deep golden tan, his eyes the color of Irish whiskey. Dream Ash was impossibly beautiful, his long, lean, toned lines, his muscled thighs and sculpted torso. He glistened and glowed under the warm sun—so beautiful.

Dream Ash smiled at me, more relaxed and happy than I’d ever seen him, the tension in his eyes completely absent for once.

“My daytime dreams are different from my nighttime dreams,” I smiled. “At night, I dream about flying, not in an airplane, just me, flying through the air.” I laughed quietly. “It’s pretty self-evident what that means. What do you dream about?”

“Daytime dreams? Those haven’t changed. I dream about taking my dancing all over the world, telling stories through dance, making people happy. At night, I used to dream about standing in a spotlight, and if it was a good dream, the music would begin and I’d start to dance. It would start off real, but then the jumps would become bigger, until I was flying through the air—like you.”

I smiled. “Do you still have that dream?”

“Not lately, I . . .”

“We don’t have secrets from each other,” I reminded him with a gentle nudge.

The sunlight was too bright, so I closed my eyes, listening to the soft slur of Ash’s light accent.

“I still dream that I’m standing in the spotlight, but when the music starts, my body doesn’t move. It’s like I’m frozen. I’m trying to move, but I can’t. And then . . . then Sergei is there, sometimes Oleg too, and they’re laughing and laughing. Once, the girl was there as well, and they pointed the gun at her and then at me, deciding who they’d shoot first.”

I felt moisture in my eyes and I opened them to find Ash staring at me, tears running down his cheeks, as well.

“You mustn’t give up on your dreams. Not because of those monsters. Never because of them.”

And I wasn’t sure which of us had spoken . . .

Ash

I SAT BY
Laney’s bed, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest. I could see traces of dried blood in her hair. She’d hate that. A white bandage covered the left side of her head, one forearm heavy under a thick blue cast.

She’d been lucky, they said. The bullet had sliced across the surface of her skull and knocked her out. But he hadn’t killed her. She’d wake up soon.

I was lucky, too. Luckier than I deserved. My St. Christopher had been folded in half by the impact of Sergei’s bullet. X-rays confirmed that I had a cracked sternum which made it painful to breathe. Black and purple bruises were spreading across my chest, and they kept checking my EKG. Something to do with a trauma injury to the chest, I didn’t care.

Up and down. Up and down.

For hours, I watched Laney breathing. I watched her living. And that was enough.

My left hand throbbed, wrapped in bandages. Sergei had shot off the tip of my index finger. They hadn’t found it, so it was probably still at the theater. I felt sorry for the janitor. Sweeping up candy wrappers was one thing; blood and body parts probably wasn’t in their contract.

Up and down. Up and down.

The police had talked to me while I was still being treated. I couldn’t focus and didn’t really understand their questions. I didn’t care either. Laney’s dad told me that Angela was helping. But nothing mattered—just Laney.

Her father was sitting on the other side of the bed, and he kept glancing toward the door, expecting Laney’s mother at any moment. She’d been out of town with Laney’s sisters, but now they were all on their way.

He cleared his throat.

“We have a witness—one of the ushers says you threw yourself at that piece of shit while you were unarmed.”

My head jerked up, surprised that he’d spoken to me. I was still waiting for him to throw me in jail for getting Laney hurt.

His face reddened and his eyes watered as he stared at me.

“You saved her life.”

I cocked my head to one side, weighing his words and finding them sincere, but so wrong.

“Sergei came to Chicago because of me. Laney would never have been in danger otherwise.”

“Son, I can see that you’re not the kind of man who goes looking for trouble. There are a lot of fucked up people in this world, and bad things happen to good people. I don’t know why and neither does anyone else. My wife tells me that God knows. Well, good for Him, ‘cause it sure as shit makes no sense to me.” He paused. “But I know that my daughter is alive because of you.”

Then he stood up to shake my hand.

“Welcome to the family, son.”

It was so unexpected that I just stared at him like an idiot until I realized that I’d left him hanging. I stood painfully, trying not to breathe too much, and shook his hand.

A moment later, the door was flung open and Laney’s mother and sisters poured in. Their questions rattled like rain on a tin roof and I couldn’t concentrate.

Thankfully, her dad was used to it and worked his way through the questions one at a time, until they were all satisfied that Laney was in no immediate danger.

“But what about the big boss?” asked Bernice. “The mafia boss?”

Laney’s dad grimaced.