Michael hangs up, and I continue my drive through Hunt’s Point. I stop at a red light and a woman pulls up next to me in a minivan. She smiles at me, a kid slapping its chocolate-covered hand against the window in the backseat, displaying a toothy grin, and I scowl back. It’s only when the female driver’s expression changes from a polite, neighborly greeting to mild concern that I let myself smirk a little.
Sam and O’Shannessy are in the guard car parked on the street outside Charlie’s place. Paddy sprays coke out of his nose when he sees me pull up in the Camaro. I park directly in front of the gates, blocking the entrance so no one can get in or out, by which time he and Sam have climbed out of their sedan and are running across the road.
Paddy reaches me first. “The fuck are you doing here, Zee? You have to be out of your mind. You’re dead, you know that right? You’re fucking dead! Charlie’s gonna—”
I slam my fist into his windpipe, cutting off whatever Charlie is gonna. Paddy hits the deck, and then it’s just me and Sam. He’s had time to pull his gun now, so the guy thinks he has a fucking pair of balls. Sadly, he’s mistaken. I step into his weapon instead of running away. I move forward until the business end of the gun is pressing firmly into my chest. I glare at the bastard, feeling the itch building inside me. That burning, insatiable itch that says this is not going to go well for him. He sees the look in my eyes and he knows it, too.
“You think I won’t shoot, don’t you?” he asks.
I shrug. “Maybe you will. Maybe you won’t. If you are planning on pulling that trigger, you might wanna raise your aim a couple of inches. ’Cause right now, your only gonna puncture a lung and I can work on half a lung, bitch. Long enough to tear your fucking balls off, anyway.”
The motherfucker actually pales a little at this. “I don’t know what your problem is, Zee. Charlie says we do something, we do it. You were the same until a few weeks ago. You know this isn’t personal.”
I push my face in his, growling under my breath. “That’s where you’re wrong. This couldn’t be more personal.”
“Huh?” He actually looks confused. Stupid bastard.
“You and Paddy were the ones who broke into Sloane Romera’s place, right? You’re the only two assholes in the history of organized crime who’ve had their asses handed to them by a woman.”
He looks offended at this. “That whore shot me up with enough painkiller to destroy my fucking liver. If I ever see her again, she’ll wish—”
My fist connects with his temple. He. Should. Not. Have. Called. Her. That. “No, fucker, you’re gonna wish. You’re gonna wish you’d never even heard her name. You’re gonna wish you’d had the sense to keep your fucking mouth shut around me. You’re gonna wish you’d fucking run as soon as you set on eyes on me today.”
With each word, I’m reaching back and smashing my fist into his head. The gun’s long gone. Sam crumples to the ground, blood pouring down his face. He holds his hands up, trying to protect himself, but I’m not in the mood to be fended off. If anything, it only makes beating the living shit out of him more enjoyable. Because it wasn’t just Sloane they went after that night. They went after Lacey, too. “Charlie thought he would kidnap my friend to get to me, and you went along with it. And you’re stupid enough to think this isn’t personal?” Once, twice, three times I let my fists swing down and strike him where he lies on the concrete. He lashes out, digging his fingernails into my forearm, trying to scratch his way free. Fucking girl.
“He wasn’t—that’s not why he wanted—”
Sam keeps struggling, gasping for breath; I ease off enough to let him talk. I’m vaguely interested in what he has to say.
“He didn’t want the girl to get to you, motherfucker. He wanted—he wanted her to make sure—make sure she was safe!”
I can’t believe this asshole. The fucking lies are just too far fetched. Paddy is starting to regain consciousness. I drive the toe of my boot into his gut, mildly annoyed by the inconvenience of his reawakening. He promptly passes out again—perhaps the smartest thing Paddy O’Shannessy has ever done in his remarkably stupid life—and then I turn my attention back to Sam. “You're trying to tell me Charlie sent you to kidnap Lacey for her own benefit?”
Sam’s eyes roll a little, showing way more white than normal. He was in a position of power a moment ago; he could easily have killed me if he’d wanted to, but he hesitated. Maybe it’s the size of me. Maybe it’s all of the things this guy’s heard about me—all of the nasty, evil shit I’ve done, all of the people I’ve dealt with in the past. Maybe it’s the stupid rumor that I just can’t be killed—I’ve been shot and stabbed countless times before, should have died at least five times, and yet I’m still walking around, causing problems for people like Sam and Paddy. Whatever the reason, it’s working in my favor. This fucker is shitting himself.
“It’s true,” he spits out. “Charlie said she wasn’t safe.”
“Yeah. How the hell could she be with evil motherfuckers like him going after her?”