“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.