Page 38 of Secondhand Soul

Maybe he teamed up with one of Frank Bocella’s boys to get revenge?

“Sweetheart. You got my parts yet?”

Wait. What?

“Hello? Don’t be cute. Even though I hear from some of my associates you can be real adorable between the sheets.”

Oh. Oh, he’s playing with her, some kind of sick game.

“Leave her. Alone.” That should be one sentence, but it breaks off into two hard growls as I storm out the door, down the staircase that connects the back of the service office to the apartment, a cozy little tunnel that’s covered in faded wallpaper from the fifties or sixties, some safe, snug little passage that doesn’t match the deadly levels of violence I feel.

Pazcuso was quiet for a long time. Enough time for me to get outside, into the December air.

It doesn’t cool me off.

“Is that my baby boy?” Pazcuso says softly, wonderingly. “Hey, kid! It’s Papa. Come on home.”

Every nerve in me curls into a repulsed ball. “Shut up.”

“Listen, listen. Maybe I did it all wrong with you, you know? You come home, and we’ll make a deal. You’ll have a say in the jobs you do, the perks you get. Lazenby and Joe... Stupid. Cocky. They didn’t have what it takes to build an empire. You need people, not just tools. And you’re both.”

My mind is whirling. Why isn’t he asking how come I’m on the phone? On Victoria’s phone? Why is he calling her and not surprised it’s me answering?

“Speaking of convenient tools—what are you doing on Vicky’s phone?”

“Stay. Away. Leave her alone!” I grate out. I want to roar and yell, but my throat is choked down like there’s a fist around it.

“Easy, easy... I get it. I get it. Well. She’s unorthodox, but she does good work. I heard she had a golden pussy.”

My head spins, and I need to clutch a wall.

What the fuck is he talking about? I mean, yes, I can figure out what he means, and Victoria told me a few things about her past and Bocella.

All that escapes my lips is a rasp of “Fuck...” It’s a curse, a condemnation, and a question all at once.

“Shhh. Shh. I get it. You finally found out one of the best parts of this thing we call life, the warm and wet stuff. The fucking. Monster found himself a girl. You keeping her alive, or hoping someone can fix her up for you once you rip her apart?”

“Sick,” I hiss.

“Aww, did you break your toy? I’m sure it wasn’t your fault. She shouldn’t have gotten so close. Bring her back to Papa. I’ll make you your perfect undead dream girl.”

“If I ever see you again, I’ll kill you,” I rasp, and hang up.

He doesn’t call back.

For a few minutes, I stand outside, breathing in the icy air.

Then I plow up the stairs, phone clutched in my hand.

I THINK I’M HEALING faster this time. It wasn’t such a bad fall, I guess, and this time—this time I had help.

This time, no one tried to hurt me.

This time, I’m not grieving.

I test my weight on my ankle, and find that I can rest on it for a smidgen before the pain shoots up. My neck bends in both directions now, and my arm moves halfway up my ribs.

It’s nice, being able to wrap a towel around myself without feeling like I’m going to faint.