Page 94 of Tainted Love

The bikes are gone, as I expected. We decided to take them with us, as a quick getaway may have been impossible in a car in Chicago traffic. I spin around to find the car, praying that Dante didn’t change any more of the original plan and take it with him.

I heave a sigh of relief as I catch sight of it in the driveway. Good. I can still salvage this mess.

I walk back inside and go up the stairs for my shoes. As I strap them to my feet, I come up with a new plan of my own.

My knee aches and my hand swells, turning redder by the second, but this pain will be worth it in the end.

Marty Zappia will feel much worse before I’m through with him.

Chapter 32

Lucy

I step inside the Zappia Casino and I think of my father.

The great Terrance Vaughn. Not a particularly intelligent man, but he knew how to wow a crowd better than anybody. I remember watching him dance back when I could barely walk. Charismatic and wild. I wanted to be my father when I grew up.

Of course, his true colors shined through eventually and that dream slipped through my fingers, but I never once forgot how great it felt to be his daughter, even with all of his faults.

I loved my father. He was taken from me far too soon.

My eyes fall on Marty Zappia.

His face has healed, somewhat. There’s still a large scar drawn along his right cheek and I wince a little as I walk closer to the table. The bullet must have shredded the nerves on his face. His right eyelid droops to the side and his lips hang there as if they’re melting off. Half of his eyeball is stained red, too. The monster inside of him bleeds through. He can’t hide it behind his youthful face anymore.

I pause near the hexagonal poker table at the center of the room. Marty sits directly in front of the dealer, sliding his stiff fingers along a tall stack of chips while the remaining three players sweat. There’s only one chair available to the left of the dealer.

I lay my hand on it to claim it. “Do you mind if I join the table?” I ask.

Marty’s lazy eye flicks in my direction. There’s a spark of recognition followed by a burst of doubt before it quickly sinks in. He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and dabs the uncontrollable drool gathering on his numb lip. I smile, taking great pleasure in how unattractive he is now.

Finally, he nods.

I sit down in the chair and I offer my ante to the dealer before she deals out the cards. I keep my eyes low, fighting the urge to stare again at Marty’s mangled cheek, and concentrate on my cards. My skin tingles as I sense his eyes on me. I’d give anything to read his thoughts right now. He believed I was dead. Oh, how disappointing it must be to see me sitting across from him right now.

Finally, I let my gaze trip over to him to have my suspicions confirmed.

Ghostly pale. Blood-shot eyes. His face trembles in anger.

I smile. “You’d think a man with your face would know that it’s rude to stare.”

The air shifts at the table. Two of the other players fold their cards without looking at them and stand up from their chairs.

I glance at my cards.

“Stop,” Marty says.

The dealer pauses and puts her hands on the table to halt the game. Marty glares at the remaining player in the chair between us until the man cowers away, quickly abandoning us along with the others.

I fold my hands in front of me. Poised to perfection. “Hello, Marty,” I greet.

“You died.”

“Not so much.”

His lip quivers. “How did you get out of the theater?”

I shrug. “A mutual friend.”

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