The Woman in the Trunk

Anxiety gripped my system, knowing we were in the broad goddamn daylight now, that cars were whizzing by, and anyone might stop and try to be a Good Samaritan. Or the cops might happen by.

And I had a girl trying to free herself through the backseat.

"Fuck," I snapped again, whipping off my belt, flying out of my side, opening the back, grabbing the girl's shoulders, shoving her back into the hole she'd wiggled out of, then slamming the seat back into place. Inwardly chastising myself for not thinking of that safety feature, I took a seat in the back, legs braced against the front seat so I could apply pressure to the back one as the girl slammed up against it.

Reaching for my phone, I dialed up the only person I knew I could trust with this.

"Having problems already?" Emilio asked, snickering.

"You have no fucking idea. This girl just burst out of the back seat from the trunk on the parkway. I flew off the road. Tire is shredded. I obviously can't get out to deal with it. Or call Triple A. I need you to come, trade cars with me, and handle this shit."

"Sounds like an awful lot of trouble," Emilio said, and I could hear the smirk in his voice. "And you know me, not a responsible bone in my body."

"Milo, come the fuck on. I don't have time for your fucking around."

"I'm on my way. I'm just saying, you're losing your touch with the ladies, man."

"Yeah, and if you were here, she'd come with you willingly," I scoffed, wincing at the muffled scream coming from the trunk.

"Well, I am much better looking than you. Not to mention charming," Emilio said, chuckling. "Give me a mile marker. I will be there as fast as I can."

With that, I sat and waited, leaving my station only for a moment, to reach for the stereo, turning it up in case someone did try to stop and be a decent human being.

Thankfully, though, no one wanted to be decent this day in particular. Which was good. I liked assholes. That was why I enjoyed where I lived. Everyone minded their own goddamn business.

"Yeah?" I barked into my phone seeing my father's right-hand-man, Terry's, name on the screen.

"Need you to pick up a package," he said, cutting to the chase.

"I am already dealing with a package," I reminded him.

"Yeah, well, make room for another."

"Not another houseguest," I said, stomach dropping.

"No. Just a care package," Terry said in that nasally voice of his, thanks to one too many nose-breakings when he was my age. Likely due to the fact that he always thought he was more important than he was.

"Terry, I'm fucking busy here."

"You want me to tell your old man that? You're too busy for orders?"

That was a challenge, a threat. Because Terry had been vying for the underboss position for years. And he was resentful that I had gotten it, albeit begrudgingly. Kissing ass would get you all sorts of places, as he would know, but it was no substitute for hard work, and aptitude.

"Where is the package?"

"P.A."

"P.A.? There is no one closer than me without a houseguest in the car with him?"

"No one your father wants handling it."

To be perfectly honest, my father likely forgot that I was doing this pick-up today. He wasn't exactly great about keeping shit straight. But Terry was right; I couldn't say no. I had to do what I was told to do, or I risked losing my place. Which likely meant losing my life. And I'd be fucking damned if brown-nosing Terry got my position in this family.

"I'll handle it. Give me an address," I said, figuring I could pawn the girl off on Emilio if I had to, deal with the car and the package myself and let him bring her back to the city, deposit her in my apartment, get a guard or two on her. Or fucking five, with the spirit she had.

Even more frustrated than I had been five minutes before, I plugged the address into my phone, checking the route, seeing I would be going a solid five hours out of my way before circling back. I would just barely be able to squeeze in the meeting with the New Jersey family before getting back to the city finally.

It would be a tight timeframe, but I could manage. Once I got rid of the girl.

"No can do," Emilio said when he arrived, standing in the open door, smirking at the jostling trunk.

"What do you mean 'no can do'?" I asked, watching the traffic flying by, wondering how the fuck we were going to transfer an actual human being from one trunk to the other without being seen and reported.

"I have that meeting I am covering for you with the D'Onofrios," he reminded me. Apparently, Vin hadn't been happy with the way things had gone with my father. He wanted to have a talk with me. And since I was busy, I had told him I would send Emilio. I couldn't exactly call him again and say that, on second thought, I was going to send someone else. Emilio had to go. Which meant I was stuck with a girl in the goddamn trunk across more state lines, for likely a full twenty-four hours, then all during my meeting in New Jersey, before I could finally get us back to the city.