Eve - Iris Johansen [7]
Pain.
Darkness.
Don’t give in to it.
She wouldn’t be raped by these bastards.
She shook her head to clear it, then her teeth sank into Frank Martinelli’s hand, the one that was holding her hair. He screamed and released it. She butted her head as hard as she could against Larazo’s chest.
She rolled sidewise and reached for the strap of her book bag. She slung it with all her force at Larazo’s head. She jumped to her feet and ran toward the front entrance.
Her way was blocked by the two other boys, who had been watching with wide grins.
“Get her,” Larazo said. “Don’t let her inside. Frank, go watch the street. I’m gonna make her scream. I want to—” His voice suddenly cut off into a gurgle. “Shit!”
Eve glanced over her shoulder. Someone, a dark-haired man, was standing behind Larazo, his arm around the boy’s neck. As she watched, he jerked Larazo’s head sidewise, lifted the edge of his hand, and brought it down in a karate chop.
He let Larazo drop to the ground and turned to Frank Martinelli. “Come on,” he said softly. “I haven’t had enough.”
Frank Martinelli hesitated and lunged forward, reaching for his switchblade. He barely got it out when he was whirled around, his arm twisted behind his back. He shrieked as his arm was pushed up higher and higher.
Eve heard the bone snap.
The other two boys who were blocking Eve’s path parted like the Red Sea and ran, leaving Larazo and Martinelli on the ground.
Martinelli was moaning and trying to crawl toward the street, but Larazo was still slumped, silent.
“Did you kill him?” Eve whispered. “You’d better go quickly. The people who live here never come out to help, but they do call the police. The cops don’t care who’s to blame; they take everyone in and book them.”
“I know. He’s not dead. I wouldn’t let a bastard like that ruin my life. I’ve got plans. He should be coming around in a few minutes.” The dark-haired man who had taken down Larazo and Martinelli came toward her. “You okay?”
She felt dazed, and her head was still spinning. “Yes.”
He was younger than she had thought at first glance. She had thought he might be in his twenties. He was tall and powerfully built, but was probably no more than eighteen or nineteen. Olive skin, dark hair, dark eyes, full lips, and an indentation in his chin that made him look vaguely exotic. He was wearing a blue-and-white jacket, jeans, and black T-shirt. “Who are you? I’ve never seen you around the neighborhood.”
“John Gallo. My uncle just moved into the project two blocks down two days ago.” He was close to her, and his hand reached out to touch her cheek. “Bad bruise.”
She instinctively moved away, and his hand dropped.
She hadn’t wanted to move away, she realized in surprise. Why …
“I’m fine.” Then the shock left her as she remembered Rosa and the baby. Manuel had been lying so still … “But Rosa’s little boy may not be fine.” She whirled and was hurrying up the steps. “Did you see what they—”
“I saw everything.” John Gallo was behind her on the steps. “It might be okay. The kid could just have been stunned.”
“Yeah.” But babies were so fragile. It hurt her to think of how easily they could be hurt.
Bastards.
Rosa was sitting on the landing, holding Manuel, and rocking back and forth. “He’s dead.” Tears were pouring down her cheeks. “He won’t wake up, Eve.”
“Shh.” She looked down at the baby. He was pale. Those impossibly long lashes were lying on pallid cheeks. She bent her head close to his lips. “I think he’s breathing.”
“Really?” Rosa’s face was suddenly luminous. “I couldn’t tell.”
“Stop rocking him. I’ve heard if he’s hurt, you’re not supposed to move him.” But it was probably too late. The damage would have already been done. They’d had to get Manuel inside and away from those scumbags, and afterward, who could blame Rosa for holding and rocking him in her agony. “I’ll go use the public phone downstairs to call for an ambulance.”
“No, I’ll do it.” John Gallo ran down the dozen steps to the first floor, picked up the receiver of the phone on the wall, and deposited a coin in the slot. “I’ll make sure you