Dubious: The Loan Shark Duet (Book 1) Page 2

  He chuckles. “One of these days, you’re gonna swallow.”

  I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “When you’re pretty and your parents are rich.”

  “Come on, baby.” He pulls me up by the arm, his dick hanging limp between us. “Give Tiny a kiss. Let Tiny taste himself on that useless mouth of yours, because you sure as fuck don’t know how to suck cock.”

  “Let go.” I jerk free and snatch my bag up from where it has fallen on the ground.

  His laugh follows me down the road as I run to our flat, hating myself as much as I hate him.

  Jerry leans on our door as I come up the stairs. He looks away, avoiding my eyes. He must’ve left Napoli’s shortly after us. That means he slipped past me in the street while Tiny got off in my mouth.

  “You’re a scumbag.” I try to push him aside, but he doesn’t budge.

  “Val…”

  “Did you get a kick out of watching?”

  He shoves his hands into his pockets. “I’m sorry.”

  “For being a peeping Tom or dragging Charlie to Napoli’s?”

  “I couldn’t resist the temptation. A Napoli’s VIP pass doesn’t happen every day.”

  “Four hundred thousand rand, Jerry.”

  “We’ll sort it. Don’t sweat.”

  “Right.” The only way to sort it is to disappear, and we have nowhere to go. “How long has this been going on?”

  He scratches his head and has the decency to look guilty. “A few months.”

  “You dragged Charlie out there at night, without my permission?”

  “Come on, Val.” Jerry braces his shoulder on the door. “I said I’m sorry.”

  I knock for Charlie to open. I’m physically and mentally too exhausted to fight now. “Whatever.”

  I cook and clean for Jerry to keep an eye on Charlie while I work, and although Jerry is a thief, he’s not physically mean, at least not to Charlie.

  After a while, when Charlie doesn’t open, Jerry takes Charlie’s key from his pocket and hands it to me. Puff barks as I unlock the door. He waits with a wagging tail.

  “Good night, Jerry.”

  “Can I come in?”

  “It’s late. I need to study.” I use the excuse even if I know there’s no way I’ll focus on a textbook tonight, but it’s the quickest way to get rid of Jerry. Otherwise, he’ll stay until four in the morning.

  “Oh, come on. Just an hour.”

  I close and lock the door on his plea, waiting until his shoes shuffle down the landing. I brush my teeth three times before I fix Charlie scrambled eggs and toast for dinner, put him to bed, and settle down on the sleeper couch with Puff.

  Sleep doesn’t come. I think of Charlie and the handsome fifteen year-old boy he’d been. He was one of those all-rounders who was good at sports and first in his class. He was my big brother. My hero. Two years younger than Charlie, I was in primary school when he went to high school. He fetched me when the bell went at the end of the day, carried my schoolbag, took my hand, and walked me to ballet practice. We didn’t tell my parents he made a deal with Miss Paula to work in her garden so I could carry on dancing. If they knew, my father would’ve demanded he worked for money to buy necessities, those necessities being booze and cigarettes. Charlie helped me fit the ballet shoes Miss Paula lent me and waited the hour the dance practice lasted before walking me home to fix me a sandwich. He could’ve hung out with his friends, but he didn’t. He took care of me.

  If the accident hadn’t happened, if I didn’t want a stupid piece of chocolate cake that night, Charlie would’ve been Charles. My brother would’ve grown into the man he was born to be. Like every night, I weep into my pillow, shedding bitter tears that won’t help one damn bit. Brain damage is irreparable.

  * * *

  Puff cries at the door, letting me know he needs to go. The sun is up, but it’s barely five. I wait downstairs on the cracked concrete while he does his business against a dead tree and throw a stick for him to fetch a couple of times. Beside himself with joy, he trips over his paws to lay the broken branch at my feet. Puff is always a happy dog. One morning, yelping coming from a garden trashcan alerted me. I pulled out a starved, dirty, flea-ridden puppy. To this day, Puff is scared of trashcans.

  He’s not done playing, but I have to call Kris and tell her I won’t make it to work today. I hate leaving her in the lurch, but I’ve got to figure out what to do. Four hundred thousand rand isn’t going away. Maybe I can explain about Charlie’s condition at Napoli’s. Maybe if Jerry backs me up, we stand a chance. Napoli’s is part of the big fish. They make mince of petty criminals like Jerry, but he’s a regular, no less with a VIP pass. They feed on addicts like him. They need his business.

  Back inside, Charlie is up. He offers me a smile that breaks my heart, because it’s a smile that hasn’t grown beyond fifteen years. Ruffling his hair, I turn to the kitchenette so he won’t see the tears in my eyes. I call Kris, but her phone goes straight onto voicemail. Perhaps she’s in the shower. I leave a quick message, telling her I won’t be in and that I’ll call back later to explain.

  “Are you not going to wo–work?”

  “Not today.” I open the cupboards and scan the contents. There isn’t much. Charlie eats like a horse.

  “What’s for brea–breakfast?”

  I can’t tell him how sorry I am. We can’t have mature discussions about guilt and penance. “How about cookies?” The simple treats that make him happy are all I can offer.

  “Cho–chocolate?”

  There are flour, powdered milk, one egg, and cocoa. I can concoct something. If I could, I’d give him the world.

  I heat the two-plate, portable oven, and let him mix the dough. While the cookies bake, I shower and dress before sending Charlie to do his morning grooming. At the same time the timer on my phone pings for the oven, there’s a text message from Jerry.

  Run.

  A tremor rattles my bones. I shiver, even if it’s hot inside from the oven. Hurrying to the window, I peer through. A black Mercedes is parked across the road. A woman sits in the front, but with the glare of the sun on the window I can’t make out anything other than her black hair. A man in a suit gets out from the driver seat and another from the back. He holds the door. A third man folds his large frame double to exit, adjusting the sleeves of his jacket as he looks up and down the street before turning his head in the direction of our window.

  Gabriel Louw.

  My breath catches. I jump back before he sees me. Charlie comes out of the bathroom and starts making his bed like I taught him.

  “The coo–cookies.”

  They’re burning. I switch off the oven and use a dishcloth to dump the baking tray on a cork plate, trying not to panic.

  There’s no backdoor or window. The only way out is through the front. We’re trapped. I lean on the wall, shaking and feeling sick.

  Please, don’t let him kill us. Scrap that. Rather let him kill us than torture us.

  Everyone from Aucklandpark to Bez Valley knows what The Breaker does to debtors who don’t pay. He has a reputation built on a trail of broken bodies and burnt houses. Puff, always sensing anxiety, licks my ankles.

  Footsteps fall on the landing. It’s too late. Fighting instinct flares in me. My need to protect my brother takes over.

  I grab Charlie’s hand. “Listen to me.” My voice is urgent, but calm. “Can you be brave?”

  “Bra–brave.”

  Puff barks once.

  The knock on the door startles me, even if I expected it. I can’t move. I should’ve taken Charlie and run last night. No, they would’ve found us. Then it would’ve been worse. You can’t outrun The Breaker.

  Another knock falls, harder this time. The sound is hollow on the false wood.

  “Stand up straight.” Don’t show your fear, I want to say, but Charlie won’t understand.

  No third knock comes.

  The door breaks inward, pressed wood splintering with a dry, brittle sound. T
hree men file through the frame to make my worst nightmare come true. They’re carrying guns. Dark complexions, Portuguese, except for the one in the middle. He’s South African. He moves with a limp, his right leg stiff. Gabriel is even uglier up close. In the daylight, the blue of his eyes look frozen. They hold the warmth of an iceberg as his gaze does a merry-go-round of the room, gauging the situation to the minutest details with a single glance.

  He knows we’re unprotected. He knows we’re frightened, and he likes it. He feeds off it. His chest swells, stretching the jacket over his broad shoulders. He taps the gun against his thigh while his free hand closes and opens around empty air.

  Tap, tap. Tap, tap.

  Those hands. My God, they’re enormous. The skin is dark and rough with strong veins and a light coat of black hair. Those are hands not afraid of getting dirty. They’re hands that can wrap around a neck and crush a windpipe with a squeeze.

  I swallow and lift my gaze to his face. He’s no longer taking stock of the room. He’s assessing me. His eyes run over my body as if he’s looking for sins in my soul. It feels as if he cuts me open and lets my secrets pour out. He makes me feel exposed. Vulnerable. His presence is so intense, we’re communicating with the energy alone that vibrates around us. His stare reaches deep inside of me and filters through my private thoughts to see the truth, that his cruel self-assurance stirs both hate and awe. It’s the awe he takes, as if it’s his right to explore my intimate feelings, but he does so probingly, tenderly almost, executing the invasive act with respect.

  Then he loses interest. As soon as he’s sucked me dry, I cease to exist. I’m the carpet he wipes his feet on. His expression turns bored as he fixes his attention on Charlie.

  Taking back some power, I say, “What do you want?”

  His lips twitch. He knows I’m bluffing. “You know why I’m here.”

  His voice is deep. The rasp of that dark tone resonates with authority and something more disturbing––sensuality. He speaks evenly, articulating every word. Somehow, the musical quality and controlled volume of his voice make the statement sound ten times more threatening than if he’d shouted it. Under different circumstances I would’ve been enchanted by the rich timbre. All I feel now is fear, and it’s reflected on Charlie’s face. I hate that I can’t take it away for him.

  “I’ll only ask you once,” Gabriel says, “and I want a simply yes or no answer.” Tap, tap. Tap, tap. “Do you have my money?”

  Spatters of words dribble from Charlie’s lips. “I–I do–don’t li–like them. Not ni–nice me–men.”

  The man on the left, the one with the lime green eyes, lifts his gun and aims at Charlie’s feet. It happens too fast. Before I can charge, his finger tightens on the trigger. The silencer dampens the shot. I wait for the damage, blood to color the white of Charlie’s tennis shoe, but instead there’s a wail, and Puff falls over.

  Oh, no. Please. No. Dear God. No, no, no.

  It has to be a horror movie, but the hole between Puff’s eyes is very real. So is the blood running onto the linoleum. The lifeless body on the floor unfurls a rage in me. He was only a defenseless animal. The unfairness, the cruelty, and my own helplessness are fuel on my shocked senses.

  In a fit of blind fury, I storm the man with the gun. “You sorry excuse of a man!”

  He ducks, easily grabbing both my wrists in one hand. When he aims the gun at my head, Gabriel says, his beautiful voice vibrating like a tight-pulled guitar string, “Let her go.”

  The man obliges, giving me a shove that makes me stumble. The minute I’m free, I go for Gabriel, punching my fists in his stomach and on his chest. The more he stands there and takes my hammering, my assault having no effect on him, the closer I come to tears.

  Gabriel lets me carry on, to make a fool of myself, no doubt, but I can’t help it. I go on until my energy is spent, and I have to stop in painful defeat. Going down on my knees, I feel Puff’s tiny chest. His heartbeat is gone. I want to hug him to my body, but Charlie is huddled in the corner, ripping at his hair.

  Ignoring the men, I straighten and cup Charlie’s hands, pulling them away from his head. “Remember what I said about being brave?”

  “Bra–brave.”

  So much hatred for Gabriel and his cronies fills me that my heart is as black as a burnt-out volcano. There’s no space for anything good in there. I know I shouldn’t give in to the darkness of the sensations coursing through my soul, but it’s as if the blackness is an ink stain that bleeds over the edges of a page. I embrace the anger. If I don’t, fear will consume me.

  Gabriel gives me a strangely compassionate look. “You owe me an answer.”

  “Look around you.” I motion at our flat. “Does it look like we can afford that kind of money? You’re a twisted man for giving a mentally disabled person a loan.”

  His eyes narrow and crinkle in the corners. “You have no idea how twisted I’m willing to get.” Gabriel grasps Charlie by the collar of his T-shirt, dragging him closer. “For the record, if you didn’t want your brother to make debt, you should’ve declared him incompetent and revoked his financial signing power.”

  “Leave him alone!”

  I grab Gabriel’s arm and hang on it with my full weight, but it makes no difference. I’m dangling on him like a piece of washing on a line. He swats me away, sending me flying to the ground, and presses the barrel of his pistol against my brother’s soft temple where a vein pulses with an innocent life not yet lived.

  “Va–Val!”

  He cocks the safety. “Yes or no?”

  “Yes!” Using the wall at my back for support, I scramble to my feet. “I’ll pay it.”

  Charlie cries softly. Gabriel looks at me as if he notices nothing else. His eyes pin me to the spot. Under his gaze, I’m a frog splayed and nailed to a board, and he holds the scalpel in his hand.

  He doesn’t lower the gun. “Do you know how much?”

  “Yes.” My voice doesn’t waver.

  “Say it.”

  “Four hundred thousand.”

  “Where’s the money?”

  The ghost of a smile is back on his face. Behind the scarred mask is a man who knows how to hurt people to get what he wants, but for now he’s entertained. The bastard finds the situation amusing.

  “I’ll pay it off.”

  He tilts his head. “You’ll pay it off.” He makes it sound as if I’m mad.

  “With interest.”

  “Miss Haynes, I assume.” Despite his declared assumption, he says it like it’s a fact. Everything about him shouts confidence and arrogance. “Tell me your name.”

  “You know my name.” Men like him know the names of all the family members before they move in for the kill.

  “I want to hear you say it.”

  I wet my dry lips. “Valentina.”

  He seems to digest the sound like a person would taste wine on his tongue. “How much do you earn, Valentina?”

  I refuse to cower. “Sixty thousand.”

  He lowers the gun. It’s a game to him now. “Per month?”

  “Per year.”

  He laughs softly. “What do you do?”

  “I’m an assistant.” I don’t offer more. It’s enough that he already knows my name.

  He regards me with his arms hanging loosely at his sides. “Nine years.”

  It sounds ridiculous, but the quick calculation I do in my head assures me it’s not. That’s almost five thousand per month, including thirty percent interest on the lump sum. I can’t call him unfair. Loan sharks in this neighborhood ask anything between fifty to a hundred and fifty percent interest.

  “Nine years if you pay it back with the lowest of interests,” he continues, confirming my calculation.

  Of course, I’m not planning on staying a vet assistant forever. It’s only until I qualify as a vet in four more years. By then, I’ll be earning more. “I’ll pay it off faster when I get a better job.”

  He closes the two steps between us with an uneven
gait. He’s standing so near I can smell the detergent of his shirt and the faint, spicy fragrance of his skin.

  “You misunderstood my offer.” His eyes drill into mine. “You’ll work for me for nine years.”

  My breath catches. “For you?”

  He just looks at me.

  “Doing what?” I ask on a whisper.

  The intensity in those iced, blue depths sharpens. “Any duty I see fit. Think carefully, Valentina. If you accept, it’ll be a live-in position.”

  I know what any duty implies. He’s no different than Tiny. Loathing fills me.

  Gabriel regards me as if he’s making a bet with himself. “Either I shoot your brother and you walk away, or he’s free, and you work off his debt.”

  “Give me whatever contract I need to sign, and I’ll find my own way to pay you.”

  He chuckles. “It’s my terms or none.”

  What choice do I have? My knees feel shaky, but it’s hardly the time to be weak.

  “I’ll do it.” As I say the words, a ball of ice sinks to my stomach.

  For a moment, he looks surprised, but then his expression becomes closed-off. “You have five minutes to pack.”

  “I have a condition.”

  The amusement is back on his face. He taps the gun on his thigh and waits.

  “I want my brother’s safety guaranteed.” If I’m not around, Charlie will need protection. I don’t want a repeat of what got us into this mess.

  “Fair enough. He’ll have my protection.”

  “I need to call someone to fetch him. He can’t stay alone.”

  He takes his phone from his pocket, punches in a code, and pushes it into my hand. “You’ll use mine until we’ve ensured yours isn’t compromised.”

  Turning my back on them, I type my only friend’s number. While I’m dialing Kris, the man with the dark eyes searches my purse that hangs over a chair in the kitchen. I watch the men from the corner of my eye, my hand shaking as I wait for Kris to take the call.

  “It’s Valentina,” I say when she answers.