Stolen Life Read online

  A double wooden door with an intricate carving of a lion hunting buck doesn’t give access to a bathroom like I expected. It exits onto a closed deck that extends to an open part with a view of the river. I cross the deck and try the double doors on the other side. The artwork on the doors is a continuation of the hunting story. In this one, the lion has made the kill. I push them open to find a bathroom as big as the bedroom. A tub benefits from the view visible through the floor to ceiling windows. No blinds. Not that anyone can see inside, unless they’re in a boat passing by on the river. Half of the space consists of a dressing room. The familiar smell of tobacco and leather lingers in the air. I expect motorcycle gear, jeans, and leather jackets, but when I flip through the hangers, I find dress shirts and suits with fancy labels. There must be at least twenty pairs of shoes. Apparently, Ian likes to dress well.

  Shamelessly, I go through his drawers. He also seems to have a fetish for expensive watches and cufflinks. Where does he wear all of these formal clothes?

  A glass of orange juice and an apple are set out on a small table next to the tub. Heat creeps into my cheeks when I spot the discarded condom in the trashcan next to the vanity. Ian hasn’t even made an attempt to hide it. The evidence of our intimate act is there in plain sight for anyone to see. Grabbing a tissue from the box on the vanity, I let it float down into the trash. I’m not modest, but certain things are private.

  Crunching into the apple, I go back for my clothes. I washed them in the hotel before Ian kidnapped me, but I find them dry and folded. Opting for a quick shower instead of the tub, I use my own shampoo but Ian’s body gel as I didn’t pack any. The smell reminds me of our first and second times together. Under different circumstances, it’s a smell I could’ve gotten addicted to.

  After dressing and drying my hair, I step out onto the deck and give a start. A woman dressed in a batik-motive dress with a matching turban is offloading dishes from a tray onto the wooden table. The dishes are covered with cone-shaped wicker lids.

  “Ah,” she says with a bright smile. “You’re awake.”

  The reeds next to the river rustle. A child’s voice rises above the rush of the water.

  “She’s awake,” he says in Tswana.

  Giggles follow.

  The woman scolds and shoos with her hand. Replying in Tswana, she says in an angry voice, “Why aren’t you in school? Go now or I’ll take the skin off your backsides. You know it’s dangerous to walk by the river.”

  Two boys, one not older than five and the other about ten, run from the reeds for the shelter of a tree.

  I smile and say in Tswana, “It seems my arrival has been announced.”

  It’s her turn to give a start. “You speak our language.”

  “I grew up on a farm. My nanny was from Botswana.”

  Approval flickers in her dark eyes. “The boys are just curious. You mustn’t tell Ian. He’ll be cross.”

  “I won’t.”

  She motions at the dishes. “Breakfast.”

  “Um, thank you.” I wipe my hair behind my ear. “Where’s Ian?”

  “He’s busy, but he’ll be back for you by lunchtime. You shouldn’t wander around alone. There are wild animals and our property isn’t fenced into camps.”

  “Is this a game farm?”

  She flashes a set of white teeth. “The big five. My name is Shona. I take care of the cooking and housekeeping, so if you need anything, just ask. You can use the two-way radio in the room to dial me at the main building.”

  “There’s a radio?” I haven’t noticed one during my exploration.

  “In the top drawer of the dresser.”

  “Thanks,” I say, but she’s already turned on her heel.

  She goes down the steps to where a man dressed in green bush khakis with a rifle in his hands leans against a tree. For protection against the wild animals, I presume. A brick and mortar prison couldn’t have been more effective. I know better than anyone how dangerous wandering in an unfenced property with wild animals is.

  Breakfast is a spread of sliced fruit, cheese, butter, fig preserve, and a mini loaf of bread. The bread is still warm, steam escaping when I break off the crust. I taste a bit of everything and pour a cup of coffee from the flask that came with breakfast. I sip the strong brew while appreciating the view. I’m too tense to enjoy it, but it’s impossible not to admire such beauty and the abundance of fresh air. I missed this in Rustenburg. After six years of living in my apartment, I got used to the cramped space, but I never stopped longing for the borderless fields of the farm.

  A commotion in the Marula tree next to the deck pulls my attention. A monkey swings down to the lowest branch and perches on the end, watching the food on the table with cunning interest. Ah-ha. That’s what the cone-shaped covers are for. I cover the leftover food and get a disgruntled squeal from my friend on the branch.

  “Sorry, buddy.”

  If I feed him, he’ll get used to begging, and he’ll stop hunting for food himself. It’s a sure way of killing a wild animal with kindness.

  To be on the safe side, I carry the tray with the dishes inside when the sun gets too hot to stay out on the deck. I make the bed, pulling the sheets straight and fluffing out the pillows. My mom taught me if you slept in it, you make it, and it’s a habit that stuck.

  With nothing else to do, I scan the books on the bookshelf in the bedroom. Ian has an eclectic collection of mostly self-help and educational books. The topics cover everything from warfare and computer coding to Chinese medicine. After the second shelf, I give up. The subjects are too intellectual to hold my attention. I’m too on edge. What I need is a movie that requires no thinking, something with a lot of action. As there’s no television or laptop, I switch on the ceiling fan and settle in the rocking chair in front of the sliding doors.

  A long while later, Ian appears on the same path Shona had taken. He’s dressed in a black T-shirt and khaki pants, and a rifle is slung over his shoulder. His hair is tied in a man bun, exposing the shaved bottom half. A short distance behind, the same man in the green khakis from earlier follows. They stop at the Marula tree. The monkey screams and swings to a smaller tree. Ian says something to which the man nods. The man takes a position by the tree. Ian hands him the rifle before making his way up the deck steps.

  The double doors shut behind him with a click. He turns and faces me. He doesn’t smile, but the lines around his eyes crinkle a little in the corners. How old is he? He said his sister is ten years younger than him and that she’s twenty-five. That makes him thirty-five. Old enough to have cultivated a lot of patience and calm. The kind of control he owns only comes with experience.

  He shoots a glance at the tray on the table as he crosses the floor. Stopping in front of me, he says, “I hope the breakfast was to your liking.”

  “Delicious, thanks. Just way too much.”

  “I wasn’t sure what you’d like, so I told Shona to prepare a spread.”

  I can’t help the sarcasm in my tone. “That’s most considerate of you.”

  His lips tilt as if he finds my passive-aggressive defiance amusing. “The monkeys can be pests. I hope they didn’t bother you.”

  “At least one of them drooled over my breakfast.” I smile at the thought.

  He hooks his thumbs into his waistband. “You shouldn’t feed them.”

  “That goes without saying.”

  “Good.” He tilts his head toward the door. “Come on. I’ll show you the property.”

  Eager to escape the confines of the room, I get to my feet. I’m mindful to keep my weight off my sore ankle. “Where’s my phone?”

  Turning his back on me, he says, “You’ll get it back soon.”

  He’s already by the door when I come to my senses.

  “Wait.” I rush after him, but he doesn’t slow down.

  I shut the door so the monkeys can’t get in and hurry to the path where Ian is taking back his rifle from the man.

  “This is Wataida,” he says,
nodding his head toward the man. “He takes care of the grounds.”

  The man inclines his head and lowers his eyes as per the custom of showing respect.

  I offer a hand. “Cas.”

  He accepts, gripping his right elbow in his left hand as he shakes mine.

  We walk for a good ten minutes with me sandwiched between the men before crossing a wooden bridge over a stream. After another five minutes, a big building with clay walls and a steep thatch roof comes into sight.

  “That’s the main building,” Ian says. “It was the dining room and reception area when I bought the place.”

  Just as I thought. It had been a tourist lodge. “How many bungalows are there?”

  “Five, including mine.”

  I want to ask who lives in the others, but we’ve reached the wooden deck of the large building where Shona is setting a table.

  “Outside?” she asks Ian as we pass. “It’s cool in the shade.”

  “That’ll be good, thank you,” he says.

  When we enter the foyer, he hands the rifle to Wataida who disappears through a doorway on the right. I glance through the open door. A man wearing a white Safari style suit sits behind a desk, writing in a large book. He doesn’t look up when Wataida enters. Wataida goes to a cabinet against the wall, takes a key from his pocket, and unlocks the cabinet. It’s a gun closet stocked with rifles. He places the rifle in a vertical gun rack and locks the cabinet again.

  “The place had fallen into ruins when I bought it,” Ian says.

  I turn to face him. He’s looking around as if seeing the big foyer for the first time. It’s hard to miss the pride shining in his eyes.

  “Why does the place mean so much to you?” I ask.

  He fixes his attention back on me. “I didn’t say it does.”

  I shrug. “It’s obvious.”

  “We built it up from scratch.”

  “We?”

  “The community who lives here helped.”

  “So, it’s like a pet project.”

  His eyes soften. “It’s more than that. This is the first place that feels like home.”

  “What makes it different from your other hideouts? I’m sure they’re all stunning.”

  “I prefer the company of the animals,” he says in brush-off kind of manner, like the statement isn’t huge. “Come.”

  He takes my hand and leads me across the foyer to a door on the other end. It opens into a dining room with a window overlooking the river. A few round tables and chairs are scattered around one large table in the center. It’s big enough to cater for the ten tourists that would’ve eaten here before Ian bought the place. In the far end, two men sit on stools at the counter of an open bar. A wrestling match is playing off on the television screen mounted on the wall.

  My stomach clenches. They’re not locals. The blond one has a square face and green eyes. The one with the dark hair bears a striking resemblance to Ian. Two pairs of eyes fix on me with hostility. There are only two people in the world they can be—Ian’s gang mates. I’m willing to bet all sixty percent of the heart function I have left that the one with the dark hair is Ian’s brother, Leon.

  The dark-haired man, who has the same brown eyes as Ian, points a remote at the television. The sound dies, and the screen goes black. Both men stare at me in silence as Ian drags me behind him to the bar.

  I hang back, tugging on Ian’s hold. I have no interest in meeting them. I don’t want to know who they are, but it’s too late. Ian pulls me under his arm when we stop in front of them and says, “Leon, Ruben, this is Cas.”

  Neither of them offers a greeting, not that I expected them to.

  “So,” Leon says, “you’re here to stay.”

  “Not by choice,” I tell him.

  Ian gives my hip a warning squeeze. “Lunch is ready. We’ll wait outside.”

  From the way Leon’s knuckles turn white around the remote, he’s not keen on sharing lunch with me, but he doesn’t argue when Ian steers me back outside.

  “They don’t want me here,” I say as Ian seats me.

  He takes the chair next to me. “I don’t need their permission.”

  Surely, he can see this living arrangement isn’t going to work out.

  Leon and Ruben exit just as Shona arrives with the first dishes. She places grilled lambchops, baked potatoes, pumpkin mash, and creamed spinach on the table.

  Leon and Ruben attack the lambchops while Ian puts a serving of the potatoes, pumpkin, and spinach on my plate.

  Ruben eyes my food over a forkful of potato.

  “Don’t you eat meat?” Leon asks.

  “She’s vegetarian,” Ian answers, a tightness in his tone.

  Leon shrugs. “More for us.”

  Ian narrows his eyes on his brother. Ruben shovels the pumpkin in his mouth and reaches for more.

  Under the table, Ian splays his fingers over my knee. “They’re not used to the company of a lady.”

  At the quiet reprimand, Ruben and Leon fix their gazes on their plates and eat at a slower pace. No one says a word for the remainder of the meal.

  When Shona returns to take the empty dishes, I offer to help and escape to the kitchen with our plates and cutlery. The kitchen smells of pumpkin and cinnamon. The room is spacious and well-equipped. A double gas stove with ovens takes up one corner. The walls are lined with shelves carrying all the tools one would expect in a hotel kitchen. A door on the side gives access to a pantry.

  Despite the dishwasher, Shona tells me to rinse the plates and let them soak in soapy water.

  “I don’t trust those machines to wash clean,” she says, wiping her hands on an apron before leaving to clear the rest of the table.

  Ruben enters just as I’m about to exit. He stops in the frame, blocking the doorway with his body. My pulse quickens at the quiet threat.

  “Excuse me,” I say, but he doesn’t budge.

  He regards me like I’m a fly that has landed in his food. “Why are you here?”

  I hold his gaze squarely. “You know why I’m here.”

  He takes a step into the room, making me back one up. “I’m not a man of many words, little girl, so listen carefully. I’ll only say this once. If you fuck with Ian, you fuck with us.” He takes another step. “If you’re spying for the cops, Ian will kill you, no matter how much he likes your pussy, and I’ll be first in line to pull the trigger.” He bends down until his face is inches from mine. “Is that clear?”

  “Like crystal,” I say sweetly, ducking under his arm and hurrying back to the table.

  Ian is dangerous, no doubt about that, but Ruben sends a shiver of repulsion over me. I have a feeling his kind of darkness is the cruel kind, the kind that gets off on people’s pain.

  “Everything all right?” Ian asks, scrutinizing my face.

  I give him a tight smile. “Perfect.”

  He pops a cigar into his mouth and chews on the end as he watches me.

  Leon and Ruben excuse themselves to go fishing, inviting Ian to join them. He declines, stating he’s got other plans.

  After coffee, he tells me to follow him. We go to a covered boma on the side of the main building where nuts, bolts, and other bits and pieces of machinery are laid out on a canvas.

  He leaves the cigar on a toolbox and stares at the engine of a generator. He’s patient, taking his time to do his visual evaluation.

  “What’s the matter with it?” I ask.

  “Rusted slip ring,” he muses. “But when I put all the parts back together, it didn’t start.”

  “Why don’t you just pay someone to fix it?”

  He flashes me a smile. “I like the challenge.” Turning his attention back to the engine, he studies it some more before holding out a palm. “Hand me the pliers.”

  I search the toolbox and hand him the tool.

  “Thanks,” he mumbles.

  He loosens a stubborn nut, removes a bolt, and hands me back the pliers. “Spanner.”

  When I give it to hi
m, he raises a brow. “You know what a spanner is? I’m impressed.”

  I cross my arms. “Stop messing with me.”

  “I’m not messing with you,” he says in a mock-serious tone. “The girls I know can’t tell the difference between a spanner and pliers.”

  “Says a lot about the girls you know.” As in date. “I spent more time with my dad in the shed than with my mom in the kitchen.”

  “Mm.” He drags a gaze over me. “The more I get to know you, the better I like you.”

  Can you like someone if you’re willing to lock them up? Yes. Liking and caring aren’t the same thing. The thought makes me go quiet. Ruben’s words repeat in my head. It’s not the part about how Ian will punish betrayal that I focus on. That part, I already know. It’s the part about how eager Ruben will be to pull the trigger.

  I go cold in the stuffy heat of the summer’s day. I knew from the minute Wolfe presented me with two impossible choices, I’d never be safe again. I’m no safer here than what I’ve been at home. I can’t rely on Ian to protect me. Our attraction may be off-the-charts hot, but he’s not my ally. He’s my enemy. I’m a liability.

  As long as I breathe, I’ll always be a risk to Ian and his gang. I can rely on no one but myself to keep safe. In order to do that, I need ammunition. Not the kind that fires bullets, but the kind you can hold over someone’s head. I need information. I need the proof Wolfe asked me for, and I need it fast. I don’t trust anyone here, especially not Ruben. He scares me the most. Information is the only insurance that will get me out of here alive. When Ruben pushes a gun against my head, I want to have a card I can play, my own secret weapon.

  “Hey, daydreamer,” Ian says. “Screwdriver. Flat tip, size two.”

  I hand him the screwdriver. I’m not going to sit around and hope I’ll be okay. I’m going to make damn sure I survive.

  “Need to sit down?” he asks.

  “What?”

  He frowns. “You look pale.”

  “I’m good.”

  He doesn’t seem convinced. “Want to go back to the room?”

  “No,” I say quickly. I can’t gather information if I’m confined to his room.

  He gives me a crooked smile. “I’ll be done soon.”