AN: I own nothing. Biggest thank you to Monica for beta-ing this and Maria and Heather for pre-reading... any mistakes left over are my own, because I just can't leave it alone. Whoops.
Chapter 2:
I'm on autopilot driving home, the car uncomfortably hot, engine loud in my ears; wind whipping at my hair through the open window, tugging and teasing like little hands. It almost feels pleasant. Therapeutic. My hands are a different story; as if all the tension has pooled into them, knuckles white through the skin.
Catching my face in the wing mirror all I see is regret reflecting back at me. Doubt creeps in as I replay what just happened over in my head. Should I have said no again?
I swallow thickly, ugly memories rearing their head.
I know the answer. I made the only choice I could, even if it feels wrong. Even though he promised me after last time. Even though he's trying. Pushing him would've been a mistake; of that I'm sure.
I park the car near our building careful to wind the windows up, my keys out already, held firmly in my fist as I hurry past piles of garbage bags and graffiti-covered walls. There's a group of teens hanging on the street corner, giving shit to people walking by. I know some of them do runs for James sometimes but that doesn't put me at ease. This neighbourhood has a reputation; and not a good one.
Living below the breadline forces people's hands. We're all just trying to scrape through life the best we can and for the most part I don't blame anyone for what they have to do. I just know that the choice I made months ago, to not get involved in all the crap James does, has all been taken from me.
As soon as the main door of our building closes behind me I'm running up the stairs hoping I can avoid Mr. Ameer who lives on the second floor. He owns the whole building with his wife, or so we were told when we took the tiny apartment on the third a few months ago.
All I know is he bangs on the door every week for rent and I've avoided him at all costs the past two because we haven't had it. Maybe it's been three. I frown. I can't keep track. Either way, the thought of another confrontation right now is not what I want so when I reach the second-floor landing I slip my shoes off and tiptoe past his door as quietly as I can, faint sounds of applause from their TV like my own personal pat on the back.
I make it unscathed to the top floor but my heart sinks when I see a note pinned to the door, underlined twice in thick black marker with too many exclamation marks; the word "RENT" in block capitals.
Shit.
...
Heat creeps back on my skin as I stand shower fresh in front of the bathroom mirror. The girl in front of me looks tired and drawn, eyes dull. I look again, self-critical. I don't like how my nose is slightly off centre or the way my thighs touch at the top or how my teeth are slightly crooked from not wearing my retainer enough during my teen years.
My Nonna showed me pictures of my Mamma when she was around my age now, way back in Phoenix before everything got so messed up. I hadn't seen pictures of her from when she was young before but she was beautiful; I can't really remember her now. At all.
I'm exactly like her, Nonna had said, minus the dodgy 80s perm but I didn't really think so. I think she was just saying that. Too much of my Papà in my face.
Thinking about Mamma, Papà, and Nonna never ends well, so I push them to the back of my mind, busying myself pulling on fresh clothes and trying on some gold hoops Charlotte bought me the other week.
I told her I didn't need them, feeling guilty for her spending her money on me but she insisted that I deserve something nice. I gave in because it's Charlotte and she gets her way almost all the time.
Bringing the cheap cell out my bag to check it, I'm not sure how long I'm supposed to wait. There are no messages, no contacts. Nothing at all on it. Just a blank phone.
A sick feeling settles in the pit of my stomach, apprehension making my jaw clench; when I think about what I'll have to do, who these people are, what they're capable of. Jesus.
James never talks to me about any of this, says it's not my business but now he's forcing it to be my business and I don't have a clue. Like a lamb to the slaughter and I can't help but feel bitterness towards him.
I place the cell face up on the coffee table staring at it often, worrying I'll miss the message, unable to relax even though my eyes are itching with tiredness from a day that started too fucking early.
Hours crawl by and the heat is making me drowsy. I've just closed my eyes for a few seconds when I hear it vibrate. I'm there in an instant, mouth dry, hands shaking.
Feeling a fresh wave of nausea rise, I'm rushing to the bathroom only just making it to heave up the contents of my stomach, bile burning acrid at the back of my throat.
When I'm sure I'm not going to be sick anymore I brush my teeth, sitting on the side of the bath.
Rationalizing, I do the only thing I can think of.
...
"This is fuckin' creepy," Charlotte says as we drive through pitch-black night, far from the lights of the main roads. I can only nod in agreement, nerves sticking words in my throat.
Where they want me to meet them—whoever they are—is on the very edge of the city, near the state border between Illinois and Indiana, by the railroad and a yacht club that run on the edge of the Lake. I'm not even sure if it's even classed as the city anymore and I have to wonder why they've picked somewhere like this if it's just money I'm giving them. It doesn't make sense to me.
We've been going around in circles for the last twenty minutes trying to find the right road when Charlotte points out the little track obscured by trees. I'm disappointed that we've found it—any excuse not to do this would be more than welcome.
We could still turn back I think.
A braver version of me might even be ballsy enough to take the money and high tailback to Arizona but I'm not even a shadow of that girl.
The burner vibrates again, pulling me from my thoughts but I daren't stop. We're already late.
Charlotte picks it up instead.
"Where the fuck are you?" She reads aloud and then clicks her tongue. "Well, if they hadn't chosen somewhere straight outta a CSI episode I'm sure we'd be there right now. This is givin' me all the bad vibes, I swear, B. Shall I text these douches back or what?"
"Nah, let's just—let's just get there, we can't be too far off, right?"
We're at least a mile down the track when it opens out into a vast wide expanse. The railroad running parallel to the lakeshore, electricity pylons looming like sentries overhead.
There's a sleek black beamer pulled up a little further along. It's windows are tinted and the doors are open. Even though it's the early hours, it's still muggy and as we're close to the water there are midges everywhere, caught like raindrops in the headlights.
I swing the car in taking a deep breath, trying to calm frayed nerves. This must be them.
"Nice set of wheels," Charlotte says, eyeing the car with envy.
"Yeah, maybe crime does pay after all," I agree with a weak laugh, unbuckling my belt and twisting to grab my bag from the back seat.
I'm about to ask Charlotte not to step in and let me handle everything but there's a sharp rap of knuckles on my driver side window, making me jump.
"Who the fuck are you?" says a voice behind glass. I turn around, losing myself in dark eyes.
Whoever this is, he's definitely not what I was expecting. He's way too good-looking.
I crack the window down.
"James sent us," I say hesitantly as he drinks in my face silently, his own unmoving. He wasn't expecting us but James had shrugged it off like it didn't matter. Obviously, it does.
"Get out the car," he says, finally. I hesitate, glancing at Charlotte who's rooted to her seat.
"Both of you, get out the fuckin' car," he growls, his voice low and laced with impatience.
This time we're both complying.
When we get out the car we find he's not alone.
Two other men exit the beamer as Charlotte joins me round my side, cursing her wedged heels on the stony ground.
"The fuck are you?" asks one of the men as he gets closer, looking us up and down. He's tall and broad, dark curly hair cut short, dressed all in black.
Charlotte crosses her arms irritably and I grimace because I just know she's gonna open that big trap of hers and get us into a heap of trouble. I elbow her sharply in the ribs and she looks at me incredulously as I shake my head. She huffs and closes her mouth.
"James sent us. Wanted me to give this to you," I say repeating what I'd told his good-looking friend minutes ago, reaching into my bag.
The curly-haired one has a gun pointed at me faster than I can blink.
"Stop right there," he says with menace and I know he's not playing. Freezing, I look from him to the gun in his unwavering hands, pointing straight at my head. If I'm still breathing I'm not aware of it, my heart pounding so hard it feels like it might burst right out of my chest.
"Whoa," Charlotte says beside me, her voice a pitch higher than normal. She's raising her hands in innocence. "Not cool. We ain't here to cause any trouble."
Curly scoffs, his face stony.
"Chuck him the bag."
He gestures to the third man. My eyes slide to him. He's shorter and fatter than the other two with close-set eyes, something decidedly pig like about him. Sweat beads on his forehead, dripping at his temples, rolling down red cheeks.
Fear pulsing in my veins, I do as Curly says, biting my lip and dragging it through my teeth nervously. Maybe my naivety is showing in spades right now. This is why I can't be doing this stuff— I fuck it up. Maybe James is right, maybe I am that dumb. And I thought Charlotte would get us into trouble, the thought makes me want to laugh out loud.
"Both of you turn around, hands on the car."
I look at Charlotte, and for the first time in a long time, I can see she's scared, her usual confident self wavering under the fear of the unknown.
If she's like me, she's imaging them executing us with a bullet through the back of our heads. It would be so easy for them. Dump our bodies out in the lake. No one would know. No one would really care, in my case, either. Are these the type of guys to do that? Curly certainly seems the type. The good-looking one? I'm not sure.
We do as we're told, raising hands and placing them on cooling metal.
"Frisk 'em," Curly says sharply and I almost sag with relief.
Charlotte grumbles shit under her breath as she's done first. I daren't look at her and even though I know what's coming, I still flinch a little when I feel large hands start touching me. They aren't rough though, they're precise. Practiced.
"They're all good."
Warmth blossoms on my cheeks as I realise its Good-Looking who's just had his hands all over me. I wonder whether Charlotte's as affected as I am. A sly glance her way tells me she's not.
"Turn back around, both of you."
Good-Looking is still close to me when I do, ducking his head and avoiding my eyes as he pulls out a lighter and a mauled pack of cigarettes. He slides one out, placing it between his lips as Curly paces the same three feet of ground in front of us, only stopping when Piggy passes the thick envelope to him.
He opens it and rifles through more stacks of bills than I've ever seen. Piggy takes this opportunity to brazenly look me up and down, eyes lingering on bare legs. I tug at the hem of my shorts self consciously, wishing I was more covered.
"Well, you're both better looking than James, that's for sure," Piggy says tossing me my bag back, wetting his lips with his tongue, his gaze focusing on Charlotte in the same lecherous way.
"Ain't that the truth," Charlotte says sweetly, because she can't help herself.
"Knock it off," Curly says, annoyance lacing his voice. He's still counting. "You ain't here to try an' get your dick wet."
Piggy mutters something under his breath and
seconds later Curly viciously clips him with the butt of his gun. Grunting, he clutches the back of his head with small hands.
"Shit, fuck, man. That fuckin' hurts."
"Where is he? James?" Curly says, placing the money back in the envelope as he ignores Piggy. The question is directed at Charlotte who shrugs and looks at me.
"I dunno, he said he had something to do," I say, running a hand through my hair self-consciously. Curly looks like he doesn't believe me but it's the truth.
"You sure he didn't say what he was doing?"
I shake my head.
"And he sent you two? Not Marcus? Or one of his boys?" Curly probes, eyes still narrowed as if he's trying to suss us out, as if we'd be here for any other reason. Maybe he thinks we're cops or something.
"He don't need to send his boys when he can send his girl," Charlotte grinds out with a roll of her eyes and I want to kick her. They don't need to know who I am and I really don't want them to.
Good-Looking catches my attention again as he lights his cigarette, his profile cast in light and dark, cheeks hollowing on his inhale. He exhales a cloud of smoke out the corner of his mouth and I can't bring myself to look away.
"You're James' girl?" he says to Charlotte who starts laughing.
"Boo, do I look like I'd go near that asshole? I'd rather drink bleach. Nah, B, here is his girl," she nods at me. He appraises me silently but Curly is more vocal.
"His girl? Well damn. Why didn't you say? What's your name, Doll?"
His questions don't make me feel any more at ease; as if knowing I'm James' girl would've made any difference to how this has gone down.
I want to lie, but I think better of it, resigning myself to small talk.
"Bella."
"Bella," he draws my name out, rolling it around his mouth as if he's trying to taste it, try it out, see how it likes it. It makes me feel uncomfortable so I look away, still feeling the weight of his gaze. He says something but it's a lot quieter, like he's turned around, so I don't hear it properly. A sharp voice in the negative makes me look up at them again.
Curly is shrugging and turns back to face us. Behind him Good-Looking is tense, frowning, taking another pull on his cigarette. He meets my eyes steadily, but it's me who looks away first, unnerved. Maybe I should've been paying attention.
"Your friend don't seem too keen on your boyfriend," Curly says to me, amused. "Now, why would that be?"
He would pick up on that. I'm not sure where this is going so just as I say, "That's not any of your business." Charlotte chimes in with, "Are you for real?"
"Shut up, Char," I hiss.
She's not listening.
"You got eyes, ain't you? He's punchin'. My girl deserves the best and he definitely ain't it."
Curly smiles and I cross my arms frowning. What this has to do with anything I don't know. This whole situation is beyond bizarre.
"And your name? Char?" Curly says his attention now on Charlotte.
"Charlotte. What's it to you?" she retorts, clearly not in the mood to entertain even though she offered up details in the first place.
"Absolutely nothing, sweetheart," Curly says nonplussed. Then, "This thing goin' to be regular?" He looks at me. Does he mean doing this for James? I shrug a little. I hope to God that it ain't.
"For future reference, this fat fuck is Ben," he gestures to Piggy who glowers, still rubbing the back of his head. "GQ over there is Masen," he waves a hand at Good-Looking. "And I'm Alec."
"Well, I'd say it's been nice meeting y'all, but I'd be lyin'. If we're all good here, it's getting real late, and a girl has to get some beauty sleep," Charlotte says pointedly.
"We should go," she reiterates to me and stalks round the car. I pause not really knowing what to say or do.
"Yeah, we should take off." I twist the strap of my bag in my hands. Opening the car door I slide in, half-expecting to be stopped. Never have I felt more relief for sitting in this rust bucket. Hastily I shove my keys in the ignition, realising my hands are trembling badly.
Alec swaggers towards us, tapping the window and leaning in when I wind it further down. His icy blue eyes meet mine.
"Tell James, he's a grand short, if he's not got it next week, Caius is going to take what's his and make it his own—you know what I'm sayin', Doll?"
He smiles again, and it chills me.
"Sure."
As Alec moves away I find Masen watching—me or Alec I'm not sure. His expression is unreadable, but he's dismissing whatever Ben is saying to him with a slow shake of his head.
I reverse out hurriedly and we're silent until we hit tarmac and streetlights.
"Fuck this shit," Charlotte murmurs.
"Yeah."
AN:
I've been absolutely blown away with the response to this little story so far... honestly, you guys are amazing. Thank you, thank you, thank you from the bottom of my heart to everyone who is lurking, favouriting, following and reviewing. It's made me smile so big, you have no idea!
What are you currently reading FF or otherwise?
I'm re-reading For The Summer by Camoozle (check my faves), so much love and so much regret for these two.
