The Debt Read online

  “I did! I swear.”

  “Maybe he needs more motivation?” Ritchie says.

  “I think you’re right.” Dad cracks his knuckles.

  The crunch of gravel under tires outside stops me as lights from a car shine through one of the broken windows. Then the car quits, and the lights flicker off. I eye the others.

  “It’s Allan and Trevor,” Ritchie says.

  I fix my gaze in the direction of the car and start to walk to the nearest window.

  “Relax, Maxim. I talked to them before I got here. They’re bringing motivation.”

  “No,” the man says, his bottom lip quivering. “Please, no.”

  I roll my shoulders and let myself relax. If my dad’s not worried, I know I shouldn’t be. I make my way back to the man and crouch down beside him. “You caused this. What happens now is on you.”

  “I didn’t know!” he says over and over again before he starts to sob.

  Car doors slam and curses echo into the night. Moments later, Allan and Trevor walk into the building, all but dragging a woman by the elbows between them. Her hands are tied behind her back and there’s a black bag over her head. Her words are muffled by a gag perhaps? She sure has a lot to say. Trevor and Allan are a mess. Their eyes are beet red, and their skin is just as rosy. Their clothes are dirty and ripped in places.

  “What the hell happened to you?” Dad says.

  “Bear spray. Bitch put up quite the fight.”

  I fight a grin. The girl looks a hundred pounds soaking wet and Allan and Trevor are an easy two hundred and twenty pounds apiece. It amuses me that she gave them so much trouble.

  “Put her by the fox,” Dad says.

  They let go of her. Trevor kicks her in the back, so she falls forward onto her face beside the thief. I hear the slap of her face hitting the pavement. I glare at Trevor. Weak. Fucking weak. He bends down and yanks the bag off her head.

  The girl squints through blackened, swollen eyes. Her face is bruised and cut up, but it’s difficult to see it clearly through the dirt and blood and her golden, messy hair that falls over much of her face. Still full of fight, she lets out a muffled string of curses from around her gag, making me smile. Small but mighty. It’s almost a pity she has to die.

  Then all of a sudden, she stops moving, and her gaze trains from one corner of the room to the other. Now, as she realizes the gravity of her situation, her shoulders curl and she shrinks closer to the ground.

  “I’m so sorry,” the thief says to the girl.

  I stand tall and take another step closer to her.

  “Careful,” Trevor says. “She bites.”

  I roll my eyes and bend to release the gag from her mouth.

  She ignores me. “Dad! Oh, my god. Are you okay?”

  Her voice. It sounds so familiar.

  “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’ll make this right.”

  I crouch so I’m nearly eye level with her. I reach out and, with a single finger, I attempt to brush away her hair so I can see her better. She tries to bite my finger off, but I pull it away just in time to avoid her snapping teeth. Her eyes. Two sparkling blue topazes.

  “Your father killed a friend,” I tell her, “and he stole from my family.”

  “My dad wouldn’t hurt anyone,” she says.

  “She was my fucking sister!” Allan says, kicking the thief in the stomach.

  When the man topples onto his side, the girl tries to wiggle herself over to him. I grab her arm and force her to stay put.

  “Enough!” Sergei says. When he marches over to me, I release the girl, stand tall and step to the side to give my father his space. He points the gun to the girl’s head. My dad has never had a problem hurting or killing women. He sleeps just fine, regardless. I don’t share that sense of ease. I barely have a conscious, but the smallest amount that I have speaks loudly when women and children are targeted. Dad cocks the gun.

  “No!” the thief says.

  “Where is the watch!” my father screams.

  “I hid it in a vent at my house. The one behind the fridge.”

  I laugh without humor at how quick a man’s tune changes when he’s backed into a corner.

  “I don’t believe you,” my father says.

  “I did! I swear. Go check.”

  “You can count on that,” Dad says. He leans forward to press the gun to the girl’s head. Her lips tremble, but she holds her head high, as if accepting her fate. He looks at the thief. “Gus? That’s your name, isn’t it?”

  The thief nods enthusiastically. “Yes! Yes, it is.”

  “I’m going to give you a choice.” He nods to Ritchie. Ritchie pulls a syringe out of his pocket and holds it out in front of Gus. There is longing in Gus’s eyes. He licks his lips, like he aches with hunger.

  “One of you will die here today. Will it be you?” He points the gun at Gus. “And then after you’re gone, maybe I’ll cut up your daughter a little. Let her live the rest of her life disfigured, mute, and blind? What do you think about that?”

  “Please, no,” Gus says.

  “Or maybe I kill her.” He points the gun back at the girl. “You give me my watch, and I consider us even. A life for a life. My watch in my hand. I leave you untouched and you spend the rest of your life knowing you could have saved her—or most of her. Which one do you choose?”

  “Neither,” he chokes out.

  “How about we give you a taste?” Sergei says, nodding to the needle. “Then you can choose to kill your daughter. The heroin will numb the shame—for a little while.” My father grins wickedly, enjoying his game. Sergei presses the gun hard to her temple, and tears stream down her bruised, swollen cheeks.

  Gus stares at the syringe and not at his daughter. It makes me sick to my stomach. He’s actually debating trading the drugs and his life for his daughter’s. If my father doesn’t kill him, I will.

  The girl cries. Her words are shaky, but clear. “Kill me. But let him live.”

  My dad laughs. “What a good girl,” he says with mock sympathy. “What will it be, Gus? She just said she wants to die for you. Will you die for her?”

  Gus swallows hard. He snatches the syringe from Ritchie’s hand and pushes up his sleeve to reveal about a dozen old, reddened track marks. He taps the bend in his elbow and slides that needle into his arm like a pro. He doesn’t even need to tie off his arm to show his veins. The moment the liquid is driven into his pale flesh, his beady eyes become distant, and a calm takes over him as his whole body relaxes.

  The look on his daughter’s face… Like he’s driven a stake through her heart. These are the things I remember most in moments like these. A look, a few last words, and the choices people make when their backs are pushed against the wall. And it makes the beast inside me rage to punish a weak man like him.

  “I’m sorry,” Gus says to her. “I don’t want to die.”

  My dad laughs mechanically. “A thief and a fool.” He points the gun to Gus and shoots two rounds into his chest.

  Bang.

  Bang.

  Gus falls, blood streaming from his body to pool on the uneven floor. It snakes toward the girl. She stares blankly as tears flow freely from her eyes. She doesn’t make a sound. Not a gasp or a sob. Nothing.

  My dad’s eyes sparkle with bloodlust. His cheeks are rosy as his lips curl into a wicked grin. I hate this look. I saw it so much as a kid but couldn’t make sense of it. I wonder if I wear the same smile too, when I hurt people. I’m sure I do, and this realization makes me uncomfortable in my own skin.

  “Bleed the girl dry,” my father says to me. “You do it. Only you. Understand?”

  I meet his eyes but say nothing.

  “And there’s a wife, too?” my father asks.

  “Yes,” Yuri says.

  “Where is she?”

  “I haven’t located her yet,” he says.

  “Find her,” my father tells me. “If you can’t find the watch, kill the wife too.”

  The girl comes
alive then. “No!” she screams. She tries to stand and run for my father, but Trevor shoves her back down to the ground. Over and over, she tries to get up, and over and over, she’s forced back down.

  My dad lowers his weapon and laughs at the girl. He walks to the exit, leaving us with the sound of the woman’s sobs. I stare at his back, wanting to hurt him. He does shit like this on purpose—asks me to do things he knows I don’t want to do—because he wants to make me tougher, colder.

  I know my distaste for hurting this girl shows on my face, so it will be apparent to all the men in this run-down space. It’s like he’s goading me. A dare, in a sense. Do what needs to be done. Show them you can do it. Or prove you’re not worthy.

  My father’s car starts, and I hear the tires crunch on gravel as he drives away. I’m still staring at the girl, who’s silent once again, and somehow vacant as she stares at the lifeless body of her father.

  “Everyone but Yuri leave,” I say.

  I don’t have to tell Tommy twice. I hear his footsteps in the distance. Ritchie, Allan and Trevor, however… “We want to watch,” Allan says.

  I reach into the waistband of my pants and pull out my gun. I aim it at Allan’s head.

  “All right,” they say in unison, their hands up. They back away and eventually turn and leave with Ritchie following after them.

  I exhale quietly and sigh. Do what needs to be done. No matter what. I saunter over to the girl and crouch down closer to her. She looks at me, returning from wherever she retreated to in her mind. Something shifts in her. I see it in her eyes. A flash of something. A crease in her cut-up brow.

  “You don’t even remember me,” she says softly. I nod to Yuri to help her to her feet. She’s unsteady, but she manages. Next to her, I realize just how tiny she is. She barely comes up to my chest. She stares up at me with sadness, not hate, though she has every reason to hate me and everyone who was here tonight. I won’t bleed her out like my father said, but I will kill her because I have no other choice.

  “You have a scar on your left shoulder from a bullet wound,” she says. Her voice is quiet and delicate like a whisper.

  I tip my head to the side and scrutinize her further.

  “And you have a scar on the right side of your abdomen. You had your appendix out when you were a boy. I don’t remember the age. But I remember you told me you died and came back. Do you remember me now?”

  “You’re a liar like your father. Anyone could find that information out if they took the time to look.” But in my gut, I know this isn’t a trick. It’s all in her eyes.

  I tuck my gun into the back of my pants and reach out to her. She flinches but doesn’t stop me as I brush the hair away from her face. She’s so beaten and swollen, but her eyes…

  “ICU,” she says.

  I want to tell her to stop. I want to kill her before she makes this more difficult.

  “For five weeks I cared for you, and when you left, you sent white roses to my floor. I—”

  “Stop talking!” I scream at her. The less I have to explain to Yuri, or to anyone else, the better.

  I take a step back. Heart-shaped face, high cheekbones, and sparkling, blue topaz-coloured eyes… She looked like an angel when I first saw her. Those eyes… She looked at me like she could see into my soul. I steel myself. I refuse to let her tap into something inside of me that’s dormant. I feel for no one. No one! I hold the gun to her head, and she closes her eyes as if ready and willing to accept her fate.

  “Do it,” she says softly but with a bite to her tone. “Do it!”

  * * *

  The lights were blinding as the world around me came into focus. I thought I was in heaven. I was sure of it as I lay on my back with the face of an angel hovering over me. Brilliant eyes, porcelain skin, and a shy but sweet smile. “Welcome back,” the angel said. Her voice was soft and soothing. “You’re safe. Everything is going to be okay now.” Confused and disoriented, I didn’t panic. I believed her. I felt pain then. A sharp ache that seemed to run through me like it was in my blood, flowing through me like a fast-moving river. I felt that pain everywhere except in my hand—the hand that she held tight. It was tiny yet strong. She squeezed it just once as if to reassure me. And then I asked her, in a voice so hoarse it sounded foreign to me, “Are you an angel?”

  * * *

  “Fuck!” I scream into her face. My voice is so loud and forceful. It spreads through the open space like chemical spray, touching everything in its way. I grip her arm and stare into her eyes one last time before I push her away.

  “Maxim?” Yuri says.

  “I know.”

  “She’s a witness.”

  “I fucking know!”

  He sighs. Yuri is family, but he’s also my closest and most trusted friend. I value his friendship and his opinion more than any other. We grew up together and we’ve been through a lot of shit, me and him. He knows what’s at stake if I let her live. This will affect him, too. I have to kill her. Yet, I know he’ll have my back either way, even if he doesn’t understand.

  When I meet his concerned eyes, he shakes his head, knowing what I’m going to say before I say it.

  “Take her to my house. I’ll go to her father’s and get the watch.”

  He mutters something under his breath. “And then what, Max?”

  And then…? I have no idea.

  Chapter 3

  Luna: I reach for the door to my patient’s room and frown. Through the window, I spy two policemen on either side of Maxim’s bed, one with a notebook and pen in hand. Before Maxim woke from his coma, they were stationed outside, protecting him, but the moment he woke yesterday, they attacked him with questions and accusations.

  Feeling protective of my patient, I push open the door with a touch more force than is necessary. I clear my throat when they don’t look at me immediately. Three sets of eyes in the room focus on me. Maxim is scowling, but I’m pretty sure it’s directed at them and not at me. The police, on the other hand, smile warmly until I announce, “I think that’s enough for today.”

  Their friendly demeanour fades. “Ma’am, we have a lot of questions we need answers to.”

  “Well, this is an intensive care unit, and right now his health and well-being are my major concern. He needs to rest, and you’re upsetting him.”

  The tall cop on the right, the one with gray hair and a moustache, looks at Maxim’s vitals on the monitor behind him. I’ll admit they’re pretty damn good for someone who almost died from a bullet wound to the chest a few weeks ago, but he’s my patient, and I firmly believe they’re not helping his recovery. Clearly, he doesn’t want them around. Last night he even threatened to leave if they didn’t.

  “Now that you mention it, I am pretty tired,” Maxim says.

  The tall cop taps his pen to his notebook and narrows his eyes at Maxim. “I’ll guess we’ll be outside. But don’t worry. We’ll still be here for your statement when you’re ready.”

  “You’ll be waiting a while,” Maxim says.

  “Good thing we’re patient,” the short one says. He adjusts the front of his jacket and turns to the door. They both give him a look I can’t decipher before they quietly exit.

  I let out a sigh. Maxim’s sheets are down to his navel. I grab them and hike them up over his bare tattooed and scarred chest.

  “I’ve never had anyone tuck me in before,” he says.

  I chuckle at that. “It’s freezing in here. You must be cold.”

  “Not even a little.”

  “How are you feeling? Any pain?”

  “No, I’m fine. I think it’s just about time I got out of here.” He stares out the window of his door at the cops who now stand outside.

  When he was asleep, there was nothing threatening about him. Just a handsome man with an infamous name who was hurt and needed my help. Now? I don’t know. My coworkers told me stories about him and his family while he slept. None of them wanted to be his nurse. They were afraid of what might happen to t
hem if he died on their watch.

  I laughed at that and called them dramatic—right before I grabbed his chart. “I guess he’s mine then,” I said. Now he’s awake, I still don’t find him threatening—at least, not to me. He’s polite and complimentary, though I see darkness in his eyes. Literally and figuratively. They’re almost black. But I don’t fear him.

  I should.

  “You can’t leave,” I say. “You haven’t even gone to a step-down unit yet.”

  “You said I’m stuck here because there aren’t any single rooms available right now.”

  They won’t put him in a double room because of his police protection. “That might be so, but that doesn’t mean you’re well enough to leave the hospital so don’t even think about it.”

  “I told you, I feel fine.”

  “Oh. Well, if you’re fine then maybe you didn’t need me to rescue you from the police. Should I go get them?”

  He narrows his eyes at me but then quietly chuckles. As if musing to himself, he says, “Rescue me?”

  “That’s funny?”

  He nods. He leans his head back and rests it on his pillow. Then he fixes his gaze on me.

  “You’re staring,” I tell him.

  “You’re beautiful.”

  I scoff at that.

  “What would it take for you to go out with me?” he asks.

  When he woke yesterday, he asked me if I was an angel. Though I laughed it off, I took it as a compliment, especially since he told me I was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. I’m pretty sure he just likes my eyes. Everyone tells me how bright they are, although some find them scary and intense. I told him he was on drugs and he’d see me more clearly when they wore off. But when they wore off, he told me again. Right before he asked me out for the first time.

  “I already told you I can’t,” I say. “I’m your nurse.”

  “Not if I check myself out of here.”

  I sigh and shake my head at him, but I can’t help but smile. He’s the tall, dark, tanned stranger you fantasize about but would never touch. There’s darkness inside of him. A bad boy to the core. What is it about bad boys that make them so irresistible? I’m not a girl who needs to be rescued. His physical size and strength would be wasted on me, and yet…he makes me stir in all the right places. Not that I would ever act on them. Like I said, he’s my patient.