It’s depraved.
It’s immoral.
It’s dubious.
It’s perfect.
Just like her.
* * *
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. Three 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
