Stolen Lust

by Charmaine Pauls

  “I don’t even know him,” she says, getting more hysterical by the moment.

  For her sake, I force calm into my tone. “You can trust him.”

  “Ian, I—”

  I stop next to the table and drop my bag to the floor. “Go. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Cutting the call, I dial the pilot and say to Leon while I wait for the call to connect, “I’ll be gone until tonight. Keep the fort.” I look at Ruben. He was planning on spending a few days in Mozambique. “Both of you stay here.”

  “What’s going on?” Leon asks.

  Ruben plants his knife and fork in his fists next to his plate, scrutinizing me with his habitual expressionless face.

  “The cops dealt Cas the accomplice card.”

  Leon’s jaw bunches.

  The call connects.

  Both my brother and Ruben watch me as I ask the pilot, “Where are you?”

  “I’m still at the hotel.”

  Meaning his usual hangout, the Elephant Hills next door. “Airport. Now.”

  “I’ll be there in twenty.”

  I end the call and shove the phone into my pocket.

  “What now, Ian?” Leon asks, taking his napkin from his lap and dumping it next to his plate.

  “Now I go get her,” I grit out. “What fucking else?”

  “She’s a risk, man,” Ruben says.

  Leon gets to his feet. “You’re not seriously bringing her here?”

  “This is the safest place to bring her.” We’re upgrading our security system with the state-of-the-art equipment he ordered yesterday.

  Leon pushes into my space. “You said it was over.”

  “What do you expect me to do?” I ask, uttering a sound close to a growl.

  “Let them arrest her.”

  The ringing in my ears turn louder. “What did you fucking say?”

  “She’ll spend a few years in prison. So what?”

  “So what?” I’m on him before he can blink, grabbing his T-shirt in my fist.

  Ruben jumps up and grabs my arms from behind. Wataida looks on from where he’s raking the path, but he doesn’t interfere.

  “She’s a good girl,” Leon taunts. “They’ll probably let her out after five years for good behavior.”

  I see red. Not even Ruben is enough to hold me back. Yanking free, I swing an arm through the air and plant my fist in Leon’s face. He stumbles into the table, making the water jug fall over.

  Shona runs from the kitchen with a dishcloth in her hand. “Aikona!” Her eyes are round, the whites large. “Stop it.” She swats at me with the dishcloth. “What’s with the fighting?”

  I stab my finger on Leon’s chest. “I fucked up her life. I’m not throwing her to the wolves.”

  “Wait,” Ruben says. “Ian is right. Think about it, Leon. What if she testifies against him? It’s better that he brings her here where we can keep an eye on her.”

  A trickle of blood runs from Leon’s nose. He wipes it away with the back of his hand. “That’s a fucking stupid plan. You can’t lock her up here forever.”

  Shaking out my fist, I say, “I’ll keep her as long as I have to.”

  “And what?” Leon asks with a snide smile. “Hope you can sway her?”

  “I don’t need to sway her,” I grit out.

  “So you’ll just keep her,” he says.

  As simple as that.

  At my level look, Leon glares at me. “You’re fucked in the head.”

  Ruben takes his arm. “Come on, bro. You know Ian is right. The longer we leave her out there, the more we risk.”

  “They already know my identity.” They need to know this. My identity can lead the cops to discovering Leon’s identity. The feds will put two and two together soon enough.

  Leon jerks away from Ruben and flails his arms in the air. “What?”

  “They have pictures,” I say. “Of Cas and me.”

  “Jesus.” Ruben spears his fingers through his hair.

  I clench my teeth when I think about another man looking at Cas’s naked body. “The motherfuckers must’ve followed us.”

  “Because you were stupid enough to go back,” Leon says, his voice escalating in volume.

  “Boys.” Shona props her hands on her hips. “Cut it out. Fighting has never solved any problems.”

  I spare her a glance. “Tell the men to be extra careful around the settlement. I want the perimeters patrolled.”

  “Yes, Baba.” She looks between us. “Can I go back to my baking now or are you going to kill each other?”

  When no one moves, she goes back to the kitchen with a tsk of her tongue.

  Leon’s nostrils flare. “If they got DNA, they’ll connect you to the crime scene. They’ll issue a warrant for your arrest.”

  “They may follow you back here even if you take precautions,” Ruben says. “There are all kinds of ways these days. Drones. Satellites.”

  A possibility I’ve already considered. “They don’t have jurisdiction in Zim.”

  Ruben scratches his chin. “They’ll put pressure on the government to deport you.”

  “It’s not going to happen.” Not while we have the right people in government in our pockets and we own the local law enforcement agencies.

  “Fuck.” Leon tilts his face to the sky. “Damn you, Ian.”

  “I’ll be back by nightfall.” Grabbing my bag, I make my way to the front.

  “Ian,” Leon calls after me.

  I stop.

  “Be careful,” he says to my back. “Don’t fuck up over a woman.”

  Too late.

  Walking through the door, I leave to kidnap my girl for a third time.

  Chapter 17

  Cas

  Ian hung up on me. I stare at the phone in my hand. He’s on his way. To do what? To rescue me? To silence me for once and all?

  Shit.

  I turn off the water in the shower and flop down on the lid of the toilet. The steamy air of the bathroom is thick in my lungs. I drag in the humidity, trying to calm myself. Absent-mindedly, I turn the copper bracelet around my wrist. My skin has reacted to the metal. The copper has left a dark ring. It’s greenish-black, like the dirty task Wolfe wants me to do. The bracelet isn’t less constraining than a handcuff, and I feel it like a noose around my neck.

  I don’t want to go to prison for murder, and I don’t want to spy on Ian. If I don’t do what Wolfe wants, he’ll come at me with everything he’s got. He’ll make sure I end up behind bars for a very long time. If I do what he wants, Ian will kill me when he finds out. It’s an impossible choice. Once more, I’m stretched thin between two possibilities, and both of them feel wrong.

  Suddenly, it hits me. When the air expands in my lungs and I find the first semblance of calm after my breakdown, I know what I have to do.

  I need to run.

  I have to get as far away from the law and Ian as I can. Already, as I jump into action, throwing out all the perishable food and carrying the trash to the big waste bins downstairs, I work out the details in my mind. I need a vehicle. I need a false identity and some cash.

  Going over different scenarios in my head, I change into a pair of jeans, a T-shirt, and my leather jacket before lacing up my hiking shoes. I work fast, taking no more than a change of clothes, a few necessary toiletries, and my handbag.

  Before dropping the phone into my bag, I make sure the geotracking is deactivated. I don’t want Ian or the cops to trace me that way. At the dresser, I pause to pick up the frame with the photo of my parents. I’m neither a sentimentalist nor a hoarder, but I’m worried my memory may fail me one day. I’m worried their faces will fade and I won’t recall the soft laugh lines around my mom’s eyes or the way my dad tried not to smile while being stern with me.

  My fingers tremble when I remove the clips on the backing and take the photo from the frame. After sliding it into my wallet, I take a last look around. There’s nothing else of importance to me. No plants and no pets. No valuables. After mom and
dad’s deaths, I made sure nothing came close to me. I’ve succeeded in not attaching myself to anything.

  Having a plan keeps me calm. Having direction strengthens me. I fit my backpack and throw the strap of my handbag diagonally over my chest. Mrs. Steyn watches me through her kitchen window as I lock up and go downstairs. The man waits next to the bike with a spare helmet in his hand. It’s the same man from earlier, the one who followed me. He starts the bike while I fit the helmet. I’ve barely swung my leg over the back before he takes off.

  I don’t hold onto him but rather grip the seat, trying to touch him as little as possible. He sticks to the speed limit as we cross town. Every now and then, I glance back, but there’s no car following behind us. Wolfe doesn’t need to have me followed. The bracelet is doing the job for him.

  After crossing the railway lines, the man takes the highway and heads south-east. I don’t have a choice but to wrap my arms around him for purchase when he speeds up. My heart beats between my ribs as the wind whips past my face. He looks at me from over his shoulder, a wordless question asking if I’m doing okay, and I nod.

  Signboards for Pretoria flash overhead. Good. It will be easier to disappear in a big city. Eventually, I could make my way toward Botswana or Namibia and cross the border. I could find a piece of land in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of the unpopulated semi-dessert, and live off the land. I know how to do that. I know how to survive with only the resources of nature.

  When we near a big gas station with a restaurant and store outside Pretoria, I tap the man’s shoulder.

  “Bathroom,” I say over the noise of the engine and the wind.

  He flicks on the indicator and takes the exit for the gas station. The toilets are on the side of the building. He parks in front of the toilets and cuts the engine. My legs are stiff when I get off the bike. It takes me a moment to find my balance. He’s taken off his helmet by the time I finally get my legs to work.

  “Two minutes,” he says, cocking his head toward the ladies’ side.

  “Five. I’m desperate.”

  His eyes are a light-green color. Somehow, the lighter hue seems more piercing, but I hold his gaze even if it feels as if he sees right through the lie.

  He holds out a hand. “Give me your helmet.”

  I unclasp the helmet and hand it to him.

  He leaves it on the backseat. “Want me to hold your bag?”

  “I’m good,” I say, shaking out my matted hair as I make my way to the bathroom.

  There’s a queue inside. I don’t fall in line but go to the basin and scan the waiting women as I wash my hands and splash cold water on my face.

  A teenage girl with earphones browses her phone. Behind her, a woman with a tight T-shirt and sweat staining her armpits dabs her face with a tissue. A posh-looking woman with high heels types furiously on her phone. In the corner, a cleaning lady in blue overalls sits on an overturned bucket next to a table.

  A mother exits the disabled toilet with a baby on her hip and a girl in hand. The cleaning lady gets up, grabs a rag and a spray bottle of disinfectant, and enters the toilet the trio has vacated.

  The girl must be about ten years old. I win some more time in front of the mirror by brushing out my hair with my fingers and going through my bag for an elastic. When I find one, I tie my hair into a ponytail. The mother is balancing the baby on the edge of the vanity while the girl is washing her hands. I sneak a look at the girl and wink.

  She smiles. “You have pretty hair.”

  “Thank you.” I return her smile. “So do you.”

  “Hurry up, Maddie,” her mother says, wetting a paper towel and cleaning something orange on the baby’s face.

  The cleaner exits and motions for the teenager to go ahead. The teenager enters the toilet and locks the door while the cleaner goes back to her table.

  The girl next to me grabs a paper towel to dry her hands. “Bye.” She waves at me as she follows her mother to the door.

  A wooden bowl filled with coins stands on the table. The mother goes through her bag and digs out a coin that she drops into the bowl as they leave.

  I go over. “I’m so sorry,” I say to the cleaning lady, “but I have no coins on me.” Wiggling the bracelet from my wrist, I hold it to her. “Here. Take this.”

  She looks up, surprised. “I can’t.”

  “No, please.” I take her hand and slip the bracelet over. “It’s to make up for the tip.”

  She turns her wrist from side to side, admiring the bracelet. “I suppose, if you insist.”

  As long as she keeps the bracelet on, it will send out a signal of vitals and location to Wolfe. In the event that she removes it or he becomes suspicious, the worst that will happen to her when Wolfe finds her is being interrogated.

  I flash her a smile and dash outside. The man is standing next to the bike, looking tense.

  “I’m going to grab a bottle of water,” I say, pointing at the vending machine in front of the store. “I need to take my pills.”

  He narrows one eye and follows my progress with his gaze. Blocking his view with my back, I punch in the code for the water and give it a moment before I curse and shake the machine. I throw my arms in the air and walk back.

  “The machine took my money,” I say.

  “Go inside and buy some at the counter.”

  I lean my ass on the backseat of the bike. “That was my last twenty. I want my water and my change.”

  He digs a bill from his back pocket and hands it to me.

  I shake my head. “I’m not taking your money.”

  Cursing under his breath, he stalks to the store.

  The minute the door closes behind him, I pull on the helmet and hop onto the bike. Like most bikes these days, this one works with a starter button. The engine roars to life. My heart is pumping so wildly its echoes in my ears. I don’t look back. I’m too scared he’s right behind me, ready to put a bullet in my back.

  Popping the clutch, I pull off with squealing tires. An attendant jumps out of the way as I drive upstream past the gas pumps. It’s only when I reach the highway that I dare to glance back.

  The man is running across the parking lot, his arms pumping at his sides. I rev the engine and floor the gas. Ian will be looking for me. The man is probably already on his phone to tell Ian I’ve stolen his bike. At least the cops will be fooled for a while, hopefully, long enough to give me time to disappear. Once in Pretoria, I’ll find someone who can sell me a false ID. I hung out with some shady people in high school. One of the guys used to frequent a bar in Pretoria where all kinds of products were sold, ranging from prescription drugs to falsified records.

  I’d have to get rid of the bike, but for now, I have time. Even if the man steals a car at the gas station, he’s not going to catch up with me, not at the speed I’m driving.

  Drivers honk as I pass between cars on the white line, but I don’t slow down. I’m a good driver. My whole body vibrates with fear, but I don’t acknowledge it. I focus on speed and distance, on how fast I need to ride to overtake the truck on the shoulder of the road before the tarmac gives way to gravel. I put all my energy into getting to Pretoria alive. I’ll worry about the rest when I get there.

  I’m buzzing with adrenaline when I finally pass the correctional services buildings and head toward the more upmarket east side of town. At the Menlyn Shopping Mall, I park the bike underground and fasten the helmet to the handle. From there, I make my way upstairs to the mall and go straight to the banking section. I won’t be on any wanted lists yet, but I may be soon. For now, I don’t have to hide from the surveillance cameras.

  At the self-service ATM, I type in the offshore account number and pin and make a withdrawal of five thousand rand. I wasn’t going to use Ian’s money, but if I’m to survive, I don’t have a choice.

  Pocketing the cash, I go back to the parking, but I don’t take the bike. I go to the section where the taxis are parked and pay a driver to take me to a nearby hotel. The are
a is expensive, but cheap means dangerous. After booking in, I go to the room and lock the door behind me. I lean against the wood, the backpack buffering me, and sink to my knees as my legs give out.

  Finally, fear catches up with me. Behind the meagre protection of the door, I give in to the shaking. My teeth chatter, and my hands tremble. I peel my arms from the straps of the backpack and jerk the strap of my handbag over my head. I let the tremors rack me for all of a minute before taking a deep breath and pushing to my feet.

  Forcing calm, I strip and have a cool shower. I dress in the clean change of clothes, wash the dirty ones with the hotel shower gel in the basin, and hang them in front of the fan to dry.

  My stomach grumbles. A pang of hunger reminds me I haven’t eaten since breakfast, and it’s late afternoon already. I order a toasted tomato and cheese sandwich with fries from room service and throw in a Coke for good measure. I need all the sugar energy I can get. Once again, I eat on Ian’s charity, but I refuse to think about it.

  It’s only five, and the bar doesn’t open until seven. I should get some rest, but I’m too strung out to sleep, so I switch on the television. Nick’s brutal killing is all over the news. It’s the first time, as far as police know, that the Phantom gang has committed a murder during a robbery. The murder has bumped them up from the most notorious and wanted gang to the most hunted in the country. Police say they won’t stop until the perpetrators are caught and justice is served. The gang’s followers, people who dedicate themselves to making a study of the heists, are divided. Some sickeningly idolize the killing while others condemn it.

  Unable to watch any longer, I switch off the television and grab my handbag. It’s time to hit the bar and buy myself a new identity before I vanish forever.

  Chapter 18

  Ian

  When we land at the Wonderboom Airport, I look around as I climb from the Cessna, but no Cas or Walter is waiting on the tarmac.

  Fuck.

  I switch on my phone. The screen lights up with notifications—six missed calls and a text message.