Stolen Life

by Charmaine Pauls

  His smile turns a little sadder. “You deserved good parents. I’m happy you had them.”

  “What about yours? Are they still alive?”

  He turns his face toward the window. From the short hesitation, it’s obvious he doesn’t like to talk about it, but he tells me, “My father died of TB, and my mother died of flu the year after.”

  “I’m sorry too.”

  “The sad thing is,” he looks back at me, “I’m not.”

  I’m not sure what to say to that, but the waiter arrives with our food, saving me from an appropriate reply.

  Ian asks for a slice of lemon for my water. I’m no longer surprised he paid attention to how I was drinking it at the casino.

  Being starved, I attack my food the moment he lets go of my hand under the table. As he promised, the gnocchi is delicious. We eat in silence, and when the waiter clears our plates, he takes something from his pocket and slides it over the table.

  My phone.

  I stare at the phone for a couple of beats, scared he’ll snatch it away if I try to take it like in those horrible jokes people make.

  “It’s yours,” he says. “Take it.”

  Still uncertain, I pick up the phone and unlock the screen.

  “I want you to be able to get ahold of me if you need me.”

  I stare at him. “You trust me?”

  “I wouldn’t call it trust yet. That’s why the only number you can dial for the moment is mine.”

  My mind trips over for the moment and gets stuck on mine. Just like that, the afternoon goes from amiable to disagreeable. I’m angry all over again, too angry to be grateful for the small concession of having my phone with one dialable number.

  I tighten my fingers around the casing and say in a bitchy tone, “Why bother at all?”

  He narrows his eyes. “You didn’t listen to me. One, I said I want you to be able to call me whenever you need, and two, I said for the moment. If you prove yourself trustworthy, I’ll extend your calling rights.”

  I stand. “I’m not a goddamn child.”

  The other diners turn their heads to look at us.

  In a blink, Ian is on his feet and in my space. “Then don’t make me treat you like one.”

  To accuse me of being childish when he kidnapped me and keeps me against my will is a low blow. The unrighteousness makes me shiver with anger. “I may like your skills in bed, but don’t expect me to jump whenever you say so.”

  The softness from earlier is gone. His eyes turn hard like tiger-eye gemstones as he grabs my face in a big hand and draws me so close I have to crane my neck to meet his stony gaze.

  His voice is low and loaded with warning. “Do you know why I own the people in this town?”

  “Because you throw money at them?” I taunt.

  He gives me a cold smile. “Because they fear me.”

  His words have the desired effect. They spark fear, because I recognize the truth when I hear it. My silence appeases him. After a second, he sets me aside and releases his tight grip on my cheeks. He straightens my T-shirt and takes my hand, leading me to the door under the burning stares of the staff and guests.

  “Put it on my tab,” he calls to the waiter.

  The man nods a few times. “Yes, sir.”

  Ian was right. Again. As we make our way across the lobby, every person we pass averts his eyes in fear.

  Chapter 7

  Cas

  Arriving back at the lodge, I’m tired. My heart is telling me it’s not happy with my outbursts. Anger and other explosive emotions always put too much strain on that muscle. It’s having a hard time pumping blood through my body, which means there’s less oxygen reaching my cells, hence the sudden lethargy.

  My legs cave a little when Ian helps me from the Jeep.

  He catches me around the waist. “Hey, are you okay?”

  I smile like it’s nothing. I hate making a big deal out of my weakness. “Just a little tired.”

  He pushes two fingers on my wrist.

  “It’s nothing,” I say, trying to pull away.

  Ignoring my protest, he scoops me up into his arms and carries me inside.

  “Ian, I said it’s nothing.”

  He brings me into the office and lowers me onto the sofa. “You need to rest.”

  I don’t argue, because I’m not capable of much else anyway.

  He covers me with a throw and stands over me with furrowed eyebrows, but my eyes are already drawing closed.

  When I wake up, it’s dark. A lamp burns on the desk. I’m alone in the office. The door is closed, probably so that I wouldn’t be disturbed. I throw the cover aside and sit up.

  I’m dressed, but minus my hiking shoes. Ian must’ve removed them. A glass of water stands on the side table and a cute pillbox shaped like an apple next to it. I look around for a clock to tell the time. In my dizzy spell, I forget my phone in the Jeep. Ian wouldn’t have left my pills if it was too early to take them. I swallow them with the water and look around for my shoes. They’re neatly arranged next to the sofa.

  After pulling them on, I open the door and step into the quiet reception hall. One lamp burns in a far corner, casting just enough light for me to find my way.

  Voices drift from outside. The sharp smell of a wood fire hangs in the air. I pad over the floor and stop at the sliding doors giving access to the deck. The three men sit in camping chairs around a bonfire that burns orange against the black backdrop of the night. Sparks shoot up like fireflies. The stars are so plentiful it looks like someone dropped glitter over the sky.

  As if sensing my presence, Ian looks up. Our eyes lock. His lips tilt ever so slightly, wordlessly inviting me over. I make my way down the steps and over the lawn. Both Leon and Ruben turn their heads in my direction. They stop talking. An awkward silence follows. A vacant chair stands next to Ian, but when I reach them, he pulls me into his lap.

  He folds his arms around me and nuzzles my temple. “Feeling better?”

  Leon is suddenly engrossed in the fire, and Ruben is very interested in stargazing.

  “Yes,” I say, self-conscious about his friends’ reactions to Ian’s open show of affection.

  Ruben fetches dishes from a camping table that he carries to a barbecue with glowing coals. He throws a few steaks and a halved butternut on the grill. The meat sizzles as marinade drips onto the coals. A smell of barbecue sauce lifts above the smoke with the turn of the breeze.

  Leon pours rum and Coke for the men and surprises me by handing me a glass of wine.

  “Thanks,” I say, now also uncomfortable knowing they were waiting for me to wake up to have dinner.

  “What time is it?” I ask Ian.

  He drags his nose over my neck and inhales. “Close to eight. Did you take your pills?”

  “Yes.”

  He hugs me tighter. “Cold?”

  “No.”

  We sip our drinks, watching the fire as the food grills. The conversation that died at my arrival doesn’t resume. I suppose they were talking about subjects I’m not supposed to hear, such as their next heist or how to launder their stolen money. My stomach clenches at the thought.

  When the food is ready, Leon lights a paraffin lamp on the table while Ian puts me on my feet and carries over the chairs. Ruben places the meat on the table and removes the clingwrap from grated carrot and potato salads. He unfolds a teacloth to reveal a steaming maize loaf.

  Ian seats me and places a napkin in my lap before serving me.

  Leon, who sits on the opposite side of the table, leans over and sniffs the butternut. “What’s that?”

  “Stuffed butternut,” Ian says.

  Leon makes a face. “It doesn’t look appetizing.”

  I cut into the meaty part and scoop up a portion of stuffing. Flavors of grilled sweet pepper, onion, garlic, and feta cheese create a delicious blend with the butternut. Hints of nutmeg and thyme linger on my tongue. Pine nuts add a crunchy texture.

  “It’s delicious,” I ensure
Leon. “My compliments to Shona.”

  “Ian made it,” Leon says.

  I glance at Ian in surprise. It’s not his cooking skills that catch me off guard. It’s his consideration.

  “Thank you,” I say, touched by his effort.

  His smile is warm. “You’re welcome.”

  The conversation flows with difficulty. The men aren’t used to small talk, and since they can’t discuss business in front of me, there’s not much to say.

  At the end of the meal, Leon pushes to his feet. “I’m going for a shower, and then I’m heading out. I need to get laid.”

  I’m not a prude, but the blatant declaration makes my cheeks heat.

  Ruben follows suit. “About time. The usual place?”

  “Let’s round up in twenty minutes.” Leon looks at Ian. “You coming?”

  Every muscle in my body tenses. The idea of Ian fucking someone else while he’s fucking me makes me want to be sick. I try not to show how the notion affects me, but I’m tighter than a canvas stretched over a frame as I hold my breath while waiting for his answer.

  Ian throws an arm around my shoulder. “Maybe some other time.”

  Some other time? That’s the worst answer ever.

  From the look on his face, Leon doesn’t like the answer either, but I’m guessing not for the same reason as me. He’s unhappy that his brother isn’t joining them. He hovers for a second before he says in a blasé way clearly designed to disguise his disappointment, “Suit yourself.”

  When Ian doesn’t react, Leon takes a rifle leaning on the trunk of the tree and saunters off toward the footpath. Ruben flashes me with a smile that seems anything but friendly as he grabs a second rifle and follows.

  I don’t look at Ian when I say, “Don’t let me hold you back.”

  He draws circles on my shoulder with his thumb. There’s humor in his tone. “You want me to go?”

  I cross my arms. “You’re free to do as you please.”

  Leaning closer, he plants a kiss on my neck. “Jealous?”

  No is on the tip of my tongue, but I’ve made a vow to hold onto my truth, at least as much as possible. The only answer I can give him is silence.

  “Don’t be such a spitfire,” he says. “You can admit to being jealous. I won’t hold it against you. I’ve never considered possessiveness as a nasty trait. As a matter of fact, I’d be flattered.”

  I fix him with a stare. “Go to hell.”

  “You’re right about one thing, baby doll. I am free to do as I please, and what will please me tonight is giving that mouth of yours something better to do than sassing me.”

  I’m on my feet before he can say more. Irrational anger throbs in my throat. I have no right to stake a claim on him. He never said this thing between us is exclusive. We’re not in a relationship. I don’t even want to be. I just idiotically assumed he wouldn’t touch another woman while he’s fooling around with me. Have I been wrong?

  I grab a few empty dishes and escape his presence by carrying them to the kitchen, ignoring the pain in my ankle when I put my full weight on it. He whistles as he follows, his arms loaded with plates and bowls. He lets me stew in silence as we rinse the dishes and pack the dishwasher. By the time we’re done, Leon and Ruben walk into the kitchen.

  I do a double take. Leaning on the counter, I can’t help but stare. Both men are dressed in suits. They look like they’re going to a fancy, ten-thousand-rand-a-head event. Ruben is wearing a dark suit with a silver tie, and Leon’s blue suit is cut to the latest European fashion with a fitting jacket and skinny pants. They smell of expensive cologne, and they’ve shaved. Leon’s dark hair is brushed back, and Ruben’s curls are tamed.

  “Don’t wait up, kids,” Leon says, throwing a set of keys in the air and catching it.

  “You’ve got protection?” Ian asks.

  I assume he’s not referring to condoms.

  Ruben pulls away his jacket to show the gun in his waistband.

  On their way out, Ruben winks as he catches my eye. I look away, not caring to interpret that gesture. He seems set on getting a rise out of me.

  Ian takes a flashlight from the shelf and turns off the kitchen light. I wait on the deck while he switches off the lamps and locks up. He kills the fire and pours water over the coals. After taking the last rifle leaning against the tree, he aims the flashlight at the path and motions for me follow. He points the light to the left and right as we walk, scouting for wild animals and snakes.

  At his bungalow, he checks the interior before letting me in and locks the rifle in a safe in his closet. He pockets the key and unbuckles his belt.

  “Come here,” he says, crooking his finger at me.

  I do no such thing.

  I turn for the bathroom. I haven’t even reached the door before he’s behind me. Gripping me around the waist, he turns me around and pushes me against the wood. It happens so fast, I have to grab his shoulders to keep my balance. The man staring at me is not the kind lover or the man everyone fears. Right now, he’s a mixture of the two, and my body reacts to both sides of him. I’m simultaneously frightened and turned on.

  He stares down at me as if he’s about to rip me to pieces, yet his voice is soft. “If you want us to be exclusive, you only have to say so.”

  I won’t say it. In my book it goes without saying. I don’t want to say it. I don’t want to have to ask. I’ve got nothing against open relationships. They’re just not my thing. Yes, I love sex, and I need a lot of sex to be satisfied, but I don’t sleep with just anyone. When I do, I consider my acts of passion sacred, no matter how perverse or twisted. If exclusivity isn’t a natural, mutual desire, he’s not worth it.

  Anyway, “It’s not like we’re in a relationship.”

  He searches my eyes. “We could be.”

  I can’t even go there. Rationally, I understand I have no right to be jealous if I’m not prepared to be in a relationship with him, but it’s a matter of heart versus mind. My heart can’t accept that he’d fuck someone else, and my mind can’t accept we’re even talking about a relationship when I’m a bird caught in his cage. He’ll take me out and parade me around when the situation suits him, but he’ll keep my wings clipped to ensure I can’t fly away. Even the animals on his farm have more freedom than me. At least they’re allowed to roam around.

  He drags his palms up my sides under the T-shirt, burning a path over my skin. “It’s not in your interest to be hardheaded, Cas. It’s not going to win you anything. You’ve got to fight at least a little for what you want.”

  I slam my palms down hard, pushing him away. “What do you know about me, huh?” My voice escalates with anger. “I’ve fought for all my goddamn life.”

  I’ve fought to live from the day I was born. It’s been an ongoing battle. I’ve fought for acceptance, for not being hated by women like Mariette and judged by men like my ex-boyfriends for my healthy sex appetite. I’ve fought to not lose the farm and lost it anyway. I’ve fought not to be a prisoner, and here I am. I didn’t ask for any of it.

  I shove him again, harder this time. “Get away from me.”

  As I make to duck under his arm, he grabs my biceps and backs me up to the door.

  “That’s not what I meant,” he grits out.

  I turn my head away. “I don’t care what you meant.”

  Gripping my chin, he forces me to face him. “You do care. Say it.”

  “In your dreams.”

  He shakes me softly. “Why is this so damn hard for you to admit?”

  “If it’s so easy, go ahead. Tell me you care.”

  He drags a thumb over my lips, following the action with his gaze. “You wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

  “No,” I whisper. “I’d be free.”

  “You’d be in prison,” he says with a tight jaw. “That’s not an option I’ll ever allow.”

  “No?” I give a wry laugh. “This is just a different kind of prison.”

  “Fuck.” He lets me go and kicks t
he door so hard it rattles in the frame.

  I give a start, moving sideways and flattening myself against the wood until the handle digs into my back.

  He tilts his face to the ceiling and drags both hands over his head. When he looks back at me, his expression is cool and his composure controlled. “You’re right. I have no right to make demands on you.”

  Reaching around me, he grips the handle and opens the door. I barely have time to step out of his way before he disappears through the frame. He shuts the door behind him with a bang, leaving me in the awful silence of his room.

  Chapter 8

  Ian

  What did I expect? I can’t force Cas to admit things she isn’t ready to face. I’m angry with her. Unjustifiably so, but still too angry to be around her. It’s not her fault she’s in this situation. It’s mine. I knew from the start the kind of blame I’d have to carry, and I’m as prepared to do it now as what I’ve been from the start. I just hoped she’d give me something. A voice deep inside says she’s already given me her body, but I’m a greedy bastard. I want her heart, and when I have that, I’ll want a piece of her soul. It will never be enough. I can never have enough of her.

  Even if her obstinance annoys the fuck out of me, I like the fire in her. She’s quick to lose her temper, but I have patience. Normally, I wouldn’t have lost my cool, but that scrap of a pretty human does things to me that make me forget myself. She makes me lose my goddamn mind.

  I’m halfway down the path when I realize I didn’t take a light or a gun. Fuck. Tough luck. I’m already at the bridge anyway.

  I still have the keys to the main building in my pocket. When I get there, I unlock and go to the office. The catalog I ordered for Cas lies on the desk with the rest of the mail. In a futile effort not to let my mind linger on the woman who’s the cause of my anger, I push the catalog aside. I pour a scotch and pop a cigar in my mouth, but the alcohol isn’t enough to settle my restlessness. To distract myself, I spend the better part of the night going over the plans we’ve already perfected. The painting we’re planning on stealing from an upmarket museum in Cape Town is worth a few million. The stealing isn’t the tricky part. It’s securing a buyer.