by PJ Vye
Mataio waved him away and continued toward his cell. He owed Kimbo Morrison nothing, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have something to pay. Prison life was all about hierarchy, and he was new here, so still very low on the ladder.
A letter from Samoa sat on the floor of his cell. It’d been opened, read and resealed by the guards. Letters from Sunny always got through security. She never wrote anything that might be considered a security breach.
He placed it beside his bed. He’d read it tonight, before the lights went out. He always let himself read her letters. He just never allowed himself to reply. Let him be tormented and tortured by the life he could have had, but not her. She deserved more. She deserved a life without him in it. The best way he could help her see that was to never reply. Never. Let her think he was dead. It was the only way.
Knowing he had a letter made his feet a little lighter. Even the threat of Kimbo Morrison didn’t seem too hard to bear. Sunny had stopped asking questions in her letters. Her anxiety, anger and fear no longer lined the pages. Now she wrote about her life, her jobs, the colour of the streets of Samoa, the smell of the beaches, the people. The houses without walls, the louver windows to let in the breeze. Air conditioning was for the tourists and the rich. It had taken her so long to get used to the pace of Samoan life. The heat. The rain that fell in great sheets one minute, then, like a flicked switch, the sun would appear as if nothing at all had happened. He imagined it through Sunny’s eyes and each page read like a magic release from his reality.
With an hour before he was due to start work in the kitchen, Mataio picked up a psychology text book and looked for a quiet spot by the north yard to sit in the sun. As he crossed between the buildings, Kimbo and two of his mates approached him from the front, right in the shadowed area where the cameras didn’t reach. As Mataio turned to move past, the men circled him.
Kimbo only had two months left on his sentence, so the move surprised Mataio. Any trouble—even small—might jeopardise Kimbo’s release.
Mataio slowly placed the text book on the ground, out of the way. He’d just begun the chapter on anger management techniques, and wanted to finish it. He liked this book and didn’t want it destroyed by whatever Kimbo had planned.
Mataio’s anger management skills weren’t ready to be tested just yet. He suspected if he fought back, he might not be able to stop. Which meant that if Kimbo and his mates wanted to mess him up, Mataio would get very messed up.
Chapter 4
Laurence watched as she took a seat near the door, not seeing him. He picked up his newspaper and moved to the seat opposite her. She avoided eye contact, probably regretting her decision to meet.
He gave her a generous smile and asked, “What would you like to drink?”
“Latte, thanks,” she said with a careful nod. She looked nervous, like he might steal her purse.
Once he’d ordered two large coffees, in takeaway cups so she could leave when she needed to, he sat back down. “Thanks for meeting me, Sunny.”
“Sure.” Her lips curled upward for a second then straightened quickly back to their original position.
He took a breath, unsure where to start.
Eventually she said, “I mentioned I only have ten minutes, right?”
“Sorry, yes.” He had trouble saying the words, and he couldn’t quite work out why. Maybe it was because, as soon as he said them, she’d hate him and walk away.
Maybe he didn’t need to tell her the whole story just yet. He’d tell her the bits that directly involved her and nothing more. The real story, he conceded, made him seem manic and eccentric and scared people away. This woman was already a flight risk. Best keep his story basic for now.
“Global Pharmaceuticals are releasing Mat’s diet pill in three months. The other larger pharmaceuticals will follow soon after that.”
She didn’t flinch. Even when the waiter delivered their coffee, she quietly wrapped her fingers around the cup and took a short sip, seemingly unaffected by his words.
“I need your help, Sunny.”
She suddenly looked drawn. “Mat and his diet pill have nothing to do with me.”
“I think they do.”
“How?”
“You lived with the family.”
“I’m a hotel masseuse in the mornings. I work the visitors’ centre in the afternoons and teach an English class on Saturdays. I’m raising a two-year-old and the only job I’m qualified for is playing the violin. How on earth do you think I can help you?”
“The diet pill—they’re calling it the BrinnThin on the black market. It’s just been approved for over-the-counter sale. I need to get that stopped.”
Her forehead creased. “Why do you want it stopped? It can’t be stopped. You can already buy it on the street. It’s out there. How can you possibly stop it? And why would you want to?”
He continued. “On the black market, it’s only the rich, stupid and connected who have access to it. Once it’s available to the general public, at any drug store or supermarket, the BrinnThin will be used en masse, worldwide.”
“What’s the problem?” She checked her watch again and frowned.
“I’m petitioning the government for an inquiry into the long-term effects of the drug.”
Sunny tapped her finger against the plastic rim of her cup, not answering.
“I know, it sounds a lot—”
“Who are you? Why is this your job?”
“I’m an investigative reporter, with The Conservator.”
She nodded, like the information resolved some issue in her head. “I gotta go,” she said, and stood.
“Will you help me?”
“How?” she said, and pulled her bag over her shoulder. “I don’t understand how I can help.”
“I want to prove the drug is dangerous.”
Sunny looked down at him as she pushed her chair loudly under the table. “You think it’s dangerous?”
“No, yes, maybe. I’d like to test Junior Euta. He was the first human to use the drug.”
“Why are you asking me? Talk to him.” She blinked at him a few times. “Wait. You did. Did he say no?”
Laurence shook his head quickly. “I’m seeing him tomorrow. I wanted to talk to you first.”
“Why?” She edged her way to the door.
He was losing her, and he doubted he’d get this chance again, so he blurted it out. “Because of your daughter.”
She stopped walking and pulled her bag viciously across her shoulder. “How does she have anything to do with this?”
“Junior is her father, right?”
Sunny’s open mouth closed, then opened again. “I still don’t understand.”
“If I can find any reason the drug is unstable or dangerous—”
“You want to test her?”
“Yes.”
“Who told you Junior was her father?”
“I asked around.”
“Who?”
“People.”
She stared at him a second, then turned and walked toward the door. “Please don’t bother us again.”
Laurence hurried after her. The heaviness of the humidity outside made him sweat in an instant. “Are you saying Junior isn’t her father?”
“I’m not talking to you.” She half-ran toward the beach road then turned left at the junction. The smell of pork on open fires near the market hung in the air and the coffee in his belly turned unfavourably as he tried to keep up with her. The bus stop had a brightly painted red bench and a pitched roof that wouldn’t do much of a job keeping the rain out. His shirt dripped with sweat by the time they reached the stop and when she sat down to wait, he sat beside her. She turned her back and took out her phone.
He needed an angle. Something to get her on his side. “I can pay you.”
She ignored him.
“You’re a musician. I can get you a job you actually like.”
Nothing.
“Don’t you feel any obligation to uncover th
e truth?”
Silence.
There had to be something. “I visited Mataio Brinn in prison a week ago.”
Her body didn’t move, but her eyes gently closed.
He had her. “I know why Mataio killed La’ei.”
to be continued….
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Released 1st September 2021
PJ Vye
(spoiler alert)
Hello there my friend,
Do you hate me now?
I know you do.
We all want a happy ever after. Put your hand up if you like your romance to be resolved EVERY SINGLE TIME YOU READ A BOOK?
We want everything to be okay in our fictional romance world. But sometimes things aren’t always as they seem.
Didn’t you just hate it when Katniss denied her feelings for Pete at the end of the first Hunger Games? And did you endure all the books in the Potter series, not because you wanted to see who defeated Voldemort, but because you wanted to see if Harry ended up with Ginny?
I know you want a happy ending. I get it. Truly I do. But I wanted to explore how much we could love a character and be disappointed in them at the same time. How many lives did Mataio have to save in order to atone for the one he took?
I love it when you read my stuff. You’re the best. I love you.
I’m sorry if I disappointed you with this one. Let me make it up to you with the next. Read the sequel. Then if you still hate me, I’ll give you the next book for free. Any PJ Vye book you want. It’s yours. Just ask. Deal?
Go to my website at www.pjvye.com/subscribe to subscribe to my newsletter or www.pjvye.com to contact me or find links to my other books.
I’d be so happy to hear from you. Write a review if you like, or drop me an email and say hi. Tell me what you think. I can take it. I have thick(ish) skin. No, I don’t. I’m lying. I'll cry like a baby.
But I'd rather you read it and hate it than not read it at all. I'm a masochist like that.
From your new best-est friend,
PJ x
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My other books…
Make Me Famous (a rise to fame romance)
I Bury Dead People (a cosy mystery romantic comedy)
The Hermit Next Door (rise to fame romance)
Acknowledgments
The first two people I pitched this idea to ten years ago, told me it was a terrible premise and I shouldn’t write it. And I’m grateful. It made me more aware (I hope) of the issues and sensitivities required to write this story.
To Mellisa Silaga for the guided tour of Samoa, for introducing my friends to your family and giving me such an insight into Samoan life. Thank you for all you do in our community. Thank you for the sensitivity read, and for your generous encouragement and support of the work. Bless you.
