Bad

by LP Lovell

  I am living my dream, but that doesn’t mean this is easy. I feel like every life lost takes a part of my soul with it. I worry that there will come a day when it no longer affects me, when it no longer hurts. I am terrified of not feeling this pain, of feeling nothing, because the day I can watch someone die and not feel a thing means I no longer have a soul. I’m terrified of becoming a monster.

  I turn my back on the dead man. The frantic desperation that filled the room moments ago is now replaced by a resigned calm. Doctors and nurses remove equipment as a sheet is pulled over the man’s face. Pushing through the doors of the operating theatre, I head for the locker room. As my adrenalin drops, my legs start to feel like lead. I’m exhausted. When I reach the locker room, I take a minute to collect myself. That was a rough night.

  I yank my bloodied scrubs off and throw them in the laundry bin before I pull on my jeans and a hoodie. I grab my handbag and check my phone, which has three missed calls from my sister. I swear she doesn’t understand the concept of twelve-hour shifts. I send her a quick text saying that I’ll call her in the morning. I’m almost out the hospital doors. I can practically hear little angels singing as I catch a glimpse of the outside world. I’m so close.

  “Ria!”

  At the sound of my name, I freeze. Damn it. I turn around and meet the smiling face of my boyfriend, Euan. He has that perfect smile coupled with wavy blond hair and bright blue eyes.

  Euan is a surgery resident. His father is the Chief of Surgery here at the University hospital. Let’s just say, he’s guaranteed a good job when he completes his residency. He is the typical American ideal of perfection. He’s everything a girl is told she should want in a man: driven, intelligent, attractive and kind to me. I’ve worked for years to get where I am, and, I guess, I want a certain life. Euan fulfills that vision.

  That may not sound romantic, but I don’t believe in fairy tales. Euan may not set me on fire, but there are more important things in life than passion. Life is about goals, and I didn’t travel halfway around the world to find passion. I did it to be the best, to achieve my dreams, and create the life I’ve always wanted.

  I smile wearily. He looks so perfectly put together- even after a twelve-hour shift he looks immaculate, and, well…I don’t. My hair is greasy and falling out of a messy bun. I have suitcases under my eyes right now, never mind bags, and I probably have various bodily fluids all over me. Nice.

  Regardless of how disgusting I must look, he leans in and places a chaste kiss on my lips. “How was your shift?” he asks.

  “Busy,” I reply in a clipped tone.

  I really don’t want to talk right now. My bed is calling my name.

  Luckily, he seems to get the message.

  “Well, I’ll let you go, but we’re still on for tomorrow night, right?”

  “Yeah, of course.” I smile and nod. “I’ll text you when I wake up.”

  He quickly kisses my cheek again and winks before walking away.

  At two in the morning, I finally get home. I jump in the shower and wash all the blood and death from my skin.

  My job is hard, but the longer I do it the more I learn that I have to let go of each day before moving on to the next. This is my routine: to cleanse myself of the day’s events.

  The scalding hot water soothes my aching muscles and clears my mind.

  I’m starving, but the prospect of making any real food is just not appealing. I quickly eat a cereal bar in preparation for the twelve-hour hibernation I plan to now have. I’m on shift again tonight, and if Friday nights are bad, then Saturday nights are hell.

  I’m unconscious as soon as my head hits the pillow.

  Chapter 3

  Jude

  “He’s not gonna pay, Jude,” Richard argues.

  I twist in my chair, drumming my fingers over the wooden desk. “Oh, no. He’ll pay. No one doesn’t pay me.” I laugh, glancing Richard over.

  He’s thick, nothing but a muscle head, and he’s dumb as shit, but I don’t need brains in my lackeys; I need brute strength and looks that will make people piss their pants. Richard is just that—a complete mongoloid. It’s a family business I run. It has to be. Money, murder, and lies are all part of this business, and my family has been at it for going on three generations.

  I suck in a quick breath. “You’ll make sure he pays, right?”

  His mouth flips into a devious, anticipatory grin. “Yeah, of course.”

  “He’s a dumb college kid, he most likely thinks he knows statistics and thought he’d outsmarted me. Dumbass,” I mumble. “He won’t have the money. Just take something for collateral. Rough him up, and don’t give him more than three days to get me my money.” I frown. “But make sure you’re smart about it.”

  “I’m not a fucking idiot. Which car do you want me to take?”

  “Go down to David’s, he’ll have a car for you. There’ll be instructions inside the console about where to trade out cars in Tennessee, okay?”

  The phone rings and he nods, then leaves. I raise the receiver to my ear. “Go ahead, partner.”

  “This is Rammer Jammer. First half bet on the underdog. Two dimes. Bottom five.”

  “First half bet on the underdog worth two dimes on the bottom five?” I repeat back.

  “Yep.”

  I hang up and grab the smoldering cigarette from the ashtray, inhaling a large cloud of smoke as I quickly scribble the bet in red ink over my legal pad. This game is sure to pay out a shitload of cash, and I can’t help but smile as I glance over the bets I’ve taken today. Politicians, preachers, cops: they’re all my clients, and as long as they pay, there’s not a problem. I’m a businessman and I take my job very seriously.

  You fuck with me, I’ll kill you, because no one takes anything as serious as death.

  Chapter 4

  Victoria

  Euan smiles wide when he opens the door and sees me. “Hey.”

  I flash him a smile. “Hey.”

  He leans in and places a lingering kiss on my cheek before opening the door wider to usher me in.

  “Let me take your coat.” He moves behind me and eases my coat from my shoulders, ever the gentleman.

  “Something smells good,” I remark.

  He flashes me that blinding smile of his. “I’d love to say I cooked, but you know me...I ordered takeout.”

  I shrug. “Takeout is good.”

  I just need to eat before my next shift...which will actually end up being a twenty-hour shift, and it starts in two hours.

  Another wide grin. “I ordered Thai, your favourite.”

  We sit down to eat and Euan seems oddly quiet. Usually he has a lot to say, whether it’s talking about work, or my horrible living conditions—which he thinks are abhorrent. He usually brings up my flat because that conversation always leads to him trying to get me to move in with him, which leads to me explaining why I don’t want to move in with him.

  Tonight though, he’s quiet, distant almost.

  “Are you alright?” I ask.

  He smiles slightly and nods as he chews a mouthful of food. “Of course.”

  I chalk his lack of conversation up to the fact that he’s just got off shift. God knows I’m a miserable bitch when I’ve just done a long shift. I guess he’s allowed to feel it once in a while as well.

  Taking a quick sip of my water, I ask, “What did you do today?”

  As predicted, he launches into a detailed account of a triple bypass he scrubbed in on earlier. I don’t know whether it’s kind of sad or that our main topic of conversation is work.

  I’m helping clear up when the doorbell chimes. He frowns and leaves to go answer it. I carry on, loading the plates into the dishwasher. When I’m done, I take a bottle of water from the fridge. Euan’s still not back. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I poke my head around the kitchen door, into the hallway.

  Standing in the hall is the biggest man I’ve ever seen. He’s quite smartly dressed in a buttoned shirt and suit trouse
rs, but despite his smart dress, there’s something about him that makes me instantly wary of him. His entire demeanor is dominating and aggressive. His arms are folded across his massive chest, and he smirks condescendingly at Euan, who is talking in a hushed voice. I can’t hear what he’s saying, but he looks frantic.

  Something is wrong.

  I slip back into the kitchen and find my bag on the worktop. I dig around until my fingers close around a small metal can of pepper spray. When I first came to America, my sister made me carry it. She said that in a country where everyone has a gun, I at least needed something. I’ve never even thought about using it, I’ve never felt threatened, but suddenly, I do. Holding the spray behind my back, I peer into the hallway again. The big guy has stepped closer to Euan now, their faces are only inches apart. The guy’s voice is a low growl, which Euan visibly cringes away from. I slip the can into my back pocket and make my way towards them.

  “I don’t have it!” Euan pleads. His six-foot frame looks positively dwarfed by the monster in front of him.

  “I’m sure I can find something around here you can sell,” the guy sneers, his eyes flicking up, then down the hallway. Straight at me.

  I stop breathing the instant those flat eyes meet mine. A menacing smile pulls at his lips. “Well, well. What do we have here?” he lilts.

  “Ria, go back in the kitchen.” Euan’s voice is shaky.

  “Who is he?” I ask.

  “No one,” he snaps a little too quickly. The big guy smiles wider.

  I can’t help myself. “He doesn’t look like ‘no one.’ He certainly doesn’t look like a friend.” I grind my teeth. Nothing pisses me off more than being treated like an idiot.

  The stranger narrows his eyes as a muscle in his jaw starts to tick. I reach for my back pocket, my fingers brushing the pepper spray.

  He turns away from me abruptly. “What’s it going to be, Jones? The money, or your legs?” he growls.

  “What is he talking about, Euan?”

  His eyes flash to mine, a small frown line appearing between his eyebrows before he turns back to Mr. Happy.

  “Look.” He hesitates and glances over at me, then back to the ogre. ”Can you give me a minute?” Euan nervously rubs the back of his neck.

  The behemoth man seems annoyed, and huffs. “You have one minute, and then shit starts to get ugly.”

  “Original,” I mumble.

  Euan strides toward me, taking my arm and leading me back into the kitchen.

  “You need to go, Ria.” He’s uneasy, almost guilty sounding.

  “Just like that?” I cock one eyebrow at him. “You expect me to just walk out of here without a care for the bloody unit of a man that is clearly threatening you?” I snap.

  “Look, just leave, Ria. I’ll call you later.” There’s an edge to his voice that I’ve never heard before. Euan has always been unfailingly sweet and polite. Now, though, he’s agitated and twitchy and bordering on rude.

  I cross my arms over my chest. “No. You tell me what’s going on right now.”

  “Your boyfriend owes me money, princess.” The man slinks in the doorway.

  “And you are?”

  “Rich.”

  “How much money?” I ask slowly.

  “Ria, please just—” Euan starts.

  “Twenty grand,” Rich cuts him off.

  I almost fall over. “Twenty grand?!” I shriek.

  He nods. “What the hell? No wonder you have the Hulk after you,” I moan.

  Rich smirks.

  “Look, it’s just a misunderstanding,” Euan says defensively.

  Rich looks almost bored now. “Nope, no misunderstanding. You pay twenty grand today, or I’m going to break your legs.” He inspects his nails and continues, “Followed by every bone in your body, and ending with a bullet in your skull,” he says with cold nonchalance.

  My stomach tightens and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I really want to say he must be joking, but his entire demeanor tells me he’s absolutely serious.

  “What does he owe the money for?” I ask. Rich turns those menacing eyes on me again. His gaze flicks lazily down my body before trailing back up.

  He shrugs. “Gambling.”

  The air rushes from my lungs. “Gambling,” I whisper. Gambling in a state where gambling is illegal, which means Euan now owes money to some pretty unsavoury people. “Brilliant,” I say acerbically.

  My boyfriend is a lowlife with a gambling problem. You think you know someone. I mean, Euan is so put together. He has everything going for him...

  “Look, I can get the money. Just give me three days,” Euan begs, ignoring me now.

  Rich shakes his head, his lips twitching. “Now or nothing, frat boy. Your choice.”

  “I promise, I can get it to you in three days.” His tone sounds like a whiny child.

  “Enough,” Rich snaps.

  “Take her!” Euan grabs me by the shoulders and shoves me toward the scary man. “Take Ria as security. I’ll bring you the money.”

  “What?!” I shout. “Are you fucking insane?!”

  Rich smiles, but it’s like a shark smiling at me. There’s nothing comforting about the gesture.

  “Dirty mouth for a little rich girl,” he says. “I like it.”

  I stumble backwards. “I’m not going anywhere with you. His debts are his problems.”

  What the hell has Euan gotten me into? I should have left him here to his fate. Stupid me for giving a damn about him when he clearly doesn’t give a shit about me. He’s willing to hand me over to this brute, all over a gambling debt. I look Rich over again: the broad shoulders, those cold eyes, the close-shaved hair, the light scar on his cheek. All of this coupled with the new information that he’s not exactly an upstanding, law-abiding citizen makes me want to run as far away from him as possible.

  “This is his debt. Hell, at this point, break his legs. I don’t care,” I growl as my temper kicks in, but all Rich does is laugh.

  Euan wraps his fingers around my wrist, but I yank away sharply. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

  “I can get the money, baby. He’ll kill me if you don’t go!”

  I laugh humorlessly. “Go fuck yourself, Euan.”

  Rich snickers like an amused child who’s just found a new toy. “I’ll take her, and that BMW you have parked outside.”

  Euan opens his mouth to argue, but quickly snaps it shut again, handing over the keys to his much-loved car. Apparently he’s more attached to that than he is to me.

  Rich grabs me by the shoulders, taking both my arms and crossing them snuggly behind my back with a strength I didn’t know someone could even possess.

  “Three days” are Rich’s parting words before he hauls me toward the door.

  By some miracle I manage to wiggle one arm free from his hold and grab the pepper spray from my back pocket. I hold the trigger down, and I aim straight for his eyes. He’s a foot taller than me and I don’t get a good shot, but it’s better than nothing. He shouts out and his grip on my arm loosens, but not enough. I’m just about to swing my leg back and go for gold between his legs when I feel cold metal against the side of my neck.

  I freeze.

  Rich pushes the barrel of a gun into my neck, the cold metal biting against my skin. My pulse thumps wildly in my chest as a cold sweat breaks out over my skin. Guns terrify me. Maybe it’s because of the number of gunshot victims I’ve dealt with, the amount of people I’ve watched die with just the pull of a trigger. Whatever the reason, it’s a rational and very real fear.

  “Walk,” he snarls whilst rubbing at his eyes.

  He moves behind me, now pressing the barrel of the gun into my back.

  I open the door and step out into the cold evening air. He rams the gun into me again, making me stagger forward a few steps.

  Pointing towards Euan’s black BMW, he orders, “Get in and drive.”

  I nod and wait for him to move away before making a break for it. My heart pounds
like a train as I cover the short distance back to the apartment building. If I can just…

  A hand slams down on my shoulder, and I fall to my knees.

  “Help!” I scream. Someone will hear me, surely.

  I’m hauled to my feet, and then he brings the back of his hand down across my face. I sway from the force of the blow, and blood fills my mouth. Tears prickle my eyes as pain explodes across my jaw.

  “Get in the fucking car!” he shouts.

  I move silently and slide into the driver’s seat, while Rich moves around the front of the car. His eyes drill into me the entire time.

  Once he’s seated next to me, he resumes pointing the gun in my direction. “Get on I-65.”

  “Where are we going?” I ask.

  “Just do as you’re fucking told, bitch,” he snaps. “Go the speed limit. Use your fucking blinker, and if we get pulled over you better keep your mouth shut. I’m not above killing a cop.”

  We drive for several hours, and at the Georgia state line he orders me to pull over into an abandoned car park. I do as he says. He’s stopped pointing the gun in my face now, but he still has it. I’m not all that keen on provoking him.

  “Pull up behind the SUV,” he says.

  I pull up behind the only car in the car park and cut the engine. There’s a tense silence as I wait with baited breath for him to make his next move. He takes the gun out again and orders, “Get out.”

  I open the door and slide out until my feet touch the tarmac.

  “Come here,” he says, wiggling his finger as he opens the boot of the SUV.

  I approach cautiously. One glance in the back of this car has me paralyzed with fear. There’s rope, a couple of shovels, and some tarpaulin. He’s going to kill me. He’s going to kill me. The thought runs through my mind over and over. He pulls a length of rope from the back and moves toward me. I don’t think, I just react. I swing my leg back until my knee meets his groin. He manages to dodge at the last minute, and although I make contact, it doesn’t quite have the impact I would have liked. I turn to run, but he grasps a fistful of my hair. I scream, as my scalp feels like it’s on fire.