by J. L. Beck
I stop, my whole body freezing as if I have just looked into Medusa’s eyes.
Staring up at the man, I hold my breath. There is a dark, evil look in his eyes that tells me he won’t hesitate to shoot me if I try to run or be heroic.
“What is going on?” I demand. I don’t want to be hurt or seen as weak, so I put on a brave face and try to act tough and unafraid.
Before I can blink, the guy swings the gun and smashes its butt against my window. My heart drops into my stomach as I watch the cracked glass inches from my face.
Oh shit. This guy means business. Serious, deadly business.
My breath catches in my chest. What the fuck is going on here? I come home from college, and I’m staring down the barrel of a gun?
“Get out of the fucking car and don’t ask questions,” the man gruffly orders, clearly at the end of his patience.
I shut my mouth immediately. I mean, a fucking gun is pointed at my face, so of course, I’m going to do exactly as I’m told. For now, at least.
Turning my Jeep off, I carefully pace myself and reach for the handle. I push the door open slowly, hoping it will encourage him to ease off a little bit. However, my unhurried moves seem to just make him angrier.
With his free hand, the man yanks my door open as quickly as he can. For a moment, all I hear is the creaking from the rust build-up.
I slip from the car with ease, my eyes never leaving him. What happens next is right out of a fucking movie. He grips the back of my head, pulling my hair. My scalp burns with his attack, and my eyes begin to fill with tears.
“Let go of me!” I demand, going loose in his hold. I won’t allow whoever the fuck this person is to hurt me. His grip tightens, and I feel cold metal against my lips. My eyes grow as big as saucers the second I realize it’s the barrel of the gun, his finger on the trigger.
“Enzo has come to collect his debt.” A sick smile crosses his face, and if I weren’t so incredibly terrified, I would’ve puked all over the ground.
With the barrel still against my lips, I’m afraid to even ask what debt he is talking about. When Mom died, her life insurance policy left Dad and me enough money to get by.
We are not rich, but we aren’t struggling either. Dad always told me our finances were fine. This man must have the wrong family, and he will be sorry he treated me this way when he realizes the truth.
“You’re wrong. We don’t owe a debt to anyone. You must have the wrong family. It’s all a misunderstanding. But if you leave now, we won’t press any charges.”
The man just shakes his head and chuckles. “Enzo will have fun fucking every hole in your body. Then when he’s done with you, and you’re ready to be killed, I’ll fuck you one last time…”
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I sneer at him, anger building deep within me. Why does this man think he has a right to say such cruel, nasty, vile things to me? And who the hell is Enzo?
“Shut your mouth!” he roars, his grip tightening as he pulls me up the steps to my home. The front door is kicked in, hanging on one hinge.
As we round the corner through the kitchen, my mouth almost falls open. I stare in disbelief at the scene in front of me: appliances ripped apart, cupboard doors hanging loosely on their hinges, food and other items strewn haphazardly around the usually immaculate room.
It looks like a tornado has gone straight through the house. Pushing me forward, the man and I come to a halt just on the edge of entering the living room. My insides twist when I hear my father’s voice and see the puddle of blood on the floor.
Please, tell me this is not real. Please. I want to cry out, begging, and pleading.
“I’m so sorry! I didn’t have a choice, Amara!” my father chokes out when he sees me.
There is a man holding him in place in one of the wooden dining room chairs. Bile rises in my throat as I take in his swollen face, the blood dripping from his lips, and the bruises that are already forming around his eyes and on his cheeks.
His hands are tied securely to the chair, his wrists bleeding. I desperately want to go to him, and comfort him, protect him from what is happening.
Underneath all the injuries, my dad looks like he hasn’t shaved, showered, or changed his clothes for quite some time. Have these men been here, keeping him prisoner?
The man sitting in that chair is just the shell of my father. The man before me is worn out, broken, and hopeless.
“Everyone has a choice, John,” a deep, rich voice chides from somewhere. I look up as the man behind the mystery voice descends the stairs, his eyes landing on me.
There is an evil coldness in his stare that robs the air from my lungs. His hair is dark and styled in a way that says he doesn’t give two fucks about what anyone thinks. He wears a suit that looks like it cost more than the farmhouse. His chin is sharp and held high as if he believes he is above everyone else.
If I had to describe him in one word, it would be predator. He reminds me of a mighty lion who thinks he is the king, and all the others have to bow to him.
“I swear to you, Amara, I didn’t have a choice,” I drag my eyes back to my father as his voice hauls me back to reality.
“Dad, what are you talking about?”
“The bills were piling up: the mortgage, utilities, insurance, tuition… There just wasn’t enough money for everything. The bank was going to foreclose on the farm, and your school was threatening to take action against you. The idea that you would have to drop out of your classes was killing me. I had to protect you and our home. I had no other choice.” The words achingly and sorrowfully flow from him. It is difficult for any man to swallow his pride and admit he has problems.
I try to let the words sink in and make sense of everything. Dad always said it was okay. He told me that we had enough to make ends meet.
“Why did you lie to me? Why didn’t you come to me for help?” I question, though, I am certain I already know the answer.
It is standing in my living room.
“I’m sorry, baby, I thought I was doing the right thing,” my father sobs.
“Well, this is heartbreaking, but we should really consider getting down to business,” the mystery man states unsympathetically. I have yet to learn the man’s name, and still, he has the audacity to sit on my father’s sofa as if he owns the place.
“Who are you?” I ask bluntly. I’m not sure if I will get a straight answer as most if not all of the men in the room look like they work for the FBI.
“Who am I?” A smile quirks at the sides of his lips, and laughter fills the room. My cheeks redden, and more anger finds its way into my already broken heart. Just as soon as the smile appears, though, it vanishes.
“I’m Lorenzo King, sweetheart, and your dear old daddy owes me a lot of fucking money.”
“No,” I deny vehemently, shaking my head as much as I can with the guy’s hand in my hair. Even though my father has already admitted to taking money from this man, I still have a hard time processing all of this.
I’m probably in denial, but that doesn’t make this any less true.
The man who escorted me into my house pulls harder on my hair, causing me to grit my teeth tightly. I’m about five seconds from turning around and slapping this guy, which would probably end badly for me.
“I know it must be hard to wrap your mind around this. How can your wonderful daddy come to a guy like me and take out a loan? Well, the answer is simple. Your dad borrowed enough money to pay for a years’ worth of school.” My eyes grow wide as tears threaten to leak from them.
“I even gave him some extra time to pay me back, since I’m such a nice guy, but he still couldn’t come up with the cash.”
The secrets are accumulating at a rate that I can’t even begin to believe.
My father went behind my back and borrowed money from someone dangerous. Why didn’t he just go to a bank like other people? He lied and told me everything was okay.
Looking at the big picture, it’s clear to m
e that absolutely nothing is okay. Nothing about this situation is okay. Nothing about a gun being pointed at my father’s head is okay!
“I was okay, Amara, everything was okay. Then there was a bad storm, and we lost almost all of the crops. I couldn’t afford to pay…” The earnestness in my father’s voice tells me he is trying to make me understand, and I do, but I still can’t rectify the lies and the danger we are now in.
“Shut up! The time for talking is over. I’m tired of hearing your excuses,” Lorenzo yells, his words echoing off the drab walls of our farmhouse. His voice is authoritative and commanding as if his words hold a power that everyone bows to. He looks as if he is used to being obeyed and doesn’t tolerate any insubordination. His eyes fall onto me, his gaze possessing me, holding me prisoner. Their darkness is overwhelming and makes me wonder if any good can be found in him.
Silence falls over us as I push the tears away and put my thinking cap on. There has to be a way out of all of this. There has to be a way to earn the money so we can pay these men back. The danger that surrounds these men tells me that it will be a mighty feat, but I’m not scared of a little hard work. My momma didn’t raise no quitter.
My eyes scan the old blue wallpaper that lines the living room walls. My mom had wanted it, she loved it so much that after we lost her to cancer, we never took it down or painted over it—no point in doing so since it wouldn’t make the hurt go away. Instead, we just kept it as a vivid reminder, something to hold her memory and keep her here with us even when she isn’t. God, I wish that wallpaper held some answers.
“There has to be a way to repay…” I don’t get to finish my sentence because he abruptly stands up and walks menacingly toward me. The man at my back releases my hair and pushes me forward, so my body is almost touching Lorenzo’s. I stumble and fall to my knees. Lorenzo holds his hand out, gesturing for me to stay below him.
“To repay me? Well, in fact, there is,” he says huskily, coming down on his haunches. He smells of high class and elegance; two things I’m not used to.
I’m filtering through my thoughts for an answer. My father has borrowed money from someone who is obviously very capable of killing people. Who has probably already killed many people.
“You could be a good girl and help your dad out. He did borrow money to pay for your school, after all.”
The way he says ‘good girl’ has my skin crawling. Goosebumps erupt across my skin. I don’t actually know how I could help, but whatever he is thinking, I will at least try.
“I will get a job, so we can pay you back in payments or…” I have to throw it out there. His full-on laughter cuts me off. He is an asshole, and I’m certain everyone in the room knows it. I glare at him as I watch a huge smile form on his face.
“Payments… Hmm… That’s a problem, dear Amara.” My name falls from his lips like a prayer, causing more goosebumps to pebble across my arms. I feel the need to ask him to keep saying it, but at the same time, the dark look he is giving me makes me want to piss myself.
I shake both of those feelings away. I won’t cower down on the floor any longer. I stand up and straighten my back.
“Problem? I don’t see what the problem is if you’re being paid back. Do you?”
I pretend to be calm and cool, determined to somehow find a way out of this mess. I can’t lose my father, especially after just losing my mother.
In terror, I watch as Lorenzo pulls a gun from his holster, I stumble backward, barely catching myself before I hit the floor again.
“You don’t make deals with me, my dear. I’m not a fucking bank, and I don’t take payments unless they’re in blood. So, tell me… Who shall be paying today?” A sick smile creeps onto his face as he points the gun at my father.
Lorenzo’s cold, dark eyes stare into mine, and there isn’t an ounce of mercy there. He will shoot my father without blinking; he will shoot me without blinking. He isn’t the type of man who gives second chances.
“No!” I’m not sure where it comes from. All I know is I can’t face losing someone again. It will be as if I’m dead anyway.
He lowers the gun, turning his attention back to me.
Taking a step toward me, he stops when he is only inches away. His large body looms over mine, and I can feel his hot breath on my face as he looks down at me.
“Of course, I could make an exception for a pretty girl like you. Another form of payment.” I notice the way his eyes linger on my breasts, my body in general. I think he wants me. At the very least, he is intrigued by me.
“Me?” I whisper for his ears only. “You want me to work for you?” He pushes his longish black hair from his face as he continues to hold the gun in his hand like he is weighing his options carefully.
“I don’t know if I would call what I have in mind work. It might be kind of fun, depending on what you are into.” He grins, and his men laugh.
My father starts begging again but shuts up when Lorenzo shoots him a glare.
“What do you have in mind?” I ask, doing my best to keep my voice even.
“Well, you have three choices. One, you work at the brothel. Two, we can auction you off to the highest bidder. Three–in my opinion, the best choice–you come home with me.”
My mind is reeling. Options one and two are out immediately. Though, looking at the man in front of me, I wonder if that’s true. I can’t imagine the kind of things he wants me to do.
“Come home with you? What would I be doing at your place?” I ask as if I don’t already know the answer.
“I’m sure you can figure that out.” He smirks knowingly.
Sex… of course, he wants sex.
Swallowing down the lump in my throat, I ask, “How long would I have to stay with you?”
“Until I feel like the debt is repaid.”
Great, how long is that? A few days? Two weeks? I have to be back at school on Monday. I can’t just miss classes. Then again, we are talking about my father’s life here, which makes my college education meaningless in comparison.
“If I come with you, will you let my dad be? You won’t kill him?”
His eyes narrow, and for a brief second, I think he will say no.
“Deal, I won’t kill him…” I know he isn’t done, though. There is a “but” in there somewhere… “But if you run, I will kill him.”
Lorenzo’s hand snakes out, gripping the hem of my shirt. An icy, sweaty feeling of dread sweeps through my body. This can’t be happening.
He looks amused, yet deadly serious as my skin feels the burn of his hand slowly roaming up to the top of my shirt. I hear the tear of fabric as he rips my shirt to gain access to my chest, but I hardly notice because I’m held captive by the fear in my father’s eyes as Lorenzo’s men surround him.
“Please, stop!” my father yells.
One of Lorenzo’s men steps forward and slugs my father in the side of the head. Fury rises inside of me, and I slap the hand on my shirt away, but he grabs my wrist, holding me in place.
“You said that we had a deal!” I cry out. I only offered myself, so I could save my dad! I try to push his hand away again, but I’m obviously no match for him.
“The deal was that I won’t kill him. No one is killing him.”
I’m horrified as the thug’s grip my father’s head to hold him in place. The man who had guided me in here looks gleeful as he takes his place next to my dad and prepares to carry out his boss’s orders. Tears stream down my dad’s face as he waits for the pain to come. His eyes never leave mine, telling me how much he loves me and how sorry he is.
The brute’s fist lands against his face with a sickening crunch. Hearing my dad’s painful groans and seeing his blood gush out is just too much for me to handle, and I’m on the verge of collapsing. These thugs can’t do this! They have to stop. It’s wrong!
“Make them stop! Please. I will do whatever you tell me.” I’m screaming and sobbing as I plead with Lorenzo. My eyes beg for his to meet mine, but they still linger o
ver my body. I’m close to being a hysterical, blubbering mess, but I have to keep my wits about me; I have to find strength. I have to do something. I can’t lose my dad.
“Make them stop,” I implore desperately as my hands grasp his arms to get his attention and for stability before I collapse. “I already said I’ll come with you, that I’m my dad’s payment. I’ll do whatever you want. Please, stop making my father suffer!”
Lorenzo shrugs my hands off his arms, leaving me feeling vulnerable and unsteady. His fingers grip my chin tightly, roughly tilting my head back to force me to meet his callous stare.
“If I make them stop, you have to go with me without a problem. No fighting, no questions, and no theatrics. Do you understand?”
The second the words fall from his lips, I nod my head yes. I will do anything I can to save my father, including making a deal with the devil.
“Stop,” Lorenzo commands. His guys immediately pull away from my father.
“Untie him and leave him be. Take her…” His eyes linger over my chest again as if he’s already planning what he’s going to do to me. A creepy smile spreads across his face, making my skin crawl.
“Eli, tie her up,” he orders as he runs his thumb across my bottom lip.
“I said I would go with you willingly…” My voice is weak as the men come near me.
Lorenzo doesn’t answer, only motions silently for his men to take me away.
The man who retrieved me from my car roughly grabs my arm and pulls me closer to him. The other men untie and release my father.
His body is so worn out, he falls off his chair and lands on the ground in a heap. Even though he has been badly beaten and is still bleeding, I know he will be okay. It is better than being dead, after all.
“Wait. Before you take me, may I please hug my dad goodbye?” I tentatively ask, hoping I can feel safe in my father’s arms for at least a moment.
I’m not surprised when there is no response yet again. Instead, my arms are pulled behind my back, and my hands are tied together tightly. I don’t put up any resistance. There is no point in fighting them–they are heartless, cruel beings who won’t hesitate to kill me.
