“Tiny, no!”
“You can scream all you like. Nobody gives a fuck.”
He shoves me down the foul-smelling alley all the way to the end where the exit is blocked by overflowing trashcans and rips the plastic bag from my hands. Peering inside, he takes out my purse, drops it on the ground by his feet, and throws the rest onto the heap of garbage.
“Come here, white bitch.” He takes a wide stance and feels his way up under my dress, dragging his sweaty palms over my hip and stomach.
Oh, God, I’m going to be sick. “Don’t.”
“Or what?”
My defenselessness infuriates me. The anger boils over. I pull back and punch him on the jaw as hard as I can. For all of one second he’s off balance, but before I’m one step away, he grabs my arm and throws me against the wall. My back hits the bricks with a thud. He slaps me so hard my ears ring.
“Fucking bitch.”
I scream and scratch, my fingers going for his eyes while my knee aims for his crotch, but he catches my wrists above my head and presses my body to the wall with his weight.
“Wanna fight?” he hisses, the repugnant air from his mouth fanning my face.
“Let me go!”
He laughs and shifts, holding me secure with one hand to stick the other down the front of my panties. “What have you been doing with this cunt, huh?” His fingers drag over my clit, parting my folds.
I press my knees together, but it’s no use. He wiggles his fist until it’s lodged between my legs, forcing my thighs open.
He licks my neck, inviting a shiver of repulse.
“Tiny’s gonna fuck you so hard, you’re gonna forget your name.”
His upper body crushes me. I almost sigh in relief when he pulls his hand from my underwear, only to cry out in despair when he shoves his pants down over his hips.
Please, no. Not this.
He knocks my knuckles into the wall, but I hardly feel the pain. I need to fight. I struggle like mad person, which only makes him laugh. By the time he has his dick out of his underwear and my dress hitched up to my waist, I’m already panting from the exertion of fighting him while he hasn’t even broken into a sweat.
“Tiny.” The plea falls from my lips while tears stream down my cheeks.
“Yeah, say my name, bitch.”
When he rubs up against me, I bite my lip so hard I taste blood. The fear I’ve fought against my whole life finally gets to me, making my throat constrict and my heart pump with furious beats. It’s difficult to breathe. It happens all over again, the man who raped me. I fight the images that play over in my mind, but I’m back in the bar where the men dragged me, on my back on the pool table while the one with the deep voice unzips his fly, and the rest watch. I’m in a zone where I don’t want to be, but I can’t come back. Tiny’s hand is around his flaccid cock, pumping it to life, but I already feel the tear in my body and the dribble of blood running down my legs.
“Get your hands off her.”
The voice that spoke isn’t part of the memory. The men cheered him on. They didn’t tell him to remove his hands. They were filming it, laughing as I cried.
“Now.”
The deadly calm in the baritone voice is dangerous. It’s like this morning’s quiet before the storm. Tiny freezes, bringing my attention back to him, to the present. He drops his penis and lifts his hands, glancing over his shoulder as he takes a step back.
“Easy, man,” he says in a thin voice. “You’re interrupting our fun.”
“Fun?” The tall, broad figure in the dark steps forward, a gun aimed at Tiny.
His face is in the shadows, but I know it’s him. I know his voice, his shape, his smell, his very presence.
“Doesn’t look like she’s having fun,” Gabriel says.
“Whoa.” Tiny laughs nervously. “You’ve got it all wrong, here. Tiny ain’t doing nothing wrong. She’s Tiny’s bitch. Ain’t you, honey? Come on, love.” He jerks his head in Gabriel’s direction. “Tell the man.”
Gabriel moves so fast, I don’t see it coming. The one minute he’s standing at the entrance of the alley and the next he’s in front of Tiny, hitting him in the stomach with a punch that sends him flying through the air and falling in the gutter water. Gabriel steps over him, pointing the gun at his head.
“Oh, fuck.” Tiny lifts his hands. “I’m sorry, bro. I didn’t recognize you.”
Gabriel cocks his neck, cracking a bone. “Apologize.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Louw, really I am.”
“To her, not to me, you prick.”
Tiny licks his lips and glances at me briefly before returning his gaze to the gun. “Sorry. Tiny didn’t know you and Mr. Louw are friends.”
“Friends?” Gabriel utters a cold laugh that vanishes as quickly as it started. “She’s property.”
Tiny gulps and starts crying. “Fuck, man.”
I’m shivering in my dress, feeling like I’m stuck in a very bad dream.
“Valentina.” The firm way in which Gabriel says my name commands my attention. “Walk to the street and wait on the corner.”
“No,” Tiny says, shaking his dreadlocks, snot running from his nose. “Please, fuck. No.”
Gabriel is going to shoot him.
“Gabriel, please…” I take a step toward him. I need to find a connection with him, to reason with him. “Please, look at me.”
He doesn’t look away from Tiny. “I won’t tell you again. Leave the alley and wait at the corner.”
I start crying myself, touching Gabriel’s arm. “He’s not worth it. Don’t.”
I can’t live with myself knowing I’m the reason for another man’s death. My father is enough.
Gabriel cups my nape, and drags me closer, pressing me hard against his body without moving his aim from Tiny. He kisses my temple with his gaze fixed on the man on the ground and speaks softly against my ear.
“Go. Now.”
In Gabriel’s world, there’s vengeance and violence. Violence can be dissuaded, but never vengeance. I know how it works. If he doesn’t shoot Tiny, Tiny will have to kill him or look over his shoulder forever. I don’t want this for Gabriel. I don’t want him to carry another life on his conscience, especially not because of me.
“Gabriel––”
Quincy comes running down the alley. He brakes in his tracks when he takes in the scene.
Roughly, Gabriel shoves me toward Quincy. “Take her to the car.”
Quincy doesn’t hesitate. He drags me kicking and screaming down the alley, all the way to the car where Rhett waits. He bundles me into the back and wipes a hand over his face. Rhett gives me a grim look in the rearview mirror. I huddle in the corner, unable to control my shaking. I wait for a shot to go off, but hear nothing. Gabriel would use a silencer. A few seconds later, he exists the alley, adjusting his cuffs and walking with brisk strides to the car, my purse in his hands.
Once he’s in, Rhett pulls off. No one says a word on the way home. Gabriel puts his arm around me, holding me tight, and I close my eyes and cry quietly for the terrible act he committed for me.
* * *
Gabriel
At that hour, everyone at home is asleep. We park at the back so I can carry Valentina to her room without having to traverse the whole house. She objects when I lift her into my arms, but I don’t heed her. Rhett and Quincy will go back to deal with the body. They know the drill. Since that scumbag fucker son of a bitch Tiny wasn’t connected to any gang, there are no logistics or payoff to iron out. My priority is Valentina.
Oscar jumps from the tumble drier and runs ahead of me into Valentina’s room to keep guard in the windowsill. I lay her down on the bed and remove her trainers before stripping the dress. It’s going to the trashcan. I don’t want anything that filthy Zambian touched on her skin. Anyway, the dress is threadbare.
Going through the shelves of her closet, I find one T-shirt, a tank top, a pair of jeans that has seen better days, and a pair of shorts. These are all the clo
thes she owns? I make a mental note to go through her belongings later and grab the T-shirt.
Helping her to sit up, I dress her. After what happened, I don’t want her to feel vulnerable, and nakedness will do that.
“What time is it?” she asks.
“Almost six.”
“I need to get ready for work.”
She tries to get up, but I push her down.
“Stay.”
“I’m fine.” She looks up at me through her wet lashes, her lips quivering.
Yeah. She looks anything but fine, but she’s obstinate and worried that she’ll fail in her job and therefore get shot.
“Don’t move,” I say with enough authority to make her obey as I leave the room.
In the kitchen, I pour a stiff shot of whiskey and take a mild sedative from the medicine kit. The remedy is natural and won’t have adverse effects with the alcohol.
Sitting down on the edge of Valentina’s bed, I lift her head, slip the pill into her mouth, and hold the glass to her lips. “Drink up.”
She doesn’t argue. Her blind obedience heats my insides. It’s a huge step, and I don’t think she realizes how much trust she’s showing me.
Depositing the empty glass on the floor, I take her hand in mine. Her bones are delicate and thin in my palm––breakable. There are scratches on her knuckles, but they’re not deep. We can worry about that later. The sight of those marks unleashes the monster in me, though, and it takes some effort to calm myself enough to ask, “Do you want to talk about it?” I do, but I’m not going to push. Not now, at least.
She puts a hand on her forehead. “I–I don’t feel so good.”
My body tenses, every muscle going taught. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know. I just feel weird.”
“Tell me what you feel.”
“Dizzy. The world is turning.”
The effect of the alcohol is kicking in, but instead of relaxing her, it’s making her drunk.
“When was the last time you ate?” I ask with caution.
She lifts her eyes to the ceiling while she thinks. “Lunch.”
I try to keep my voice normal. “Yesterday?”
She clutches my hand like a riptide is about to pull us apart. “Gabriel?”
“It’s just the whiskey I gave you to relax. You need food. I’ll get you something to eat.”
“You don’t have to. I can.” There’s a slight thickness to her speech.
“I know you can, beautiful.”
I pry her fingers open gently and go back to the kitchen to rummage through the fridge. Going for as much carbs, fat, and protein as I can find, I pile a plate high with leftover Bacon Carbonara and add lots of cheese. While the food is heating in the microwave, I grab a fork and paper napkin. Back in her room, I prop her back up against the pillows and twist the pasta around the fork. When I bring it to her mouth, she utters a weak protest.
“Open,” I say.
Again, she obeys.
I feed her until the plate is empty before I pull her into my lap. “You should sleep now.”
She shakes her head, brushing her cheek over my chest. “Can’t. Have work to do.”
“It’s an order, not a request.”
Her eyelids are already heavy. “Thank you for saving me.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Why were you there?”
I run my gaze over her face, drinking in her pretty features as the truth registers in her expression.
“You followed me?” she asks with disbelief, a tinge of hurt thrown into the mix.
“Your phone,” I replied flatly. “I planted a tracker in it before I gave it back to you.”
“Why? Don’t you trust me? Do you think I’ll run?”
If she knows the intensity of my obsession, it’ll expose the one weakness I can’t afford. I’ll lose my power over her, and that’s not something I’m willing to let go, ever, so I give her a warped version.
“You’re worth a lot of money to me, Valentina. I’m protecting my interests.”
Hurt shimmers in her eyes and creeps into the tremulous smile she gives me. “Of course. How could I forget? Four hundred thousand rand.”
I let a note of warning infuse my tone. “You chose. I never forced you.”
“You’re right.” A single tear slips free and runs over her cheek. “I’m sorry.”
Her apology catches me off-guard. “About what?”
“That this morning happened.”
I catch the drop on my thumb and stick it in my mouth, tasting her sorrow. “It wasn’t your fault.” I hesitate, choosing my words carefully. I don’t want to contradict what I just said by making her feel responsible for what happened. “What were you doing back at your flat?”
“Trying to sell it.”
There can only be one reason she would risk it out there to make a sale. The state of her almost bare closet gives me a hint. “You need the money that bad?”
She looks away. “It doesn’t make sense hanging onto the place if neither me nor Charlie is going to live there.”
That’s not the point. The point is that no one is going to buy a bachelor flat in Berea. Homeless people and thugs may move in, but they’re not going to pay a cent. I get it, though. She’s proud. She doesn’t want to tell me why she wants the measly money that shithole is worth. I give her more than enough money to feed and clothe her, with plenty left to take care of her brother. It’s not that she owes anyone. I checked with the money lords. There’s something else.
“How much are you hoping to get?” I ask.
“Ten, twenty thousand, maybe?”
If this is part of a scheme to pay me back quicker, I’ll play along for now. In time, she’ll understand I’m not letting her go. Anyway, she won’t get a lousy buck for the place. If she wants twenty grand, I’ll give it to her.
“I’ll handle the sale for you.” She doesn’t have to know I’ll be the one to buy it. “You’re never going back to that area. Do you understand?”
“Oh, no.” Her eyes grow large. “I’m not making my problem yours. I can do it.”
“I know you can do it, but I said I’ll deal with the agent. End of discussion. There are too many others like Tiny out there.”
She goes quiet at the mention of the fucker’s name. Way to go, Louw. Why don’t you rub her face in it?
“You shot him, didn’t you?” she asks in a small voice.
I hug her tighter. “He’ll never bother you again.” I’m afraid to ask, but I need to know if I should call out a doctor. “Did he hurt you?”
“Some.”
I go cold, the fury from earlier reviving in my veins. “How?”
“When he slapped me. My hands.”
That explains the bruises on her knuckles. “Anything else?”
“Not like that.”
Relief has me close my eyes briefly. “It wasn’t the first time he bothered you.” I of all people know when a man is proprietorial, and Tiny acted like she was territory.
“He collected levies for our building. It doesn’t matter now.”
It does. I can only imagine how he made her pay. The thought has a nerve twitch in the back of my eye, making my eyeball jump in the socket.
“What did he do to you?”
“Nothing.”
“It didn’t look like nothing.”
“It wasn’t always like this. Today was different.”
The light bulb goes on in my head. “He made you give him head,” I state matter-of-factly, keeping the agonizing rage from my voice, because I need to know.
“I gave nothing,” she bits out. “He used my mouth, but I didn’t give him a single damn thing.”
That lowlife fucking son of a bitch. I wish I had more control back in that alley, enough to hold back from shooting him straight away. I should’ve tortured him to death, starting by cutting off his dick. The irony of the situation isn’t lost on me. I’m condemning an already dead man to a slow, painful death for som
ething I’m guilty of myself. I took her and decided to keep her. I eat her pussy every night and get off on her climaxes. I stuck my dick in her mouth and shot my load down her throat. Yes, I’m no goddamn better than the man I killed for her today, but she’s mine. Tiny had no right to lay his hands on her.
Turning my scars toward the shadows, I bring my head down and brush our lips together. I want to wipe the imprint of every other man’s dick on her lips away. I press my lips on the mouth that cocksucker Tiny abused God knows how many times.
“There.” Despite my dark mood, I try to keep things light. “All kissed better.”
A smile curves her lips. She looks so damn innocent looking at me like this. After what happened to her, the enormity of the oral sex weighs heavy on my shoulders. She’s mine like no other person has been, not even my ex-wife. When I took possession of her body, I also committed myself to take care of her feelings. I’m training her body to want me, because God knows I’m too ugly to inspire spontaneous desire in a woman, let alone love, but she needs to understand sucking my cock isn’t mandatory.
I smooth my hand over her hair. “You never have to do that again. Not for anyone. Not even me.”
She lifts her head to look at me, her brown eyes soft and wide. “It wasn’t the same. With you, I wanted to.”
The alcohol loosens her tongue, but it also makes her speak the truth. A foreign feeling crushes my chest. Gratitude. It’s the first time in my life I feel gratitude toward anyone.
Not knowing what to do with the emotion, I rock her in my arms until she drifts off. For a long time I hold her, until Marie is about to arrive. Easing her limp body down on the mattress, I cover her with the duvet and put Oscar on the bed to keep her company. I go straight to my study to call my PI. I prefer to conduct sensitive calls in a room swept for bugs every day.
Anton answers on the first ring. “Gabriel,” he says jovially, “what can I do for you?”
“I need a detailed report on the financial activity of Valentina Haynes and anything you can get on her history.”
Dubious Page 11
