Page 4 of Ruinous Need

I don’t move a muscle. How does he know my name?

“Or don’t, and I’ll make you.”

I hear the boots advance but I can’t move. My throat is tight. This is it.

A leather-gloved hand grips my arm and hauls me to my feet. I stumble back against the car, my fingertips clinging to the smooth metal for support.

I force myself to meet his eyes and not to break down in tears the way I want to. I don’t recognize him.

It’s not the Pakhan.

He looms over me, his presence swallowing me whole.

A man with dark, messy hair that curls around his ears and eyes which are entirely unreadable.

Not the black of the night sky, but the flat black of some unchanging mineral from the depths of the earth.

Coal black. It’s a harsh, unforgiving face except for the soft fullness of his lips.

The sharp edges of his jaw and cheekbones and the carved hollows in his cheeks give him the appearance of a weapon.

Not to mention the black combat gear he’s wearing. No color at all, except a gold chain around his neck.

He narrows his eyes as he looks at me, and I think he’s about to step closer, but he drags his gaze away to look at the horizon.

As he extends his neck, I take in the sharp, dark tattoos that mark his skin. Every part of him screams danger. He isn’t even breathing hard, though the other man was burlier than him.

An effortless killer.

In less than a minute, he had the man with the scarred face crumpled on the ground and then took him away into the trunk of a car. All in near-perfect silence that didn’t even rouse the suburb from its sleepy peacefulness.

I watched it happen. I know this man is a killer. Why am I not screaming right now?

His flat black eyes are pointedly not looking at me. He begins to speak and I find myself staring at those soft, full lips that seem so much more expressive than the rest of his face.

“Go inside. Have a hot drink. And don’t get yourself killed on the way.”

I gulp in a breath of air.

His scent rips through my nostrils, saltwater and firewood.

He’s not threatening me. I know that from his impassive tone of voice, from the way he’s stepping back as if to let me pass, when he could slam me over the hood of this car… I stop that thought before it goes any further.

“Who—?”

He meets my eyes again and cuts me off with a scowl. Those dark eyes are remorseless and angry as they meet mine.

“Don’t ask questions. Take better care of yourself. Next time someone’s behind you with a gun, don’t just freeze up.”

Then he stalks away. I stay leaning against the hood of the car for support until I hear the SUV drive away. I crane my neck to catch a glimpse of him through the windscreen, but the windows are tinted.

Fate is catching up with me. That’s the only explanation for this.

I sit on the cold concrete steps that lead to the house for a second, catching my breath.

My phone buzzes with a text from an unknown number. The screen is cracked, a jagged line running through it, from when I dove to shelter.

“I said go inside.”

So I am still being watched. He’s still here, somewhere. I peer out into the night, but there’s no sign of him or the car.

My phone buzzes again. “Now.”

I take shaky steps up the stairs to the front door.

I’m surprised to find the lights on in the dining room. Mom is a school teacher and Dad works at the factory, meaning they’re hardly ever awake past ten at night. Sammy, my little brother, is still too young to want to stay up late.

Normally when I get home, the house is quiet and I have to wait until the morning to see my favorite people.

Not tonight.

I watch through the window for a second, confused at what I’m seeing. This entire night has been disorienting.

Mom’s face is streaked with tears while Dad talks on the phone, rubbing his mustache repeatedly with his hand. His face is drawn and he’s speaking rapidly. They’re sitting close together, bathed in the soft light of the kitchen.

I’ve only ever seen them like this twice before.

When Mom got the diagnosis and the medical bills that went with it. And then, when my life came crashing down around me.

Fate is catching up with me.

First the men following me. Now my parents looking like someone’s died. I know what it means.

“Mom? Dad?” I call out when I enter.

Mom opens the door to the dining room, doing her best to paste a smile onto her tear-stained face. As though I can’t see her watery blue eyes.

“Lisette.” She pulls me into a warm hug. Her hands shake as she pulls back to cradle my face. “How was teaching today? Do you want dinner?”

She doesn’t ask me why I’m home so late. The time doesn’t seem to have occurred to her.

“It’s happening, isn’t it?”

The smile falls from her face so rapidly that I wonder whether it was ever there.

“What do you mean?” Her voice cracks.

“You know what I mean, Mom.”

I push past her into the kitchen and stand across the table from my father. “Dad. Don’t lie to me.”

He raises a finger to his lips and gestures to the landline phone which is practically glued to his ear.

“I know, I know,” he sighs to whoever is on the other end. “But couldn’t it wait until—?”

His face goes white at whatever the person says.

“Let me talk to them.” He flaps his hand at me and continues pleading. I hate to see him like this.

“Let me talk to them,” I repeat, my teeth coming together as I emphasize each word.

“No, please, she’s not ready,” he’s saying to the person on the other end.

I rip the phone from his hands.

Dad looks at me in shock. I’m not normally like this, but adrenaline is coursing through my veins right now and mixing dangerously with rage. I feel overconfident. I feel invincible.

“Was it you? That sent those men after me?” I spit the words into the phone. I feel like I could crush the receiver in my hand until it cracked.

But that wouldn’t be a good idea. That wouldn’t solve the big mess I’m in. There’s no fighting this.

“What men?” The voice is as cool and unsurprised as if I’d told them it was a chilly night.

“So it was you. What a pleasant welcome to my new family.” My voice drips with disdain.

These people may have bought me, but nowhere did it say good manners were a part of the deal.

My father gestures at me as if I should be more polite.

I’m sick of walking on eggshells in the hope that I can have another year of freedom.

“Just tell me what you want. It’s time, isn’t it? You’re collecting on the debt.”

“He’d prefer if you didn’t speak about it in those terms.”

“I don’t give a fuck what terms he would prefer.”

That earns me a cough. Then a rustling noise as the receiver is passed along.

“Lisette,” says a voice just as smooth but a lot more poisonous. “How nice to speak to my fiancée for the first time in years. Do you need a reminder of the terms of this deal?”

I don’t say yes. I don’t agree to anything. I’ve learned enough to know that’s how you have to deal with these people. But it doesn’t stop him.

In a silky voice with just a hint of a foreign accent, he rattles off what will happen to my family if I don’t go along with the plan.

“Our plan,” he calls it, even though it’s not. I’ve never had any agency in this situation.

“I have monsters on my team who you wouldn’t believe, Lisette. Broken men. Who started killing when they were young and never looked back. They won’t just destroy your family. They’ll savor every moment. It will last for weeks.”

My parents watch my reaction from across the table, watching as I spiral. The panic attacks that I’ve tried to suppress over the years all coalesce into this one, crystal-clear moment of pain.

The threats he makes chill my blood. He keeps talking until all I can think about are my parents, Sammy, Marianne, my students, my friends, all bleeding out around me. I can feel the sickening sensation of blood surrounding me, rising up to my knees, then my waist, then drowning me.

They know everything about me. There is no stopping the deal I made.

My mind spins further and further away from the conversation taking place until I know that I’d agree to anything if it would keep them safe.

“Okay,” I whisper into the receiver, unable to stop my voice from shaking.

I expect a reply. An acknowledgment.

A schedule, so I know when to expect fate to run me over with a hundred-ton truck.

All I get is the click of the call disconnecting.