Eleven Reasons: The heart-wrenching sequel to Eleven Rules (The Eleven Series Book 2)

by PJ Vye

  “He read my letters?” she asked, mostly to herself. Mataio never replied. Not even to one. Not one single letter. She assumed he’d thrown them away, but as she wrote them she tried to believe he read them. This dirty, smelly thickhead knew more about Mataio than she did. “Are you sure?”

  “Fuck, lady. I said he did. Now shut the fuck up so I can make my playlist.”

  “What if Mataio doesn’t come up with the money?”

  “He will.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  He tapped on his keyboard as he spoke. “Cause if he doesn’t, he knows I’ll kill you.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  “So, you live here too?” asked Mataio as he entered his old studio apartment. Atali, seeing Laurence already inside, ran into his arms, giving Mataio his answer.

  Laurence cuddled her a while then moved to the kitchen to cut up an apple and sat her at the table to eat it.

  An image of the same scenario with Mataio playing the father snapped into his head and he closed it down with his usual efficiency.

  “Yes. Sunny’s my partner.” Laurence had the grace to look uncomfortable. “Sunny’s my partner,” he repeated.

  Partner. Not girlfriend. Not flatmate. Partner. “She’s missing,” said Mataio.

  “What?” The concern in this guy’s voice was unmistakable.

  It made Mataio feel worse. “It’s my fault.”

  “Where is she?” asked Laurence.

  Mataio ignored the useless question. “The guy who has her wants money. It’s why I need to do the interview.”

  “I’m calling the police.” Laurence pulled his phone from his pocket and began to dial when a strange, nasal siren started. It took both men a minute to realise their mistake.

  Atali stood by her seat, apple on the floor, a wail escalating from her mouth. She’d heard every word and stared at Mataio now like a monster. “Mummy…”

  Mataio moved toward her but she backed away, her voice a pitiful, long sob, with the occasional gasp of air.

  Laurence put down his phone and cut Mataio an accusing stare. “Honey, it’s going to be okay. Mat is just playing a game.” He reached out, but she backed away from him as well.

  Mataio knelt down in front of her and said, “Atali, I know this is scary, and it’s okay to be sad. But I promise you, I will bring her back. See this?” He flexed his arms. “I’m a big, scary Samoan man. I’ll get her back.”

  Atali’s eyes widened and her cries turned to whimpers.

  “Do you believe me?”

  She nodded and stuck a thumb in her mouth.

  Laurence knocked it away. “Atali, you’re too old to suck your thumb.”

  “Not today she’s not,” said Mataio, and gave her a smile. “Why don’t you watch some TV and we’ll work out who’s going to pick Mummy up.”

  She nodded and climbed into the bed with an iPad.

  Laurence spoke in a whisper. “I want to call the police.”

  “I understand. But Kimbo’s not very smart and likely to make a mess of everything if there’s even a sniff of the police. The simplest way is to give him what he wants. So where are you on the interviews?”

  “You’re not going to be able to pull anywhere near that kind of money now. There’s too much going on. It’s all about to blow up. No-one cares about your pill now. The attention is on the hoarders. The world’s about to be divided into two types of people. The ones with food and the ones without.”

  “Do you have any contacts who might be able to help find an address?”

  Laurence rolled his eyes. “This isn’t the movies, Mat.”

  “So, that’s a no?”

  “You’d know more cops than I do.”

  Mataio cringed at the sledge and watched Laurence’s face harden. The man obviously wasn’t sorry. It did give him an idea, though. He’d known Ronson for over twenty years. If the cancer hadn’t taken him yet, he might be able to help. “I’ll go. Can you take care of Atali?”

  “I always do.” Laurence had lost the ability to hide his animosity.

  Mataio moved toward the door and Atali jumped up and ran to him. “Are you going to get Mummy now?”

  Mataio reached out and touched her face. “Yes. I promise.”

  “Thanks, Daddy,” she said, matter-of-factly. Like the rest was just mere detail. He knew in that moment he’d do anything. Whatever it took, he would do it, to get Sunny back safely.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Alone in the room, Sunny leaped toward the window and pushed the key into the lock. It wouldn’t turn. She tried again. She turned it upside down, wriggled the bars, slid the key in and out. Nothing worked.

  She fell back into the armchair and dust billowed up. Her eyes and face hurt where he’d slapped her, and she wedged the cool steel of the key on her cheek for relief.

  What would Atali be doing? Was she scared?

  She scanned the room and tried to think creatively. If she couldn’t escape through the windows, was there another way? The bolt across the main door sounded too secure. The fireplace? Could she wedge herself up and out of the chimney? Were chimneys even wide enough for a person?

  The floorboards looked pretty old. Could she ply them up and escape under the house? She could ask Dreadlocks for a hammer and file. He was stupid enough to give it to her. Outwitting him would be easy. Out-muscling him, impossible. She didn’t doubt he’d hurt her. She didn’t doubt he’d be cruel doing it. The thought sent shivers through her.

  Where was Mataio? Did he even know she was missing? It wouldn’t surprise her if this guy had forgotten to let Mataio know. Should she ask?

  “Hello,” she yelled out. Maybe she could gauge his distance from her.

  No response.

  “Hello. Are you there?”

  She heard the creak of floorboards, the bolt pushed across and there he was. Less than ten seconds away. “What?” he demanded, the laptop still in his hands.

  “I need the bathroom.”

  He pointed to a bucket in the corner.

  “And I’m hungry.”

  “This isn’t the fuckin’ Hilton.”

  “How much am I worth?”

  “Huh?”

  “How much does Mataio have to pay for my release?”

  “Who?”

  “Mat.”

  “He owes me one hundred K.”

  “Why?”

  “Shut the fuck up.” He went to leave and she stopped him.

  “What if I paid you?”

  He looked up from the computer and turned. “You?”

  “I can pay you one hundred K. Right now. No waiting. I just need your computer. You can watch me transfer it.”

  “You have that much? You?”

  “I’ve been saving it for the orphans in Samoa, but I’m prepared to give it to you.”

  “Really?”

  “You seem nice.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “I need some insurance, though. How do I know you’ll let me go once I pay?”

  He twisted his mouth while he thought about it. Eventually he just said, “You’ll have to trust me.”

  “How about I give you half now, and half when you let me go.”

  “You think I’m an idiot?”

  She did, but she didn’t say so. “You’ll have to trust me.”

  He sneered.

  “Look. You know where I live. If I don’t pay up, you can kidnap me again.”

  He seemed surprisingly okay with that arrangement. Sunny was already calculating how much time she’d have to pack and disappear.

  “If I have to come after you again, I’ll make you work for the trouble. You get me?” He grabbed her arse and pushed her against him.

  Bile rose in her throat but she thrust out her chest and pushed him away. “It’s gonna take more than a playlist to charm your girlfriend, if that’s all you think it takes.”

  He twisted her hair and stuck his face in hers. “You’d be mine already if I wasn’t so nice.” With the ot
her hand he drew a line around her breasts. “Girls prefer it rough.” He bit her ear and she cried out in pain.

  Suppressed panic tightened like straps around her chest and she could hardly breathe enough to speak, but she was determined to keep it together. “I’m not sure that’s true. But if you give me your laptop, I’ll pay you fifty K while you watch. And to prove I’m for real, I’ll show you how you can make some easy money for yourself.”

  His eyes narrowed suspiciously, but he let her go. “I already know how to make easy money. Kidnap a rich bitch like you.”

  “Well yes, but what about a legal way?”

  One of his eyebrows rose, so she opened her YouTube account for him to see. “I write songs to teach English. This is how many people have watched my videos, and this is how much I make a month.”

  “Jesus.”

  “I know.”

  “So, you want me to write fucking songs?”

  “No. You have to find your own thing. I bet people would be interested to watch videos of you talking about your life. The things you’ve done. Stuff about prison. What you’ve stolen. Who you beat up. People love watching that type of thing. The more views, the more money you make.”

  “Who records it?”

  “You do. On your phone. Then upload it.” She opened a help video on TikTok. “Here’s the instructions.”

  “Maybe I could,” he said, scratching his chin.

  “Just be as honest as possible. Audiences can tell if you’re faking it. But you’re the real deal. So you’ll be okay. The more stuff you tell them, the more they’ll like it.”

  “What about the cops?”

  “They can’t arrest you for anything you put on social media. It’s like lawyer-client privilege.”

  “Oh. I didn’t know that.”

  “Anyway, my YouTube channel is the reason I can pay you one hundred K. Before that I was working for seven dollars an hour as a masseuse in Samoa. It’s guaranteed to make you rich.” She hoped she hadn’t pushed too far, but he looked like he believed her.

  “Yeah, I don’t know.”

  Dammit, she’d pushed too hard. No-one would believe that lawyer-client privilege shit. It was the internet, for God’s sake.

  “I’m not good with technology,” he said.

  “You want me to record the first one for you? Put it online?”

  His eyes lit up and the bald patch in his beard stretched. “Great. Here, use this.” He handed over his phone.

  She filmed him for over an hour, prompting him with questions, until she had seven short videos, all revealing crimes and low-life behaviour that was sure to get him in some serious trouble. Even down to talking about her kidnapping. She tried to appear fascinated and intrigued by it all, but it secretly disturbed her.

  It was dark outside by the time she’d created an account in his name and uploaded them to TikTok. The process reminded her of Carrie and how she’d set this all up for her, including her bank account. Something triggered in her brain, but she shut the thought down, needing to focus on her current situation.

  She gave him the password and account name, transferred fifty thousand from her own account into his and handed him back the laptop.

  “I need you to drive me home,” she said. Her instinct to show strength had worked so far. The last thing she wanted was to get back in a car with this man. But she didn’t want to appear weak or he might change his mind on their agreement.

  “I’m not fucking driving you home. There’s a train station at the end of the street.” He walked out, leaving the door open. Sunny followed him down the hall, and when he headed into what looked like a kitchen area, she walked straight ahead, through the front door, onto the pathway and down the street, without looking back once. Three doors down, she began to run.

  A train tooted and she ran harder. She didn’t want to wait for another train, but without her phone or money, she had no way of buying a ticket.

  A car spun around the corner and almost hit her. The brakes screeched and for a second, Sunny thought it was Dreadlocks. The car stopped beside her and when the driver’s door opened, she panicked, trying to decide which house might be occupied so she could run for help.

  Before her legs could even react, her eyes identified the driver.

  Mataio.

  Her body couldn’t seem to stand on its own anymore. He grabbed her as she swayed, half carried her to the car, put on her seatbelt and drove her away.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  When she finally found her voice, Sunny asked one thing. “Atali?”

  “She’s fine. She’s with Laurence.”

  Her relief was complete.

  He parked the car by the ocean and they listened to the waves crash. Mataio didn’t say a word but his fingers opened and closed repeatedly. She put her hand on his to stop the movement.

  He shifted his hand away. “I’ll take you to the others, then I’ll deal with Kimbo.”

  “No.” Her voice sounded louder than she expected. “No, to both of those things.”

  Mataio clarified. “You can’t go back to the apartment.”

  She turned so she could watch his reaction as she asked, “What did you do to that man? Why does he think you owe him money?”

  He sat rigid. “I’ll drop you off and go deal with it.”

  “And how exactly will you do that, Mataio?”

  For the quickest second, his eyes softened when she said his name. They hardened again so fast she wondered if she’d imagined the reaction.

  “Whatever it takes,” he said.

  He moved to start the car but she jumped out and ran onto the beach, pulling her jumper tightly around her as the wind cut. She knew exactly what Mataio meant. He’d take care of it.

  But, hadn’t she just taken care of herself? Once those videos went live, her kidnapper would be arrested and sent back to prison. She’d done that. Without anyone getting hurt. Without anyone sacrificing themselves.

  She stood and watched the moon reflect off the water until he joined her. He draped a jacket around her shoulders and his hand scraped her neck. The slight touch warmed and angered her simultaneously.

  “You want to sacrifice yourself again,” she said, directing the words out over the ocean waves.

  “I need to protect you,” he answered quietly.

  “No, you don’t. You want to protect yourself.”

  “Kimbo will hurt you. He’ll do anything. He has no filter.”

  “But if you hurt him, you go back to jail. And it’s all very convenient because then you can just say to yourself, ‘well that’s who I am’, and then you don’t have to be accountable in the real world.”

  “What do you think I’ve been doing these last two decades? Being accountable is what I do.”

  “You avoid life, Mataio. If you go hurt Kimbo now, you get to avoid having any responsibility for Atali for at least another decade or so. How perfect for you.”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Stop avoiding this.”

  “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

  “You don’t need to protect me. You don’t need to save me. You need to allow yourself to live.” She looked up, desperate for him to understand. “Be a father.”

  “I can’t do that,” he said, his voice ragged against the rhythm of the ocean.

  “Why not?”

  “You know why.”

  Sunny wanted to kick sand at him. “That’s bullshit, Mataio. It’s a cop out. A lazy way of saying you don’t want to. You’re prepared to go to prison again just to avoid your responsibility.”

  He took a step back, like he expected the sand in his face. “Laurence is a good choice for you.”

  “But I don’t love him the way I—” She couldn’t say it. Not when her words were being pushed back in her face like the wind.

  Mataio stood rigid, his hands in his pockets. “Laurence should adopt Atali. I won’t fight it.”

  His words tore at her heart and she threw fists into his chest.
All the terror of the day, all the stress and fear and relief was compressed into her punches. He just stood there, taking her punishment like he deserved it. As her energy drained and her legs collapsed, he took her weight in his arms and put her down gently onto the sand.

  “Ua ou matua salamo.” I’m so sorry. He moved the hair from her face.

  She looked at him with exhausted eyes, not caring about anything. She needed to see Atali. She needed to sleep. She needed food. She needed everything. And nothing. Her tears welled and fell in two synchronised streams as they walked side by side back to his car.

  There was nothing left to say. He’d do exactly as he wanted. What a joke to think she’d held out for him. Kept her heart open for him. She realised it now. Mataio was far too broken. She was better off without him.

  Chapter Forty

  The following day, the usual thirty-minute trip along the Tullamarine to the airport took over five hours. On the overpass, Mataio abandoned the car like all the other passengers and walked the rest of the way, leaving the keys in the ignition. He arrived at the airport with just a backpack, Ipo on a lead and his first ever passport in his hand.

  He’d driven past Kimbo’s house yesterday, and sat out the front for a while, knowing he wouldn’t go in. The fight had gone out of him.

  He thought about what Kimbo had done to Sunny—what he could have done to Sunny. But every time he felt angry enough to walk inside and shove the thug against a wall, a glimpse of tiny fingers inside his hand made the instinct disappear. If fairy dust existed, he felt sure the child had spread it.

  Flights to every major continent were booked out, but he’d been able to get a flight to Samoa without any trouble. Seeing the flight number listed on the board sent a wave of panic through him.

  In all of the craziness, he’d not had a chance to realise what this moment meant. He’d never seen Samoa. Never heard the language spoken on the streets, or felt the humidity of the Samoan nights after the rain or the smells of the markets and cooking fires. He’d seen pictures and been told stories by his mother growing up, making it sound like a wonderland for a young boy, but he’d never seen it himself.